#HE THOUGHT OF RUBBING HIS THUMB OVER THE PLAITS OF HER BRAID AND WONDERED WHAT IT WOULD FEEL LIKE

[aerequets]

trying to erase the trace of...

#GIVE ME TOUCH STARVED YEARNING BUT WITHOUT TOUCH #dia try to coherently explain your thoughts challenge go #Listen #theres something extra Oomph about characters being touch starved BUT FROM A DISTANCE okay #i read a fic called 'with kid gloves' where yor forgot her gloves and loid HAD IT IN HIS POCKET and he TWINED HIS FINGERS THROUGH #AND HE FELT THE WARMTH FROM THE GLOVES AND THE ROUNDEDNESS IN THE FINGERS THAT HER HANDS LEFT #AND HE CARESSED IT WITH HIS HANDS #OKAY #TODAY I READ A WEBTOON WHERE THE GUY WAS SAT AT A DISTANCE AND THE GIRL WAS SLEEPING AND HE LIFTED HIS HAND #AND HE DIDNT TOUCH HER BUT TRACED THE OUTLINE OF HER CHEEK IN THE AIR #OK #DO YOU GET IT #LIKE KAZ BREKKER AND INEJ OK #( me always going back to soc and kanej) #HE THOUGHT OF RUBBING HIS THUMB OVER THE PLAITS OF HER BRAID AND WONDERED WHAT IT WOULD FEEL LIKE #GIVE ME THINGS LIKE THESE TOUCHLESS YEARNING TOUCH-STARVED FROM A DISTANCE #spy x family #twiyor #loid forger #yor forger #my art #sxf #loidyor #loiyor

[kyber-crystal]

steady || obi-wan kenobi

summary: even amidst the chaos of the war, obi-wan is always there to remind you that you don’t have to carry your burdens alone. 

words: ~1.8k

warnings: mentions of death, violence, flashbacks to traumatic events (essentially mild PTSD), angst-to-fluff, mutual pining (oops my cliche side has jumped out here)

a/n: requested by the one and only @rentskenobi !! i’m sorry if this was really bad lol this is actually my first time writing for him. the middle-end was really poorly written i’m so sorry fffff

The war was beginning to take a toll on you.

It was affecting everyone to an extent, of course. As you walked around the halls you were met with tired eyes and lowered, worn-out voices telling you that you weren’t the only one who felt completely drained.  

You threw yourself into your work—working extra hours with the Council and helping strategize battle plans, organizing committees and having longer meditation sessions with Yoda. If sacrificing a good night’s sleep was what it took to keep all the intrusive thoughts at bay, then you were more than willing to take up on the offer. 

You did your best to keep your head held high but as time passed, it grew increasingly difficult. Hope seemed too far away on the horizon for you to reach out to it and actually believe it was in fact, going to get better. You were trying, but it got harder every day.

And Obi-Wan noticed. As a Jedi, you’d trained yourself to show no emotion whatsoever, or very little if you ever did—but being as observant as he was, he was quick to notice. It was all the little things that gave it away—the way you were constantly clearing your throat before speaking because it sounded hoarse and wobbly—as if you were on the verge of tears, the dark circles underneath your red-rimmed eyes, and how your hands always went up to fiddle with the moon-shaped charm he’d given you that hung from your neck.

You hadn’t eaten or slept in a solid six days. The dull migraine at the back of your head and sharp hunger pangs in your stomach told you to rest up and get proper nutrients into your body, but you ignored them. Maybe if you keep yourself on your feet, it’ll be easier to forget, you told yourself. 

But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that you were okay, the guilt still sat heavily upon your shoulders. 

You knew you could’ve stopped them; you had all the power to. But you didn’t. You couldn’t, and you failed.

It was only a few weeks into the war when you’d lost your old mentor, your friend, your parental figure whom you stayed close to long after you’d completed your Trials—and, being who you were, you took it upon yourself to put all the blame on your shoulders. Because technically, it was, was it not? You knew if you’d gotten there in time, if you were even just the tiniest bit faster and more observant and paid better attention, she would be alive. 

You caught a glimpse of your reflection in the bathroom’s mirror as you entered your quarters, and did a double take. 

Gripping the edges of the sink, you stared back at the woman in the mirror. Her hair, normally plaited in elegant braids or pulled back into an updo, tumbled loosely and informally down her shoulders. Were those eye bags always there to begin with? Or had they recently appeared?

It was maybe half an hour or so later that you finally crawled into bed—without bothering to change. Fatigue was pressing down on your body rather heavily, but sleep never came.

You woke up screaming. 

There was no way in hell you were going back to sleep—not when the prospect of your premonitions coming true were still fresh in your mind. You weren’t going to lose him the way you lost your master—the thought alone was too much to bear.

Without thinking about what you were doing, you got out of bed and quietly made your way down the hall. 

Obi-Wan yawned as he opened the door and rubbed his eyes with one hand. “It’s 2 in the morning, what—Y/N, what are you doing awake?” He immediately paused when he saw the remnants of teartracks on your cheeks, falling silent as he placed a gentle hand on your back and ushered you inside. 

Without a word, you climbed into bed, and Obi-Wan didn’t say anything either as he pulled the sheets over you. 

You longed to be like him—to spend your nights not worrying about being plagued with terrifyingly realistic nightmares, to fall asleep almost at the very moment your head hit the pillow. The last time you remembered such a thing happening to you had been nearly a full year ago—but with the way time passed you by now, it felt like a lifetime. You wanted to ask Obi how in Force’s name did he sleep so well amongst an intergalactic war with seemingly no end to all its pain and suffering?

"What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” you mumbled as you turned your face more towards the pillow. It smelled just like him—warm coffee and citrus—and for a moment, it seemed to calm you down.

He sighed, and carefully slid in between the sheets right next to you. “Why don’t you try and sleep, alright? You need rest.” 

"Mhmm.”

“Now get some rest, my love.” 

You woke up sweating bullets, chest rising and falling as you struggled to catch your breath. You initially panicked when you looked around and couldn’t see Obi-Wan, but your shoulders sagged in relief upon seeing he was still there, sleeping peacefully right next to you, his hand brushing against yours ever-so-gently.

He stirred in his sleep slightly as you pushed yourself up into a sitting position. 

“Y/N?” he mumbled, still only half-conscious as he turned to face you, immediately sitting up as well as he saw you staring blankly ahead. “Y/N. Are you alright? You’re trembling.”

“I’m fine,” you replied, but the shakiness in your tone gave it away. “Obi-Wan, go back to sleep. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He took your hand in his, gently rubbing patterns into your palm. Force, the way his blue eyes shone brightly even in the dark...the way the seemed to stare straight into your soul... 

“I can’t sleep.”

Obi-Wan paused for a moment. He got up out of bed and motioned for you to do the same. 

“What are you...”

“Shh. Come with me, there’s something I want to show you.”

His warm hand slipped into yours again as he led you down the hallway and up a long, winding staircase, and kept holding on until you finally reached the top, pushing open the heavy doors together to reveal a sprawling, open balcony. 

“What is this place?” You were practically speechless as you stared up at the star-littered sky. 

“It’s one of the meditation balconies...I often come here when I find that I can’t fall back asleep. Stargazing is rather helpful in clearing the mind.”

“It’s beautiful,” you exhaled. “It’s so hard for me to find time to come even during the day...”

You sought solace in staring up at the skies. It was rare, being able to gaze upwards into a cloudless, clear abyss when you were so often surrounded by the atrocities of war. So you were grateful for any night in which you were able to see the stars.

“You seem tired,” he noted, gazing worriedly at your appearance. 

“Who isn’t at this point?” you exhaled, faking a laugh. “I’d be genuinely surprised to find someone around here who gets adequate rest.”

“Y/N, please tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m fine, Obi-Wan. I keep telling you there’s no need to worry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“What?” The sudden sternness in his tone took you by surprise. 

“You’re not okay, Y/N. You haven’t slept properly in a week, nor have you had any proper nourishment along with it. You almost passed out in the middle of sparring with Anakin, and Master Windu released you from yesterday morning’s meeting early because you were on the verge of knocking out cold. You don’t think I’ve noticed? I’m worried...if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, how am I supposed to help?”

You bit your lip and anxiously fiddled with your thumbs. “I haven’t slept in six days. Seven...if you count when I fell asleep during that meeting.”

“A week? If you keep it up, you’re going to fall ill. You almost have.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

You shook your head. “I had a bad dream."

“And you didn’t bother to tell me?” Obi looked more concerned rather than upset. “Y/N.”

“I didn’t want to be a burden to you. You have enough on your plate as it is,” you mumbled. 

“You’re not a burden. I’d much rather listen and help you than have you go through it alone.”

You let out a long sigh and crossed your arms over your chest, staring blankly out at the darkened horizon. It seemed that everything nowadays served as some sort of bad omen. “I’ve been having these dreams for months on end...but I don’t even know if that’s what you can call them anymore. And I can’t lose you. I can’t let any of this become real.”

“You won’t lose me, Y/N, you have my word.”

“Are you sure?”

“Dreams pass in time.”

Releasing a shaky breath, you leaned forward and pressed your forehead against his broad shoulder, letting him slide his arms around your waist and gently kiss the top of your head. He lets his lips linger there; neither of you say anything about it. 

Obi-Wan found himself going down a risky path. He knew better than to grow attached. But now that he was made well aware of your fear over losing him, his equal fear towards having you taken away from him as well had become too prominent for him to to keep brushing off to the side. If he couldn’t do so much as protect himself from imminent danger, he would do everything in his power to keep you safe under his wing for as long as he could. 

He glances down at your peacefully dozing figure for several moments. You looked so serene, so young, while you slept all curled up against him and wrapped up in the sheets. And right then and there, the thought of wondering how it’d be to wake up next to you every day for the rest of his life hits him like a truck. 

Brushing your hair away from your forehead, he places a hand to your face and skims his thumb across your cheekbone. He wants to stay like this, even if it’s only for a little while longer.

This isn’t right, he tells himself. But he can’t resist; there’s something about you that prevents him from doing so.

“You’re staring,” you mumbled, eyes still closed.

Obi blinked in surprise, slightly taken aback. “You’re awake.”

“...What time is it?”

“Half past nine.”

“I’m going back to sleep,” you muttered, throwing the sheets over your face to cool yourself down. Despite your effort, you could still feel your face burning. “I haven’t rested in six days. Goodnight.”

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Alright. Sleep well, my love.”

tags (including sw mutuals that might be interested): @haydens-moles @thedevilwearsbeskar @propertyofdindjarin @arkofblake @stardust-kenobi @poesflygirl @voguesir @fl0ating @anakinswhore​ @rynhaswritersblock​ @dracos-jedi-marvel​ @marvel-dameron​

drop an ask to be added or fill out my taglist form here!

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan imagine #star wars fluff #star wars imagine #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x y/n #obi wan x reader #star wars preferences #star wars fic #i'm sorry this wasn't the best #i feel so bad bc this is long overdue #but i hope you enjoy

[crystallinecrimsonmoth]

Mornin’ Coach!

Author’s note: Heyo, here’s a lil bit of fic to go with a moodboard requested by @carl-sweet-serial-killer ! Hope y’all enjoy! Remember I’m always open for requests for both fic and moodboards if you wanna request them :3 

Negan Miller rubbed his eyes to get the sleep out as he switched on the lights in the gymnasium, yawning and watching as each of the overheard strips lit up one by one. They illuminated the practice equipment he’d set up before going home the night before, everything in its right place where he left it, an air of peace and quiet surrounding it all until the sound of rubber soles squeaking against plastic flooring filled the hallway behind him.

‘Weak form today, Walsh, you and Anderson get up to something that’s making you limp?!’

‘Shut your mouth, Greene, I’m faster than you!’

‘Yeah, right!’

‘Beat you to the locker room, bitch!’

The coach snorted in amusement at the words of his students, wandering down the closed off hallway to follow them all to the locker room. As he put his hand on the door, he heard the familiar squeak and scuff that always came a bit slower behind the rest of the group, pushing lightly on the wood to watch his favourite student shuffle up the corridor with his hands tucked into his hoodie and his hair down since he wasn’t yet in the gym.

Negan watched him in silence through the gap, not expecting him to notice his eye on him. When the teen had passed by without a sound from his mouth, the coach followed behind, waiting outside of the locker room door for them to get ready.

His best six gymnasts consisted of four boys and two girls, an odd ratio in the field of gymnastics but for his little group it seemed perfectly normal. The one student he couldn’t seem to stop watching, though, was Carl Grimes. The kid was perfect on every jump, every move, every twist, and at the end of the day when he took his hair plait out and let his brown waves fall down his shoulders, his coach couldn’t help but admire his beauty.

It was a problem that Negan pushed to the back of his mind. His star gymnast was nineteen, he didn’t need an old man thirsting over him from the side-lines, so Negan kept his gaze away whenever Carl looked back, focusing on one of the other teens when that perfect one stared back at him too hard.

‘Mornin’, Coach!’

The man broke out of his thoughts when Ron Anderson passed by him with a nod and a smile. Negan smiled back, patting his shoulder when he got close enough and leaning off the wall as the group of them entered the main hall. Carl and Michonne passed him without a word, chatting amongst each other while the other four fooled around by the balance beam. With a sigh, the coach followed the two quieter students to the other group.

‘Okay, Hawthorne, you’re on beam, Grimes on rings, Greene on floor, Anderson on parallels, Walsh on A-bars, and Rhee on the horse. Rules are the same as every practice, you know how I feel about foul play so watch your ass.’ He warned the group, waiting for everyone to break off to their respective equipment before he made a beeline for the rings where Carl was chalking his hands.

‘Mornin’, kiddo.’

‘Hey, coach.’ The teen turned to him with a bright smile, his brown hair already braided as he stood between the rings, waiting for Negan to help him up.

Negan did so like he always did, sliding his hands onto the younger’s soft waist and pressing his thumbs into the plump skin. Trying not to get distracted by the silky flesh of his student’s body, the coach lifted him up with ease, helping him grab onto the rings and stepping away to let Carl begin practising.

‘Thanks, coach!’

The next few hours went by without a hitch, each student of his taking their turn at each station and passing his daily tests. Negan hated how his eyes would stray to watch Carl train every time he was distracted, gaze focused on the way his stomach muscles moved on full display in the crop top he always wore to practice.

He wasn’t defined in the torso department, not like Negan himself or the other guys on the team, but the older coach liked him that way. He was slim and fit but still soft, and Negan had seen him put away burgers and fries like a lion would a zebra without putting on weight. The teen just kept on giving him more reasons to obsess over his body and mind, looking like an angel and showing off his skill like a pro.

After three hours though, his need to take a piss was stronger than his desire to watch Carl move on the A-bars like a snake twisting on vines. Standing up, he stretched his arms and yawned, nodding to Michonne.

‘Hawthorne, you’re in charge. I’ll be back in five.’ He told her, disappearing through the doors to find the restroom.

By the time he had finished emptying his bladder and started walking back down the hallway to get to the gym, he could hear voices in the hall, making him wonder if they’d taken a break from practice. He wasn’t a dictator coach, so he didn’t mind them taking breaks if it meant they worked better, but as the voices became clearer he didn’t like what he was hearing in the slightest.

‘Your daddy’s gone now, faggot, no protection anymore!’

‘No stopping us from beating your sissy ass!’

‘He went to the toilet, assholes, he didn’t leave the school. If… you… beat… me… half… to… death,’ Negan heard a thump as Carl landed on the mat after swinging between the bars with each word, ‘he’ll know it was you and he’ll kill you for it.’

Negan smiled at that, leaning on the wall outside of the gym as he listened to Carl to defend himself, not wanting to go in until he was done. He didn’t need him to make his point, he was doing that all on his own.

‘You’re right, he would kill us. It’d be worth it, though, slut.’

‘I think you mean yourself, Ron.’

Ron fucking Anderson. As if he could judge Carl if he were dating Negan when that little shit was fucking his best friend every chance he got. The group seemed to go silent after that, so the coach waited a moment before entering.

When he did, he regretted not doing it sooner. He found Carl swinging on the A-bars to avoid dodgeballs being thrown at his body by Ron and Shane, moving swiftly to dodge each one as they kept coming. The other two gymnasts seemed determined to kill him from what Negan could see, throwing balls constantly while Carl continued to swing between the two bars.

He never faltered, moving with the same ease that made him an exceptional gymnast, but Negan wouldn’t stand by and watch what could turn deadly in seconds.

‘ANDERSON, WALSH, STOP!’

At the sound of their coach’s bellowing, the two bullies halted in their actions, but not before one last ball was launched at Carl. The younger gymnast also stuttered in his movements at the sound of Negan’s yelling, failing to avoid the last ball and taking it to the head.

The man watched in horror as Carl fell from the bars onto the edge of the mat at an odd angle, landing with a thud with his head hanging down far too close to the solid wood floor underneath. Negan ran over faster than he’d ever done for a student, lifting Carl’s head onto his thigh carefully and checking him over for visible injuries.

His heart broke when a pained groan came from the teen’s lips and his endless blue eyes looked up at him, watering already.

‘My wrist, I- it hurts, coach…’

His words forced Negan to look down at his wrists and take in the bruising appearance of his right one. It looked like a closed break and made him wonder how high the kid’s pain threshold was if he hadn’t passed out yet.

Looking up from Carl for a moment, he sent a scathing glare at both Shane and Ron.

‘You’re out of competition season for this. You don’t go near equipment until he can, understand me, you little pricks?’ He hissed, keeping his glare even as they nodded then looking back at Carl with his gaze completely softened.

The teen had passed out now, his head limp against Negan’s upper arm as he breathed softly against his skin. He’d probably looked at his injury and fainted from being so squeamish – after all, the coach had once seen his favourite student vomit at the sight of a dead hedgehog on the running track.

Careful not to move his wrist too much, Negan unwrapped the bandage he kept covering his forearm, not caring much if his students saw the scar on his skin if it meant helping Carl. Securing it around him so his injury was immobilised, the coach lifted the teen up from the ground, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips briefly to prove a point to the assholes that had caused his broken wrist.

He glared at the boys once more.

‘Practice is done for the day. See yourselves out. Come on, darling.’ He sighed down at Carl who was still unconscious, carrying him out of the gymnasium with the intention of heading for the hospital.

#cegan #carl/negan #carl x negan #negan x carl #coach negan #student carl #gymnastics!AU #cegan gymnastics!AU #Short Fic #cegan fic #cegan moodboard #moodboard #requests always open :3

[dc41896]

Small Mishaps

Pairing: Chris EvansxBlack Reader

⚠️: All fluff💕

“Da-yee!”

Chris couldn’t help the smile tugging on the corners of his mouth as he heard the shouting of his newest nickname paired with little feet padding closer to his office.

“Yes bae-yee?” As if on cue, he turns to see the dangling plaits and toothy smile of his four year old, Kira, looking like the exact copy of him at that age and even displaying the same seemingly unending energy.

“Spa now?!,” she asks lightly tugging his hand to make him get out of his chair.

“Give me a second, let me make this last note,” he answers lifting her to sit on his lap. With a small huff, she wraps her arms around his neck making him chuckle from her cheek being pressed so closely against his. Ever since early this morning all she wanted to do was play her new game with him, but each time she asked he always said the same thing.

Later.

To anyone else, later might’ve been fine. However to a toddler, later was an unknown answer that just made her antsy as she looked at that ticking thing on the wall wondering when later would come.

“How long’s a second?”

“Well uh mathematically speaking, it’s much shorter than a minute.”

“Oh...what’s mat-tick-catly?” Head tilted back, his laugh echoes throughout the office and into the halls at his daughter’s attempt to repeat the challenging word.

