#like I think this is exactly what grates on me so much about this ‘understated patriotism’ in Britain

[melrosing]

British people always trying to articulate the essence of ‘Britishness’ and then an Irish book does it in half a paragraph lmao (exciting times by Naoise Dolan btw)

#like I think this is exactly what grates on me so much about this ‘understated patriotism’ in Britain #people here still don’t quite get how false this shit rings when the same country will do centuries of colonialism #pretend it’s behind them and we’re all friends now #then vote fucking brexit like they they’re too special and unique to be associated w the rest of the world #there’s nothing modest or self effacing about Britain

[f1daydreamers]

𝐌𝐲 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐞 [𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏]

gif credits: @u-u-piastri81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

Summary: Oscar is a visitor at your first art exhibition – not exactly his scene – but it's one that he contributed to financially to help you out, an upcoming artist he's taken a bit of a liking to.

Warnings: criticism but not always constructive, fluff, Reader and Oscar being cute, this man in a suit (audience may faint from the gifs), angst, maybe Oscar is a little out of character but I just upped his rizz by a solid 20% because I love him but he's way too shy to do any of this methinks :)

A/N: I know nothing about this profession icl but I got major black tie and exclusive event vibes from the gifs so this is what came out of it. I did a ton of research to make sure it wasn't too unrealistic but experience beats knowledge so if you guys read any things that need some correction, lmk!

Yeah, I never expected this to be so long but once I got to writing, I couldn't stop so hey, enjoy!

Word Count: 4.6k words (17 mins reading time avg)

…

Safe to say, this wasn’t Oscar’s scene.

Standing among collectors, art enthusiasts, curators, and industry professionals meant feeling a little out of place was a tad understated.

But he wanted to be here tonight. Of course, being invited is one thing but accepting the invitation comes with a whole new world of formalities he hadn’t prepared for.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, busy greeting and socialising with what looked like a few critics and journalists.

The notebooks in their hands were a dead giveaway but your hand drumming on your leg was another. You were anxious.

Oscar took a sip of his drink, the one he was offered when he received an entry pass coming through the venues' doors. He knew how much this evening meant to you, both in the months of planning and the dreams that preceded it.

Initially, the idea seemed farfetched, but as you dove straight into creating the collection, photographing it, staying up late to create statements that wholly captured the essence of your creative process, the once exciting prospect of submitting it to a gallery felt somewhat dissatisfying.

In a few conversations with Oscar, you’d shared your aspirations of seeing your portfolio bask in the limelight. However, the reality of organising a self-funded exhibition in a rented space would blow your budget out of the water.

You don’t know at what point but he’d made the decision to donate a significant sum of money to your artist fund, covering a major portion of the exhibition's expenses.

It helped you realise all those curious questions about possible venues, dates, and basic costs weren’t just to fuel his enthusiasm, but to sincerely offer his support.

You were grateful beyond what words could describe, and the least you could do was ask him to be here today.

You were nervous partially because you had critics and community leaders alike wandering around the space, conversing about your work you’d spent years dedicating blood, sweat and tears to.

But you were also nervous because he was here tonight.

Even if you’d drawn a squiggly line on a blank canvas, Oscar would marvel at it like it was the most beautiful thing on this planet, but tonight was when he was finally seeing your work in all its completion.

He brought your vision to life and the last thing you wanted to do was make him think his investment was a waste.

Last you’d checked, you hadn’t seen his brown wavy hair anywhere around the venue, his innocent smile playing on your mind even when you were entranced in conversation with fellow artists.

You stepped in front of a painting no one else currently seemed to be trained on, focusing on inhaling and exhaling your breaths, fidgeting with your fingers by your sides.

Tonight, was the most important day of your career by a mile.

“Excuse me.” Someone spoke up behind you and you inhaled a deep breath before whisking around to greet them. But your eyes grew soft, and your smile grew amicably at the man glancing downwards back at you.

“Do you know where I could find the host of the evening?” He asked, his smile mirroring yours, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass.

"Oscar," you breathed out, and the F1 driver had to force himself to disregard the palpable sense of relief that accompanied the utterance of his name.

The way it effortlessly rolled off your tongue, it left him wanting to hear you say it repeatedly.

“You made it.” He nodded his head, “I did.” Initially, he had doubts about attending, but considering the venue was conveniently located close to his hotel near Silverstone and his flight to Budapest wasn't until Monday evening, he managed to find the time to come.

You drew in a breath, "you look good." Your compliment was genuine, whenever you'd met up with Oscar or came across photos on Instagram, he was either in racing gear or in casual outfits. To see him in a suit was different. A good different.

"Thanks. Pretty sure I should be counting my breaths though." You chuckle as he looks down at himself, the shirt was a little smaller than he would've liked.

A testament to how life in Formula 1 was like and that his neck size had grown exponentially.

"Each one could be your last," you joked, adding on and he nodded.

"Exactly." His laugh culminated into a final chuckle, melting into a warm smile.

When you looked away, seeing the waiters you'd hired tonight refilling cups as people wandered around, Oscar took the opportunity to let his eyes drag over your figure.

"You look beautiful," his compliment drew a smile from you.

You briefly cast your gaze downward before lifting it to his chest then finally up to his eyes. "Thank you, Oscar."

He responded only with a curt nod; his eyes trained on your face before he tore them away to have a look around him.

"How's it going?"

You hummed, thinking about your answer. "It's okay. There's a few paintings that are getting lots of attention, others a little less."

"Did you expect that?" He asked and you reasoned, you knew when you began this collection that people would naturally gravitate more towards some pieces anyway, that's the advice you were given everywhere you went.

"Yeah, I'd be lying if I said I didn't." Oscar took a sip of some liquid courage before pointing at the painting you'd just been standing in front of with the rim of his glass.

"I like this one." You turned as he took steps towards it, his shoulder grazing yours. "This is the last one." You mentioned as he skimmed over the statements planted on the wall next to the artwork.

"I think it's an elderly couple, and the mirrors all around them are portals into a specific memory of their relationship." He said undisputedly. You look up at him, your mouth parting slightly in surprise.

"Yeah, how did you figure that out so quickly?"

"It's almost like you were brainstorming ideas to me on call a few months ago." You scoff, rolling your eyes but ultimately impressed by his memory.

He hadn't spoken much during that phone call, so you'd assumed he wasn't paying much attention to your endless rambles.

"I never realised you were actually listening." You softly said and Oscar turned his head to look at you.

"Every word." He reassured, and a warm feeling encompassed your chest at his affirmation.

His gaze traced over the painting once more. While he had never hesitated to express his belief in your talent, seeing your artwork displayed in such a way stirred a whirlwind of emotions inside of him.

He was proud of you and excited for you, knowing that you had undertaken this journey for your own sake, garnering an array of artistic admirers. It's no mean feat to organise an event like this, take a risk so early on in your career.

"I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you." You snap him out of his thoughts, turning your body towards him, standing a few feet away.

Oscar mimicked your movements, turning so he was facing you, and placed his now empty glass on a bar tray that a waiter had extended to him, refusing a refill.

"Why do you think you need to repay me? Remember, it was a donation." He said matter-of-factly. You let out a sigh.

Despite his repeated assurances that he expected nothing in return, you couldn't shake off the feeling of indebtedness that lingered in your thoughts.

You found yourself dwelling on the late-night conversations, wondering if your eagerness to discuss your plans had inadvertently conveyed desperation.

Your gaze drops and without hesitation, he reaches his hand out and gently slots it into yours, his thumb caressing over your skin in a soothing gesture. Your heart skips a beat or two, the warmth of his hand was relieving.

"This is the best way you can repay me. Living the dream." He smiles and you nod, finally lifting your eyes to meet his. His voice was a calming anchor amid your thoughts.

"I'll never forget how you made it possible though," a small smile graced your lips, and he let out a chuckle.

"Yeah, you never miss a chance to mention it," he quipped, his eyes dancing with amusement. You playfully rolled your eyes, a good-natured sigh escaping you as you did.

Oscar's hand retreated to his side, and a subtle longing for his touch flickered within you. Nevertheless, you mask it with a smile that grew as you exchanged a couple more jokes.

...

He courteously held the door ajar, giving a nod to a man entering the bathroom who appeared to appreciate the gesture. Letting the door close behind him, Oscar took out his phone to check the time.

Absentmindedly, he began scrolling through his notifications: a mix of sports updates, a message from his mum, one from Mark. Yet, none seemed particularly urgent.

Just as he was about to tap on one of the notifications, his attention was drawn upward to the sound of your voice.

You were engaged in conversation with a man, his journal held in his hands, and sunglasses perched atop his head. Oscar's gaze briefly went back to his phone screen; he made no overt effort to eavesdrop.

Despite this, fragments of your conversation found their way to his ears anyway.

"I must say, your work is quite disappointing. The lack of technical skill is evident in every piece." Oscar's eyebrows furrow as he observes openly, a marked departure from his earlier disinterested demeanour.

You clear your throat as you try to collect yourself, bringing your fingers up to your mouth to hide your quivering lip.

You had previously cautioned yourself that not everyone will like your work, but experiencing such candid criticism directly was far more destructive than you could have expected.

"Um, okay. What sort of things did you not like about it?" You asked, trying to find some sort of valuable insight from such a respected critic in your community.

"The colours are garish and clash horribly. It's clear that you have no understanding of colour theory or composition." You nod, gathering some form of strength to just take his words on the chin but you were failing rather miserably. Your stomach was sinking, and your eyes were watering slowly.

"It's a shame that your efforts have resulted in such subpar creations." Your jaw tightens and as you scramble for the right words to respond with in your mind, a hand presses into your lower back from behind.

"Excuse me. I want to purchase a piece, but I can't seem to find your sales assistant." The accent is unmistakable, and you muster a smile as you turn to face him.

"I'll help you." Your voice is unsteady, your emotions deflated.

"Thank you," Oscar responds, though his gaze carries a hint of concern. He moves to follow you but before he can do so, the critic extends his hand to grasp his arm, waiting until he's certain you're out of earshot.

"Coming from a collector, don't bother." He smirks, his conviction clear. Yet, the F1 driver's face remains impassive.

"Sorry, I don't remember asking you. Now, if you don't mind." He looks down at the grip on his arm, his fist clenching by his side. The critic seems taken aback at the blank expression looking back at him, devoid of any gratefulness.

He swallows before loosening his grip.

Oscar rounds the pillar just as you press down on the handle to the fire door exit at the distant end.

He contemplates whether he should grant you some space, but he wonders if doing so will only make matters worse.

Pausing briefly, he contemplates his choices before deciding to make his way toward the fire exit anyway. His hand firmly grasps the handle, and he proceeds to push open the door.

With your back turned towards him, you're unaware of his presence. Your palms are pressed against your face as a means of stifling your sniffles hence the closing of the door registers faintly, the sound hardly penetrating your thoughts.

It's only when the crunching of gravel beneath someone's shoes reaches your ears that you realise you're no longer alone. But oddly, you know there's only one person who it could be.

The combination of embarrassment, distress, and sheer exhaustion was what left you feeling so overwhelmingly emotional.

Aware that you don't want Oscar to witness you in this state, you quickly swipe at your cheeks, hastily erasing any traces of tears from your face.

You whisk around, smiling up at him and nodding your head. "I'm good Os. It's not always going to be a perfect score, right?" His heart swells at the nickname you called him, very few people did so, but hearing it from you felt special in a way.

"He's a dick," the F1 driver bluntly responds, his tone carrying a hint of anger.

You chuckle softly, but the sigh that follows is slightly shaky. A wave of heaviness crashes over you again as the critic's hurtful words echo in your mind, your stomach sinking in response.

Oscar picks up on the shift of emotion and his eyes soften at your teary and lowering expression.

Without a word, he opens his arms and pulls you into an embrace. You don't resist; instead, you bury your face in his shoulder, your shoulders trembling as silent tears escape your eyes.

His arms encircle you tightly, offering a comforting refuge as your emotions spill over again.

His chest rises and falls with each steady breath, the rhythm providing you with some comfort despite how irritated you're getting at yourself for letting one conversation bother you this much.

As he holds you, his chest aches both for your vulnerability and the anger he feels towards the critic who provoked it. You reluctantly pull away after a minute or so, a mixture of gratitude and sadness in your eyes.

But in the moment, you can't help but feel that the money he donated for the exhibition might have gone to waste, that your efforts fell short.

Disappointing your clients is business but disappointing him felt personal, he was the reason you even had a chance to do this, and it'd turned out horribly.

"I let you down," you say quietly, and Oscar's eyebrows knit together as he studies your expression.

"How? Every piece I love, Y/N." He responds, placing his hand on your forearm, his touch warm. It sends a flurry of goosebumps over your skin which you're sure he would've picked up on considering his attention to detail.

He positions his index finger under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes which you do. Your legs suddenly feel like they're incapable of keeping you upright, your face warming under his gaze.

"You didn't let me down." He whispers.

Oscar's concern remains palpable as his hand doesn't fall back to his side. His eyes hold a depth of emotion, the colours in his eyes becoming more distinct.

The connection that you can sense increases, and it's as if the unspoken understanding between you becomes more profound in that moment.

His cologne surrounds you but it's his gaze that flickers to your lips, a fleeting but unmistakable gesture. You realise that he's leaning in closer and there's a fraction of a second when it feels like the world around you fades.

The possibility of his lips meeting yours feels tantalisingly close.

But just as the moment deepens, you're both interrupted by one of the assistants, their voice breaking through the charged atmosphere.

"Sorry," the assistant interjects, sounding somewhat hurried. "There're a few clients waiting to speak with you Y/N."

Oscar slowly pulls back; he tucks in his bottom lip between his teeth and his expression shifts from one of intimacy to one of polite neutrality.

He offers you a subtle smile, the connection lingering between you even as the assistant's words redirect your attention.

"Of course," you reply, your voice steady despite quite the hurricane of emotions storming inside of you. You look to the assistant, ready to face the responsibilities of the exhibition once again. As you move away, you steal a glance at him, his gaze locked onto you for a moment longer before he nods.

That damned connection between you and Oscar remains, but now only punctuated by unspoken possibilities.

...

"Thank you, ma'am." you say with a warm smile as the elderly woman clasps your hand, offering kind words about your artwork while draping her shawl over her shoulders.

Once she'd left, you looked around to see if there was anyone else remaining in the space. Oscar had left a while ago considering he was on a flight tomorrow to Budapest.

Though a tinge of disappointment lingered within you, you understood and bid him goodnight.

You wrapped up a little later than you would've liked, a couple of your pieces had sold so you had to coordinate transport for them.

For the remaining few, you'd wrapped them up, gathered the papers for each one before loading them into the van to have them delivered back to your studio.

Oscar eventually made it back to the space he'd rented on Airbnb, staying in a hotel for a week definitely wasn't something he was fond of doing, a neatly packaged box of takeout planted on the small table.

He threw the crumpled paper bag into the bin and settled onto the couch, his phone in hand. He opened Instagram, scrolling through his feed to pass the time it'd take for him to get sleepy.

As he tapped through the stories, your profile picture caught his eye. He felt a smile tug at his lips as he watched it whole. The familiar scenes of the exhibition unfolded before him – videos capturing the venue, the artwork.

His gaze lingered on the art as if he hadn't been there tonight, his mind wandering into the world you had created. It wasn't just the work itself that interested him; it was the glimpse they offered into your mind, your perspective, and the emotions you poured into your work.

The admiration he felt for your creativity was intertwined with the growing fondness he was developing for you as a person.

Once you'd reached home, you dropped on to the couch with a sigh of relief that the day was done.

So, when your phone started vibrating besides you, you groaned and brought it up to your ear, not bothering to take a look at the caller ID.

"Y/N," you closed your eyes and waited for the other person to respond. They stuttered first before speaking up, "should I - should I reply with my name, or do we just get into the conversation?"

You lightly gasped, chuckling and straightening up on the couch. "Oscar, sorry. I'm still in work mode I think." You rubbed your forehead and the F1 driver poked through his food with a fork on the other end.

"No harm done. You back from the venue?" He asked and you stretched your legs out in front of you, fiddling with the hem of your dress.

"Yeah, only just. Perfect timing, Piastri." He smiled at your response, "I pride myself in that."

"I'm sure you do." You joked teasingly and fell back on the couch again. The similar onset of warmth and goosebumps from earlier bubbled up again inside of you.

"I thought you would've knocked out by now." Oscar hums, swallowing his food as he traps his phone between his ear and shoulder, throwing the now empty box on to the coffee table in front of him.

"Yeah well, I needed to eat. Luckily for me, there was a long queue at every takeaway place tonight." He retorted sarcastically and you scoffed, "typical London."

He agreed wordlessly before shifting his body horizontally, propping his head up on the armrest, his legs splaying over the leather sofa.

"What did you end up getting?" He made a humming sound as he reached for the receipt he'd tossed carelessly aside, bringing it up to eye level.

"Caribbean chicken curry." He said slowly, squinting to read the half-printed letters. Your stomach rumbling beneath you helped you remember that you too hadn't eaten for majority of the day. Your last meal was breakfast with a few snacks you always have on hand.

"Sounds good. I'd kill for some chicken curry right now." You mumble and Oscar's head turns to look up at the clock hung on the wall above the television.

"How 'bout I bring some?" He asks nonchalantly and your heart skips, you stutter in your response, glancing at the digital clock blinking at you from the corner table.

"You'd do that?" You say, a little more high-pitched than you would've preferred.

He smiles, refraining to say something corny. "Yeah, well I mean it's not my bedtime for another hour so..." He trails off thus leaving you to make the decision.

You don't even care about the food anymore, your stomach is doing somersaults from the mere thought of seeing him twice in one day.

"Only if it's alright with you. If you need to sleep, please sleep." You insist and there's a pause, you could swear you hear keys jangling on the other end of the phone before Oscar confirms.

"I'll be there in a bit."

...

You're changed into some slightly more flattering pyjamas than your regular animated giraffe ones when you hear a knock on your door. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you walk the length of the hallway and reach for the doorknob.

Giving it a couple of moments, you open the door to find Oscar standing there, a warm smile on his face that mirrors your own feelings.

He's holding a paper bag up and you smile, "my saviour. Come in."

He slides past you, toeing his trainers off and pushing them up to the wall so they weren't in the direct pathway, allowing you to lead him into the living room.

He places the bag on to your wooden dining table and you sigh in delight, the smell of the food faintly wafting out of it.

"How much do I owe you?" He shakes his head, letting you take the box out of the bag.

"Only your eternal gratitude," he replies, his lips curving into a smile as he takes in the sight of your light expression, your eyes lit with appreciation.

"You already have that." You chuckle.

Eventually, you begin eating, all the while holding a conversation. With each passing minute, a subtle worry creeps in - that he might decide to leave soon. Not that you're against him getting his rest, but your own enjoyment of his company is growing stronger by the second.

The idea of the evening ending prematurely becomes less and less appealing. The warmth of his presence, the humour in his words, the hesitance you initially felt about him leaving transformed into a silent plea for him to stay, at least a little longer.

"I'm going to go up and use the bathroom, head over to the couch, make yourself comfortable." You insist and Oscar nods. His feelings he was aware of when he reached back to his place had tripled since he'd got here.

His leg had been bouncing the entire duration he'd been talking, he was nervous but albeit not understandably. He'd visited your place a few times now, he'd known you for nearly a year.

Nothing about the fluttery sensation in his belly, the excitement prior to seeing you, the attraction, the thoughtfulness, made any sense to him.

But at the same time, they made perfect sense. He likes you. A whole lot.

Realising he was getting a bit warm, he pulled the hoodie over his neck to reveal just a plain white tee underneath.

Tossing it on to the dining room chair he was previously sat on, he plops on to the couch, bringing the calf of his right leg up to rest on the knee of his left, his arm outstretching on the back of the couch.

You eventually return, having brushed your teeth since the aftertaste of the curry wasn’t a very pleasant one in your mouth.

“Do you piss for that long?" Oscar asks curiously, locking his phone and sliding it on to the table.

You scoff and feign offence as you sit next to him just a few inches away. "I don't actually, even if I did, what's it to you?" You tease and he shrugs, his lower arm draping off the couch casually, his fingertips brushing close to your shoulder.

"I was bored," he admits, his explanation falling a bit flat.

You raise an eyebrow, a mockingly sympathetic expression on your face. "Poor Oscar, suffering from boredom in my humble abode. My heart aches for you." He smirks, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he shakes his head at your antics.

His eyes sparkle with amusement, "Well, I must say your empathy is truly heartwarming."

"That's just me, a paragon of compassion," you quip, a mischievous glint in your eyes. His proximity has your heart racing, and you're acutely aware of the playful tension that's building between you.

He tilts his head, his gaze holding yours as he leans in slightly. "You know, I was half expecting you to beg for my forgiveness."

You roll your eyes, your gaze locked on to his, you didn't mean for them to glance down to his lips, but it didn't skip past his notice either.

Your heart was hammering in your chest and the silence that followed afterwards definitely gave Oscar enough time to be able to pick up on it.

"Please forgive me Oscar, please?" You reduce your words to a whisper and he smiles, refusing to waste another second and he instantly ducks his head to catch your lips in a fervent kiss.

His actions catch you off guard, the sensation electrifying and sending a jolt of surprise through your system.

Your thoughts scatter as the world seems to narrow down to the point of contact between your lips. The kiss is eager and filled with a mixture of longing and curiosity, as if both of you have been dancing around this moment for far too long.

Your heart continues racing, and time feels suspended as his touch sends shivers up and down your spine.

The sudden intimacy of it all is exhilarating, and you find yourself responding without hesitation, your fingers instinctively finding their way to his arm, your body moving a fraction closer to his.

A soft moan escapes you, and Oscar slides his hand beneath your top, pressing his palm against your waist. A squeeze of your skin hints at you to move back slightly, creating the room needed for him to push you down on to your back.

Your lips detach for a moment as he positions himself over you, lowering his head seconds later to press them together again.

His face was level with yours when he eventually pulled away to catch his breath, and let you catch yours, his arm propping him up besides your head.

"Isn't it your bedtime?" He chuckles softly, his fingers toying with a few strands of your hair.

"I'll just have to use the plane's naptime feature." You laugh, bringing your hand up to push his hair out of his eyes.

His gaze flickers across your face, capturing the traces of your faint smile lines and the tiny beauty mark adorning your skin.

He leans in, planting a tender kiss on the mole. Meanwhile, your fingertips journey to the nape of his neck, exploring the contours of his hair.

He grins boyishly when he picks his head up again. "I think I could stay here forever," he admits, his voice a soft confession.

You playfully raise an eyebrow. "Oh really? What if the plane's naptime feature gets jealous?"

He chuckles, a low, melodious sound. "Well, I guess it'll just have to deal with a bit of competition," he remarks before his lips find yours once again.

...