“It’s just a big word for numbers,” he smiles kissing the top of her head. “Nothing you need to worry about until you get older and go to school. But hey guess what?”

“Hmm?!”

“I’m done, which means-,”

“Spa!!! Cmon da-yee you’re gonna look so pretty!,” she excitedly claps, leaping from his lap and pulling an amused Chris behind her.

———

“There, now no touch!,” Kira orders with a pointed finger making Chris hold up his hands in surrender as he chuckled.

“You got it.”

“And what’s going on here?” Back from your run with Dodger, you lean on the doorframe giggling as you take in the sight in front of you. Sat on the tile floor with one leg crossed over the other, white cream speckled with orange dots messily covered his forehead, nose, and cheeks while your daughter squat beside your nighttime bag rummaging through your products.

“Kira wanted to play spa, so I’m her customer.”

“Here you go,” she smiles handing him a single square of tissue paper.

“What’s this?”

“I think that’s your bill honey,” you quietly laugh as your daughter nods her head.

“Five monies please!”

“Kira, you’re gonna make your dear old dad pay? After all the fun we’ve had?” Rocking back and forth on her feet, her eyes roam around the room waiting for her requested payment and making Chris shake his head as he chuckles.

“I’ll give you cookies...”

Smile lighting up her face, she takes the piece of paper from his hands and instead gives it to you leaving you silent with mouth slightly agape. “Your turn mommy!”

“Let’s get this off of daddy’s face first then after I shower we can work on me,” you smile watching her reach for the silver handles of the facet before being placed on the counter by your husband. Slowly tip toeing to your phone, you return pressing record just in time to catch their cute exchange as your daughter dangles her feet back and forth.

“Now you look pretty forever and ever!”

“Forever and ever?! What magic did you use huh?,” he asks tickling her side. Zipping her lips, she shakes her head making her plaits wildly swing around.

“Nope, it’s a secret,” she giggles holding onto his hand and playing with the silver band on his finger.

The following morning, the Evans household started as usual these last couple months. Sunlight peaking through the curtains. Chris groaning as he begrudgingly gets up to use the bathroom leaving you lying in bed snuggling with the comforter until he would return taking its place. Taking over his side of the bed, you smiled to yourself waiting to hear his deep chuckle followed by the feeling of soft hands gently lifting your “sleeping” body and keeping you close to him while you both lied in comfortable silence.

Instead, you felt your arm being frantically shaken by your husband repeatedly beckoning you to wake up.

“Babe. Babe!”

“Hmm what’s wrong?,” you groggily ask rubbing your eyes to help you see clearer. Small red sploches dotting his face, you rise on your knees getting closer to his face making sure what you were seeing was in fact true. “What happened to your face?”

“I don’t know. I just noticed it when I went to the bathroom.”

“Does it itch?”

“A little. Do you think it was the mask?”

“Maybe, do you remember if she used anything else from my bag?” Shrugging his shoulders, there’s a momentary silence before his palm hits his forehead as he silently curses.

“Of course this happens on the day I’m supposed to talk with Jimmy Fallon.”

“Listen it’s okay, we’ll hopefully have you fixed before then. Just let me think of what could help.”

“Mommy! Da-yee!” As if on cue, Kira runs into your bedroom using the bench at the end of the bed to climb in and stand next to you. “Ooh I want face paint too!”

“It’s not face paint honey, daddy might’ve had a reaction to the mask from last night.”

“Reaction?,” she asks slightly tilting her head.

“Yea, like when you ate peaches that one day and your tongue was itchy and cheeks got puffy? That’s a reaction.”

“Ohh...I hurt da-yee?” Frowning with pouted lips, Chris picks her up smoothing the frizz from her hair as he kisses her temple.

“Noo no sweetie you didn’t hurt me. I promise I’m fine, my face just looks a little funny.”

“Mommy’s special tube didn’t work.”

“Special tube?,” you both inquire looking puzzled. Nodding her head, she nervously wrings her hands together afraid of your coming reactions.

“The white one.”

“Ohhh...”

“I’m guessing this white tube is what caused me to look like a Dalmatian with red spots?,” Chris asks slightly rocking Kira back and forth.

“Yea, it’s my acne gel. I call it my special tube because only I can use it sweetie,” you answer lightly rubbing her back.

“Ohh, sorry.”

“It’s okay, let’s not use it anymore though. Especially on daddy’s delicate skin.”

“Delicate?,” he asks raising an eyebrow in amusement making you laugh.

“Babe you even said so yourself that you have sensitive skin, don’t start,” you laugh stepping out of bed. “Now let me go get the rash cream.”

“Wait, rash cream?”

“You have a better idea?” Groaning as he rolls his eyes, Kira places her hands on either side of his beard before kissing his cheek.

“No worry da-yee, mommy can fix it.”

“I hope you’re right bae-yee,” he smiles blowing raspberries on her cheek making her wildly giggle.

———

“Okay first it was poor Dodger’s haircut now this?! What is going on in the Evan’s household during this quarantine?,” Jimmy asks trying to hide his laughter but failing.

Sat at the island in his kitchen, he chuckles to himself while shaking his head at his current predicament. Surprisingly the rash cream did help a bit, but the red spots were still evident on his face although a bit lighter in color.

Especially now currently being in the room with the best lighting.

“Well uh as you can see it’s been a bit eventful,” he laughs as he runs a hand through his brown locs. “Kira’s been watching her mom do her nighttime routine so now her favorite game to play is Spa. Long story short some things didn’t agree with my skin when we played yesterday.”

“Ohh noo,” he laughs covering his mouth with his hands. “Are you okay though? How did she react when she saw you?”

“Yea I’m fine. It was a bit itchy but now it’s starting to fade away, and at first she thought it was face paint, but after telling her what happened she felt bad because she thought she hurt me. So now she’s been checking on me and making sure I’m okay.”

“And speaking of, looks like she’s here to check on you now.” Turning around, he smiles seeing his little girl in her jean overalls raised on her tip toes trying to get a look at Chris. Waving her over, she nervously steps to her father before he sits her on his lap.

“Hi Kira! How are you?”

“Good,” she shyly replies playing with her braid.

You tried to keep her occupied during his time away with his interview, but your sneaky little one took advantage of your lapse of judgement when distracted by your phone. She said she was going to the bathroom and by the time you thought you should walk with her, you could hear feet scurrying down the hall towards the kitchen.

Catching the corner of his eye, you mouth “sorry” before he smiles mouthing back “it’s okay” and giving you a quick thumbs up.

“And how do you like being home with your parents this whole time?”

“I-I like it. We get to play a lot!,” she smiles making both men lightly chuckle.

“So your dad tells me you like to play a game called Spa. Is that something you’d want to do when you get older?” Nodding her head, she giggles looking up at her father as he kisses the top of her head.

“Well I already know you’ll do such a good job with your own spa one day from this video from a little birdie’s instagram.” As he plays the short clip of Chris and Kira talking in the bathroom while he washes off his mask, he meets your eyes shaking his head as you innocently shrug your shoulders as if you didn’t know anything.

“Hmm I wonder whose Instagram you got that from?”

“You know I can’t reveal my sources,” Jimmy laughs. “The adventures of being a girl dad though right?”

“Yea, and I wouldn’t change a thing about it,” Chris smiles holding onto his baby girl as she latches around his neck.

Taglist: @fumbling-fanfics @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @lady-olive-oil @themyscxiras @melinda-january @lovelymari4 @literaturefeen @damnitaa @curlyhairclub @renfrewscorner @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy @secretmysteriousperson @plokyu23

If anybody wants to be tagged, has asked to be tagged but don’t see your name, only wants to be tagged for certain people I write for, or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know🤓!

#chris evans #chrisxblackreader #chrisxwoc #chrisxreader

[pomegranate-belle]

gIvE uS tHE DD hAiR bRAiDiNg foggy/matt FiC!!!!

*Waves wand*, and fill it with enough angst and fluff to hurt my fandom heart in every way.

Or at least I’m assuming that’s the same anon, lol - well, the hair braiding fic is nowhere near done and I still don’t know how to end it, but here’s part one, aka the one that actually has the hair braiding in it:

--

“Foggy, I need to study,” Matt insisted, though not as firmly as he’d intended; a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth and he couldn’t quite force the expression down.

“What you need is to learn a new life skill, buddy. Studying for Thompson’s midterm can wait, it’s not for another two weeks. Now c’mere, how are you gonna score a girlfriend if you can’t even braid her hair? That’s like domestic sexiness 101.”

“I’m not sure domestic sexiness is my style,” retorted Matt, just to be contrary — but he did stretch, stand from his desk, and shuffle over to Foggy’s bed.

“Which is why despite your impossible good looks and charming personality you’ve just been living a year-long string of one night stands. You deserve more than that, dude, and it starts here.”

He wasn’t sure how to argue with Foggy that he was perfectly happy with the one night stands. It was tough to feel lonely or starved for affection with Foggy for a best friend, after all. But then again, it wasn’t like it was exactly a chore to indulge Foggy’s silly whims. Matt often enjoyed it, actually.

“Ok, ok, you win, Fogs.” He lifted his hands, flexing his fingers a little. “Gimme your hair.”

There was a swish of the hair in question as Foggy shook his head.

“Absolutely not,” he insisted. “There’s a process to this, you heathen. Hair-braiding is a sacred ritual, you never ever do it standing up. Sit. I’m pointing at the bed very authoritatively.”

Foggy was using that imperious mock-serious tone he always tended to slip into whenever he lectured Matt about things he’d been ‘woefully deprived of, Jesus, Matt, did the nuns outlaw fun or something?’ Matt hadn’t really had the heart to tell him it was nothing to do with the nuns — Matt himself just wasn’t a very sociable kid. Part of that was a natural shyness he’d never quite overcome. Part of it was his blindness; or rather, the way people treated him because of it. Part of it was Stick. Foggy was the first person in Matt’s life, post-Stick, who’d really managed to slip past the walls he put up to keep the world out. So of course Foggy was the first one to do a lot of things with him. That didn’t mean he was deprived, though.

“Matt? Bud? You with me?”

Matt jolted out of his thoughts and gave a jerky nod.

“Um. Bed, right?” he asked, fumbling for the mattress and patting it a few times before sitting down on the edge. “Sacred ritual. I’m with you.”

“Yup, and the sacred ritual includes sitting crisscross applesauce, so get those shapely legs up here, Murdock.”

Matt grinned, shaking his head and kicking off his shoes.

“Oh, well,” he said indulgently, pulling his legs up onto the bed and crossing them, resting his hands on his ankles. “If that’s how it’s done.”

“Yup! Perfect. Here, I’ll do one up first so you can get your feelers on it before you try one,” Foggy offered.

Matt had touched a braid before — run his fingertips over one in some ex or other’s hair — but he didn’t say so to Foggy; no need to ruin his fun. Instead, Matt just nodded. The sounds of Foggy braiding were quiet and rhythmic, and every shift of his hair sent a slight waft of shampoo scent — green apple — in Matt’s direction. There was a snap of elastic as Foggy tied the braid off, and Matt was already lifting his hands. Which was fine. Normal. Foggy had soft hair. Matt had noticed, that was all, because Foggy was a touchy-felt sort of guy. Matt did not have a problem.

Their fingers brushed as Foggy passed the length of braided hair into Matt’s waiting grasp. The pattern of the braid was about half an inch wide, and the over-under sequence continued evenly the entire length of the plait. When he reached the hair band, Matt dropped his thumb to run it over the ends of Foggy’s hair.

“You just pass the strands on the outside over the middle one,” Foggy explained cheerfully. “Make them the new middle strand, basically. First left, then right, then left again. Make sense?”

“Yeah.” Matt let go of the braid. “Yeah, makes sense.”

“Great! Let me just, I’ll move so this braid won’t be in your way — let you at the left side of my hair instead.”

Foggy turned, and his knee brushed one of Matt’s — he was sitting with his legs crossed too, apparently. Part of the sacred ritual, Matt thought with a fond grin. When he was situated, Foggy tapped the back of Matt’s hand. In turn, Matt offered up his arms, palm out, and his fingers were gently guided to Foggy’s hair. One of Matt’s fingertips brushed the shell of Foggy’s ear while he was gathering a section of hair to work with, and they both shivered a little. Which was normal. Ears were sensitive and didn’t usually get touched.

Matt shook his head and began working on a braid.

—

“That’s too loose, man, you’ve gotta hold all three strands at once to keep it tight.”

“I don’t have three hands,” Matt complained.

“Good, because if you did that’d be pretty freaky,” retorted Foggy good-naturedly. “Look, you’ve just gotta shuffle them a little. Once you cross one strand into the middle, slip it between your other fingers so you can keep moving the next one, that’s all.”

Which, sure, sounded easy enough, but it wasn’t at all. Matt fumbled and lost his grip on the strands of his braid six more times before Foggy finally let him tie it off. It wasn’t a smooth, tight plait like the one Foggy had done, but at least it held together.

“It’ll do,” Foggy declared magnanimously. “You’re awesome enough that even a sloppy braid is probably ok. It’s really more about the journey anyway, not the result.”

Matt shook his head, chuckling.

“The journey?”

“The journey,” repeated Foggy firmly. “Running your hands through her hair. That’s the whole point, and it’s way more important than the braid because it’s, like, intimate and sexy.”

Matt sighed, though his mouth continued to try to pull into a smile.

“It didn’t seem very intimate or sexy to me,” he pointed out.

“Of course it didn’t, dude,” said Foggy. “First off, you’re still learning — you’re concentrated on the braid itself rather than making the braiding momentous. Plus, we’re just buddies. The vibe is totally different with someone you’ve got the hots for.”

“A vibe of domestic sexiness?” Matt ventured just to tease him.

“Precisely, Murdock, precisely.”

Nodding, Matt plucked at the seam of his sweatpants.

“Sure, and you achieve that by, by playing more with the hair instead of just braiding, right?”

“Now you’re getting it!” Foggy agreed.

“Well, if that’s the important part, I can’t skimp on it,” said Matt very reasonably.

As predicted, Foggy laughed.

“I knew you were hiding the heart of a romantic under all those playboy moves,” he bragged, slugging Matt lightly in the shoulder. “Ok, go for it. But just know, it takes a lot to make Foggy Nelson swoon.”

The grin was so evident in Foggy’s voice that Matt could almost see it in his mind’s eye.

“Here, turn— turn around,” he said suddenly, without quite meaning to. “That’s the best way to do it, right?”

It was just another part of the joke. Because it wouldn’t be sexy or anything. Like Foggy had said, they were friends, not. You know. So it would be funny instead, over the top and silly, like when Foggy had called Matt ‘honeybunch’ in a goofy voice to tease the guy in their Poli Sci class that asked if they were dating.

“Good instincts,” Foggy agreed cheerfully. “Here let me... I’ll get these two braids out so you have more to work with, then...”

The sheets rustled and the bed dipped as he moved. One of the hair bands was pressed into Matt’s hand, and he slipped it over his wrist for safekeeping. Then, when Foggy indicated he was ready, Matt buried his fingers in Foggy’s hair, massaged his scalp a little as he gathered strands together in his opposite hand. There was a soft, barely-audible sigh — and then, louder, a pleased groan.

Matt swallowed. His own heart was pounding so hard in his ears that he couldn’t hear Foggy’s. The joke didn’t seem so funny anymore.

“Maybe I should ask for a shoulder rub while you’re at it,” mused Foggy, leaning back a little. “Your hands are super firm. Plus I have this kink in my neck from falling asleep at my desk this morning.”

“I thought this was about bettering my relationship skills,” Matt pointed out, still somehow able to muster a wry, teasing tone despite how dry his mouth had gone. “Are you just taking advantage of me?”

“That’s such a mercenary way to put it!”

“I’m not hearing a denial.”

Nonetheless, Matt continued to comb his fingers through Foggy’s hair, smoothing out the few tangles he found. He was surprisingly calm; his hands didn’t shake at all as he worked, splitting the hair he’d gathered into three sections. It was reassuring to know at least part of him was under control, considering he was pretty sure he was going through some kind of— gay crisis or something.

It was easier, working with larger sections. Matt wasn’t nearly as clumsy, and he finished the braid quickly.

He tied it off with the elastic band he’d put over his wrist and then, daringly, brought it to his lips. Foggy’s hair, soft and sleek against Matt’s fingers, felt somehow impossibly softer against his mouth. Would every part of him feel softer, Matt wondered, and his head spun at the thought of slotting their lips together the way he did with pretty-smelling girls at parties.

“Matty? You done?”

Foggy’s voice was unaffected, and it sliced through Matt’s ridiculous fantasy like a hot knife through butter. He dropped the braid, hands shaking.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “Yeah, it’s. It’s done.”

The bed creaked and shifted as Foggy moved. There was a quiet rasp of skin on hair.

“Oh, wow! Nice work, my young padawan — I think you just leveled up in hair braiding.”

“And the sexiness?” Matt asked, like an idiot.

“Hey, if I was one of your one-night-stands, I’d definitely put out again after a braid like this,” came the laughing reply, followed by a groan, the sound of Foggy’s back popping, and the bed dipping more deeply as he turned to face Matt again. “Maybe even agree to a second date, which is the real goal.”

Matt could feel the heat creeping agonizingly up his cheeks, to the tips of his ears, and hoped it wasn’t as apparent to Foggy’s eyes as it felt. There was nothing particularly graphic or descriptive in the words ‘put out’ and yet Matt couldn’t choke out a reply past the lump in his throat. He sat rigidly, resisting the urge to squirm.

“Well,” he managed finally, with a herculean effort. “Mission accomplished.”

“I’d return the favor,” said Foggy, tapping Matt on the shoulder and then smoothing his hand up to ruffle Matt’s hair, “but there’s not much here to work with on the braiding front.”

Matt tried for a laugh, but it came out more like a strangled wheeze. Everywhere Foggy touched felt electric — Matt’s whole skull lit up with singing nerves.

“I’m not gonna grow it out,” he managed to say with a relatively steady voice and a probably-less-steady smile.

“You’d end up with a mullet and look terrible,” agreed Foggy, still petting Matt’s hair. “Then you wouldn’t even get all those girls swooning over how hot you are, they’d be too embarrassed by your haircut. That’s fine, buddy, it just takes a certain kind of man to rock long hair the way I do.”

Matt was hit with a sudden urge to bury his hands in that long hair, then bear Foggy back onto the bed and, and—

And Matt was going to die. He’d only even considered what kissing Foggy would be like two minutes ago and it was already taking over his brain. How was he going to function if it didn’t stop? Was that what the really conservative nuns meant about gayness being contagious?

No. No, that was silly.

The mind controls the body, Matt reminded himself. He just needed to focus and control his mind, then he’d stop thinking about it and everything would go back to normal.

Foggy finally removed his hand from Matt’s hair, which thankfully returned a couple of his higher brain functions to working order. Including the one to help him remember he was part of a conversation where it was his turn to speak.

“Considering that horrible, scratchy goatee you had when we met, I’m not sure I entirely trust your judgment on attractive hair,” he said at last with the rude grin that usually made Foggy threaten to thump him with a pillow.

Foggy huffed.

“Ok, I admit the goatee was terrible,” he said. “But chicks really do dig the long hair— Oh, shit! Speaking of girls, I’ve got a date I’m gonna be late for! Shit, shit, shit—”

There was a whirlwind of movement and noise, as Foggy leapt off the bed and began stumbling around the room. A thump of shoes being kicked and then slid on, a jingle of metal—

“Ok, wallet, phone, keys...!” Foggy muttered, and the slightly-heavier swish of the braid in his hair mixed with the scent of his shampoo made something in Matt’s chest squeeze. “Here I go, see you later, Matt!”