Masterlist

#oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri oneshot #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #formula one #formula one x reader #f1 #f1 fic #f1 x reader #mclaren #formula 1 #f1 2023 #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri imagine #formula one imagine

[jemmo]

Just saw you top 5 pran outfits and if you still do the top 5 asks: top 5 pat shirts 😊

ngl i just was both wishing someone would ask me this and praying no one would, bc even tho i think i prefer pran’s style personally, pat’s clothes just have such personality, they’re so much fun it’s so hard to choose. which is why im glad you asked shirts specifically bc my fave pat outfits are usually either 1) he just looks rlly hot or 2) he has on an awesome shirt, so here we go. i went for a two two split on novelty tshirts and hawaiian shirts and then threw in a wild card at the end lol

5. ep 1 lucky shirt- i told myself i wasn’t going to go off emotional connections for this but i just couldn’t help it. this shirt being in the pilot trailer just makes it so personal to me, like i remember watching the first ep and being like omg it’s the shirt, and that’s when it hit me that bad buddy was finally finally happening. but apart from that I love how baggy it is and with the shorts, how much of a child like feel it gives, bc as much as clothes can tell a story, going from this childish lounge vibe ep 1 to some of the fits he wears in ep 12 shows so much growth, it makes him feel so much more grown up at the end and i love that

4. ep 6 beach chat shirt - this kinda feels like a cheat bc it’s not exactly the shirt that caught my eye in this scene, it’s just that he looks rlly fucking hot, like for me this is one of the scenes where he looks the most breathtaking. but apart from me being a hoe, I still adore this shirt, esp the pops of orange. i love how the speak to the story as well, with these orange flowers blossoming against the beach background just as something is finally blossoming between him and pran

3. ep 3 tim hortons tshirt - i don’t rlly have any deep reasons for this one, i just rlly like the shirt, how fun it is, the writing on the back, the giant ass cookie on it, it’s just so random in the most pat way. and i know we’re supposed to be talking about shirts but these ripped lil demin shorts are one of my favorite pat staples, plus his flip flops it’s just so quintessential pat i adore it

2. ep 12 sending pran to the airport shirt - this is my wildcard, bc i just rlly like this shirt. the blue is such a good colour on him and the lil splashes of other colours are so fun but in a subtle way. his looks in ep 12 to me feel like he’s picked up on some of pran’s more understated stylings, swapping from his random tshirts and funky hawaiians to something more minimalist and grown up, but i love how this feels like a mid point between the two, so neatly styled and crisp looking but with these fun pops that are so pat i just… he looks so good here. i don’t know pran got on that plane

1. ep 5 fight scene shirt - again, like for my pran picks, who’s surprised. this shirt is an icon. it started a beautiful trend of pat getting feral in hawaiian shirts and for that i will be forever grateful. and like the other hawaiian shirt i love the pops of colour here for the pineapples, im sure @dribs-and-drabbles could tell you something wonderful about what these pops of yellow represent but i can’t say anything intelligent here bc im just too enamored with this entire fit

i would do some final shoutouts but honestly pat has too many awesome novelty tees and hawaiian shirts to list, his wardrobe is a serious point of envy. so ill shout out some personal faves that i feel are less talked about which are the ep 8 stripey polo he wears to bring pran breakfast in bed bc my headcanon is it’s pran’s shirt bc the stripes and interesting collar with contrast lining just speak to his styling so much, and the rainbow tie dye shirt at the end of ep 6 bc what other way to celebrate the gay awakening a finger lick can give you than a shirt that fucking loud. he looks fresh out a pride parade and i love it for him

#bad buddy #man this was so hard #I was literally narrowing down from a top 15 #which was already being very selective #I could’ve literally picked at least 2 fits from each ep #he just dresses so well in the best way #like you can tell he sometimes just throws clothes on and it’s adorable and hot at the same time #and when he rlly tries man does it work it’s just not fair

[gillianthecat]

The Devil Judge: Episode 8

I just finished The Devil Judge and something about this show compelled me to take copious notes - it had emotional intensity and layers of mystery. These are long and rambling, so they're likely not of interest to anyone else, but since I spent all that time writing it I decided, why not post it. Perhaps someone will find it interesting.

Below are my moment-to-moment reactions, predictions and analysis as I watched episode 8.

eps 1&2  ep3  ep4  ep5  ep6  ep7  ep8  ep9 ep10  ep11  ep12  ep13  ep14  ep15  ep16

I wrote about my initial impressions, up to episode 5, here and here.

This is cleaned up only slightly. I followed the spelling given in the Viki subtitles. I mostly don't explain what I'm reacting to, so this will probably only make sense if you've seen the episode recently. Occasionally I give timestamps. 

I was confused by the prisoner switch because I thought the point was supposed to just be that he aged. But i guess it really was a switch

i love how they showed this same prison yard breakdown scene from different angles and shots in the next episode recap

i'm confused about a lot of things surrounding this switch including:

What did Yo-Han want Ga-On to believe? that someone somewhere is doing something shady?

Does Ga-On suspect Yo-Han of doing the switch?  In the alternate angles of that scene we the audience see Yo-Han's conspiring behavior.  Are those shots implying that Ga-On sees it too?  In general I can't figure out how naive vs. observant he's supposed to be

and then of course the question of what is actually happening. I think it's that Yo-Han got Mysterious Assistant to organize the switch for the specific purpose of winning Ga-On to his side.  and nothing happened to the scammer, he's still wherever he's supposed to be, no one else in the story cares about him besides Ga-On.  But this show, as is often the case for political intrigue shows, keeps tying the threads of characters' pasts together, so the scammer himself could end up being a major or minor plot point.

Yo-Han vs. Seon-Ah confrontation, wow! did they both come out as bisexual to each other?  is that one of the implications the show wants the audience to take from that? this whole bit with the pin is excellent.  and the way they tie it back with the "do you like me" So far i'm pleasantly surprised with the backstory they're giving Seon-Ah and how they're revealing it, but not too much and using it.  it doesn't feel flat

This show is starting to say interesting things about gender and about sexual violence.  I'm not sure what yet, and i think what the show is saying probably connects closely to its korean context so it's not necessarily what i'm interpreting from it.  

this whole scene with Ga-On at home.  and calling up Su-Hyeon  and everything in the restaurant.  I'm starting to get more interested in her as a character in her own right (and I think the show is getting more interested also). so beautifully done, and - not understated exactly, but just the right amount of 'stated, not overdone

I think Ga-On's actor is excellent in this.  It's not a virtuosic part like Yo-Han, and I suspect the actor is not as skilled as Ji Sung, but he conveys Ga-On perfectly.  I know he's a very famous K-Pop star, but I haven't seen him in any other context, which I'm grateful for so I don't have anything else overlaying the character.  

I do see the dancer in him - I feel like his physicality is very dancer-like.  not so much that he's graceful, although he is, just that he looks totally at home in his body in a way that feels specific to dancers.  He's not carrying extra tension, but also not floppy.  Able to move in any way at a moment, but not telegraphing his readiness.  It ends up working very well for the character I think.  It adds some layers, because it's not what you'd expect from a lawyer/judge.  And it gives the character I quiet confidence that gives his opposition to Yo-Han more heft.  I think because the script itself mostly puts the balance of power in Yo-Han's favor, if the actor was more timid in his physicality the push and pull between them wouldn't be as interesting.

Yo-Han on the other hand I feel like is holding himself very tightly in order to appear very relaxed and confident.  And I believe that's a deliberate acting choice by Ji Sung - look at the difference when he's playing around with Elijah.  or even that bit where he trips over the wheelchair.  

That was such a small moment, but it felt so revealing to me! the way he trips and the way he reacts somehow felt the most human we'd ever seen of him. so much so that i first wondered if it was an accident during filming that they kept in, but they shot it from multiple angles/takes, so i think it was scripted.

back at the house but the kitchen in these shots is looking very shiny like the political outside world.  they're in their suits with their public facing hairstyles

we're explicitly being told that Yo-Han is manipulating Ga-On.  I mean, we knew it, but it's interesting that the show is telling us

I have thoughts on the shifts in Y and G's relationship, but they're not quite coherent yet.  the rhythms of getting closer, pulling apart.  how that is shown in the way things are framed as romance vs. corruption. and i think maybe it's Yo-Han who is the most variable. He started letting down his mask, felt betrayed by Ga-On taking his sister to meet the cop, and slammed it back up again.  So that's the romance plotline, but the political intrigue plot conveniently also requires him to switch to corrupting?  Or was he the one who instigated this huge change in the political game?  Hmm. He threw down the gauntlet of naming the big 5.  that was in response to Cha's attack on him. Not sure if he had another option at that point, so i tend to think it's more the convenience of the plot lining up with their romance plot than him doing politics stuff in reaction to his romance feelings.

I wonder if we'll ever learn more about Mysterious Assistant?  I feel like it could go either way - this show likes connections, but it's also pretty conservationist in its use of characters - e.g. Our Two Representative Businessmen,  and willing to let secondary characters be flat.  we are getting more and more from Seon-Ah's assistant, so there is some hope.

Su Hyeon and Elijah together again! I'm excited to see what this relationship is going to be.  and that we now see Elijah as part of the game.  she has been, mostly behind the scenes, but now i think we're going to see it.  The actor is only 16! She's so good.

unformed thoughts about the parallels and differences between Su-Hyeon and Ga-On's relationship and Elijah and Yo-Han's relationship. and the lines and connections among all four of them.  we've seen all combinations so far besides Yo-Han with Su-Hyeon.  So far I can't picture them as anything except antagonists over Ga-On's love/his soul, but I can also see this show bringing in something more interesting.  Does she also get won over to his cause?

I feel like we're seeing a Hunger Games' style love triangle, where in choosing between his two love interests Ga-On is also choosing what kind of person he wants to be/what life he wants to live.

I'm confused again about Yo-Han.  if the revenge is just about the church fire, it seems not bad enough to fuel all this work?  even the hypocrisy of asking for the money. Do the series-makers want us to see Yo-Han as sufficiently justified? or are we supposed to see him as overreacting because he is in fact a bit of a sociopath?  or did his anger about those specific personal harms lead him to a more general moral quest to bring them down because they are the most harmful people to S. Korean society? I can't tell if the show wants us to believe one of those, or if it wants it to still be a mystery.  probably the mystery.  part of the problem is that it flattens some things into caricatures (like the businessmen) and keeps others richly complicated (which is understandable, there are a lot of moving parts in this show and not all of them can be realisitic and human) but that sometimes means i can't tell what is flat and what is intentionally mysterious or ambiguous.

(44:00) cute rooftop scene (thoughts on meaning of this rooftop -safe space? feeling space?) but also useful for info on Su-Hyeon's feelings on Ga-On

Is Ga-On gay? That's not the only potential reason he's not dating Su-Hyeon, but it would fit.  (He loves her and relies on her and sees her as family.  part of him wants to be in love with her but he can't be) because there are times where he almost acts like he's in love with her too but afraid for some reason to take that step.  but perhaps it's that he's afraid because he's not in love with her. [this would mean that the show is acknowledging both queerness and homophobia, which i get the sense korean shows tend not to do]

(the symbolism of that knife! she will literally cut herself to prevent him from turning evil [doing something immoral] )

(47:48) Revealing conversations on the rooftop yet again.  Su-Hyeon and Ga-On:  "Have you come back for good now?"  "Actually no, but I need to take care of these. [plants]"  "You shouldn't visit, you should return completely.  This is your home."  "But there are people I need to take care of over there, too."  "How about taking care of yourself? Please."  "Me? What about? Why do I need any care? I'm living an exceedingly comfortable life as it is."

i feel like this convo between Prof. Min and Su-Hyeon is one of the few glimpses we're getting (outside of the generic faceless masses or our power hungry main players) of how people see and think about politics in this society

I don't have the cultural context to interpret this line, but it stands out: "I didn't become a police officer to point a gun at our citizens' chests."

the battle over Ga-On's soul.  Prof. Min and YSH vs. Judge Kang

I still can't tell how seriously this show is taking its statements on politics.  I assume we're supposed to see YSH and prof Min as the voices for morality here.  they let our hero say something that is (to me) such an immoral statement.  obviously they are showing his internal conflict, but i don't know how extreme this would sound to mainstream Korean audiences, or at least how extreme the show creators meant it to sound

once again Ga-On is being asked to choose sides

Prof. Min is the only person shown entering the battle who's outside the power structure.  Well, technically he's inside since he's on the supreme court, but in the framework of the show he's an outsider who wants to bring the whole system (I'm a little vague on what that is - is he just blaming the televised trials?) down.  and he's saying he's going to be using public opinion and the media to do it, the very thing that he's saying is causing the problem in the first place.  Is he supposed to come across as naïve?