With a quick but heart-stopping smack of lips to Matt’s temple that Matt wasn’t even sure Foggy registered doing, he was out the door. Matt sat very, very still for approximately three minutes, and then flopped backwards onto Foggy’s bed with a groan, throwing an arm over his burning face.

#mattfoggy #writing #thanks for the ask! #Anonymous

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Sunshine

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x OC (Evelyn “Evie” Blaker)

Warnings: None

A/N: I’m creeping close towards the end.  We got some smut, some angst, more smut, and a whole ass load of fluff coming down the pipeline.

Reminder:  I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale  

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]

Part 5 

 Lead to Big Changes

Evie stood in the bathroom, brushing her long hair before plaiting in into a braid. She took one last look at herself and satisfied everything was in place as it should be, she entered the bedroom where Maxwell was sitting on the bed putting on his cuff links.  He looked up to watch as she walked over to his dresser, where her items were laid out neatly.  She began put on her necklace before moving on to other items.

Like that first morning together, it felt natural to him to see her puttering around his room, getting ready for the day.  His long hours prevented him from really feeling how empty such a large house could be for one person, but there were times when that coldness, the loneliness touched him.  But not now, not when she was here, and she warmed rooms she wasn’t even in. He watched her intently, noticing the subtle bounce of her breasts, the sway of her hips, and that cute little hop she does when she walks.

“Why do you hop when you walk?”  She turned her head towards him, a look of confusion on her face.  “You have this little hop when you walk.”

“Oh, the hop.”  She laughed and went back to what she was doing.  “A gift from the pier.”

When she finished putting on her accessories, she turned around to see him still watching her and she smiled.  Walking over to him, she began to knot his tie that he had yet to do up.  Her brows furrowed a bit as she worked and he sat patiently, placing his hands on her jean-clad hips, sneak his thumbs under the hem of her tee shirt to rub along her skin.  She had only been in town for less than one day and he was already dreading her return to Poughkeepsie.

“What’s your plan for the day?”  When she arrived, Evie insisted that he didn’t need to stop his world just to babysit her, that she could find things to do while he was at work.  He tried to protest, but when he looked at his schedule, he found things he couldn’t cancel or more.  So, he became more pragmatic about it.  He his schedule to have his late afternoons and evenings free and if two deals went through today, he was going to have a nice long weekend with her, uninterrupted.

“Not sure yet, it’s so warm for October that I might go to a park. Maybe museum hop or stop by an art gallery.  The city is my oyster, so whatever strikes my fancy I guess.”

“Take my credit card.”

“Max, I don’t need you to pay for anything.”  She laughed as she patted down the knot and straightened the tie, admiring her handwork as she talked.  She proceeded to button up his vest since she was standing there, and she thought there was no need for her to do any of this.  But the idea of being part of Maxwell’s routine felt right, as if she had always been a part of it.

Never in all her relationships had she ever felt at such ease with someone as she did with Maxwell.  It was as if they had known each other for years, rather than only a couple of months. Silences weren’t awkward, they were already developing their own group of inside jokes and waking up in his bed seemed like the most normal thing in the world.  

Evie loved her life in Poughkeepsie, but the idea of going back seemed sad to her.  Other than her job, there wasn’t a life for her in her hometown anymore.  Her best friend moved to Boston last year and her dad moved to Lake Placid to wind down toward retirement.  She sat on a non-profit board and occasionally joined a book club at the library, but the last couple of years it had just been home and work. Change might be good, she thought on the train ride into the city.

Here, the city offered so much more, including Maxwell.  Whose thumbs continued to rub against the skin of her hips, and it was starting to drive her a little crazy.

“You sure you’ll be fine on your own?”

“Of course.  I’m a big girl.”  She leaned down to kiss his lips softly and before she could pull back, he was chasing her lips for a longer kiss.  His tongue snaked out to swipe against her lower lip and she smiled as she opened to let him in.  Soon their kiss turned breathless and Maxwell pulled back so he could breathe again. Their eyes were darkened by lust, but Evie – as usual – broke the spell first by gently kissing his forehead and stepping away from his touch.  His hands dropped onto his thighs as he watched her head to his closet to take out her sweater.

“Yeah, I know.”  His tone was husky and more than a little feral sounding.  She smiled a little wickedly as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. It was her turn to watch him.  Even at home, Maxwell carried himself with command and authority and Evie realized that this was a natural posture for him. He wasn’t putting on a show, he was just finishing his morning routine.  She felt a shiver of pleasure run through her.  He was all man and for now at least, all hers.

After finishing up, he turned to Evie and held out his hand.  She slid it into his easily and they left the room to start their day.  They stopped off in the kitchen so Evie could meet Marnie, his cook, and after a rapid-fire ten-minute conversation, Maxwell ushered her out of the kitchen, a couple of breakfast sandwiches in tow.  He shook his head, not believing that in such a short amount of time, Evie learned the names of all Marnie’s grandchildren, how long she was married to her husband, and her favorite thing to cook.  

Like with Bennett, Evie easily inserted herself into the lives of his staff and they all seemed to love her.  He pretended like he didn’t see Marnie’s pointed look that said, how did you snag someone like this?  Maxwell didn’t know the answer and he wasn’t stupid enough to question it.  As they exited the house, Bennett was waiting with the doors open and in the crisp October morning, the warmth of the car was quite welcomed.

“Bennett, drive Evie wherever she wants to go today.” Maxwell pulled out his phone, scrolling through his calendar and starting to prepare for the day. Without either him or Evie realizing it, her Max was stepping back into the role of Maxwell Lord, CEO of Chimtech.

“Max, no!  I can take a cab, it’s not a big deal.”

“Evie, he will drive you, it’s what he’s paid for.”  Maxwell’s voice was harsh and left little room for compromise. She was taken aback, although he didn’t seem notice as his eyes never left his cell.  She was more than a little shocked because in the entire time they had known each other, he never talked to her in that way.  Before she could say anything, Bennett spoke from the driver’s seat.

“Yes Mr. Lord.”  He didn’t miss a beat as he drove them to headquarters and Maxwell kissed Evie on the cheek before he got out, acting as if nothing happened.  He slipped his credit card into her sweater pocket before she could say anything.  As he walked away, Evie turned to the driver, a sly smile growing on her lips.

“Bennett, what are Bette and Lorraine doing today?”  He looked back at her, surprised.

“Well Lorraine is on break from school and Bette’s home with her, why?”

“Let’s make this a family day.”

“Wait.  What?

“Call up Bette and see if they’d like to join us for day on the town.”  She waived Maxwell’s card.  “His treat.”

“Okay, where to you want to go?”

“What does Bette and Lorraine like?”

“Well my Bette loves flowers and Lorraine is wild about flamingos.”  Bennett snapped his fingers and looked at Evie.  “We can go to the Bronx.  They got the Botanical Gardens and a zoo!”

“Perfect, let’s go!”  Evie sat back and looked out the window.  She was still dwelling on the tone he used and how it stung her.  She looked at the credit card in her hands as Bennett drove them to Brooklyn to pick up their passengers.  If he wants to act like a dick, then he can pay for it, she thought. Literally.

---***---

Bette was just as vivacious a person as her husband and the two women immediately recognized a kindred spirit in the other.  They chatted through the whole ride to the park as Lorraine sat up front with her father, forever a daddy’s girl.  The day was sunny and gorgeous, and the foursome strolled through gardens, enjoying the sights.  Bennett had been modest when he said his wife loved flowers.  

Turns out she was a horticulturalist and worked for City University of New York as a professor in their science department at the Bronx campus.  Evie hung onto every word her new friend said about the plants they viewed, and she could see Bennett bursting with pride.  Evie believed that the morning’s adventures wouldn’t have been nearly as enjoyable had Bette not come along.  They left the park briefly to grab something to eat.  During lunch, Evie’s phone rang and when she saw it was Maxwell, she picked up.

“Hi Max.”  Evie smiled into the phone and turned away from the table as not to be rude, but she didn’t miss Bette mouth, ‘Max?’ to Bennett with a look of surprise.  He shrugged with a look back at her.  His voice was low enough that Evie didn’t catch anything he said.

“Hey you.  How is the city treating you?”

“Good.  I’m at lunch right now. But we visited the botanical gardens this morning and after lunch we’ll stop by the zoo.”

“We?”  The word caused a twinge of jealousy to course through him and his words came out hard. One day in the city and she’s already gallivanting off with others, a wicked voice in his head hissed at him.  “Who could you possibly be with?”

“Yes, we. Bennett and his family joined me and we’re having a blast. Lorraine is going to teach me about flamingos when we go to the zoo.”  She was shocked at his tone and she returned it with a neutral one of her own to tamp down any confusion that could be sparked by an argument.  She stood up and walked way, positioning herself near a window and away from people.

“You’re with my driver and his family?”  She told him to go to work today and she was out and about with his driver and allegedly his family?  Did she plan this all along?  Maxwell’s face grew warm as his jealousy boiled beneath the surface.

“Yes.  If Bennett is going to be with me all day, then why not?  Who am I hurting?  And besides, I want to learn about flamingos.”  Her tone turned pointed and she refused to explain any further.  She waited until he spoke, stretching their silence out – one that was filled with tension.  Behind her, Bennett and Bette exchanged another look and kept eating lunch while Lorraine continued to read her book.

In that silence, something changed and suddenly the tone he took with her was back to normal.  The whiplash it caused Evie almost made her dizzy, but she could still sense a strain lacing his words.

“Ah.  Well, Marnie called me and said she was cooking dinner tonight.  That ravioli dish you two talked about this morning.  It should be ready by seven.  Will you be back in time?”

“Yep.  See you then.”  She ended the call without waiting for him to reply and sighed.  She wasn’t stupid, she knew Maxwell was used to getting his way and was used to making comments and remarks that were curt, hard, brusk, even downright rude was more akin to his normal way of speaking.  The softness he directed towards her was the anomaly.

While she wasn’t above using a sharp tone when the situation warranted it, she felt bitterness in her mouth when confronted with unnecessary rudeness and maltreatment.   For the first time, the little niggles of doubt that had been on the edge of her mind since Maxwell Lord first came into her life began to crawl out of the shadows.

“Ready to go see the zoo and check out some flamingos?”  She smiled brightly again and turned towards her lunch companions. Everyone nodded and as Evie paid the bill with Maxwell’s credit card and felt a lot better.

Little Lorraine was much like her mother and as they wandered through the zoo, the young girl threw out facts and stories about many of the animals, most excited for the flamingos, of course.  

As they moved from exhibit to exhibit, Lorraine and Evie unconsciously matched up with the former having an audience for all that her brain had offer and the latter excited to learn new things.  Once they arrived at the flamingo enclosure, the young girl sighed with happiness.

“Lorraine, why do you like flamingos so much?”  Evie asked as they leaned on the rail watching the birds walk elegantly through the enclosure, their bright pink plumes a perfect complement for the deep blue autumn sky above them.

“Cause they’re stupid looking and dance like morons.”  Evie began laughing loudly in surprise.

“How do you know they dance like morons?”  Evie smiled as Lorraine took out her cell phone and pulled up youtube. In her library were dozens of videos about flamingos.  The young girl clicked on one video and there it was, the stupid flamingo mating dance.

“You’re right, they do dance like morons.  I can see why you love them.”  Evie smiled down at her.  Lorraine grabbed her hand and they moved onto the next exhibit with Bennett and Bette trailing behind and holding hands like teenagers.  They were enjoying their impromptu date and Bennett brought their clasped hands up to his lips, smiling the whole time.

While Evie gave her full attention to Lorraine, seeing Bennett be so generous and open with not just Bette, but everyone around him gave her heart a little twinge.  She squeezed Lorraine’s hand and refocused herself on the conversation at hand.  She wasn’t about to let Maxwell Lord detract her from learning about the lemurs next.

By the end of the afternoon, everyone was pleasantly exhausted and the drive back to Maxwell’s house seemed all the quieter after Bette and Lorraine were dropped off at home, with promises of seeing them soon from both Bennett and Evie. She was giddy to have made a friend in the city, giving her another reason to come to visit.  When Bennett dropped her off, she waved good-bye and trudged up the stairs into the house.

The cozy atmosphere enveloped her as she opened the door and then closed it behind her.  The day was catching up to her and she leaned against the door, her thighs starting to ache from all the walking.  I’m entirely too out of shape for this city, she thought.  She closed her eyes a moment and before she could open them, a set of plush lips brushed against hers.  

Evie opened her eyes to find Maxwell standing in front of her, looking relaxed. His tie was off, and his sleeves rolled up, hands in his pockets.  Outside of sleeping in bed, this was probably the most relaxed Maxwell had been in front of her.  He rocked back on his heels, looking at her with a smile on his face that also seemed relaxed.  His aura seeped into her own body and she relaxed, too.

“Did you enjoy the zoo?”  Whatever tone he took with her earlier in the day was gone and in his place was the attentive partner, supportive and loving.  It was as if the Maxwell from earlier had been conjured up by her brain to sow the seeds of doubt in her mind.  In fact, as Maxwell stood there, he didn’t even think of his comments earlier or his tones.  He was interested in what she had to say, wanted to know how her day went.  

As he waited for her answer, she realized he was interested in what she had to say.  After their date, he all but admitted that he never conversed with people and yet with her, he was fully invested in everything she did or said.  It made her feel wanted and loved in ways other partners hadn’t. The thoughts from earlier in the day and the worries that had crowed the edge of her mind seemed to disappear.

“It was a beautiful day, Bette and Lorraine are so smart.  I learned more from those two in one day than I could probably learn in a lifetime on my own.  I like Bette and I think we’re going to try to meet up for coffee again before I go.”  He grabbed her hand and they walked into the dining room.

“Tell me all about it.”

---***---

Maxwell wasn’t sure what woke him up, but he lurched out of a dead sleep and sat up in bed.  The room was quiet, and his clock told him that it was early in the morning, hours before he had to get up.  What could have possibly triggered this, he wondered.  It was then that he realized that he was alone in bed and when he saw the bathroom light off and the door open, he was confused.  

Getting up, he threw on a shirt and walked out into the hallway, the faint late October chilliness permeated the house and creeped along his skin.  A gleam of light from the first floor caught his eye and he descended the stairs, entering the living room where he saw her on the couch.

Evie sat curled up at the end, a book in her hands.  He recognized it the title and his heart clenched a little because it had been his father’s favorite, although she could have never known that.  As he got closer, he noticed that she was sleeping, with little snores coming out of her slightly opened mouth.  The lamp light made her hair look like burnished copper and once again, his heart squeezed at the sight of her, that feeling that she belonged all the stronger.

He leaned down and brushed her hair away from her face, the movement causing her to stir.  Her eyes opened and she gave a sleepy smile when she saw who it was.  She sat up from the slumped over position, her body grumbling at being in such an uncomfortable position for too long, already upset with her after her long day in the city.  He smiled back at her.

“Evie, what are you doing?  It’s two in the morning.”  He squatted next to the couch, picking up the book after it slid off her lap and setting it on the coffee table.

“I wasn’t tired, and I didn’t want to bother you, so I came down to read here instead.”  He laughed as her comments were punctuated by a yawn.  He wondered how long she had been sleeping instead of reading.

“You wouldn’t have.  Come to bed.” He stood, reaching his hand out to her.

“Okay.”  She stood and swayed at the sudden movement, reaching out with her other hand to grip his to stay upright.  Once she stopped swaying, he bent his knees and swept Evie up into his arms, her look of surprise clear on her face.

“Max!  I can walk! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Yeah, but it’ll be fun.”  He lightly kissed her temple as he turned around and began taking her upstairs.  “Besides, I’ve already carried you upstairs, what’s one more time?”

She laughed but gripped his shoulders harder just in case.  They entered the bedroom and Maxwell gently laid her down on the bed. He leaned down to kiss her on the lips, but her hands grabbed him and pulled him down on top of her.  She wrapped her hands around his waist and reached her head up to return the kiss.

“I’m too heavy for you.”  He tried to roll off, but she tightened her arms.

“You’re never too heavy for me.”  She snuggled further under him, his bulk like a weighted blanket.  He threw her a skeptical look but didn’t move.  If anything, he curled around her more, their mutual warmth seeping into each other.  Evie’s eyes began to droop, and she tried to hide a yawn in his shoulder but failed.

“Just go to sleep sunshine, you had a long day.”  She hummed as her eyes closed and before long, the sound of her even breaths reached Maxwell’s ears.  He waited a few beats longer before rolling off her and to her side. She seemed to chase him in her sleep, also rolling onto her side to face him, although she never woke up.  

He gave into the temptation of touching her again, brushing her hair away from her face and the silky strands seem to pass through his fingers like water. He trailed them along her jaw, skin soft under his touch.  As he laid there, his brain wandered back to his comments earlier in the day and he closed his eyes, shame washing over him.

There was no reason for him to have acted that way and to make her feel so small and hurt.  And he rolled on to his back, staring at the ceiling.  He mentally kicked himself for acting like such an ass to her and then never apologizing for it.  You never apologize when you act like an ass, a small voice in his head reminded him and he could feel his face on fire.  He looked over at her.  He should have apologized to her.

You shouldn’t have been such a dick in the first place.  It’s not like you’re actually dating or anything, the voice inside his head reminded him.  It’s not like you ever want more from them.  Maxwell looked back up at the ceiling.

He wanted more from her, though.

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x oc #maxwell lord x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #fanfic #ww1984 #Wonder Woman 1984

[buckyownsmyheart]

Duty [7/12]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 3k

Warnings: Smut!! In the first part only. Terrible editing all the way through. Cliffhangers (oops)

Series Summary: Ex-army doctor, and now the Avengers on-mission doctor, Major (Y/n) (Y/l/n), had prepared herself for anything. That was, of course, until she met a devastatingly charming Sergeant from Brooklyn with a quick wit, a kind smile and a taste for adventure. I wonder what will happen?

Series Masterlist

Chapter 6

 You were surprised at how quickly you adjusted to having someone in the same bed as you again. A month after your injury, Bucky had pretty much moved full-time into your room. His was only a few doors down, but it now acted mainly as a storage room. Predominantly keeping Bucky’s knives safe as you had forbidden them in yours. Although nightmares rarely entered either of your sleeping minds anymore, having the other there when they did, helped significantly. Tonight, there was a pretty heavy thunderstorm going on, and both you and Bucky had woken with a start at the loud claps of thunder that had broken through the silent night. It was now 3 hours later, and you and Bucky had taken to talking, knowing neither of you would get back to sleep unless the storm ended. You always hated thunder, it made you anxious and kept you on edge, and Bucky seemed to feel the same way. 

As you lay in the dark facing each other, Bucky was tracing shapes on your back with his metal arm, whilst his other one propped his head up. He was talking animatedly about how Avril Lavigne was actually replaced by someone called Melissa in 2003. Maybe you needed to put a child-lock on YouTube, can you even do that? But he was cute when he talked passionately, even if it was about ridiculous conspiracy theories. You did, however, make a mental note not to ask about the moon landing.

“She even hinted to it in her songs! Have you heard ‘Slipped Away’? Melissa is definitely leaving a clue.” Bucky poked you hard in the side, “Babe? Are you listening? This is important.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m listening. I heard that apparently their facial structures changed too!” You hid a yawn and faked some enthusiasm. You didn’t want to dismiss something he cared about, but at 4 in the morning it was getting a little difficult.

“I know!” Bucky exclaimed, then he noticed your eyes and his immediately became concerned, “Are you tired? Do you want to go to bed?”