I guess it's confusing because he seems to be trusting the public here to make changes, but the only reason that the public trials are a problem is because the public is blindly swayed by them to violence.

I guess the weirdest part for me is that the televised trials seem to be presented as such a powerful force in this society whether they're seen as good or dangerous.  but it's hard for me to see them that way.  like i wouldn't go from 'police brutality is a problem' to 'it will get significantly better if we get rid of he public court'

and it's probably a shorthand, or a show writing convenience to make Yo-Han a powerful figure: whatever he's in charge of has to be a powerful force in society because in order for the show to work he has to be powerful.  but it just makes the politics of the show feel odd.

(I think that's why I struggle with political shows in general.  their depreciation of the causes and solutions of political problems usually strikes me as either offensive, ridiculously oversimplified, or both.)

like, i guess there are no figures here advocating for actual structural change, or even pointing out what the problems are.  The show itself sort of points out problems with wealth and corruption and powerful people not having any accountability.  And interestingly, saying that implies, what we need is accountability and transparency - which is what Judge Kang was saying he was going to be doing with the court.  but then his courts were portrayed as, not bad, but nonsensical and arbitrary, not transparent at all.  but he and prof. Min have been the only people to even mention transparency.  interesting.

Is this show going to have a nihilistic view of political change and power?  seems likely at this point. By portraying the general public as a monolith of easily manipulated sheep, only those in power have any agency or chance of affecting the world.  That's convenient for making a show - it greatly reduces the number of characters that can affect the plot and keeps it to issues and themes that can be controlled.  but it's also an inherently anti-democratic world view.  

here it seems like they might be saying that the media and public opinion are so powerful, you can't escape using them if you want to have any impact on society (whether for personal gain or for public good) but I can't tell if that's a statement that the series-makers are making about S. Korean society/society at large, or just a way they're fitting Prof. Min's beliefs and actions into the simplified world of the show.

unformed thoughts on public vs. private.  Media/public opinion etc is portrayed as all powerful, and the big decisions are all made behind closed doors. This is both a point of the show, but also doesn't always work.

I think maybe I'm not quite feeling the weight of Kim Ga-On's moral struggle because the moral and political logic of the world around his ethical quandary feels so flimsy.  like, the choice doesn't feel as meaningful to me as it should or as the drama wants it to.

i think prof. Min is supposed to be the moral center of this world.  The other option is that he'll turn out to also be corrupt, but I don't think that's the direction the show is going in.  

rewatching, his plan does make a little more sense and is less let the mob fix it.

(50:40) Ga-On wears a sweater at work! Is there significance to Ga-On's two hairstyles?  I haven't seen a pattern yet.  but Yo-Han's two styles are very meaningful so I'm inclined to look for meaning

We get to meet Mysterious Assistant!!! And so does Ga-On.  I did not predict this.

Also, the first time I saw Mysterious assistant I thought he was Isaac.  He looks a little like Ga-On, and they gave him the same hairstyle

This feels like jealousy? like i know Ga-On has reasons to be mad at M.A. but if you ignore the words it feels like they're each staking a claim to Yo-Han.  and he's smirking in the background.  I guess I don't understand why M.A. would be pissy unless he's also feeling possessive of Yo-Han

The best version of Kang Yo-Han has the same goal as Prof. Min.  If that is the true version of him (which I think it will turn out to be) then the moral quandary Ga-On is facing becomes one of methods and 'does the end justify the means?' 

I guess this would need to be a dystopia in that case, if Yo-Han's way was the best way.

Oh! The defense attorney is working for Judge Kang. Lawyer Go was Ju Il-Do's lawyer

i'm confused about what this actress did during Cha's son's trial..., oh she was the first caller.  i just needed to wait two seconds lol

(55:00) I'm getting heist movie vibes.  The gang's all here, gathered for the first time, meeting in a picturesque abandoned warehouse.  I'm sure there's some symbolism or something evoked by the fish and aquarium tank...

 the first time the politics feel real

still the question of trusting Yo-Han is there, but that look at the end.  Ji Sung's expressions! although the musical cues help too

(58:20)  And immediately following is the other seduction/corruption campaign - Seon-Ah's of Judge Oh

I feel like this scene support my theory that Judge Oh is an avatar/stand in/representative for the manipulatable faceless public

(1:00:05) more mirrors in scenes where people have on or are putting on a mask

that is a sexual seduction

Is this evidence planted by Yo-Han? or is it real?

(1:02:35)  Ga-On in his seat!

Here is an explanation of the scammer guy stuff.  I think we're supposed to take it as the true one.

honesty from Yo-Han about his willingness to manipulate.  so he's saying he didn't switch, but would have.  But what was up with his conspiratorial looks with the prison guard?

"this is me. take me as i am"

1:04:10 /dinner with Prof Min.  "what have you decided"

prez buffoon - emblematic of and chosen by mob mentality.  xenophobia.  mob violence.  this youtuber guy - another form of taking justice into his own hands - is that an intentional parallel?

(1:06:10) who created the rage in the first place

(1:07:21) "Were people so stupid that they become enraged just because they were stirred up? It started from something else, didn't it." He's finally asking my question.  Don't know if we have quite the same answer though. or at least Ga-On's is in a more limited sphere. "It was the bad guys. Those guys who deserve death for making innocent people shed tears of blood. Was asking to properly punish them such an impossible request?"  "Ga-On"  "You should have done better. If people like you had done better, if people like you who even joined the Supreme Court had done your job properly, then none of the would've needed to happen. If the people who took these positions had done their jobs properly." "So in the end... you have made your decision?"  "You were the one who forced me to make a decision, Professor. If there is no justice in reality, but only a game, then I also want to be among the winners."  Ga-On gets up and walks away to the opening credit music. with a slight smile on his face - is that an intentional acting choice?

I have to remember that mild mannered Ga-On is filled with rage and resentment.  I don't know why I keep forgetting this.

ok, wow, he's pissed at prof. min.  I assume, I can't think why else he would be so in his face about choosing Yo-Han ('s path) over him.  That is some dramatic staging.

(1:10ish) "Do you regret it?  I will promise you..."  "It's not just for revenge.  I want to fight the world that's gone wrong."

their faces here! the way they look at each other (or don't)!

ok, copaganda.   :-/

eps 1&2  ep3  ep4  ep5  ep6  ep7  ep8  ep9 ep10  ep11  ep12  ep13  ep14  ep15  ep16

#the devil judge episode 8 #kind of like liveblogging #the devil judge reaction #the devil judge #the devil judge spoilers #reaction by gillianthecat

[freebooter4ever]

unrelated to the stick but have you seen cooking with geno?

Haaaaaaaaaaaa. I have :) i mean...what self respecting geno fangirl hasnt? If im honest i think it was the first thing with him that i watched, but i was not paying attention to him at all at all then. Aside from noticing that Fuck He's Exactly My Type If I Ever Had One and being very annoyed by it. My ADHD research spiral in the summer of 2022 went something like this: ra*ngers -> pana*rin -> russ*an red w*ngs -> larion*ov...and then i side tracked over to alyonka's mental health/ E*D*O videos, and then her podcast which also interviewd several hockey players including her brother (which are really interesting btw)...tldr i actually watched that video more curious about alyonka than geno, cause in her more current stuff she talks a lot about those early 2000's days and what it was like working in the league as a woman. Unfortunately for geno at that point the only thing i knew about him was that he was on the penguins and that he said some shit in one interview about bread, and i had already decided based on that and his instgrm that he looked like an asshole. I cannot find that interview quote about breadman, for all i know it could have all been made up, but it reaaaaally made me dislike him. So the first time i watched the video i was doing my best to ignore geno and pretend like he wasnt radiating attractiveness. My one conclusion about that video and a few other old pens videos with alyonka (and not geno but other players) i watched was that i was surprised how much more informal things used to be. She felt very casual and more like a friend to the players than the more professional style interviews i have seen while watching this stuff live now.

And if none of that research spiral makes sense just be grateful you dont have ADHD.

ANYWAY then lucky for geno he features in my favorite hockey photo ever - that one of him sitting on the boards with the snow and baby blue jersey. So i had to draw that photo, and then i started paying more attention to him that season, and watched that dan and sushi interview, and realized shit i might have been wrong about this guy. And maybe my change of heart only has a little to do with his Very Pretty Eyes.

And moooooonths (a year?) later i finally rewatched the cooking with geno video and had to basically admit that my initial gut instinct of Oh Shit He's Hot reaction remained the same. He's a terrible cook, somehow even worse than me which is saying something cause i'm really fucking bad at it myself. But his physicality/personality rather shines in the clip. (i have heard people say he was sexualizing or staring at alyonka??? It doesnt look like that to me, they just seemed very comfortable with one another and maybe a little teasing but im not the best at recognizing flirting etc). Young Geno's got that same confidence/swagger as old(er) geno that in most guys would come across as arrogant but with him it's very quiet and understated. He makes a lot of dumb jokes. Even on my second viewing i still didnt understand the basketball joke. He didn't talk much but there were a lot of shy smiles. He reminded me a lot of my old friend ethan in attitude and height - just like how he kind of awkwardly looms in the background at times, and how all his obvious strength is sort of soft in a gentle way. He also seemed like a guy very willing to listen, which was cute. But -and this might be me projecting. But sometimes when people try to 'teach' me how to cook i play dumb just so i can check out and not use my brain and let them do all the thinking and tell me exactly what i need to do. Its very lazy and i recognize this but sometimes my brain is tired. And i swear geno was maybe doing that to alyonka at times. Like i think his effort in the video was at most 70%. Maybe 50%. It takes one lazy cook to know another one. And i am a very lazy cook.

Sorry anon, ive been cleaning and working all day so you got more than you asked for, basically a character study, whoops.

Oh, also on the second rewatch i realized the weird short grimlin who only appeared to eat the food and then disappeared was tanger. I did NOT recognize him. I still cant really believe thats him.

#Oh i left out the part where i had an E*D*O when i was 14...thats why i was curious about alyonka #Nicole talks about E*D*O too although hers was in relation to modeling #Where as mine was more like alyonka's in that i was literally just trying not to exist anymore curl up and fade away #Mine was situational and as soon i was separated from my abusive mother it started getting better #And then after the abusive relationship when i was 22 ish i found a dance instructor who i kinda fell in love with and #Helped launch me into full recovery to where im at now #But im always curious how E*D*O presents itself a little differently in everybody #Similar things like the tricks and such but the underlying reasons and mental stuff can be so different #Food and cooking is one of those things that will probably always be complicated for anyone who goes through that no matter how recovered #Its definitely one of the reasons i dragged my feet for so long about learning how to cook #Girls need a reason to not learn how to cook #Unlike guys such as geno who gets to go his whole life unconcerned about being a bad cook #I have also seen that 2014 video of him at home cooking eggs in a skillet with a fork and then eating it straight out of the pan #He clearly has not progressed much #And dont forget omelete boy in 2022....lol didnt sid refuse to eat geno's cooking then? #Poor geno #i sympathize #unlike him my cooking mishaps have never been caught on video #i have never burned anything down exactly but there have been close calls

[spaced0lphin]

Wish I May, Wish I Might

A Shoker Thing (Obviously It Is, This is Me We’re Talking About}

Time is a weird thing. Tied to the senses, in a way. Removed or dulled enough, and pretty soon a person thinks it's been an hour inside five minutes.

Stars. Blackness. Stars. Blackness. The difference between closing and opening his eyes was an ocean of sparkling dots. The floor below him - or beside, direction didn't really matter, here - was so far, and the dome before him so huge, that he seemed to hang suspended in space.

Doctor Chakwas’ sharp words still hung around the back of his mind. If he had his way, he'd never have come off the ship. But, stretching properly for the first time in way too long, a tingling flood of feel-good chemicals radiated up from his legs, and he had to admit she was right. Racking up some time in zero-gee was doing wonders.

Joker swallowed, the gross wet sound of it filling his ears with way more detail than he ever wanted. That was the worst; being forced to hear his own body's squishy noises.  

Ignoring the thudding of his heart in his ears, he drew lines in the air with his finger, connecting together familiar shapes in the stars. Asteroid stations in the middle of nowhere like this one were kind of appealing, when he thought about it. They weren't often this quiet, but they were often low or no grav. The less he weighed, the less the ache always living in his loose joints had anything to say. But, spend too much time in low grav, and bones lose density. For crumbly garbage ones like his, that was a death sentence. Gravity. What a bunch of bullshit.

The distinct hiss of an airlock sent a breeze blowing across his back. He frowned at the glimmering sea before him. Of course, having it all to himself was too good to be true.

"Was just leaving," he grumbled, fishing for his air jet. Magboots clicked softly on the grating; he must've floated up a long way.

"Relax, it's only me," a familiar voice called out to him. A warm fluttery feeling spread out in his belly.

"Shepard...? Hey, patients only," he said. Twisting around in zero-gee wasn't the problem, it was the whole stopping thing that always proved tricky. Where was that damn thing?

Standing with her feet clamped to the floor, she folded her arms and looked straight up at him. "I'm a Spectre, I can go wherever I want."

"Uh-huh," he said. A bit of starlight reflected off a cylindrical object, caught in a lazy spin at the far end of the room - his trigger. His face sank into his palm.

"Ah... is that yours?" She asked. The smile coming through in her voice was so clear he had to steal a glance. To him, that understated little smirk of hers shone brighter than any sun.

"Yep." Joker clicked his tongue. "Real rookie mistake." 

"You forgot to clip it?"

"Look, it's... been a while. A little help here? Or am I gonna have to start blowing?" He laughed. No answer. If he didn't know better, he'd say she looked a little transfixed or something. It seemed almost like she was staring past him - through him, maybe. Her eyes were locked on something out there. Alarmed, Joker craned his neck. Nothing, except the stars. Still and exactly the same as as they ever were. "Hey, what gives? C'mon, the water's fine," he said, waggling his arms, stuck in a slow barrel-roll.

"Yes. Yes, yes. I'm coming." That was hesitation in her words, he was sure of it.

"Uh, Shepard?" he asked with a bemused little chuckle. "There's nothing out there." 

"... I know." 

The buzz and clunk of her magboots' release busted the silence as she began floating up. Stars, Shepard. Stars, Shepard. Stars... Only a couple metres or so away now, and her eyes were squeezed shut. She looked like a terrified cadet out on her first EVA practise. Joker opened his mouth to deliver some crack asking her when the last time she'd been outside even was, when the millions and millions of lights in the void slid into his vision once more. He knew the answer to that question. He closed his mouth, heat prickling at the back of his neck. 'There's nothing out there.' Who’d know better than the woman who died choking on hard vacuum? What a jackass. Her long, shaky breaths filled the few feet of air between them.

"Hey, open your eyes," he said softly, knowing that even a whisper was enough. "You're gonna bump into me."

Without a word, her legs lifted and folded with the precision of a dancer, the spat-spat-spat of air bursting from little jets on her catsuit slowing her down. Every move was sleek and perfect, all the more so by how effortless she made it look. The result, he knew, of hours and hours of drills and practise. At last, the cosmos stopped their slow spinning around with the touch of her hand to his shoulder.

"Thanks," he said, offering a smile he hoped looked contrite. "Was starting to think I'd throw up."

"No you weren't," she replied, the tiniest little grin forcing its way out across her lips. "You grew up in space."

God, her eyes really were something else. What he wouldn't give to just reach up and stroke her cheek, to tell her it was okay. Tell her she had it under control, that she didn't have to be scared. The starlight illuminating her face made his breath catch. Joker swallowed heavily. This time, there was no gross wet sound, his throat dry as a bone.

Politeness demanded he look away, but he couldn't tear himself free. In those eyes was a depth stretching farther than even the most distant star could hope to reach.

"Eh, yeah... I just wanted you to feel like you'd saved me from something," he said. "Not that you haven't already. But, y'know. Heroic moment."

"What if I hadn't showed up?" She asked. "You'd have been stuck here for hours."

"Hours?"

"I booked it for a few. I wanted..." Shepard trailed off, searching for her words. "I wanted to take my time."

Somehow, his hands found their way to her shoulders. "Aw, you're just a bit rusty,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “It's been a while for the both of us. I forgot my clip, and you... Uh, well. Your breathing's slowed down now, that’s good," he pointed out. It was only when he gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze that he realised she was gripping both his own, hard. "... All you need's a little practise. Hey, my trigger's over there," he said, gesturing. Shepard followed his hand at first, but soon her gaze travelled up, and up, as if called by something. Her fingers clamped down like a vice. 

"Watch it, hey, watch it!" he hissed.

She released. "Did I hurt you?"

"I'll live," he muttered. "Listen, you don't have to let go of me if you don't wanna, just... Don't snap me like a toothpick, okay?"

"Right. I'm sorry."

Shepard's hands fluttered down, settling on his waist instead. She'd chosen to hold him closer, rather than tighter. Joker cleared his throat, grateful for the dim silver light of the stars, surely disguising the heat spreading across his cheeks.

She was so damn brave. As he pulled himself free of her grasp and floated clear of her to give her air jets room, Joker imagined the kind of guts it must take to face a fear like this. Alone, too - she came here alone, planning to panic in silence, for hours.

"Yeah… Look, I got an idea," he said, placing his hand back on her shoulder. "Let’s go get it together."

Shepard placed her hand atop his, anchoring him as she lined up. With a sharp little burst, they were on their way.

“They teach you all kinds of stuff to be an N7, huh?” He asked, moving himself to block her gaze if she looked up. “You do the whole flippin’ around thing pretty good.”

“They do,” she said. “I used to enjoy it, once upon a time.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he replied. “I’m surprised you haven’t been headhunted by the asari Stardancers.”

“You’re a fan of stellar ballet?”

“I’m a fan of the outfits,” he snickered. She snickered, too, and Joker allowed himself to float in just a little closer.

Shepard stretched out. With a deft flick of her arm, she flipped about to face him, eye to eye. The little device slid up between them, filling his vision, and she laughed, tapping him on the nose with it.

“Here you go, troublemaker.”

He closed his hand around it. “Thanks.”

Maybe he was just nuts, but, she seemed to be lingering, her eyes flicking from point to point. Perhaps she was just trying not to look at the expanse behind him.

“Whoops,” he said, nudging the trigger out, end over end, into the colossal empty room. “Dropped it.”

“Joker, I put my ship in your hands, and you have butterfingers?”

“Look at it this way, it’s more practise, right? Let’s go get it.”

She took his arm and looped it around her neck, setting out in a smooth arc. He smiled to himself, watching her glance this way and that. The fire inside Shepard was familiar. Watching it in action had this way of spreading, setting him alight, too. Maybe one day he could see her fly amid the stars without being chased by old ghosts. A sharp pang shot through his chest - those old ghosts only haunted because of him. Ghosts describing the way her body spun, shrank, and was swallowed by the looming blueness of Alchera. That was why she was here after all, and why she didn’t love the stars anymore. That little line of pain snaking through his heart blossomed into an open wound. He shouldn’t, really, he knew, but steadying himself as she flew gave him an excuse. He let his free arm drift in and cross her body, though he barely let it touch. Such a weird way to score an embrace, but, he couldn’t be there for her back then. At least he could be here for her, now.

“Joker?”

“What?” They’d stopped at some point, he realised. Dead centre of the dome, by the looks of it.

Shepard unfolded, filling all the space between his arms without a word. She was so warm. His chin came down to rest on her shoulder, his arms pulling her back against his chest. Her heartbeat raced against his forearm, even through her catsuit. He didn’t dare speak. Or move. Or even breathe, not even when it burned in his lungs. God, he wanted whatever this was to last, but he wasn’t an idiot - for whatever reasons of her own, she’d let him overstep a little, that’s all. Time to get a grip.

“It’s there,” he whispered, pointing at it. “See it? You don’t need me, you go the rest of the way.”

Her fingers closed around his forearm.

“Go on. Go fetch,” he insisted, offering a grin. “Not often I get to give you an order, huh?”

“… No, you’re wrong,” she said.

“Well, that’d be a first.”

“I do need you,” she said.

He felt his smile waver. “Um, okay, well, let’s take it at your pace, then. I’ve got until they finish installing that ablative plating stuff. Man, that’s gonna be sweet,” he said, giving in to the urge to hold her just that little bit tighter.

“I’m fine right here, for the moment, if you are.”

“Like I said, I’ve got like three days of doing nothing ahead of me, so… We’re on your schedule. When you’re ready, alright?”

She fit against him as though she was made for the job. Joker closed his eyes, writing every detail to memory.

“It’s quiet up here,” she said, just above a whisper.

“Yep. Can’t even hear the air recyclers.”

Her head slowly turned as she scanned around, exposing the length of her neck. Nothing ever looked quite so soft. Joker forced his eyes shut to keep from thinking about it.

“I’ve had nightmares about it for so long now, I forget how beautiful it really is,” she said.

“Mm-hmm. Yeah, it makes my list. A few things are a bit higher, but, not many.”

“Higher than this?” She breathed.

“Mmm, I dunno, those Stardancer outfits are pret-ty nice,” he said with a dry chuckle. She tutted, nudging him in the stomach with her elbow, and they both laughed. Shepard settled back against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. The fluttery feeling deep in his belly refused to budge. “You get bad dreams a lot, huh?”

“If I do this enough, they’ll stop. They have to,” she said, a certain hard edge creeping into her voice.

“They will, they will,” he said, nodding. “Don’t worry.” The fabric covering her shoulder was so smooth. So smooth. What was it made of? He’d been rubbing little circles in it with his thumb. “Ah, heh,” he murmured, clearing his throat again. “So. You still good?”

“Are you?” She asked.

“I only came up here to get some weight off my joints,” he said. “I’m still doing that.”

“It’s good to see you off the ship, you know.”

“Yeah, well. Chakwas told me if I didn’t go, she’d use the time I had sitting around to do extra tests. So, I bounced.”

Shepard chuckled. “That sounds about right. She told me something similar.”

“Yeah she sure has her own brand of looking out for people, I guess,” he said. A wave of tingly niceness made all his hairs stand on end as Shepard mirrored him, drawing wavy patterns on his forearm with the very tips of her nails. He sank into the delicious feeling. This was fine. Maybe not the most strictly professional thing, but, they were friends, too. This was totally fine. Joker rested his chin on her shoulder again. “Speaking of that kinda thing, I guess… Lookin’ out for people, and all that… You know you don’t have to do this all on your own, right?”

“What do you mean?” She asked, turning her head to the side and looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Well… You don’t have to face it all by yourself. You got me, if you want?” His heart leapt to his throat. “I’ll help, I mean. With stuff like this? All you gotta do is ask.”

“I know you’d help… and you have,” she said, tilting her head against his. “Thank you.” The wavy patterns stopped dead, and Shepard disentangled herself, gentle as could be. It was as if gravity had been switched on, but only for his insides. The spell was broken. He’d messed it up, somehow. Or, watching her float away, maybe he’d set it right? She had so much to think about and do, the last thing she needed was her horned-up helmsman putting the moves on her during a moment of weakness, which - Oh, no. Something slimy and cold started slithering around in his gut. That’s exactly what happened. A wobbling blob of moisture floated up off his nose. Jeez, it was hot in here.