You shook your head, and a comfortable silence fell where you took the opportunity to study Bucky’s face, as you had become quite fond of doing. “You know, you’re not at all as I expected,” you whispered, lightly touching his chin where hair was starting to regrow. Photos just didn’t do him justice. They don’t capture the way his eyes light up when he thinks there might be a cake on offer, or the way his hair gently sways in the wind, and its softness just after he’s washed it. The grace at which he moves, and the little smile that appears on his face when he’s basking in the sun. You may be wearing rose-tinted glasses, but he was just about the damn best thing that had come into your life.

“Why’s that then?” He asked after a pause, “Am I devilishly good-looking? Far too handsome for my own good?” You stifled a laugh, and his eyes twinkled mischievously,

“Fatter,” you retorted, “and not nearly as funny.”

“That’s it!” He exclaimed, and dove on you, sitting around your waist to pin you down and tickling you. He was relentless, and you screamed, wiggling around trying to escape from his hold.

“Okay, I’m sorry! I take it back!” You laughed, holding your stomach to try and relieve the ache, “You are far far too handsome for your own good.” He leant back, satisfied with your response.

There was a moment of silence, and you wondered if the storm was finally over, the steady breathing of Bucky beside you was comforting, and you bit your lip trying to contain your smile. He had that effect on you.

“Can I plait your hair?” He questioned

“Uh, yeah sure, why not.” You sat up, situating yourself in between Bucky’s legs as he began a French plait down a portion of your hair. The feeling of his hands gently scratching at your scalp was sent shivers down your spine and a pleasant sensation spread along your neck. You fought a valiant battle against your drooping eyes, trying to keep Bucky company, but to no avail.

-

The next thing you know, you were waking up to sunlight streaming through the curtains onto your bed, Bucky sprawled out beside you, his hand over your forearm but fast asleep. The clock read 07:42 and so you moved to shut the curtain and try and allow yourself more sleep before the day truly starts. As you run a hand through your hair, it got stuck. Ah yes. One of Bucky’s French plaits. On half of your head. I guess that was your fault for falling asleep on him last night. As you pulled it out, you looked down to admire his sleeping form when his hand stretched out to try and find you. Okay, that was adorable. The curtains and half braided hair forgotten, you slipped back under the covers and folded yourself into him as his arm wrapped around your middle.

“G’Mornin’,” He uttered huskily, his voice still thick with sleep. You wiggled back into him and squeezed his arm in response, before feeling something unmistakeable pressing into your butt.

“It certainly is,” You said, trying not to laugh, before turning around in his arms, meaning your face was inches away from his, your noses almost touching as he opened one eye.

“Don’t be mean,”

“I’m not!” You slid closer to him, pressing your hips against his,

“Yes, you are,” His eyes were now both open. He suddenly seemed a lot more alert. “And you’re not helping the situation,”

“I think you’ll find I am helping the situation, and making it much better for both of us,” You gave him a light but slow kiss, lingering tantalisingly close to his lips afterwards, so close that they nearly touching, trying to tempt him for more. Lucky for you, he took the bait, and captured your lips in a deep kiss. He moved his thigh in between your legs, and you couldn’t help but grind down on it, trying to give some friction to relieve the throbbing that had begun.

Heat was radiating off Bucky’s chest, and your hands wandered over every inch of him. The coolness of his left arm on your thigh was a sensation that was entirely and uniquely Bucky, and you absolutely lived for it. His hand moved around to cup your ass and press you down harder onto him. You let out an involuntary gasp, if things carried on like this, you were going to come off friction alone. Bucky kept a steady pressure on your butt, and you moved back and forth, finding it harder and harder to think straight. The thought of him consumed every part of you, fuelling desire in every sesne. His mouth was urgently moving against yours, a clash of teeth and tongues. Just as you felt your high coming, he replaced his thigh with his hips, moving himself on top of you and pressing his hard length against your heat, and the change made your eyes roll back into your head as tingles engulfed you, spreading warmth along your body as you climaxed.

Bucky started kissing down your neck and along your collarbone, moving his old t-shirt to the side as he did. His other hand moved up underneath your shirt, and he ran his thumb over your already hard nipple. His touch left goose bumps as he massaged gently, and he was leaving nips at the base of your neck where you knew there would be a slight pink mark later. The feeling was angelic, and left you wanting even more. You took off your shirt, leaving you exposed, and the look that Bucky gave you was nearly enough to send you over the edge again. He started kissing down your chest, but you pulled his chin back up.

“You’ve been looking after me for the past month, let me look after you,” You whispered, gently pressing on his shoulder to get him to roll over. As he complied, you straddled him, grinding your now wet underwear into his and kissing him more softly. You placed gentle kisses along his jaw, and slowly worked your way down his body. As you reached down to grab him over his boxers, he let out a small groan, encouraging you to press down and rub him gently as he cursed your name. You pulled his underwear down and kissed his thigh messily whilst pumping him slowly with your hand. You ran your tongue along the soft skin of his inner thigh, whilst looking up at him, his blue eyes piercing into yours. You moved your lips against the base of him and licked up his length, from balls to tip, before swirling your tongue around the top, mixing your spit with his pre-cum. As you finally took him in your mouth, he swore under his breath. You started moving up and down, trying to move your tongue as much as possible in the restricted space. Your other hand was still pumping at the base where you couldn’t take all of him. You built up a steady rhythm, hollowing your cheeks out and bobbing up and down, trying to maintain eye contact with him. His hands were tangled in your hair, holding it back, but the gentle tugs he was giving was enough to keep you going.

“Shit doll, you look so good like that, your mouth feels so good wrapped around me.”

All you could do was hum in response but hearing him groan and grunt in pleasure was enough to build the heat between your legs to an unbearable level. You reached down and slipped your own fingers into your underwear, sliding them along your folds to satisfy yourself, still bobbing your head up and down. You moaned against him at the feel of him in your mouth, and your own fingers inside you. You pressed your own palm down, giving pressure on your clit to add extra stimulation. When Bucky noticed what you were doing, he swore again.

“Baby, you’re going to be the death of me, touching yourself like that whilst going down on me, I could cum right now. Come back up here and kiss me.”

You gave him one last lick, pressing his member down on your tongue with your hand and removing your other one from your underwear. As you crawled back up to him, you removed them, and went to kiss him. He met you greedily, slipping his tongue in your mouth immediately. You reached down and lined him up with your entrance, before slowly sinking down onto him. The feeling left you both a little speechless, before you began to move. He rolled his hips to meet you halfway and reached down to play with your clit with his metal hand, the coldness adding to the experience, and made you moan his name. He swallowed it with a deep kiss, and you swore you had gone to heaven. The rhythm you both built up was in perfect synchrony, accounting for the many times you had done this in the past, each of you exploring the other’s bodies, finding ticks, tells and pleasure points. He knew how you worked, far beyond just sex. After a few times of him hitting you just right, you couldn’t hold it in much longer.

“Bucky, I’m going to cum again.”

“I’m right there with you,” He breathed, his movements becoming hastier, and you were struggling to control your own movements. His other hand was on your hip, helping you stay in rhythm, and it gripped hard. The other hand pressed harder onto your clit, which sent you over the edge. As your walls clenched around him, Bucky thrust once more and then stopped as you both reached the end of your orgasms. He throbbed inside you, and your felt yourself involuntarily squeezing around him and pleasure filling you. You rested your head in the crook of his neck, breathing heavily as you attempted to recover. Bucky wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you tightly, both of you not wanting to move.

You eventually rolled off him and went to clean yourself up. As you stood in the mirror, trying to tame your bedhead, Bucky came up behind you and his arms wound themselves around your waist, gently tracing your surgical scar from the month prior. He kissed your neck and rested his chin on your head. You leant back into him and tried to imprint the image into your brain of him wrapped around you, looking dishevelled but happy, his bright smile challenging that of a star, and it was a picture perfect scene that made your insides flip and smile right back.

“Want to go out for breakfast? Someone said there was a jazz special at the café a few blocks down.” He asked, and who were you to say no to such an offer from such a man.

-

After placing an order of two black coffees and pancakes to share, you listened to the soft lyrics of ‘At Last’ by Etta James being sung by the cover band, and you felt so relaxed, like a tension that had resided on your shoulders your whole life has been lifted, bit-by-bit, and you were only now feeling the effects. Everything you did, every emotion you felt, every thought you formed felt lighter. You had a bounce in you and a ray of sunshine that came from within. Some might call it love, some might call it happiness, you didn’t care what it was called, as long as it stayed with you.

Bucky’s voice grabbed your attention before you could get completely lost in your thoughts, but before he could get a full sentence out, gunfire sounded loudly across the room, and you pushed the table on its side and jumped behind it, pulling Bucky down with you.

“Why couldn’t they have waited until after the coffee came? For fuck’s sake,” Bucky muttered beside you. You looked over at his, disbelievingly.

“Really? You’re thinking about coffee now?”

“Yeah, someone was snoring so loudly last night I didn’t get much sleep, I need some caffeine.”

“Shut up, caffeine doesn’t have any effect on you anymore, and I definitely don’t snore.”

“Whatever you say, darling.”

“Listen to the bad guy, I’m sure he’s talking about something important.”

As you both peaked over the table, there were two men shouting something about a ransom, and you realised they were holding a group of school kids that had come in on a school trip. The person you assumed to be their teacher was looking frantically around for some help, and you turned back to Bucky, a smile forming on your face.

“Fancy a game of switcheroo?” You asked him, and a laugh escapes his mouth,

“Sure, babe, what does the winner get?”

“First to get captured gets to knock out that one,” You pointed to the one on the left, “Have you seen his frosted tips? I mean come on; he’s basically asking for it.”

“Well, ladies first.” And on that, you stood up, holding your hands in the air. Immediately, they trained their guns on you. Bucky popped up beside you and he spoke, “My name is Bucky Barnes, I’m an Avenger, and I’m also worth a lot more than these kids, so how about I take their place and you let them go.”

“It’s true,” You interjected, “A pair of his old boxers sold for nearly a million on eBay. I’m afraid I’m not worth that much, but I’m entertaining, so there’s that?”

The men looked at each other and nodded. Frosted Tips shouted over, “Come here slowly, hands up and visible, and we will let them go.” You both complied, and walked towards them, “Not the girl,” Not Frosted Tips said. There wasn’t anything distinctive about him, so to distinguish him from the other man you whispered over to Bucky,

“Chad”

Which earnt you a stifled laugh. He was now pointing his guns at you both, but you knew he wouldn’t shoot, because then he wouldn’t have leverage.

“Ah, I’m afraid it’s a package deal, plus two is worth more than one?” You reasoned, and they seemed to accept this, forcing you both on to your knees, “Let everyone else in the room go, they’re no longer involved.”

A short “Leave!” To the rest of the café led to a few moments of panic as everyone tried to run to the small exit at the same time.

When they had managed to escape, Bucky turned to you, “Are my boxers really worth that much?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, “Clint put them up as a joke, but it seemed some people really want your boxers. Apparently when he said they were unwashed the price nearly doubled.” Bucky tried really hard to contain a laugh, but as he looked at you, he burst out into a fit, his shoulders shaking heavily. This set you off, and you both were kneeling on the floor at gunpoint, guffawing with laughter. Something whacked your head from behind, and you cried out, the laughter dying out quickly as the floor rose to meet you. Your head was now pounding, and you were pissed off. Bucky was practically growling beside you and went to stand to give them a piece of his mind, but Chad slapped a device on his forehead, and Bucky crumpled.

“No!” you cried, turning to Frosty “What have you done?”

“Don’t worry, Major, everything’s going to be just fine.” And before you could respond, you felt a prick to your temple, and everything went black.

 Chapter 8

tags (message me to be added!):

@velvetwonderbucky @broco8 @sebbbystaaan @nerd-without-a-cause @mcubuckyandsteve @cutiepiemimi13 @livylou3333 @cap-just-said-language

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #duty #b.b fanfic

[sailorshadzter]

it’s 2am and i’m cursing your name - for the Taylor prompts please! Jonsa! ❤️❤️❤️

oooh this was fun!! lot’s of angst on the first night of jon’s return from dragonstone with daenerys. i used this more as a prompt / inspiration for the drabble. i hope you enjoy!

send me a taylor swift sentence starter 

In the darkness of her rooms, she cannot believe she's been so stupid.

She paces the floor, nightgown trailing across the rushes with every step she takes. Red hair falls down her back in a tangle of braids, half falling free from their plaits. Why him... Why her... She thinks these same words over and over again, unable to help but wonder if this is her punishment for falling in love with a man she shared a father with. Jon was her half brother and yet she could not help but to love him in a way one would love a husband, a lover. She knows she'd not be alive right then and there if it weren't for him.  And once... She had dared to believe he felt the same for her.

But now he's returned to Winterfell with a beautiful, but powerful young queen. She cannot blame him for forgetting her- Daenerys Targaryen is such a beauty that even the most hardened of men can't help but to spare her a second or even third glance. Where Sansa is tall, Daenerys is small. She is soft and rounded edges, with silvery hair she wears in the most elaborate of braids, whereas Sansa feels sharp like steel. The dragon queen is other wordly, ethereal, with a glow about her that even Sansa cannot deny. She only wishes she weren't such a spoiled, arrogant woman. But, then again, Sansa cannot trust her own feelings for the mother of dragons, not with the taint of jealousy rushing through her veins. For all she knew, Daenerys was a sweet tempered and her compliment that morning of her own beauty was from the heart, not a calculated comment to win the Lady of Winterfell's favor.

"Damn you, Jon," she curses his name as she sinks into the window seat, tipping her forehead against the cold, frosted glass. He's only just returned that day and she hates feeling angry, she hate feeling hurt. She had thought to welcome him back with a smile but then seeing him with Daenerys like that... Riding into Winterfell like a king consort... It had left her feeling cold as ice. "And damn her too," she whispers miserably, a tear tracing the curve of her cheek as she closes her eyes, pain welling up within her heart, threatening to spill over.

It's true, this must be her punishment for falling in love with her own brother and for believing that he could ever love her too. They were not like the Targaryens, they were not like the Lannisters... They were Starks and they did not fall in love with family. No matter how close they became, no matter what they endured together... They did not fall in love with family.  Tears continued to trail her cheeks as she cries, curling into herself there in the window seat, wondering just what it was about her that kept her from finding a true and pure sort of love.

"Sansa?"

Her name is a whisper in the dark but it cuts her like a knife. She gasps, turning around where she sits to face him; Jon looks as miserable as she does, a thought that brings her an ounce of comfort, of relief. He's come so quietly into her rooms she'd never even heard the door when it opened. His white shirt is rumpled, as are the old pair of breeches he wears, his dark curls wild around his face. "Sansa..." Her name is soft on his lips as she rises up from the window, her sapphire eyes never leaving his solemn Stark colored ones.

She wants to be angry, she wants to slam him with her fists... But instead, she comes to stand before him, head tilted ever so slightly. Jon reaches for her at once, his thumb gently rubbing any trace of her tears away, his lips curving with the smallest of smiles. She thinks back to every other moment when he's come to her like this, as if he had known deep down that she needed him. "I thought you would be with her," she says pointedly, unable to help it, and she can see that her words wound him.

"I've missed you, Sansa." His voice is quiet, pained, his hand still tenderly cupping her cheek into his palm. "I swear I've not brought her here to hurt you," he goes on and Sansa blinks, staring at his with her wide, sapphire gaze. "I've brought her here to protect you. To protect the North."

"Did sleeping with her offer me extra protection?" The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. "Did you go to her bed before or after you gave her your crown?" She curses herself silently, hating herself for speaking so harshly to him. But she wants him to feel even just a little of the pain that she feels. Sansa can't even say for certain she knows that Jon slept with the dragon queen, but something tells her she doesn't have to ask to know the truth.

His hand falls from her face and her skin feels cold without his touch. "You don't understand." He says so softly that she thinks for a moment she's only imagined him saying them. "You don't understand," he says again, as if saying them twice will make her suddenly understand his motives.

"You're right, I don't." Sansa sucks in a breath, her stomach turning, heart beat increasing. "But I do understand you've chosen her over me... Over the North." She turns her back to him then, crossing the room to return to the window where she'd been when Jon first came into her room. There is several beats of silence before she hears his footsteps and the sound of the door opening then closing.

When she's alone again, she sinks back to the seat and curses his name once again.

#jonsa #jonsa drabble #taylor swift sentence starters #sentence starter meme #jon x sansa #my writing #i wrote this #amymel86

[queen-scribbles]

Feels Like Grace

Look, Jas has fic now! :D Ironically, the first fic for my chipper, cheerful, happy-go-lucky daughter was sparked by a moment where she’s very much... not any of those things. Oops. It’s character-building? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It only took a blink, and still caught her off-guard even though she knew it was coming. One second Jasiri was eyeing the young man with alarm as he coughed up blood, and trying to convince his friends to step away because she knew what came next, and then he was gone. A smear of blood and bone on the ground as an owlbear lunged forward, its claws deflecting off her shield.

Jas forced herself not to dwell on it, even as one boot skidded in the blood that slicked the rocks, to focus on protecting the innocents she could rather than mourning the one she hadn’t. She and Valerie vied to keep the beast’s attention, catching and absorbing blows with their shields and armor. Despite this, Jas heard Amiri grunt in pain once or twice, followed immediately by a taunting bellow of laughter each time, and Tristian dodged a swipe so narrowly the claws snagged on his robes. Worried as she was about her friends, her main goal had to be keeping the remaining peasants safe, a goal that involved throwing herself between them and the owlbear multiple times.

When it was finally done, the owlbear lying dead atop the remains of its... host, Jas turned to the unfortunate youth’s friends. “Are you alright?”

They stumbled back, away from her, even though blood dripped down one’s arm from a bite, muttering about the land being cursed. About her being cursed.

It was the same rumor that had persisted for months, but it had them too afraid to let her heal them. They wouldn’t even look at her. She did convince them to stay, promising to do everything in her power(and then some, she added mentally, fingers clutching her holy symbol) to protect her people. It was disheartening all the same that their acceptance came in the form of a pessimistic “We’re doomed no matter where we go, may as well die here.”

Jas watched them flee, heart breaking for what her people suffered and wanting to beat the ever-loving snot out of whoever was behind it. She shucked her gauntlets and wiped sweat off her forehead as she watched Amiri and Ekun set about skinning the owlbear. There was no point letting all that leather and meat go to waste. Desna, please let us solve this quickly... She hated to see people suffering, and not being able to help was even more frustrating.

Her hand came away sticky and she frowned. The back was streaked crimson. That wasn’t her blood, and it wasn’t the owlbear’s; she’d had her shield up when Amiri finished the beast off. But that meant....

Jas’ stomach churned, and she hesitantly touched her hair. Something slick and stringy clung to her fingers when she pulled away. Reality receded as she searched desperately for an alternate explanation and found none. No. nonono.

“Are you alright?” Valerie’s question was kindly meant, but it set the world in motion again.

Including the bile climbing Jas’ throat. Rather than answer Valerie’s well-intentioned query, she spun on one heel and bolted away from her friends. Ignoring the cries of ‘Jas?’ behind her, she crashed through the bushes until she was what felt like a safe distance away. Only then did she drop to her knees and empty her stomach into a blessedly convenient crevice. I had... he was... A fresh wave of nausea rose but Jas didn’t have anything more to give. No wonder they didn’t want to look at me. She had bits of their friend in her hair.

She dry-heaved a couple more times off the thought, then sat back, wiping her mouth with one hand. Her gaze landed on a small stream as she caught her breath and Jas didn’t even hesitate before scrambling toward it. She plunged her head in, deep as she could, not bothering to undo her hair first but digging at the crown-like braid with impatient fingers. She had to get it off--

“Jasiri?”