“L-Listen, Shepard, I’m pretty sure I cro-“

“What?” She asked, slowly spiralling back toward him, wiggling his trigger in her hand. She ducked down, fastening it to his belt with a loud snap.

“-ssed a… line hey, nice going!”

She collided with him. Laughed. Shot away. He fumbled with the jet at first, righting himself just in time to see the most powerful woman in the galaxy blow a big fat raspberry at him.

“You- wha- how is this fair? I’ve only got one jet and you’ve got, what, like fifty?”

“Come on, are you the best pilot in the Alliance fleet, or what?”

“Oh, now you’re gonna get it.”

“I should requisition you one of these,” she said, sailing around him. “Maybe I will, if you catch me.”

“Pfft, promises, promises. I’mma hold you to that, and I don’t care if they cost half a planet’s worth of platinum. Your word is your bond,” he teased, doing some quick math. Was it cheating to use the wall? He didn’t care.

“Big words, ballcap boy,” she taunted. She could bust out such an annoying sing-song jeer when she wanted to. Joker launched himself off the wall at a speed Shepard clearly didn’t expect. She darted in the precise way he figured she would, sent himself tumbling through her first-year evasive manoeuvres, and straight into her.

“Yeah, yeah, you think you’re real clever with that suit, don’t you?” He intercepted her, using his own momentum to swing her, laughing, into his grasp. “That was easy. I’m kind of embarrassed for you, Shepard. All that training and all that tech and I beat you with one jet and an attitude.”

“Oh, I let you,” she replied, cracking up. On his life, she was… giggling.

“You didn’t.”

“I did, I did, I absolutely did,” she could barely speak, she was having such a damn episode.

“Now, you look me in the eye,” he said, pulling his eyelid down in an exaggerated stare.

“I can’t see,” she replied, wiping at shimmering silver blobs - tears - that, without gravity, refused to leave her eyes.

“Well, that’s what you get for getting the giggles in zero-gee,” he said, shaking his head. “Does Anderson know you’re like this?”

“He put it in my letter of recommendation,” she answered, shaking her head as she blinked the last one free. A trail of a dozen little spheres jiggled madly on the long way up towards the roof of the dome. He smiled up at them as, one by one, he lost sight of each, blending in with the lights all around. From shaking with fear to shaking with laughter. That counted as some kind of victory, he was sure of it. Something brushed against his cheek. Shepard’s fingertips directed his face back toward her. Painted in silver and framed by stars, she really was the most beautiful thing he ever saw.

“Hey.” It was all he could think to say.

“Hey,” she replied, her voice soft and low and breathy in a way that sent a tingle up his spine. She drew in, and he did too. He didn’t know who did it, but, her lips. They were hot, and her breath even hotter, and all of a sudden he never had to wonder again what it might be like to kiss her because now - now he knew, and he never, ever wanted to stop. Her fingers at the back of his head, running through his hair and cupping his face was all at once way too much and not nearly, nearly enough. She was lithe and firm and everything he ever hoped to feel, and in the rush of it he couldn’t tell if that little, desperate sound was hers or his own. It didn’t matter, because yes. If she wanted it, oh, he would give it to her. He would give her anything. Everything.

Breaking that kiss for air was maybe the hardest thing he’d ever done. Breath ragged and body trembling with adrenaline, Joker held her to him like she was tethering him to life. Shepard, for all her strength and fury, was nothing but tender with every kiss she placed and every touch to every part of him she felt - and, already, there were very few parts of him she hadn’t yet.

Her suit’s zipper peeled open and her skin was silky under his hands, dewy under his lips, and God, he could not stop shaking.

Soothing like water, she wrapped herself around him, cushioning his shuddering and her lips at his ear.

“Yes?” She whispered. It was a question. Calm and sweet and so utterly divorced from the maelstrom he was caught up in.

“Buh?”

She kissed his neck, maybe giving him time to think, before repeating, “yes?”

Oh, this woman. This wonderful, beautiful woman. “God, Fff-Yes,” he gasped. The word alone wasn’t strong enough and Joker grabbed her hips, grinding himself right up against her to let her feel how much ‘yes.’

His fly popped open and he lost any ability to think. There was only one thing to do, and it was very simple. Her breath was hot across him, and all of a sudden, full of sound. The most achingly beautiful whimper. He dragged his teeth up the soft skin of her neck that just a few moments before he’d tried so hard not to think about, and pushed.

Sweet fire. He lacked the words but maybe those would do. Sinking into her set every nerve alight with sweet, sweet fire. Her ankles crossed behind his back, almost spurring him on. Yes, yes, he had to be careful, but here, spinning with the stars, he didn’t have to be quite that careful. Whatever she was doing, it was working - with every stroke she tilted her hips a certain way and soon her eyes were fluttering closed, her lips parted, and her body squeezing in tighter. He still couldn’t stop shaking, but this time, the cause was obvious. Shepard’s mouth found his own and then there just wasn’t any holding back anymore. Her whole body locked up tight, her cry muffled by their kiss. He squirmed, straining to get even deeper inside somehow and rode it out with her, giving her his everything.

Breathless. Completely breathless. Curved around her body, he panted, his head resting between her breasts. God, he hoped it meant as much for her. If all the tingling as she laid kisses atop his head and fiddled with his ear was anything to go by, he figured it probably did.

“I hope they have a good filtration system,” she mumbled.

“I hope they don’t have any cameras,” he replied.

An orange glow hit the backs of his eyelids. “Well,” she sighed. “They don’t now.”

They snickered.

#shoker #jeff joker moreau #jeff moreau #femshep #one shot #it gets kinda yanno #when a Shepard and a Joker love each other very much #probably my best piece of writing so far #not tbms #shoker fic

[totiredtowrite]

Nonononono hear me out right? Imagine Oikawa, one of the most powerful demons around, snags a reader who wants to be a hero and just kind of says 'aight this ones mine now'

Powerless

Warnings - Mentions of killing, the word blade, a religious joke here or there, cursing, referenced nsfw, the req was short but I managed to make this long af, sorry if the ending is trash :(, might do a part 2

Note: I have one mood and this is it

Male Reader - Fem Readers DNI, Respect The Boundaries of the Writers. ✨This isn't about you✨

Demon King Oikawa Tooru.

Infamous for a...multitude of things. For one, his power. Two, the astounding number of people who lust after him. Cults and chapels have been erected in his favour, solely because of his attraction. Nobodies even sure if he's a demon of lust at this point, or if he's just naturally handsome.

And lastly, of course, his ego. His power gives him a big head, though that isn't undeserved. He's just as cocky as he's allowed to be. While it may seem like overkill to some people, they'll quickly find that all of his self conceit is well earned.

Of course, that makes him a big target. Any heroes career would be made if they could kill the demon king. Hell, some get publicity just by returning alive. Young, naive, aspiring heroes want to get his head on a platter more than anything.

And, of course, you were no exception.

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"I just don't think you're cut out for this, son."

At first you'd scoffed. Chalked it up to your mentor being crazy. After all, he was the one who trained you for this!

Nearing the end of the dead forest though, you were starting to wish that you'd listened to him. The energy, the atmosphere, felt like it was wrapping around your neck. You could almost see the dark tendrils around your throat.

The whispers of the forest- prominent, though unintelligible- faded the farther you got from the tree line. Anyone with eyes, ears, or even a nose could tell how corrupt the land was here. Dead birds, ravens to be exact, littered the grounds. Every few yards, you had to step over or around a carcass.

Your torch, near burnt out, clattered to the ground.

There wasn't any need for it anymore, the dim sunset illuminating the deathly area. A small shudder tore through your body. It's like you could feel eyes on you, even in the obviously vacated expanse.

The castle wasn't any better.

Cracked and broken cobblestone lined the pathway up to the doors, travelling up a rather steep hill. From where you stood, you could see the different layers. True to it's unholy resident, the castle was make of dark brick and stone. Sharp, jagged pillars jutted up at the tips of towers, pyres in small heaps littering the area. Some looked as if they were already burnt.

Your hand drifted to your side. There your sword hung, sheathed tightly in a leather casing. The sword was all you really needed, though a couple extra daggers and limited magic items were helpful. After all, it was the demon king. Just a sword wasn't going to kill him off.

You smiled at the thought of your sword being framed when you became a well-known hero, famous for being the blade to deliver the finishing blow.

Those thoughts were quickly disrupted as a bird fell to the ground at your feet.

You grimaced, gently kicking the corpse out of the way and continuing on the rocky cobblestone path. There hasn't been any sign of people for the last two miles. You knew that there was an immensely powerful demon king not even twenty minutes away from you, but it felt like there was nobody for miles on end.

Obviously though, no sane person would get as close to this place as you were.

With one final, (and tentative) step, you arrived at the front door. It felt like any and all sound was swallowed by the walls, all of your senses instantly on edge. Nothing felt right here. It almost made you want to turn around, but you've already made it this far. It would make no sense.

Drawing in another shaky breath, your hand made its way to the door handle. Not much skin touched it through your gloves, yet you could just sense how wrong it felt.

You could only hope that the next time you see these doors, you'd still have your head.

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Nobody told Oikawa that being the demon king would be so...boring.

As opposed to what everyone thinks, it's actually rather monotonous. Wake up, go seduce some townspeople, maybe burn a village or two, kill some heroes who come by, and repeat. Nothing happened that he didn't expect anymore.

Hell, it's gotten to the point where he just smites heroes before they even finish their little speech!

In his defense though, their speeches were starting to sound the same. All the "you are an ungodly creature of darkness"s and "I must avenge my family"s just felt the exact same. They only wanted to kill him for the publicity, the bounty, or some stupid thing about their families legacy. He's so bored.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted, (thank god), by the sound of footsteps pounding on the floor. All at once the door to the throne room swung open, a sweating and panting Kuroo standing there. His black hair was wind tousled, sweat glinting on his forehead.

"Wow," Oikawa scoffed. "Somethings got you running."

Kuroo stood up straight, shrugging and attempting to appear collected. "What do you mean?"

Oikawa raised his brows.

"Right, there's a hero in the castle." Kuroo chuckled awkwardly. "Want us to take care of him?"

Oikawa perked up. Another hero? Really? He wasn't looking forward to doing the same dance again, though maybe this time it would be slightly different. "Let him in," he grinned. "Maybe this one will have something for me." He was never one to turn down opportunity.

Kuroo, plagued by a bit of disbelief, nodded and left the throne room. Presumably it was to tell the fox twins.

Another wicked smile split the Demon King's face, brown hair shifting as he tilted his head to the side. Somehow, he got the feeling that this time, something interesting would happen.

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You figured that the castle would be partly deserted, but this was just weird.

No sign of any living beings. Demons, animals, humans, nothing. Was it an ambush? Quite possibly. Still though, you continued on through the halls.

The inside, just like the outside, was made of dark stone and brick. The floors were marbled and grey, veins of gold running through it. It was actually relatively pretty. You thought that there would be skulls and bones everywhere, bodies even. The castle was well taken care of.

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. Seriously, there was no one. You thought that the all powerful Demon King would at least have some guards stationed around. You were grateful for it though, the lack of protection making it easier for you to get into the castle.

In truth you weren't exactly sure where you were headed. You believed the demon king to be in his throne room, though where exactly that was remained a mystery.

Using your limited knowledge of how castles are built, you slowly tried to make your way to the center of the castle. The back center, specifically. You hoped that you'd find the throne room there, plus you were following the remnants of magic.

Even not being a magic user yourself, it would be hard not to feel the weird fluctuations of energy in these halls. Demons always left some kind of trail behind. Which, of course, made this weirder. Nobody was stopping you, but it was clear that there were being in the castle aside from the king himself.

A thought struck you as you reached two huge double doors. (They no doubt led to the throne room). Was it possible that the demons were letting you get this close? Of course, there had to be some kind of second meaning behind it, right?

Drawing in a breath, you flung the doors open.