She sat up, water streaming down her face and armor. “Tristian? What...?”

“I...” He coughed and ducked his head so his hood hid his face. “We were worried when you ran off. Are... Are you alright?”

“Alright?” Jas parroted with an almost hysterical laugh. “I’m supposed to protect them and he died so scared and I have pieces of him in my hair, Tristian.” She sliced one hand through the water’s surface, sending a glittering spray up into the sunset light. “Maybe I am cursed...”

“No,” Tristian said emphatically. He sat on the ground, heedless of dirt and mud, to put them as close to eye level as possible. “You aren’t. This is someone’s doing, Jasiri. And whether it is simply the land they wish to vilify, or a grudge against you for some reason I can’t comprehend”--that made her smile, just a little, which made him smile--“we will find them and put a stop to it. We will find a way to help your people,” he promised, eyes glinting with the fervency of his words.

“I know we will,” Jasiri nodded, curling one hand around Desna’s butterfly. The holy symbol was heavy in her grasp. “And it means a lot that you care so much, but...” she tried to smile, wasn’t sure she succeeded. “For the time being, I still have bits of person in my hair.”

“Well...” Tristian hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “It will take Amiri and Ekun a couple hours at least to skin the owlbear. And Valerie and Jubilost were discussing the merits of setting camp nearby. It’s too late to get much traveling done, they said.”

“They’re right,” Jas said softly. It was already late afternoon, by the time the owlbear was fully skinned it would be roughly dusk. “What’s your point?”

“We will be here long enough, either way, that if you want...” he paused, face coloring slightly as he traced the edges of his holy symbol with graceful fingers.  “If you would like, I could help you wash it out.”

Her eyebrows arched toward her hairline and something warm hummed in her chest. “Really?”

Tristian nodded. “If you like.”

“Help would be nice,” she said finally, after a long minute of internal wrestling over the purity of her motives and whether that mattered. He’s just being nice. “If you really don’t mind? You’ll probably get wet.”

“Not at all,” he assured her. “The outer mantle needs mending anyway.” He brushed his fingers over the gashes through the blue fabric.

Thank Desna and Sarenrae both you dodged in time, Jas couldn’t help thinking as she stared at the placement of the rips. They ran the whole width of his chest. “If we do set camp for the night, I can fix that for you,” she offered as she started to loosen the buckles on her armor. Washing her hair would be significantly easier without it.

“I wouldn’t want to be trouble,” he demurred, pushing back his hood and slipping off the damaged mantle.

“It’s no trouble, Tristian,” Jas promised, shucking the armor. “Just straight lines. Shouldn’t even take me an hour to do it well. I can take care of it during my watch.”

“If you’re certain,” Tristian said slowly, rolling up the sleeves of the lighter weight robe he still wore.

“I am.” She reached up and started uncoiling the tail of her braid from its bun. Her fingers deftly unwove the strands, then started loosening the part that circled her head, still damp from her impromptu plunge a few minutes earlier. Just letting it down felt glorious; she’d had it up for days worth of traveling, and it was kinked almost to the point of being curly with sweat. Washing it was going to feel amazing. Her good mood was damped significantly when she pulled another piece of gore from her hair, but she managed to swallow the nausea this time. 

As the last of her hair came free, Jas glanced over and caught Tristian staring at her, his head cocked ever so slightly.”What?”

“It’s... so long,” he said softly. A shy smile followed. “I’ve never seen it down...”

She started to protest--they’d been traveling together for months, after all, surely somewhere in there he’d seen her hair down--but with a moment’s pause had to admit he was right. Even though the encircling braid was a favorite, to the point she could plait it without looking(and had), it was time-consuming to do. Especially if you did it well. So when Jas did it--which was all the time--she tended to leave it up for days, until it was too frizzy and sad to ignore, then fix it in the privacy of her tent. So it wasn’t unreasonable that, despite the length of their.... friendship, Tristian had never seen her hair down.

“Well, now you have,” she said cheerfully, shaking her head a little to ensure it was all free. She pulled on one kinked lock, stretching it to its true length; almost a full extension of her arm. “It’s even longer when I don’t let it get so gross.”

“That’s not how I would describe it,” Tristian protested swiftly, then blushed and looked down at his knees.

“Tristian, I haven’t washed it in four days,” Jas laughed. “We’ve been traveling and fighting... It’s sweaty and dirty and gross and it’s okay to acknowledge that.”

“I still think it’s pretty,” he mumbled, more to his lap than her.

I think you’re biased. Jas flushed and dug in her pack for something to scoop water rather than dwell on where that thought came from or risk meeting his eyes. “Thank you, but it’ll look even better once it’s clean.” One hand curled around a shallow wooden bowl, and she tugged it out to hand to the priest before sitting down with her back to he stream. She leaned back on her hands until her hair trailed in the water, then raised an eyebrow at Tristian. “Ready when you are.”

Tristian absently rubbed his thumb over the smooth wood for a moment before he moved closer and dipped the bowl in the stream. He rested one hand against her forehead, fingers curved to shield her eyes from the flow of water as he poured it over her head. It was cold enough Jas caught a sharp breath, toes curling in her boots as a shiver corkscrewed down her spine.

“Sorry,” Tristian said softly.

“No, it’s fine, just caught me off-guard,” she assured, blinking as a droplet escaped around his hand to run right by the corner of her eye. “I wasn’t paying attention to how cold it was before.”

“Mm.” He accepted the explanation with a quiet hum and the two of them lapsed into silence through the next few bowlfuls, aside from a couple happy sighs Jas couldn’t completely stifle. She’d been right; it felt amazing to even just rinse the sweat and dirt of travel--not to mention any lingering gore--out of her hair. And the quiet reassuring presence of a... a friend felt like a small measure of grace she desperately needed right now.

And then, once her hair was thoroughly soaked, Tristian started running his fingers through it. Slowly, at first. Hesitantly. Jas wasn’t sure whether that was due to not wanting to pull any knots, or uncertainty how she would receive the gesture. She was just on the verge of humming appreciatively, or outright saying something about how nice that felt when Tristian broke the silence.

“I am sorry we couldn’t save him,” he said softly. “I know how much it weighs on you that we’ve yet to find the source of these... seeds, that each loss adds to your burden. I am certain you’ll find a way to fix thing, but in the meantime... we are here for you, Jasiri.”

Desna help her, from this angle, with how the sun’s light hit and such raw compassion in his eyes, he really did look like an angel. An angel she very much wanted to kiss. And it would be so easy, with how they were sitting... Don’t you dare, Jas. You’re not there yet and you know it. She took a deep--slightly unsteady--breath. “Thank you. I’m glad someone still has faith in my ability to fix this; my people are of a very different mind.”

Tristian smiled, returning his hand to her forehead as he poured one last bowl of water over her hair. “They don’t know you like.... like we do. Your determination, your heart...” He lifted one hand to tuck back hair that had drifted into his face, then met her gaze. “Your courage. If they did, they would harbor no such doubts.”

Jas smiled back, blinking away water droplets that clung to her eyelashes, that warmth once again humming in her chest. “Again, thank you. It means a lot, having you with me.” Heat rushed to her face, and she hurried to clarify, “All... all of you, I mean. Though I do appreciate you, specifically, as well. You’re so much better at healing than I am, and I definitely need that. And I just like talking to you and-” Shut up, Jas. She leaned forward with a mortified groan, burying her face in her hands as her hair clung to and soaked the back of her shirt.

“Jasiri.” There was a warm smile in his voice even if she was too embarrassed to actually look at him, and he rested one hand on her shoulder. “I like talking to you, too.”

She gave a self-deprecating snort as she sat straight and wrung the excess water from her hair. “Miracles do still happen,” she deadpanned, hastily weaving the wet strands into a sloppy braid, which she then coiled into a loose bun to keep it from further saturating her clothes. She bit her lip, hesitating briefly, before,  “Tristian?”

“Yes?” He looked up from drying the bowl on a clean patch of his robes.

“Thank you, very much, for the assistance and the encouragement.” Jas took the bowl when he offered it and stowed it in her pack once more. “Both helped a great deal.”

Tristian nodded as he rolled down his sleeves and pulled his hood back up. “I’m glad.”

They lingered, eyes locked, caught in a silence both wanted to break but somehow couldn’t, until Jas finally cleared her throat. “We... we should probably rejoin the others,” she said, barely more than a reluctant mumble as she shouldered her pack, “before Valerie worries we were eaten by another owlbear or a wyvern or something and comes looking.”

He laughed and pushed to his feet. “I feel in that circumstance it would more likely be Amiri, seeking to visit vengeance on the unfortunate beast.”

“Unfortunate?” she snorted as she gathered up her armor. Even if her shirt hadn’t gotten wet, there was no point in putting it back on if they were just going to make camp soon.

“If it has to tangle with Amiri,” Tristian said with a smile, collecting the damaged mantle before offering to help carry her armor.

Jas conceded the point and accepted the offer, her spirits significantly lighter as they headed back to their friends. It was almost funny how fast the right person could make things better.

Thank Desna she had him.

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

Timeline wise, this is after figuring out about the monster seeds (*shudder*) and the conversation with Tristian where Jas got the line about him being used to people appreciating him for his knowledge, not his ignorance BUT before going to the goblin fort/”Full of sunshine”. A gloriously perfect point for pining fic, in other words. :3 Title is from the Daughtry song “Baptized”, bc I couldn’t get that imagery out of my head while writing.

#queens fic #jasiri swallowtail #tristian #pfkm #pfkm fic #next is probably gonna be exploring/shenanigans fic with linzi and possibly octavia :D #and i desperately wanna write some jas and jubilost interaction bc you KNOW he'll be a blast #otp: stronger than fear

[raptorginger]

I Will Follow You Into the Dark: Chapter 4

He had meant to leave.  Everyday since he’d shared that first meal with Rey he’d meant to pick up and walk out that door and never look back.

However, the next day, when he had gone to leave, Rey had tugged on his arm, insisting he needed to go with her to meet someone named Maz.

“She needs some help with her house,” Rey had said.  “Finn and me are too small.”

Ben had gone, if only as a way to repay Rey for her kindness.  He had meant to leave after that.

But he didn’t.

He saw the way Rey was bullied by the more well off children of the town.  How the well to do adults sneered at her as they walked down the street.  How she tried to keep her chin up in spite of their cruel words and stares.  The tears she’d cry when she thought he wasn’t looking.

He told Rey he’d decided to stay a little longer, but that he’d leave soon.  

But he didn’t.

The local blacksmith, Lorsan Tekka, had seen him walking with Rey one day.  Actually, he’d been carrying Rey on his shoulders as she pointed out different things around town.  He offered to take Ben on as an apprentice, saying he had the build for it.  

“Something around here always needs fixing,” Tekka had said.

Ben found something he was good at, besides hurting people, much to his surprise.  Rey had beamed at him when he’d come home after his first day, covered in black grease and smiling.

Then Plutt, the closest thing Rey had to a guardian, had died when she was twelve and left his house to her.  The vultures and wolves came sniffing, wanting to pick apart his holdings.

Ben stayed.

***

Rey’s eyes fluttered open, the morning sunlight pouring in through the cracks of the shutters.  She sat up in her bed and gave her limbs a long stretch, a soft groan escaping her throat.  She looked around in confusion for a moment before she remembered where she was.  In the seven years she’d lived in Plutt’s (hers, hers now) house, she never got used to waking up in it.  Despite the gloomy appearance of the public areas of Plutt’s home and his cantankerous personality, the private areas of the house were decorated quite beautifully.  Twelve year old Rey had fallen in love with this room, particularly with the silvery blue silk on the walls, the warm dark wood of the floor and furnishings.  It had made twelve year old Rey feel like a princess.  If she was honest with herself, it still made her feel that way.   

Rey scrambled out of bed, throwing open the double doors to let the morning light flood the room.  She inhaled deeply, taking in the soft scent of the sea.  She could hear the waves crashing on the shore below her and the seabirds hooting and chirping.  A warm breeze wrapped around her, her diaphanous night dress billowing around her as she braced herself on the railing.  The outlines of ships danced on the horizon.  She smiled broadly, her hazel eyes glittering.  Today was her birthday, as it had been told to her by Plutt.  She was nineteen today.  

She raced out of her room down the dark hall to the other end.  She didn’t bother knocking on the closed door; she knew she had woken him up, but he’d pretend to still be asleep.  Rey bit her lower lip as she opened the door as quietly as she could.  His room was dark, almost pitch black, since Rey’s got the morning light.  She tiptoed in, barely able to make out his large form on the bed in the middle of the room.  As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw he was on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes.  His pale skin was almost glowing in the dark, the blankets pulled halfway up his broad chest.  He made a very convincing sleeping person, but that didn’t stop Rey from running and leaping gracefully onto the bed, landing light as a feather over his waist.

“Wake up, Ben!” she cried cheerfully.

“Why are you so damn chipper in the morning?” Ben replied, growling.  He hadn’t moved.

Rey laughed, the sound musical in the quiet room.  “Why are you so damn grumpy?” she teased.

Ben lowered his arm, resting his hand gently on her hip, much as he had almost every morning for the last ten years, but somehow it felt different to Rey.

She beamed down at him, the small smile on his lips making her heart flutter a little.  Rey had no idea what to make of the feeling, so she tried to ignore it.  She shivered, wriggling on his waist a little.  His other hand came up to her opposite hip, and she stilled.  Her smile relaxed as she felt his fingers press slightly into her hips, his thumbs rubbing softly.  Rey could feel the warmth of his fingertips through the thin fabric of her nightgown, and a strange wonderful feeling began to hum through her.  Before she could make much of it, Ben’s eyes widened as if in alarm, and he dragged her off his waist, rolling out of bed without a word.  

He kept his back to her as he walked across the room to his dresser, and Rey watched him, confused.  Things like this kept happening, more and more, making what had once been comfortable and normal strange and different.  He was growing more distant, and Rey didn’t know how to bring him back.  He was never a particularly loquacious person, but now he hardly said two words to her.  What had worked in the past wasn’t working anymore.  Everytime she tried to comfort him, to hold him, he’d tense, his expression becoming unreadable.  It was like he couldn’t bear to have her touch him anymore, and it hurt her, because touching him now felt good to Rey in a way it never did before.  Rey paled, wondering if he’d leave her now, after so long, the thought cutting through her like a knife.

“Ben?” she asked hesitantly, unable to keep the tremor of fear from her voice.

He closed the drawer he was rummaging in with a thump, looking over to where she was kneeling in the middle of his bed.  His face was inscrutable in the darkness, and he approached her slowly.  Reaching the edge of his bed, he looked down at her upturned face.  He smiled a small Ben smile, and Rey relaxed, crawling to the edge of the mattress so they were eye level, inches apart.  He wrapped his arms around her gingerly, holding her close like he used to.  Warmth suffused her blood, and Rey sighed, returning his embrace.  Maybe she was imagining things.

“Happy birthday, Rey,” he murmured into her hair.  

Rey smiled, holding him tighter.

***

“Things are just so different now,” Rey said to the headstone.  “I don’t know what to do.”

Rey was kneeling at a small gravesite, the skirt of her pale grey blue dress pooled around her.  Her hands were clasped in her lap, holding a small posy of wildflowers and sea grasses.  The air was still and calm for now, ambient buzzing the only sound.  The sun was still shining, but storm clouds were gathered on the horizon.  

“Anyway, it helps to say these things out loud Mr. George and Miss Matilda.  Thanks for listening,” Rey murmured as she set the posy at the base of the rectangle of stone.  George and Matilda had died two years before Plutt.  He had paid for a small gravestone and cemetary plot for them both, which Rey thought was incredibly kind of him.  She clasped her hands together again, and bowed her head for a moment, saying a silent prayer.  

Rey turned in alarm at the sound of footsteps behind her.  The rapid staccato of her heart did not slow when she saw Ben standing there, looking down at her with his warm brown eyes.  A smile tugged at the corners of his plush mouth, and Rey licked her bottom lip unconsciously.  The way his gaze flicked to her mouth then back to her eyes made her nervous, for some reason.  Rey was flooded with awareness of him, and it made her feel very warm all over.  

“What are you doing here, Ben?” she stammered, looking away and fidgeting with her skirt.  He usually worked until sundown, and it was only just after noon.  

“Tekka gave me the afternoon off, said I needed a break.  I thought I might find you here,” he replied, his voice deep and lyrical.  He held out his hand to help her up.  Rey reached forward tentatively, afraid he might spook like a horse if she moved too quickly.  He wrapped his fingers, rough and calloused, tightly around hers and hoisted her off the ground like she weighed no more than a sparrow.  Years of working as a blacksmith and a steady diet had made him strong, and he no longer looked like a pup too small for its paws.  He was a large man, and he dwarfed Rey even more than he used to, it seemed like.  Her hand prickled with a strange feeling, and it was her who let go this time, flexing her fingers experimentally.  Ben was staring at her with that intense look he sometimes got, like he was trying to memorize every detail.

Rey dusted bits of grass and dirt off her dress self-consciously.  The pale grey blue complimented her coloring well, bringing out her freckles and making her chestnut hair, currently plaited in a simple braid and tied with a white ribbon, glow with warmth.  The simple dress also complimented her slim figure, the bodice hugging her torso, fitted sleeves reaching to her elbows, and easing into a full skirt at her hips.  It wasn’t the style, nothing about her was, but it suited Rey just fine.  Rey wouldn’t call herself pretty, but she knew wasn’t too bad to look at.  It frustrated her; she never cared how she looked before.  As she fidgeted before him, Ben swallowed visibly, and his expression became inscrutable again.  Rey sighed and walked beside him, lost in her thoughts.  They kept returning to Ben’s hands.  How they’d felt on her this morning.  How that had made her feel.

“Ben…” she began hesitantly as they reached the edge of town.  It was busy today.  People milling about from shop to shop, a few horses trotting up and down the sandy streets.  She snapped her mouth shut as a group of women passed them.  They were dressed fashionably, holding parasols to block the sun.  They hid their titters of laughter behind hands in lace gloves as they passed, their eyes changing from mocking to almost hungry, Rey thought, as they moved from her to Ben.  Rey pressed her lips together firmly.  Women were always looking at Ben like that, and it always upset her, but like everything else, it felt different now.  The thought of Ben with one of those women made her feel ill and achy instead of simply angry.  Rey huffed, exhaling sharply as the women passed.  She glanced at Ben; he was frowning.  He raked a hand through his dark hair, mussing it.  Rey’s fingers twitched; she knew how soft it was since she’d combed it countless times for him.  But touching it, she knew would feel different, and Ben didn’t let her touch it anymore anyway.

“What is it, Rey?”  Ben asked, his fingers brushing her hand gently.  Accidently, she assumed.  It seemed he hardly ever touched her on purpose anymore.

“Nothing.  It’s nothing,” Rey mumbled, looking up at the darkening sky.  She pulled her thin grey linen shawl around her tighter, shivering at the thought of the oncoming storm.

Ben gave her a look that said he knew she was lying to him, but he didn’t press.

They were walking along Merchant’s Row towards home when Ben said, almost so quietly Rey didn’t hear, “It bothers me, you know.”

“What does?” Rey asked.

“When people look at you like that,” Ben said gravely.

“Oh,” Rey murmured.  “It’s fine.”  It was, truly.  Rey was used to it.

“No, it’s not,” Ben replied adamantly, taking her arm in his firm grip, his thumb rubbing at the edge of her sleeve.  “They act like they’re better than you, and it’s not true,” he added softly.

Rey bit her lip and nodded, not knowing what to say.  Ben’s eyes flicked to her mouth again, and she looked away, feeling a blush creep over her cheeks.

“You looked angry, and I thought you should know,” Ben said, letting go of her arm and turning the intensity of his gaze elsewhere.

“Oh, I wasn’t angry about that,” Rey mumbled.

Rey was about to elaborate when a drunk stumbled out of a nearby tavern.  They had reached the rougher part of town, the storefronts older, darker, more weathered.  The unkempt man bumbled into Rey and Ben, causing them both to leap aside lest he knock them over.

“Oi!” Rey called out.  “Watch it!”

“Sorry there, pretty lass! Didn’t mean you no ‘arm,” the man slurred, weaving as he tried to look at her and Ben properly.  His clothes were ratty and dirty, and he reeked of rum.  Rey gave a sniff, and she could smell something else, but she couldn’t place it.  Sulphur maybe?  His face was tan and the skin weathered and blistered by the sun.  Despite his antics, his eyes were clear and focused, Rey noticed.  

“Be on your way then,” Ben growled as he took Rey by the arm again, pulling her away from the increasingly friendly drunk.

The man gave a mock bow, watching them as they walked away.

Something bothered Rey, and she couldn’t place it until they reached the dune trail that led home.  “Did he look familiar to you?” Rey asked as they walked quickly along the path, the wind having picked up speed.

“No,” Ben replied.  “Why?  Do you know him?”

“That’s just it, no.  I’ve lived here my whole life.  You see the same people come and go, know when one group of sailors or merchants will be coming into town, when they’ll leave.  Get to know them.  I’ve never seen that man before.”  Rey chewed her lip.  The man made her uneasy.  His behavior screamed drunk, but his eyes didn’t.  They were cold, calculating.  Sober.

Ben hummed thoughtfully as they climbed the stairs, the rain finally starting to come down.  

***

She was a little girl again, nine years old.  She came home crying and was trying to tend to a scrape on her arm.  Some boys in town had pushed her down, teasing her and saying hurtful things.  Things she’d heard most of her young life, that she was an orphan, things about Plutt, and the like. That didn’t make it hurt any less, though.  Ben had come home and immediately flown into a tirade, cursing, threatening, and pacing.  It only made Rey cry harder.  His words were angry and frightening to her.

Ben stopped instantly, rushing to her and folding her into his arms, rocking her back and forth.

“Shh shh, don’t cry, Rey.  I’m sorry I got so angry.  Shh please don’t cry,” he had cooed to her.

“You’re scary like that, Ben.  You scare me,” she whimpered.

Ben held her tighter, stroking her hair.  “I’m sorry, Rey.  I told you you wouldn’t like me all that much,” he murmured.

Rey pushed him away, frowning up at him.  “But you don’t have to be like that.  You don’t need to say those things.”

“That’s who I am, Rey,” Ben said, trying to be patient with a sobbing nine year old.

“No it’s not!” Rey cried angrily.  “I know it!”

“Rey…”

“You’re better than that!  You’re good!  Someone made you that way!”

Ben froze and staggered back.

“I hear you talk in your sleep, Ben.  I hear you crying,”  Rey said wiping her eyes.  “They tried to take your niceness away.  Don’t let them,” she implored.

The dream grew fuzzy, the shapes and sounds indistinct.  A loud crack and a bright flash caused Rey to startle awake with a sharp cry.  It was storming violently.

She had hoped it wouldn’t.  Until now, it had only been raining.  She and Ben had spent the rest of the day in relative silence, Ben reading a book on metal working and Rey working on an old Cuckoo clock Maz had given her.  Rey was fascinated by all the gears and springs and had taken the thing apart and was working on putting it back together.  The sound of the heavy rain lulled them into a perpetual state of drowsiness until they both were falling asleep where they sat.  Ben had given in first and shuffled off upstairs to his room.  Rey followed not long after.

Another flash and crack.  Rey shrieked and jumped out of bed, running out of her room and down the hall.  The storm was directly over them, flashes and roars of thunder unceasing.  She opened Ben’s door and ran quietly to the edge of the bed, trying to shake him awake.

“Ben! Ben!” she whispered urgently.  Another ferocious roar shook the house and she whimpered.  She hated storms.

Ben muttered sleepily and grabbed her hand, tugging her into bed.  Sleeping Ben had no qualms about touching her.  Rey crawled under the covers and rolled onto her side, pressing her back against his like she always did.  She grabbed handfuls of the blanket and brought it up to her chin, shutting her eyes tightly, trying in vain to keep from shaking.  She tried to count the seconds between each flash of lightning and crack of thunder, but there were none.  The storm was going to stay overhead awhile, it seemed.  

Rey’s eyes shot open as she felt Ben roll over, one of his arms wrapping around her middle and pulling her closer to him, holding her tight.  She swallowed thickly, letting her own arm drift down and rest lightly over his, her fingers featherlight over his wrist.  She felt his face buried in the mess of her hair, his breath hot on her scalp.  He was so warm against her, it was almost as if she was melting into him.  It was calming, and she stopped shaking.  Ben was snoring softly, still asleep.  Rey stroked his wrist gently, her breathing slowing until, eventually, her eyes began to drift closed.  

She was about to fall asleep when she felt Ben’s long fingers splayed wide across her midriff.  Warmth pooled low in her stomach as his hand slid to her hip, pulling her harder against him as his mouth travelled from her hairline to a sensitive place on her neck.  Her breath hitched at the hardness pressed against the small of her back.  Sleeping Ben really had no qualms about touching her.

#reylo #reylo fanfic #My fic #kylo ren x rey #ben x rey #historical au #pirate #reylo historical au

[words-writ-in-starlight]

for the character ask meme: one member of the IPRE (your pick!)

*slams my fists down* L U C R E T I A.  This is just gonna be…it’s just gonna be rough.  I’ve made a few goofs about the Director here and there but I literally have not written a happy headcanon here.

Send me a character and I’ll write 10 headcanons!

Lucretia’s hair has been white all her life.  Her mother suffered a bit of a magical mishap halfway through her pregnancy and there was a lot of concern that Lucretia would die, or be born with three heads, or the gods only know what else, but instead she was a perfect, healthy baby girl with skin like black walnut wood and tightly crimped white curls and all the usual number of limbs.  She wore her hair long for all her childhood and all her time in the IPRE, usually tied back into a ponytail that poofed out into a snowy cloud like a halo behind her.  On the Starblaster, as the crew grew closer, she let the others come up with new ways for her to wear it, letting Lup cast spells to turn it straight as bone (and long enough to brush her knees), or teaching Magnus how to twist it into dreadlocks, or letting Merle braid it with flowers and oils that kept it soft and strong.  Sometimes Lup and Taako would team up with two Mage Hands each and she’d have eight hands turning her hair into a thousand tiny perfect plaits.  It reset after each cycle, after all–Lucretia was game for anything, as long as it didn’t require her to cut her hair.  

After Lucretia became Madame Director, after the Bureau had been founded and the moon base was under construction and all her journals were gone, the Director stood in front of her mirror and took a razor to her hair until it was a cap of curls less than half an inch long, and all the glorious clouds of white lay littered around her feet.

Lucretia’s resume might say ‘biographer’ but it would be more accurate to call her a ‘war correspondent’.  A universe where a significant majority of the population has powerful magic means that even a minor civil dispute can be some pretty impressive hijinks, and Lucretia was kind of like Angus, a wayward twelve-year-old wandering into the local dragon-vs-hero battle and writing furiously in the background while dodging fireballs without looking up.  By the time she got recruited by the IPRE as a young twenty-something, she’d ghostwritten about fifteen books and every journalist worth their salt knew that, if you needed someone to go somewhere horribly dangerous and write something about it with no concern for their own safety, you wanted Lucretia.  Lucretia’s class is Multitasker and she’s level 450 with a prestige class in Unflappable and she didn’t exclusively get that from her time on the Starblaster.

Lucretia and Magnus were an odd pair, as far as most people could tell, but they fell in together immediately and with a vengeance.  It was never an issue of romance or sex–Lucretia only occasionally remembers that those are things that people experience–but Magnus was big and jovial and seemed to fill a room with his booming voice, and Lucretia leaned toward him like gravity and was surprised to find that he could be quiet and soothing as easily as loud and boisterous.  Lucretia never had a brother, before, but she thought sometimes that Magnus was what brothers were like, affectionate and rough and protective.  So protective.  Magnus died in almost one in five cycles, more than anyone except Merle–and Merle’s many deaths were quick, painless things.  Magnus died trying to find the Light, bled out as they tried to save him or fell protecting their backs as they ran, and after his tenth death Lucretia hurled herself at him, at the start of the next cycle, and burst into tears.  He had to be more careful, she said as he hesitantly rubbed her back.  He had to remember that they were waiting for him to come back, he had to remember that the crew was waiting for him.  Sometimes Lucretia thinks about telling Magnus those exact words and she hates herself.

Lucretia couldn’t stand the idea of abandoning her crew, even after the voidfish took their memories at her behest.  Davenport, of course, she took on as an assistant–she didn’t know, she had never imagined that she would reduce him so far, her brilliant, competent, well-spoken captain.  She cried for an hour and a half, locked alone in a room, before she could stand to face him again.  She attended Merle’s wedding, took a private bet with herself that it wouldn’t last more than two years.  She attended Magnus’ wedding, too, and that one, oh, that one she thought would last–news of the destruction of Ravensroost came just months later, and Lucretia’s chest hurt with the need to go and hug Magnus and let him cry into her shoulder the way he had when worlds died.  Barry was…a problem to track, to say the least, and Lucretia was never quite sure if he was alive or dead or just a very competent illusionist.  Liches are such a pain.  Seeing Taako playing up to an audience without Lup at his shoulder was jarring, but he seemed…not happy, but like he was enjoying himself, at the very least, and then Glamour Springs happened and Taako dropped off the map and Lucretia’s heart stopped.  Lup was dead and if Taako died too, she would never forgive herself.

Lucretia hired Magic Brian for a lot of reasons, among them his competence, but his voice–his voice reminded her so much of the twins.  On her better days, she would listen to him talk and her wistfulness would be a small part of her, not enough to really distract her.  On her worse days, she would hear Brian laugh from across the room and there would be a lurch in her chest as her head snapped up and she looked for a flash of red and identical smirks, and the crashing revelation was like losing them all over again.

In theory, the Bureau of Balance uniform is blue and silver.  Lucretia chose it on purpose, because she couldn’t take the way her throat closed up every time Davenport wore a red coat.  She doesn’t enforce it, but generally speaking people don’t wear a lot of red because it makes them stick out like a sore thumb.  She should have known that Magnus and Merle and Taako wouldn’t give a damn one way or another.  Merle still dresses a little bit like a train crash in a tropical print shirt, and Taako’s sense of style remains Unique, but they both usually have at least one item of red clothing on at all times.  Magnus has a red bandana that he wears around his neck like it’s sewn in place.  When it’s pointed out to them, Carey making a joke about how “well, no one ever has to wonder who you are, you all dress in red!”, they laugh it off and make excuses about how it’s just what’s in their closet.  They just don’t feel right without some red.  Lucretia, overhearing this, has to excuse herself, because she can’t tell if she’s going to laugh or cry.

Lucretia is tired a lot of the time.  She can’t tell if it’s because her body is older, now, older than she’s ever been but also nowhere near the age she really is, or because she’s so lonely.  There are days where she’s just numb, where the only thing that gets her out of bed is Davenport standing there looking expectant, and other days where she breaks everything in her office, until she runs out of things to throw and is left staring at a room full of shards through a haze of tears she doesn’t remember crying.  It shocks her, a little bit, to wake up on the first day after she’s recruited the boys, and actually think I can’t wait to see what happens today.  It’s the first time in years that her reflection smiles at her.

Lucretia sits with Junior sometimes and just…talks to them.  Tells them about all the things that no one knows, that no one remembers, talks about the Starblaster and all the worlds they visited.  She talks about how Lup and Taako could cook an entire feast with a bunch of shitty phosphorescent mushrooms, and how Davenport banned the pair of them from piloting the ship except in a crisis because while Taako was learning the controls Lup shouted do a barrel roll and he almost killed them all.  She talks about Magnus and his huge stupid heart that he always wore on his sleeve, and how it broke every year that they failed to save a world.  She talks about Barry and the way he once accidentally became the messianic leader of a necromantic cult, and about how Merle had to swoop in and save him from being sacrificed by riding a treant into battle.  She talks about the year where she was alone because they had all died, they died and she escaped and she thought that this would be like that year, but this is worse.  Seeing them see her and not know her, knowing they’re literally inches away, it’s so much worse.  Junior presses their tentacles against the glass when Lucretia starts crying, and she presses her hands back.

Lucretia hasn’t slept for more than three hours straight in a decade.  She has nightmares, you see.  This is a known, but unspoken, thing at the Bureau.  The Director wanders the halls like a homeless ghost at odd hours, not really checking up on anything so much as just…drifting.  Sometimes she finds another person, wandering, and brings them back to her office for tea, but there’s never any discussion of it.  One night, after Refuge, she passes the Reclaimers’ dorm and hears the sound of clattering and murmured voices, a familiar ramble about who the fuck makes powdered chocolate why do people not love themselves Magnus do not FUCKING touch that pot, and she has her hand on the doorknob and is about to walk inside on weary autopilot before she remembers.

After the dust settles, Lucretia goes and sits on the floor in the mostly-dark voidfish room.  Not very Directorly, perhaps, to be sat on the floor in the light of the voidfish tank with her old jacket in her lap, but she’s finished her task and she’ll be unDirectorly if she wants to.  Besides, there are tearful reunions happening, and she feels horribly out of place.  This is their victory, this is what she worked for all these years, what she sacrificed everything for, and she just feels empty, because even after all this, her crew, her family, is still outside and she’s in here, in this base that has been more or less her self-made prison.  It is, she thinks, no more than she deserves, but the part of her that’s still a reserved twenty-something biographer newly thrust into the spotlight had wished for something else.  The sound of footsteps takes her off-guard, and she looks back over her shoulder, away from the voidfishes, to see Davenport.  He looks sharp and alert in a way she’s sorely missed, but he also looks…unsure.

“You, ah.  You cut your hair,” he says, and Lucretia raises a hand thoughtlessly, as if she’s not used to the short length.

“It was too much work to take care of it alone,” she says, the lie she always tells about why she keeps it so short, and Davenport huffs at her, cracks a faint smile.  She’s a very tall human, and sitting, they’re almost on eye level.  

His eyes fall to her jacket, in her lap, and he sighs.  “Come on,” he says.  “Everyone’s getting drunk.  You’d better join us or they’ll come get drunk here, instead.”

“I thought maybe–”

“We’re still going to have a talk,” he says sharply, interrupting her.  “But get up off that floor and come have a goddamn drink, Lucretia.”

“Yes, Captain,” she says softly, and after she stands, he takes her hand and leads her back into the light.

#lucretia #the director #madame director #taz #the adventure zone #headcanon meme #ask meme #i stayed up much later than i should have delivering these angsty-ass headcanons to you all #someone better validate me for this #no really this was very gratifying #i have not actually listened to the last episode yet so that last headcanon may be inaccurate #but anyway i'm ride or f u c k i n g die #i love lucretia with my entire soul and you'll never convince me otherwise #starlight writes stuff #idiot teenagers with a queue #anonymous #asked and answered #taz balance

[cerberosthehellguard]

Panic! at the hook-up (part 2)

Rating: M

Pairing: AkaFuri. MuraHimu. MidoTaka.

Characters: Akashi. Furihata. Himuro. Takao. Murasakibara. Mibuchi.

Word Count: 8900+ words (yikes!) 

Tags: Aged-Up Characters. One Night Stand AU. Fluff. Misunderstandings. Awkward dorks are awkward. Introspection. NebuMibu if you squint.

Parts: Part 1/Part 2(here)/Part 3

Summary: Akashi woke up after a drunk one night stand feeling at peace with the world. Unfortunately the brunet in his arms doesn’t seem to think the same way. (or an AU where Furi and Akashi have been scarred by terrible relationships in the past that one never wants to get into them and one waits in vain for someone to love him back)

Author’s notes : This chapter is not edited because I wanted to post it while I still got a handle on my writing drive. So, any mistakes, I will get to it when I find time. I went for a longer update because this has been pending for too long. Hope I am not dumping too much to take. Also, changed the title since I deemed that a cliché fic needed a cliché title. I sound like a mom leaving her kid in daycare bYE.

AO3 Link right here!

 "Downtown, as fast as you can!! Hurry!"

Banging open the door, Kouki jumped in and promptly slumped against the back seat of the taxi after yelling instructions to the driver.

Well, that hadn't been awkward and scarring at all.

Shutting his eyes and tipping his head back, he waited for his heartbeat to slow down from its rapid pace. He was still panting from all the panicked running and his ass hurt from him slamming down on the uncomfortable material of the seat. Despite the.....delicate position his ass was in, he had been able to run this fast, he thought wryly. He pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes, evening out his breathing with every passing second.

Oh god oh god oh god-

Deciding this was the best opportunity, his mind conjured up images of the stunning redhead and put it on a continuous annoying loop. Some were blurred and hazy and had too much of red but some were far too clear for him not to wince over. Those wide, gorgeous eyes, that glorious body he had come to appreciate so much last night, that velvety voice moaning wordlessly in his ear - sending shivers down his spine even now (pleasant shivers, good shivers, really good) - and ultimately, the words exchanged scant few minutes earlier that had sent him careening towards the door.

Oh. My. GOD.

 He cringed visibly, recalling what he had said. Done. Both. Oh god, both.

For most part of his life spent on never being rude to anyone, whether an acquaintance or a lover, Furihata Kouki had broken that humble record rather spectacularly this morning.

Gods, just take me now.

Kouki groaned, rubbing his hands over his eyes in a vain attempt to block the shocked - and hurt - expression of the redhead out of his mind. Blearily looking out the window as the traffic blurred by, he pushed down those guilty, gut-churning, foul-tasting thoughts to the deepest corners of his mind. Never to be dredged up again.

It wasn't the first time.

He could forget about this and move on with his work. He had done that before and he could do it again. It would take some time, he knew that by experience but its not like he would see the guy again. Kouki nodded to himself, he could do this. He could. He could. He definitely could. He would work until he could forget again. Drowning himself in his work kept his personal demons from plaguing him.

But somewhere deep down, a part not dripping with guilt and shame, Kouki wished he could crawl back into that bed and into those warm, gentle arms.

*

Akashi gaped at the closed door for a long moment before he threw the blankets off and sat at the edge of the bed, his bare feet firmly planted on the old Persian carpet. A part of him - the part that realised that he had been shunned - wanted to bury itself in the cocoon of blankets and never resurface.

He shuffled to the window and parted the drapes slightly to see the ground below. From his vantage point, he could see the tiny mop of mousy brown hair scurrying along the sidewalk before hailing a taxi and jumping in. The taxi zoomed, nearly running a light, as if a thousand demons were after it.

Ignoring the sinking feeling clawing at his insides, he stared after the rapidly receding sign of the taxi as it rounded the bend and disappeared from his view altogether. He heaved a deep sigh and let the drapes fall back. The room lights suddenly seemed too harsh to be in, focusing on him and silently judging. Rubbing his face with his hands to rid himself of the fatigue he felt, he mentally sifted through the events that happened to see where he had gone wrong. Recapping was his asset, recalling every moment and zoning in on any loopholes. He was famous for that, an attribute applauded by everyone and acknowledged even by his father. But at this moment, he considered it a serious flaw.

Last night had been great. Wonderful, even.