The throne room was different than the rest of the castle, if only slightly. Grey marble and gold veins staying the same of course, the walls slightly lighter than before. If you had the time to look closely, you'd notice the oxidized bloodstains on the walls.

"Well well, look who's finally showed up!"

Your breath hitched in your throat, barely registering the door creaking closed behind you the moment you stepped forward. He was just as...no, more terrifying up close. The horns jutting out from the sides of his head, twisted upward, held a muted purple colour that shined in the equally muted light. His tone of voice was teasing, almost whiny.

You couldn't tell if his eyes were brown or red, but either way they glowed dangerously. "Well, boy?" He tilted his head, soft brown hair bouncing slightly. "You are here to kill me...aren't you?" His tone shifted. Deeper, more serious.

Your hand quickly made its way to your sword, eyes darting from his horns to his eyes.

He laughed. "Why do you keep looking at my horns like that? You are here for my head, are you not?" You wanted to nod, though he spoke before you could get an answer out.

"Wait a minute. You're here for something more...carnal, aren't you?"

Your eyes widened. "What- no! I'm here for your head!" Your grip on the swords hilt tightened. The rumors about his looks were true, (maybe even understating them), however that is not what you're here to do.

The teasing smirk dropped off of his face. "Oh. Lame."

Your brows knitted together. "Lame?" What was that supposed to mean?

"Oh nothing," he rolled his eyes. "So if you're going to deliver a speech, best do it now. Before I, you know, kill you real bad."

You only looked more confused.

Oikawa scoffed at your lack of response. "Jeez, come on, you know what a soliloquy is right?"

"Well yes but I don't think that really applies here-"

"Tomato whatever, get on with it!" He'd turned around, hands firmly gripping your shoulders.

Your breath stopped short for a second.

"Oh come one," his face moved closer. "Is a little proximity all it takes for you to freeze up? Maybe you aren't cut out to be a hero, boy," he snickered. His nose was brushing yours, breath minty and cold.

Without thinking, your sword was at his side in a flash of silver. Maybe it was just out of reflex, the need to defend yourself. The blank, shocked look on your face morphing into one of confusion. Why wasn't your sword moving further? "Was that the best you could do?" The king whispered.

Looking down, you realize just why he was so revered. He'd caught the blade in his hand, a trickle of black blood visible on his palm. No grimace, no noise of pain, nothing. "Hey, eyes up here sweetheart," one of his clawed hands was on your chin now. The wound, one that would cut almost anyone's hand off, didn't seem to throw him off his rhythm at all.

Horror and realization befell you as your eyes met his. You weren't ready. You didn't know what to do, except relax and let instinct take over. So that's what you did.

You let the sword fall out of your hand, causing him to have to catch it at an awkward angle. Using his moment of distraction, you reached into a bag at your hip. Sand. Sure, he was a demon, though it's not like his eyes were impervious to sand.

The dust hit him in the eyes, a startled, strangled noise leaving him. You turned, darting to the only open window as fast as possible. Jumping was not a good idea by any means, though maybe you could use the little magic you knew to your own advantage. You hesitated. You didn't mean to, but really it was just in your nature to be a little cautious.

Oikawa's eyes cleared just in time to see you fall out the window, hands darting back and forth and lips moving. Magic. "You clever little thing," he snarled, at the window in only a few seconds flat. He almost jumped out after you, but then he stopped. Sure he could follow you, but what would be the point? It makes more sense to simply leave you to come back on your own.

"Hey!"

You didn't look back at the sound of his voice, though you did catch the next words to fall from his mouth. "The names Tooru, by the way!"

You didn't say a word, focused on the cold burn of your heart pounding and your legs moving. You'd failed far faster than you thought you would, but you'd be back. You didn't even bother to step around the birds, only focused on getting out. After all, he'd let you leave. There wasn't any way you were taking that for granted.

Back at the castle, Oikawa's hands were still gripping the window's edge. He'd watched your form run until he could hardly see you, still gazing off in that direction. The twins were hovering behind him, wondering when the right time would be to speak. The bloodied sword on the ground, (and the grains of sand), were clear signs that you'd done something.

After elbowing one another for a minute, Osamu spoke up. "Would you like us to take care of it, Lord?" He pushed Atsumu back in an attempt to seem more dignified.

They got silence for a second before he responded. "No. That one is mine. Leave him be." The twins nodded in unison, leaving the room like they were never there.

You didn't do much. There were other heroes who'd done far more to him then you had, though still, something stuck with him. Maybe it was the utterly useless conversation you'd shared before anything actually happened. Maybe it was the vague potential he saw.

In any case, he was going to see you once more. Somewhere you'd least expect him.

Oikawa never was fond of leaving unfinished business.

#hq x male reader #m!reader #anime x male reader #x male reader #male reader #haikyuu x male reader #tooru oikawa x male reader #oikawa x male reader #tooru x male reader

[ddarker-dreams]

Yan Diluc, Childe, Kaeya & Zhongli / Darling Saying “I hate you.”

Warnings: Suggestive themes and typical unhealthy yandere behavior. Note: sometimes in life we just gotta suffer,

Diluc had told himself that this was for your own good.

That’s what gave him the ability to rest at night -- while holding the knowledge of all the freedoms he’s taken from you -- that you are safe. There’s air in your lungs, healthy color to your cheeks, and life shining brightly in your eyes. It’d be selfish to ask for anything more, he would reason. This is good enough, is what he’d think, not fully sure if he believed the creed himself. 

Now he knows those words were but a lie to cover a gaping wound in his heart.

He gazes at you now, his hand reaching out, only to stop when you flinch away. The reality that he tried so desperately to push down has risen to the surface, your turmoil not easily ignored. Diluc needs to remain steadfast as he considers hesitation an insult. Certainly, he is low for holding you here against your will, but it’d be that much worse if he started questioning himself. 

“I know,” is the strained answer he arrives at. You hear the pain in his voice, how the words were all but pried from him. “I’ve always known.” 

“Then why?” You plead, exasperation pushing you past the limit. His head is hung low for once, unable to meet your scrutinizing gaze, instead taking an acute interest in the wooden floorboard beneath his feet. 

It brings him back to his childhood, like a kid being scolded for an illogical grievance against their sibling. Your question strikes deep and close to the heart. His answer comes fast, almost robotic, as if he’s practiced it in the mirror countless times.

“For your safety.”

And so you won’t leave like everyone else has.

Exchanging thinly veiled antagonism behind the guise of banter has always thrilled Childe. This game the two of you play, he wouldn’t change it for the world, deriving too much satisfaction in your flustered reactions. Every day is spent thinking about when he’ll get to see you next, what words might bring out the cutest expressions. 

The manner you deliver the line is frigid and he can’t help but be reminded of  Snezhnaya’s climate. For a fleeting moment, it stings, like snowflakes against bare skin. If there’s anything Childe excels at, it’s warding off the cold. He laughs, once, twice, face illuminated with uncanny elation. 

You watch in disbelief as he treats your honest admission as nothing but a joke. There’s nothing you can think to say to describe the frustration that grows in the depths of your soul, Childe’s response encapsulating exactly why you said it in the first place. Half of you considers leaving him where he stands, but you know better, he’d follow after you relentlessly. A Fatui Harbinger’s ability to spot and track their prey cannot be understated.

When his laughter starts to settle down, he speaks. “So the truth comes out, hm?” 

Childe stalks towards you, sporting a wolf-like grin that sends shivers down your spine, every step you take back not enough to increase the space between you two. Eventually, your back hits the wall. Childe takes advantage of your lack of escape, taking your chin in his hand and placing his arm by your head. At that moment, it’s impossible to ignore the looming height difference, though he leans down to look at you closer.

“Hate me all you want,” he hums, his voice dipping lower with each syllable. “But I’m not going anywhere, ever, so keep that in mind. And who knows?”

Childe winks at you.

“Maybe I have a thing for being degraded.”

To be looked at with suspicion is nothing new to Kaeya. Everyone has their own reasons for doing so, whether it be to his cunning nature creating suspicion, or his country of origin. Though, he admits, your reasoning is far more personal than that. After all, his schemes have sent you into a whirlwind of misfortune. 

Kaeya moves back, observing how your chest rises and falls with each labored breath, the way you refuse to look him in the eye. He’s quietly grateful that your former entangled position didn’t grant you the ability to see his face, as shock undoubtedly must’ve crossed over it. Moment’s later, he’s collected, in control of every twitch and crease of his expression. 

“Hm, while I never excelled in my linguistics tutoring, I think I’m familiar enough with the word hate to draw a different conclusion,” Kaeya nods to your discarded clothes on the floor, to which you flush even brighter than before. “Is that what you’d call this? You were throwing yourself at me just a few seconds ago, y’know.” 

He’s getting under your skin on purpose. You know this, seeing the trap he’s laid out without even trying to hide it, yet still fall for it to defend yourself.

“Where else am I supposed to go, when no one even looks me in the eye anymore?” You challenge, wiping the saliva from your lips with the back of your hand. Kaeya hums, considering your inquiry, fingers rubbing circles into your skin as he does so. The contact makes your mind hazy, being deprived of physical contact having done a toll on you. To come to him for comfort is a blow to your pride.

“Your hand could’ve always helped with that, but you still chose mine.” Kaeya smiles, ducking down to press open-mouthed kisses against your neck. You decide not to honor him with any further response. It feeds into his ego and that’s the last thing you want, so you close your eyes and sigh. 

He pauses for a brief moment, not willing to let it go. “Not that I’m complaining, of course. I’ll always find a way to make time for you.” 

Zhongli places his cup of tea down onto the table, outward reaction schooled and giving nothing away. It’s a pathetic, last-ditch attempt to earn an emotional response, even you know this. From how he whispers archaic prose into your ear about his love and adoration for you, you were expecting at least... something. A frown, furrowed eyebrows, pain in his amber eyes. Anything. 

His visage remains unchanging. You drum your fingers against the table, narrowing your eyes and jutting your bottom lip out. It took you weeks to work up the courage to tell him this! Indignation and embarrassment blossom inside your chest, threatening to suffocate you. Any other time he’s talkative, but for some reason, he’s decided to take some vow of silence now. 

You perk up expectantly when he clears his throat. 

“It was never in the terms of our contract for you to have positive feelings towards me,” Zhongli decides, raising the cup to his lips and blowing. “Though, if I might add, I would personally like it if you did.” 

Maybe it would’ve been better if he stayed silent after all. There’s no validation to be found in his taciturn response, no substance to appease your burning frustration. The word contract sticks out like a sore thumb. Petty as it might be to continue this exchange, you feel vindicated enough to do just that.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe the correct term would be marriage, not contract.”

“Are the two not one and the same? You’ve pledged yourself eternally to be my significant other, in the same way a contract binds two parties together.” Zhongli watches how you slide down into your seat dejectedly. Attempting to start an argument with Zhongli was akin to yelling at a brick wall, you decide.

“Don’t act so proud of yourself for swindling my parents into believing you’re an upstanding person.” 

His lips quirk up for the briefest of moments.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe the term would be negotiating, not swindling.” 

You leave him to eat his breakfast alone. 

#childe #childe x reader #yandere childe x reader #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #yandere tartaglia x reader #diluc x reader #diluc #yandere diluc x reader #kaeya #kaeya x reader #yandere kaeya x reader #yandere kaeya #zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli #yandere zhongli x reader #zhongli #zhongli genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact imagine #yandere #yandere x reader #my stuff

[featherymalignancy]

How About a Hug, Hm? REMIX

So a few days ago I got this ask about my Elriel one-shot “How About A Hug?” because I messed up the formatting and I you basically have to to read it as a reblog. I also was really unsatisfied with the end result.

So, I did the most Feathery™️ thing every and REWROTE THE WHOLE GODDAMN THING.