He had never had a partner that was so responsive to him. He could hardly remember throwing cash on the counter before they had rushed off to the room. He himself had never been that passionate before. Images of soft lips and curious hands and flushed body flooded his memory, and if he just thought about it a bit harder, he could almost relive the heated pressure of their frenzied kiss. They hadn't even gone past the entrance for the first round.

And, no matter how mind-blowing the sex was, it had lost the charm to the cuddling that came after. Frankly, that kind of elated, sated feeling he had felt whilst spooning the brunet, was completely new to him. Much more important, so much more than he had ever felt in any of his past flings.

He wanted to know. He wanted to know everything about him. His favourite food, favourite colour, whether he liked cats, his allergies, what movies he liked, whether he liked to eat spicy or sweet food, and so many more tiny significant details.

But he was shot down before he could get a chance.

Akashi dismissed the excuses that came flying to his head.

I wasn't looking for anything serious.

I had just gotten out of a long term relationship.

Etcetera, etcetera.

After a brief final look around the shambled, expensive suite, he exited. His things had also been scattered across its expanse, witness to their tryst. Shrugging on his trench coat, he briefly considered whether the price of the room had been the cause for his stand to flee. He didn't mind paying for both, if that was the ca- he stopped that train of thought.

This was nothing more than a one-time thing. For him. And when Akashi offered to make it not a one-night stand, he had been rejected. Rather firmly.

How many times has it been now?

Relationships weren't his forte. Never have been. Reo had always said that and it was true. They were the only con to all of his pros. It didn't matter how much of a successful strategist he was when he clearly - fundamentally - lacked what it took to be in a stable and committed relationship. He was tired of waiting for someone to storm into his life and sweep him off his feet and just.....be with him. He should do what he did until now. Forget and move on. Throw himself into work, body and mind, until he couldn't feel anything.

Hailing a taxi to his apartment, a tiny voice inside Akashi persisted, that the brunet from last night had succeeded in sweeping him off.

*

"Welcome home, Kouchin~" drawled Atsushi from the kitchen, deftly flipping the pancakes over on the stove, not bothering to turn around.

Kouki shut the door behind him, exhaling a weary sigh as he plonked himself onto one of the high chairs in the kitchen island. He slumped on the table, his arms stretched out in front of him and face planting itself onto the wood.

Atsushi's eyes slid toward him, "Want some pancakes?"

Kouki gave a weak thumbs up, his forehead still caressing the table top enough that he was sure it would leave marks. It didn't matter; with or without his answer, Atsushi would give him a mountain of sugar-loaded items for breakfast. Supposedly one of the benefits of having a resident pastry chef for a roommate, though the thought of diabetes kept knocking at frequent intervals. Nobody would forget the time when they had the stove for repairs and had to eat the pastries from the bakery for all three meals. For a whole week. He could still feel his stomach shrink when he remembered that. Those were some difficult times.

Kouki drummed his fingers, gathering enough energy to lift his head and rest his chin on the table. "Where's Tatsuya?"

Atsushi hummed, attention solely on putting the hot pancakes onto some plates and doling out the next batch. "Murochin is in the shower, Kazuchin is still sleeping." He turned, setting the plates on the table's vast surface, along with jars of nutella and maple syrup and paused to re-tie his hair into a pony tail. It seemed to be getting longer, making him look like a purple-haired pirate. All that was missing was an eye patch and a toothy grin. Kazunari had volunteered to cut it for him, but Atsushi had refused since he felt Tatsuya liked it better this way.

Kouki smiled at that memory. "You know Atsushi, if it gets any longer you can just plait it so you won't have to cut it. And it won't bother you. I know you hate it when it sticks to your nape. Especially in summer."

Atsushi looked at him, considering. "Mm....Murochin knows how to braid hair. I will ask him~" Pushing the dish towards Kouki, he smiled, "Here you go, Kouchin."

Straightening up, as if the effort took every bit of his life strength, Kouki internally grimaced at the gigantic portion on his plate. Delicious as it may be but a man can only eat so much. How did Tatsuya survive this? Smearing the nutella on top of one, he took a bite.

The headache from his hangover was still marching around some part of his brain but his stomach started growling like a raving beast, surprising him. Then it hit. He had not eaten anything since lunch yesterday and that had been just a measly sandwich. With renewed vigour, he wolfed down his breakfast, relishing the taste of chocolate on his tongue. Atsushi sent him a pleased smile from the counter. Pleasant silence filled the air, broken only by the chewing noises and clanking of utensils and sizzling sounds from the pan every now and then.

It didn't last long.

"Hello hello~ What do we have here?" Himuro Tatsuya sauntered into the kitchen, smelling of the lavender soap and fabric softener. He gently towelled his hair dry as he padded to where Atsushi was and leaned up to kiss him. Atsushi tipped his chin down, meeting him halfway. They smiled into the kiss before parting.  "Shower's free now, Atsushi."

Kouki knew what that meant, chewing off a piece of his pancake.

Code: I love you.

"Mhm~ I am almost done." Atsushi nodded, already back at cooking.

Code: I love you too.

To be honest, the coded meanings were true for literally every sentence they said to each other. It had taken a few months for Kouki to be in the same room as them and not flee to give them a private moment every time they made eye-contact and adjust to the fact that they always look at each other that way. And there was no helping it.

The soft smile Tatsuya sported turned to a smirk when he faced Kouki. He put the towel around his shoulders and cocked his hip to the side, crossing his arms across his chest. "Well? When did the little kitten wash up on our door?"

Kouki squirmed in his chair, breaking eye contact. Atsushi answered for him. "About half hour ago."

Tatsuya's eyes glinted like a predator that had found its prey. His smile stretched, sending a cold shiver down Kouki's back, and moved almost fluidly to seat himself opposite him. Placing his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand, predatory smile still in place, he raised a delicate brow. "So."

Loaded statement. Kouki knew it was coming. Ignoring him and swallowing down the rest of his meal, Kouki frowned. "Nope. Not telling. You get nothing out of me." Tatsuya was famous for wheedling answers out of anybody and Kouki knew he would crack sooner or later but he wasn't going down without a fight.

It didn't faze him the least. Tatsuya chuckled and straightened to let Atsushi set his breakfast before him, tilting his head to chastely peck his cheek in thanks. I love you. Atsushi went back to the stove, but not before placing a soft kiss to Tatsuya's forehead. I love you too.

Something broke inside him.

Why?

This wasn't strange. This happened everyday. It was a sight he was used to seeing. These two had been like this since they had met each other all those years ago and it hadn't changed. Tatsuya was the same intimidating man he had met and Atsushi was the softest person on the planet. But Kouki felt a short pang at the domesticity in front of him.  It shouldn't bother him, after all this time. But it did.

Especially today.

Tatsuya hummed a nameless tune as he sliced his meal into perfect triangles and drowning them in maple syrup. He didn't look up from his plate, smiling to himself the entire time as if he was thinking of an inside joke. Kouki bristled.

It seemed strange that he hadn't been harangued for answers yet, it was as if Tatsuya had let the issue go. ......Which was improbable. Or..... he seemed to be waiting for something else, Kouki wasn't sure.

"Oh ho ho, look what the gods of shamewalking graced us with."

Kouki groaned. Tatsuya threw his head back and laughed. Even Atsushi cracked a smile.

Of course.

They were just waiting for the ganging up to be complete.

Takao Kazunari leaned on the doorjamb, sporting a ridiculous bedhead and grinning like a Cheshire cat. Kouki could practically see the imaginary whiskers twitch as if a new juicy snack was dangling in front of him. He very nearly pounced on the chair next to Kouki, swivelling in place to size him up head to toe, scanning every detail he could absorb.

Kouki resisted the urge to facepalm. Kazunari was still grinning. "Well, for someone who looks like he has been ravished thoroughly, you are sitting down pretty well~ So, tell us, Kou-chan. How, who, when and how many times." As if checking them off a list, Kazunari motioned with his fingers.

"Kazu, that's not right." Tatsuya chided. Both Kouki and Kazunari snapped to him, slightly shocked. Himuro Tatsuya rarely displayed his weird sense of morality and almost never when it came to gossip. He would always be at the forefront of gossip mongers, staking his claim on knowing everybody's closet skeletons. Pushing his empty plate aside, Tatsuya kept his elbows on the island and crossed his fingers to pillow his chin on them. Grey eye glinting wickedly, he sneered. "Start with where."

Kazunari whooshed out a breath. "You had me scared there a second."

Kouki felt cornered when three pairs of eyes focused on him, trapping him with their intensity. Atsushi had finished cooking, taking the towel off of Tatsuya's shoulders to wipe his hands clean, looming from behind Tatsuya to stare down at Kouki. Kazunari hadn't given a glance to Kouki's plate - something he usually steals from. Tatsuya didn't blink once. He fidgeted in place - didn't they know how unnerving their stare was? Who was he kidding. Of course they knew. Those little shits. "Oh lay off, would you? Come on, it was just one night. It doesn't mean anything."

He lazily trailed his finger on his clean plate, tracing the dainty flower patterns and refusing to meet their eyes. He thought back to the redhead, beautiful and mysterious. Guilt made its presence known, snaking its arms around his gut and giving it a twist. He swallowed audibly.

It didn't go unnoticed by the other three.

Kazunari raised his eyebrows, "Just? One? Night? Kou-chan, you haven't gone out once in six years. And yesterday, you straight up vanish for the whole night. Without even a message! I wouldn't call that nothing." He placed a hand on Kouki's shoulder and rubbed in reassurance. Then he reached forward to steal the jar of nutella, swiping in a spoon. His eyes closed in bliss when the hazelnut-chocolate mix hit his taste buds. Nobody judged him, they were all guilty of doing the same thing.

"Even the studio wasn't locked." Tatsuya added. "Which never happens. Atsushi was ready to file a complaint."

"But, hey you know what, by the looks of it, you seem to have had a good time." Kazunari shrugged his shoulder and sent him a small smile. He was about to put the spoon back in for a second helping when Tatsuya lightly smacked his hand, scowling at him. Grumbling something along the lines of shared bodily fluids and unfairness that kitchen counters can be christened more often than it wanted to be but he can't put his saliva in nutella, he picked up another spoon.

 Kouki exhaled loudly. He looked at each of them, meeting their eyes individually and noting the soft, slightly concerned looks on their faces. "Sorry for making you guys worry. I just....... I heard he was getting married and I.....snapped." He looked down at his plate again, finding the twining flower patterns infinitely more interesting. "I know I shouldn't feel this way. I know I should have moved on a long time ago. I know I shouldn't let him get to me. Not after everything that happened. Not after six full years. I know I know I know. But." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The memories of the text message received yesterday from an unknown number still fresh, still haunting. Opening them, he tipped his head up. "But, I couldn't. And I wanted to get away from there. I didn't want to stay put. I didn't know where to go or what to do. I just. I ran." He finished lamely.

He peered at Kazunari, whose face was gaping in shock. Atsushi and Tatsuya were doing no better. "I know I should have called you. If I was getting trashed, I wouldn't want it to be with anyone else but you guys. But yeah. Um." He cleared his throat. "I didn't think at all. No, that's not right. More like, I didn't want to think. All I knew was I didn't want to talk about it and go someplace no one would recognise me. So." He gestured to the whole of himself in explanation. "I went and got done." He laughed weakly at his own statement, the sound faltering in the tense atmosphere of the kitchen.

Silence reigned for a grand total of three seconds before the room thudded with movement.

"Oh my god, Kou-chan!" Kazunari lunged, burying his face in Kouki's shoulder. Atsushi stalked forward to hug them both, his hulking mass enveloping them fully in his arms as he placed his chin on top of Kouki's head and rubbed it comfortingly. Tatsuya squeezed Kouki's hands resting on the table separating them. "I am just so glad you are safe."

Kouki blushed, his eyes tearing up at the corners at all the affection directed at him. "You guys." He sighed, squeezing Tatsuya's hands in his and resting his head against Kazunari's. "It was fine really. Well hoooookay, ha ha, not fine if you knew how much I drank but you know, I slept with this great guy, and. See? Still in one piece and feeling bett-" Wait.

The air stilled. Kazunari slowly shifted to share a loaded look with Tatsuya before they turned to Kouki and quirked their eyebrows in unison. "Great Guy?"

He froze.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

Atsushi's arms were no longer warm and welcoming but were holding him there, confining him to the chair as his three roommates and long time friends since high school rounded on him. If he had thought the intensity in their stare before was intimidating, this beat that by a hundred. Tatsuya squeezed his hands tighter, his sharp eye gleaming, mouth pulling up at the corners. "Spill. Now."

Kazunari echoed, securing his hold around Kouki. "Leave out nothing."

Kouki wriggled. It was futile. Atsushi chuckled above him. "Kouchin actually thinks he can escape. It's cute~"

"Why. Why do I have such assholes for friends?" He lamented, shooting a pleading glance at the ceiling, wishing he could be struck by lightning right about now. "I thought you guys cared about me more than my one-night stand."

Tatsuya dismissed it with a flick of his bangs. "Oh we do. But, you know. Sometimes priorities change."

"Sure, we can drown you in chocolates and watch Mean Girls with you tonight Kou-chan." Kazunari seconded, nodding. "That comes after. This, though." His voice got higher, grin getting impossibly wider, excitement pouring in, "The guy, Kou-chan, the guyyyyy! You stay out an entire night and that's like - Tatsuya, how many hours?" "Eight, nearly." "Eight?! Wooow!! Now I really need to meet this great guy of yours who could keep you ah, occupied for eight hours on a week night."

"How do you even know it was eight?!" Kouki balked, staring incredulously at Tatsuya. Howww did he work that out?

Tatsuya shrugged, "Well I am guessing you started getting trashed around 7-8ish? And yeah, since you can hold out for a while, I assumed you jumped Mr.Great Guy around 11. Am I close?" Kouki didn't know if he was impressed by the deduction or ashamed of his own predictability. One thing for sure. Tatsuya was still as scary as he had been since high school.   

"That's not important! Tatsuya, don't get side-tracked! Focus here, will you? Kou-chan, you better cave in right now before I go online and hunt down that bar and ask aroun-"

"OK OK! Jeez Kazu. Fine. It was......Um...unbelievable, okay?" Kouki choked out, the back of his neck feeling warm. Kazunari whistled lowly as Tatsuya's eyebrows shot up further into his hair. "I wasn't getting as drunk as I wanted to be  - believe me, I wanted to shitface so bad - and this guy sits down next to me and I dunno?? We talked? We danced? I am not.....sure. I think we danced." He squinted at the kitchen wall, trying to piece things back from his hazy memories of last night. He missed the meaningful looks his roommates were sending each other, surreptitiously silent.  "And then, um, sometime before midnight," Kouki angled his head towards Tatsuya, begrudgingly acknowledging the accuracy of his assumption. A smug smile lit up Tatsuya's face. Blushing from the root tips of his hair to the thin column of his neck, Kouki continued, "We took a cab and well. Um."

He didn't want to add any details, it was so damn embarrassing. His friends would understand. Surely, they wou-

"Well what?!" Kazunari yelled, unwinding one of his arms to thump on the table, rattling the plates. "You fucked like dogs in heat? Ripped clothes off each other with your teeth and rutted up against the door, then the mattress, then the sofa before even thinking of moving to the bed?! What, Kouki, what?? Don't leave me hanging!" Kazunari pounding his hand on the table repeatedly, enunciating his demand. Tatsuya fervently nodded in assent. Atsushi yawned above him, his arms still around Kouki, bored of being there but at the same time, curious.

Kouki shrieked, "Kazuuuu!! You have been reading too many shitty fanfictions it's showing!" He knew his embarrassment taking over and making him trip over his own words, "Well.....yeah. Pretty much." He rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. "I mean. Oh god, it was so freaking hot! Holy shit! I didn't even know I could go on like that!! Ahhhh I think my knees are still burnt from the rug, ha ha." Shaking his head, he felt his face calm down bit by bit. "But, its just a one time thing. I couldn't even talk to him when I tried to sneak out this morning. He even went so far as to ask me to sleep for a while and go for a coffee later and all I wanted to do was get away. As far as I could, as fast as I could." He looked at his plate again, a wry smile taking over his features. A strange kind of acceptance prevailing over him.

Again. Silence.

Five seconds this time.

That's almost a record.

Tatsuya cleared his throat. "Kouki." It was a command and a request in one. He didn't continue until Kouki met his eyes. "Let me get this straight. You got ploughed hard by a supposed sex god and he asked to stay for like what? An hour? For a cup of coffee, a bit of breakfast and you just bailed?" He leaned in to whisper, "To his face?"

Kouki scowled, lips pulling down at the sides. "You make it sound like it was my fault."

"It is your fault." All three chorused.

"How??! He is literally what I used to get out of my reality! I cant just date him! I mean, every time I look at him its like a throwback to all the mistakes I made! Every time I think about him, it will constantly remind me that 'oh yeah I fucked him to get over someone else.'" Kouki rounded on them, irritation bubbling up from inside him, guilt biting into his stomach, "And that is not fair to either of us. You know its not. He does not deserve my emotional baggage." He waited for them to retort, sighing when there was none.

Kouki threw his hands up in the air, rolling his eyes. "Loooook! it doesn't matter anymore. He is still getting married. My life is going on juuuuust fine and I don't need attractive redheads godlike in bed to fuck me up more than I already am." He wiggled again, but this time Atsushi and Kazunari let him go. He stood up, picking up the empty plates and walking towards the sink, his shoulders stiff and back rigid.

"Kou-chan, it's been six years since then and this is the first time you did something like this." Kazunari spoke up, his voice levelled, "You know how hard we tried to get you out. Sure you cried and moped for weeks but, but, you never did anything stupid to get over it! Something impulsive like getting shitfaced! Or calling him and leaving a scathing voicemail or something. Last time we tried to get you drunk, you ended up driving us home. And this is totally, completely, all on your own that I am so glad you did lose your shit over a message. You always hole up at work-" Kouki glared, his eyes blazing, letting the dishes clank in the sink, the shrill sound making Kazunari backtrack rapidly, "-not that it isn't an excellent thing to do but. Still."

"Come on, Kouki." Tatsuya placated. "It's just coffee. You guys would what? Share numbers? Talk about work? It's not much, is it?"

Kouki whirled, cocking his hip against the counter and facing the three. "Look I get it. But, I am not.... interested. So, what if he is a nice guy? How do we even know that this guy would be any different from the sludge I have been through?" He wrung his hands, crossing them across his chest and looking out the kitchen window. His closed expression giving no room for rebuttal.

The stripes of sunlight streaming into the tiny kitchen was warm, given the chilly climate. Swirling, almost invisible specs of dust got caught in the light, making them glitter like powdered diamonds. Kouki sighed, calming down from his tirade. His roommates were silent, though he concluded they were just giving him the time he needed to think. Letting him push it out of his system. He didn't think he had so much bottled inside, up until now.

He said softly, "You know what, I am done. With the whole flirting, dating, mind-gaming business. I am too tired for this. I don't think I can do it again." He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, shoulders lifting and falling freely in the process. He pushed the hair off his forehead and cupped the back of his neck. Blearily looking at the floor, his voice not above a whisper, "I don't remember what it feels like to love someone without fearing they will leave me one day."

And there it was, again. The glazing over his eyes, the blurring of his vision and the clogging in his throat. This time too, he didn't want company in his pity party. Too soon. He wanted to get out, go to his studio and start something, channel his emotions into some productive use.

Atsushi ambled over to Kouki, putting his large palm on top of Kouki's head and patting it in silent reassurance before taking off his apron and walking to the bedroom. Tatsuya stood up, his chair squeaking on the hardwood floor and touched Kouki's shoulder lightly before he followed suit. He stopped on the doorway and said in a quiet voice. "You should give yourself a chance, Kouki. You just might be surprised."

Kouki didn't move, not even to retort. Tatsuya sighed, his shoulders sagging and he left, throwing a look in Kazunari's direction. The kitchen was quiet until they heard the distinctive click of their bedroom door.

He should have known his friends would understand his craving for time alone right now. Alone time to distract himself was different than alone time to curl into himself. If the shoe was on the other foot then he would have done the same thing. Kouki drew a ragged breath, placing his hands behind on the counter, his eyes closed. Thank you, you two.

Kazunari watched him from his chair. "He isn't wrong, you know."

Kouki snapped to him, ready to retaliate. He didn't get a chance. "We get what you are saying, Kou-chan. But, did you think we got our partners without suffering our share of personal angst?" Kazunari was scary when he was calm. He was calm now. His light grey eyes pierced straight through Kouki, picking at his soul. Kouki was reminded of ruby red eyes with elongated pupils. More intense than the stare he was being subjected to. Much much more.

Strange.

"You know how many years it took for Atsushi and Tatsuya to get together. You saw how broken Atsushi was when Tatsuya moved to the US for uni. You were there! Hell, even after being with him as a boyfriend for two years, I cant figure out if Shin-chan is into me like I am into him!" His voice rose, exasperation written all over his features, dripping into his tone. "God, Kou-chan. It doesn't matter if its this guy or any other guy. You don't really know what you have until you give it a shot."

He blinked, backing off. "Sure, it goes the other way around too. You never know how wrong you are about a person until its too late. I will give you that. I get your fears. I really do. We all do. But, think about it." Raising his hands, palms facing forward, he acquiesced, "A little dating did no one any harm. You could just go on a few cutesy dates, see for yourself whether you want to take the plunge and then decide. Just......test the waters, okay? No one is going to kill you if you were to say, hm, you want to stay friends. Simple, isn't it?"

Kouki contemplated, his voice careful, "And if he doesn't back off after that?"

The smile that spread on Kazunari's face showed everything. He had won. "Oh, you don't have to worry about that." He rubbed his hands together in glee, "We have Atsushi on our side. And with Tatsuya standing next to him, the intimidation factor is pretty much guaranteed to make any creep run for his life."

In spite of himself, Kouki snorted. "You are one. Sly. Bastard." Kazunari just snickered. "Thank you though. I will keep that offer in mind."

 Starting to unbutton his crusty and wrinkled shirt, wincing at the smell, Kouki changed topics. "Those two are getting ready to leave for the bakery. I am gonna take a badly needed shower. What are you going to do?"

Kazunari gripped the table with both hands and leaned back as far as he could - chair tilting under his weight - savouring the danger of falling over. Going over the agenda for today, he mused, "I finished a shift at 2AM, and my call starts later in the afternoon. But I might sneak in during lunch to see Shin-chan. Hmmmm. I guess I will take a nap until then."

"You do that." Kouki nodded. He was about to strip himself off his shirt and go into their common bathroom when he remembered. "Oh yeah, how's the moving in coming?"

Kazunari chuckled darkly, "Aww Kou-chan, missing me already? Ok ok, stop looking at me like that. Its going....as planned. I am just - hmmm - maybe a day away from getting my blankets stored in his room? My toothbrush will soon have a permanent place in his cup too. I am actually shocked; I took out almost all my things from here and shelved it there and he still hasn't noticed it? I am terribly disappointed in Shin-chan. One time I caught him using my deodorant, Kou-chan, mine! He just used it like it was his own. I don't think he even knew how it got there."

Kouki pulled a face. "I pity the day Midorima-san asks you to move in with him and you tell him, in that obnoxiously cheery voice of yours, you have already been living with him for over half a year."

Kazunari cackled, rattling his chair, practically flailing his arms to grab the table and keep himself upright. "Oh maaan! That is going to be sooo epic! I will definitely have my camera ready for that. I cannot. Wait." Tears peeked out from the corner of his eyes as he continued to laugh helplessly. Kouki couldn't help but join in. A tiny part of him wanted to see that sight too.

"Ahhhh, but Shin-chan is like a squirrel you see; he scares easy." Wiping off the stray tears, Kazunari heaved to regain his breath. "When he eventually asks me to move in with him and finds that I don't have much stuff besides a small stack of clothes, he wouldn't be, you know, all shook up about it." He shrugged his shoulders, impish grin still in place. "Hence, I gotta store all my stuff at his before it happens and appear like 'the perfect boyfriend who doesn't crowd his boyfriend's place'." The air quotes did not help his argument. He continued, thumbing his chin thoughtfully, "I am guessing, and this is purely based on how astonishingly oblivious he is - oh Kou-chan, you have no idea how much I suffered to get him to go out with me - it would take him about a year to see that three quarters of his closet is all me." He finished with a triumphant 'HA!', extremely pleased with the ingenuity of his plan.

Poor Midorima-san.

"You are such an asshole. And you used 'hence'. God, what is it with today." Kouki smirked at him, no spite in his words. "Alright, sleep well Kazu."

He received a thumbs up in response, Kazunari already occupying himself with the nutella jar again. He stumbled on his way to the bathroom, his sweaty, sticky pants making him sluggish. He pulled off his shirt and tore himself free of his pants and paused. He mulled on whether to put them in the hamper or hand wash them; he shrugged and balled them up and threw it in the basket - he can listen to Tatsuya's complaints about the questionable stains later.

*

Kouki closed his eyes and let the warm drizzle of the shower calm his mind. His shoulders relaxed, the tensions leaving the tendons as he loosened them, making him emit a blissful groan. Supporting his body by placing his palms on the tiles in front of him he lifted his head to face the soft attack of the steamy shower. The water cascaded down his body, traversing every inch of his skin, licking all the marks that had been made last night.

Exhaling an audible moan at the numbing relief he felt, he let his mind wander. Unsurprisingly to the conversation in the kitchen. He would be lying to himself if he denied feeling a tinge of jealousy every time Atsushi lazily wound his extra long arms around Tatsuya's waist to tuck his head under his chin or the way Midorima would sneak glances at Kazunari, whenever he thought no one was looking, each glance lingering a moment longer than the previous before blushing and looking away.

The gestures, so loving, casual, so seeped in their familiarity left him aching.

He felt happy for his friends to have found partners whom they loved and who loved them back. But, it was always happiness flavoured with a touch of envy. He felt terribly guilty about it, he should only be happy and not think of himself all the time. But he couldn't help it. It was selfish of him and he knew it.

It had taken him six years to piece himself back together after the toxicity of his past relationships. Those that never meant anything, never amounted to anything, but scarring all the same. Like a freshly opened wound. He had staved off of dating, completely cutting off contact, just to bring himself to the state where he couldn't feel anything but apathy.

The ones of his past would be shocked if the saw him now, someone they had broken with their cold words and harsh actions. They were the ones that left him, yelling and turning the blame over to him, making him shrink further into himself. Confirming his belief that his share of happiness would never come. His presence would never be someone's priority. His laugh over the phone would never make someone smile into their pillow. Someone whom he could think of as significant and who regarded him as significant in return. Days were spent crying and blankly staring at the wall and nights spent hugging and curling into himself, willing desperately for sleep that evaded him. His friends had swooped in then, forcing him to live with them for a while until he could get back on his own.

Work had distracted him beautifully, his art major paying him off. He spent innumerable hours pouring out his feelings and frustrations to create whatever caught his fancy on any medium he chose. Be it kneading the paper-mache or chipping away wood with a razor blade or beating the hot metal iron to form the image he had in his mind, it became a let out for all his unrequited, discarded feelings. His works became more passionate and fiery and outspoken and more soulfully resonant as he began to channel his unshed tears and unheard screams into them. Suffering inspired him like nothing else had.

It turned out for the best; he could be happy for his friends now without thinking of himself. Acceptance was truly a blessing. He wore it like an armour, a shield, a wall around himself. Forming those walls was one of the best decisions he had ever made, concluded Kouki as he furiously scrubbed himself off with the lavender scented liquid soap. He winced audibly when the soap seeped into the scratches on his skin. The faintly visible nail marks and hickeys glowed red, making him flush with embarrassment.

One single text announcing his ex's marriage had driven him over the edge. Shattering down his walls with a single hit.

Then those weren't walls, you fool. You built a pyramid of playing cards all these years.   

He didn't know how long he sat there on his work table with the phone in hand, looking at the same message listlessly. He didn't remember running, or ordering shots like his life depended on it or grinding against a guy on the dance floor. The next thing he knew was he was luring a drunk guy with red hair into a taxi and pulling up in front of the nearest love hotel. He knew for a fact that they didn't even make it past the room entrance for their first time. Oh jeez. He had been royally fucked alright. He softly jammed his head against the wall a couple times at his own stupidity.

Turning off the shower, he searched for a towel. Shivering a little without the heat, he wrapped himself up. He had woken up earlier than the redhead, and had tried to slink away without waking him up, terribly ashamed of what he had done and knowing he couldn't give any kind of proper apology without dying every few words. Ha ha.

He should have known.

The Universe loved to fuck with him.

He had hurt the poor guy. He had used him and hurt him. He was the lowest among the lowest. Effectively giving his insecurities and guilt-tripping conscious a wonderful field day today in his brain.

Nope. No no no no.

Stop it.

Enough.

Feeling colder, he tightened his hold on the towel, hugging it around him as he wandered back to his room. The house was quiet, which meant Kazu was sleeping and the other two had left for work already. A quick check revealed that yup, the kitchen had been cleaned and there were two flasks placed on the island - coffee, he knew, for him and Kazunari. He tip-toed to their shared closet, toeing it open and rummaging through it. He unearthed a long sleeved white tee, striped sweatpants before something else caught his eye. Pulling it out, he found it Atsushi's old - dreadfully old, was it from high school? - soft purple sweater. It wouldn't fit him now, so he wont mind - Kouki shrugged as he put them on. He sniffed the calming honeydew and jasmine smell of the fabric softener that wafted, rolling up the sleeves so his hands weren't buried by the large sweater.

He caught himself in the mirror and promptly decided that he wouldn't waste good gel on his hair today. It will have to remain the unfixable mess it is, irrespective of whether he was meeting his prospective sponsor or not. He already looked ten years younger than his actual age, with his sunken cheeks and huge eyes and small irises and slouching like a sulky teenager in clothes big enough for two people.

Way to create an impression, Kouki. Score.

He picked up the flask, the one marked - Kouchin - and stepped out into the nippy morning air. Locking up behind him, he left for the studio, wondering what he could work on to kill the time until his sponsor showed up.

*

"So....I gather last night went well..?"

Reo stood next to his desk - one hip daintily perched on the table - rambling about how Eikichi had cooked pot roast for dinner and how it was the world's most wonderful date night before he cautiously broached the topic. Reo knew something was up; his usually 'fashionably late' boss had arrived earlier than literally anyone in the building today.

Akashi threw him a dull glare before scrutinising the data showing up on the screens. Two other laptops apart from the desktop computer were open for him, constantly notifying him of changes and shifts in the graphs. The stocks were looking good today. The negotiations of the Board resulting in a potential alliance was creating a remarkable buzz in the markets and prices of the shares were inching higher and higher. Of course, there was the talk of the gallery making rounds as well. Soon, an official press conference would take place, hiking the prices even more with all the added publicity.

He kept a careful watch on all of them as he listened with half a ear to Reo. He was unsure of what to think since he had seen Eikichi eat and the absolute last thing he would think of was the word 'wonderful'.

For a formal position as head of the Due Diligence Department of Akashi Group, directly reportable to Akashi, Reo hadn't stopped acting the same way as he was in high school. Sure, he had blown away the competition at the interviews and tests and was practically clairvoyant when it came to investigating the credit worthiness of their projects, ventures and clients and proved time and again that he was a valuable asset to the organisation, but still. He continued to treat Akashi the same way as before - teasing and prodding and making him spill his secrets and dragging him out of the office for tea and cakes. And for some reason, Akashi didn't mind at all. He knew Reo had best intentions, and that was not to say that his glares - that usually sent his other subordinates fleeing out the door - didn't faze him the least.  

Reo sighed dramatically, Akashi was being difficult today. Well, more than usual. The desk was littered with documents and reports with countless, colourful post-it notes sticking to the glass top and edges of the systems that occupied Akashi's attention.

"Sei-chaaaaan," he pouted, placing his palms on the cluttered table and leaning forward so he could loom over the computer screen at Akashi. "I am just interested to know what happened. You don't go out much and you walk in here today wearing the same coat you wore yesterday - which, by the way, stinks, oh dear god, please let me take it to the dry cleaners - and a turtleneck! You have never worn a turtleneck before!" He straightened, his turquoise eyes shining as they stare at Akashi, "I am betting my entire week's pay that you have it on to hide the hickeys left by your date and you want me, Me," - pointing to himself and raising his eyebrows delicately as if the whole situation was incredulous - "to not ask you about it?"

Akashi twitched in his seat, fingers itching to hitch the shirt higher up his neck to escape the penetrating gaze it was subjected to.

Reo noticed the action, his eyes glittered with silent laughter. A chuckle broke out. And another one. He slapped his hand over his mouth. "Oh my god, Sei-chan! You squirmed! You actually squirmed! Are you feeling guilty, Sei-chan? Wait. Does that mean you walk-of-shamed here today?"

"There is no hickey, I checked." Akashi narrowed his eyes when he heard Reo's muffled giggles, refusing to answer him. He hadn't bothered going back to his apartment. His emails were waiting and his father had called and one thing led to another, he had decided coming to the office would be more productive. The clothing store nearby took care to give him the dark blue turtleneck and a pair of pants, but unfortunately he hadn't bothered with another coat. A mistake he was repenting for, right now.  

He didn't bother with his poor muffling anymore. Reo's musical laughter filled the room, echoing like a peal of bells. "Oh my god, it's true! You walk-of-shamed here! Oh god, - wheeze - I need to sit down. Please. My heart," - he panted, clutching his sides - "can take only so much." That was the most uncomfortable he had seen Akashi and he was getting more flustered by the minute as he desperately tried to regain the original frigid composure. Who gets shy over casual sex these days? He hadn't pegged Akashi to be one. And yet, there was a distinctive light pink dusting on his cheeks and Reo couldn't think of any sight more cuter than that.

He heaved, waiting for his laughter to subside. He swept his hands in his hair, retying his ponytail and redoing the side clips to keep his fringe from falling and obscuring his eyes. Walking towards the glass wall overlooking the street below, he crossed his arms and observed. They were on one of the top levels of the skyscraper, the traffic below making the cars look like pieces in a board game, stacked and waiting for their turn. The light changed and they rushed out, like frenzied bulls unleashed from the pen. Smiling wryly, his eyes slid towards Akashi, form facing the window. "So, it was that good, huh?"

Akashi sighed. Reo didn't look like he would stop anytime soon. He commented, "Reo, don't you have better things to do?"

"Oh, we do, Sei-chan." Reo tucked his hands in his pockets and leaned against the window, facing Akashi. He waved his hand dismissively, lips curving into a smug smile. "But this is so much more interesting!"

Akashi shook his head, not taking off his eyes from the screens. He frowned at one of the them - he should make a call to one of the northern branches today. He made a note of it and stuck it to the edge with the others. Reo waited for his reply, exhaling loudly when there was none.

"Argh, Sei-chan. Fine, I will lay off." He shoved himself off the glass wall and started walking towards the doors. "Sei-chan, the client should be waiting for us. You want to go see them before or after lunch?"

"Before." Akashi glanced at the clock. "About 11. At least one thing should go without a hitch before noon."

Reo contemplated, there was still something he could try. He placed his hand on the door but stopped as if he remembered something. Spinning around to Akashi, he exclaimed, lightly clapping his hands, "Oh, its my turn to cook tonight and Eikichi has been hinting about pork cutlets for a while, would you like to have dinner with us? We can paint each other's nails after and binge on Korean drama!" His voice took on an higher note, his eyes shining with excitement.

Akashi didn't say anything in response, he knew it would lead to more badgering on 'last night'. Reo huffed, his shoulders sagging tellingly. "Sei-chan, you are going to grow an old balding man with wrinkles if you keep up that attitude."

Nope, even that didn't evoke anything. Only clicking and keyboard clacking sounds were heard in the silent room, with the occasional shuffling of papers. "Ugh, Sei-chan, what is with you these days? I thought you were more fun in high school. Adulthood does not suit you." Reo didn't move from the door, and was starting to get slightly worried. If Akashi didn't snap either in irritation or with a quip, then there had to be a problem. Deeper than a casual sex night.

To his relief, Akashi leaned back in his chair and rubbed the heel of his hands over his eyes. "Reo. For the last time. I am 28, not old by any measure." His voice was exasperated, but not cold. That was a good sign. Reo breathed. "And no, I don't need pink nail polish on my fingernails, we have a meeting with the Board tomorrow. I would rather not have my father see me like that."

"Its not pink! It's bambi. There is a huge difference!" Reo retorted, pulling himself to his full height, his hands on his hips. Akashi deadpanned, making Reo visibly deflate. "Ok Ok, I was just checking my options." He put his hands up in the air and turned to open the heavy door.

"Your only option to close the door behind you when you leave and not come in until 11AM to accompany me to see the client." Akashi murmured, cracking his knuckles and stretching his arms above him, his focus already back onto the screens. He waved a hand dismissively, rolling a shoulder to work out the kinks, "That is all I am allowing you. Now, shoo."

Reo snickered, only he would be privy to see Akashi use cute words. "Wow, looks like someone exercised a little too much and is feeling it now." He stuck his tongue out when Akashi glowered, before closing the door as instructed.

 Akashi groaned. Pushing back the chair and getting up, he stretched. The knots in his shoulders were giving out one by one, sound echoing in the room, each uncurling movement prompting a relieved moan. He walked around the huge office, rubbing his neck and closing his eyes from the strain they were subjected to. Wave upon wave of data was streaming in from all directions, he had to keep a watch on the performance of all the segments and ventures covered under the huge umbrella of the Akashi Corporation. He didn't mind the workload usually, but tomorrow he had to present this, along with the projections for the near future, to the Board.

Which meant, his father would be there and there was bound to be some snark, regardless of his stellar presentation. And of course, he would ask about his pet project - the new gallery - and its progress. Not only does he have to overlook the structure being built, the administration, financial operations and the potential profitability of the gallery but Masaomi had ordered Akashi to see a few artists personally and commission work from them, exclusively.

As if he had nothing better to do with what limited free time he had.  

I want to go home.

Just to go home and sleep.

He sighed, letting out his frustrations. He has to power through, no matter what. Rolling up his sleeves, he moved back to the desk, resigned. He glanced at the coat hung on the hook near his door. The long trench coat he had worn last night to the bar - and recalled hurried purposeful hands ripping it off his shoulders and throwing it near the suite entrance. He wondered if the smell still lingered, the heady smell of alcohol and sex. Reo had said so, enough to offer to have it laundered. He perked up, almost getting up to retrieve it when he stopped.

He shook his head.

No need to mull over something that was out of his reach.   

 End notes: So......the TakaFuriHimu Brot3 stemmed from this amazing comic on the Scorpio Squad by Breedafool, I just am guilty for adding the candy titan to that mix.

#AkaFuri #Niri scribbles #MidoTaka #MuraHimu #Panic! at the hook-up #Kuroko no Basuke #Furihata Kouki #Akashi Seijuro #Murasakibara Atsushi #Himuro Tatsuya #Takao Kazunari #Mibuchi Reo #this is so self indulgent #I haven't edited at all #where was I going with this? #there is so much silliness in this #AND PLEASE DONT THINK OF THE PLOT HOLES #oh god this was a silly fun thing #nope not serious at all #you all know where this is gonna go