Please enjoy, and know that I will go back and tag people/clean up formatting tomorrow. Right now I just need to post and 😴

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Elain Archeron was running late.

Granted, it was only by seven minutes, which—in many social circles—was still considered well within the accepted boundaries of punctuality.

The problem was that a) being late made Elain anxious, and b) there was absolutely nothing polite about Nesta Archeron when she was made to wait, even by her own kin.

Yet another reason it had been critical that Elain arrive on time: Nesta was already likely to be somewhat hacked off when she saw what Elain was wearing tonight, and Elain had hoped to avoid any further dramatics on her elder sister’s part.

She spent half the cab ride downtown trying to convince herself that it was fine that she’d borrowed something out of Nesta’s closet (even if it had been without permission) and that she hadn’t had a choice; she simply didn’t own anything appropriate for dinner at a four-star restaurant. However, by the time the cab slithered under Trump Tower’s unsavory shadow and into Hell’s Kitchen, she’d given up pretending.

The truth was she had half a dozen cocktail dresses that would have been perfectly suitable for dinner in the West Village, even if the place they were going was one of the nicest sushi restaurants in the city. No, Elain had raided Nesta’s closet for a far more embarrassing reason: she’d been in search of a dress she hoped might finally win her Azriel’s attention.

She wasn’t proud of the absurd crush she had on the guy, but it really couldn’t be helped. He was gorgeous, and smart, and darkly funny when he wanted to be, and she’d been secretly mooning over him since they’d met through Feyre’s fiancée three years ago. God, what she wouldn’t give to have him return even a fraction of her feelings.

Apparently not her dignity, Elain thought with a glance down at her neckline.

The worst part was that Azriel seemed oblivious to her interest in him. He was always polite to her, always made a point to talk to her when he caught her hiding out on the balcony during one of Feyre and Rhys’s crazy parties or sit next to her at their big family dinners, but he’d never once given her any indication that he was in any way that he reciprocated her feelings, which should have been reason enough for Elain to pack it in and stop harassing him.

And that was to say nothing of Mor.

Mor was the friend who’d first introduced Feyre and Rhys, and from what Elain could gather, she and Azriel had a long and complicated history. It didn’t seem to matter that Mor had been dating the same girl for over a year now. When she was in the room, Az’s eyes were always on her. Not that Elain blamed him—Mor was gorgeous in a way girls like her could only dream of being. Still, there was no denying the sting of watching the guy you were interested in pine over someone else.

Given all this, Elain wasn’t really sure why she’d gone to such lengths to dress up for this dinner. Mor would surely be there wearing something incredible and couture, thereby rendering everyone else invisible to Azriel. Still, Elain was a hopeless optimist, and she’d stubbornly sold herself on the idea that if she found the perfect dress, she could finally convince Azriel that she was a woman worthy of affection, rather than Nesta’s bookish, boring little sister.

She had to admit, there was nothing bookish about her tonight. The dress was tighter on her that it was her waifish sister, and dear god it deserved a Medal of Honor for the way it managed to keep her boobs looking so perky even without a bra. She didn’t suppose Nesta would be too happy about that bit, either, so she could only hope her sister was in a good mood by the time Elain arrived.

Just then Elain’s phone buzzed, and she looked down at it and groaned. It was from Nesta.

Where the 🤬 are you?

Running late, Elain quickly typed back. Is everyone waiting?

She watched the gray ellipsis pulse at Nesta responded.

Feyre and Rhys aren’t even fucking here yet. But hurry up, Cash is already driving me insane.

Elain rolled her eyes. She wasn’t sure who Nesta thought she was fooling when she and Elain shared a bedroom wall. Nesta and Cassian, Rhys’s other best friend, ended up banging almost every time they saw each other, which—since Rhys and Feyre had gotten engaged four months ago—was fairly frequently. In fact, Cash was at their apartment making Nesta scream so often that Elain had been forced to invest in earplugs and a sound machine. From Elain’s perspective, it seemed rather pointless of Nesta to pretend she wasn’t completely hot of a guy she called “Daddy” in bed.

Elain shuddered at the thought, hoping that Nesta would end up going to Cash and Az’s loft in Williamsburg tonight instead. Though, she realized glumly, they only ever seemed to go there when Azriel was out, and the only person who seemed able to keep Azriel out later than Cash was Mor. That meant Elain’s options were either to pop an Ambien and hope for the best, or stay out and watch Az make moon eyes at Mor all night. Neither one was particularly appearing.

Elain ignored Nesta’s text as the car pulled up outside the restaurant and she wiggled out, smoothing the back of her tight dress before giving her curls what she hoped was an artful tousle before slipping inside.

Elain’s heart felt into her stomach as she took in the elegant but understated interior of the famed Sushi Nakazawa. Given the prices, she’d assumed the place would be all black granite and swanky chandeliers—the kind of place cleavage like hers wouldn’t seem out of place. Instead the place was elegantly spare and distressingly well-lit. God, she was such a prize idiot.

Unfortunately, she was also out of time, because a quick survey of the interior found that her group was already gathered at the bar, Mor, Feyre, and Rhys having showed up in the interim between Nesta’s text and Elain’s arrival.

Elain’s eyes went to Mor first, who stunned in a cardinal red lace and net sheath. It clung to her frame like it had been made for her, and despite a latent jealous she couldn’t quite contain, she was relieved to find that she at least wouldn’t look overdressed.

Elain’s stomach only wended in a tighter knot when Mor’s eyes fell on her and lit up, a reminder that not only was Mor prettier, she was also an infinitely better person than Elain.

“There she is!” Mor beamed, coming forward and hugging Elain. “I love that dress, Ellie!”

Elain braced herself for Nesta’s inevitably remark, but it was actually Cash who reacted first.

He’d opened his mouth to comment seemingly before he’d actually looked at Elain, because the second he realized what exactly she was wearing, his eyes they snapped the ceiling, as if looking at her chest directly might turn him to stone.

“Whoa, El, all dressed up tonight!”

Nesta, wholly unmoved by his attempted chivalry, elbowed him in the ribs.

“Don’t be vulgar Cassian!” She snarled before narrowing her eyes. “And that’s mine!”

Cash smirked, seeming more at ease now that Nesta was his target.

“I knew I’d seen that bef—ow! Goddamnit woman, what was that for?”

He scowled down at the dangerous stiletto Nesta had just jammed into his toe box.

“Sorry,” she cast over her shoulder, not deigning to look at him. “Did I accidentally step on your foot?”

“I’m an adult,” Elain interjected, cheeks burning as she faced her sister down. “Stop acting like I’ve fourteen and stuffing my bra.”

“They’re just boobs, Nes,” Rhys added, arm slung over Feyre’s shoulder. “Relax.”

“Watch it,” Nesta warned him, but Feyre only laughed.

“I agree!” She said, turning to smile at Elain. “And I think they look amazing.”

“If I’d have known they were going to be such a topic of conversation,” Elain mumbled, grateful Azriel wasn’t here to witness this circus. “I would have worn something else.”

“No, I’m with Feyre,” Mor said, wicked grin forming. “Breasts that nice deserve to be shown off.”

Elain wasn’t so humble that she didn’t feel herself preening a bit at that comment, even if she was still flustered by the prolonged attention. Either way, she was grateful when Cash interrupted with a somewhat sheepish laugh.

“Teenage me would be furious if he heard me say this, but can we please stop talking about boobs?”

“Elain’s boobs or just any boobs?” Feyre said with a smirk.

However, before Elain could admonish her for it, Feyre was crushing her into a hug.

“Hey you,” she said, wrapping her arms and Elain’s neck and whispering in her ear, “let me and Rhys know if you wanna stay at our place tonight; Cash already grabbed Nesta’s ass twice when she thought we weren’t looking.”

Feyre indicated the mirror behind the bar with her eyes as they pulled away, and sure enough, Elain watched Cash’s hand as it drew lazy, dangerous circles just above the swell of Nesta’s well-formed behind.

Elain groaned, hugging Rhys now as well. God , her sister was such a hypocrite sometimes.

Ignoring a lingering twinge of annoyance, Elain forced herself to glance in false realization before casually asking, “So where’s the Birthday Boy?”

“He was on his phone out back,” Rhys said, before raising a hand in greeting to someone over Elain’s shoulder. “There he is.”

Elain tried not to look to eager as she turned and drank in all six feet four inches of perfection that was Azriel Macar. He was dressed all in black, from his prada boots to the soft, expensive t-shirt fitted enough to show off his toned physique. Elain honestly had to fight not to swoon as he ran an effortless hand through his glossy sable hair, the longer pomaded pieces on top stand up for a second before falling into an artful tousle.

“Hey Ellie,” he said, gaze on her and gone so quickly that he never even had time to notice her much-discussed cleavage. Instead, his eyes flicked to Mor and held for a long, meaningful beat before he turned back to Elain and added politely, “Thanks for coming.”

“Sure,” she chirped, trying to ignore the fact that he was coming closer, and that in another second she’d be able to smell that divine Givenchy cologne he always wore. “Of course!“

She bent her head, pretending to be fixing the clasp on her bracelet as his scent hit her and she had to bite back a groan. Sweet Jesus, he smelled good. When she looked up again, everyone else was shuffling to their table and Azriel was lingering, a soft smile threatening to the reveal the absolutely devastating dimples in both his cheeks.

“Do I get a hug?” He asked. “It is my birthday after all.”

He extended his arms, and she gave a nervous laugh, accepting the gesture by stringing her arms around his neck.

“Of course,” she repeated stupidly, trying to ignore the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he embraced her. “Happy Birthday.”

At this he squeezed her a little tighter and she fought off genuine giddiness.

It was a friendly gesture, she warned herself, and it ended the minute Mor called, “Az, come sit by me.”

Elain cleared her throat as he pulled away, turning to where Mor was still beckoning. However, before Elain could get too flustered, he turned back to her.

“Shall we?” he said, indicating Elain go ahead of him. To her delight, they reached the table to find that the only two seats left were next to each other. She tried not to give her eagerness too much leash as he pulled out her chair for her before sinking into the one between she and Mor. Mor leaned over to give him a soft peck on the cheek, and he flushed.

“Where’s Emmy tonight?” Feyre asked as Mor tried to wipe the lipstick from Az’s copper skin and he battered her away, like child trying to fend off an over-bearing mother.

“She’s sick, poor little thing,” Mor said, giving a tiny pout. “She hasn’t been able to get out of bed in days.”

Elain didn’t bother to her disappointment. Emerie had been one of Nesta’s best since they’d met in college almost ten years ago, and she not only was she like family to the Archerons, she also happened to be the only person in the group who knew about Elain’s crush. Elain had sworn her to secrecy at the time, and though it would have been reasonable to assume that once Emmy knew, Mor would know, Elain appreciated that she could trust Emerie to keep her secret.

Elain felt Emerie’s absence keenly and Nesta and Cash began bantering back and forth at lightning speed. Emerie was a master at slowing the tempo of Nesta’s quick wit, making it easier for Elain in particular to feel she could keep up.

More selfishly, Elain also missed Emerie’s ability to keep Mor distracted. When Emmy was around, she was all Mor could focus on. However, in her absence Mor’s attention had reverted almost completely to Az, a fact he didn’t seemed to mind a single bit, if his growing smiles were any indication.

Still, he seemed to be going out of his way to make sure Elain didn’t get lost in the chaos of conversation surging around them, even if he never looked at her for more than a moment or two before his eyes flicked back to Mor, studying her dark brown eyes and crimson lips.

After they placed their drink orders and the waiter came over to begin explaining the omakase menu, Elain wondered if she had time to dodge under the table to throw on some lipstick of her own. Assuring herself everyone was suitably distracted she bent down, hastily uncapping the tube before looking up just in time to see Nesta brush a very deliberate hand between Cassian’s splayed quads.

Elain jerked back, banging her head on the table.

“Fuck!” she swore quietly, straightening and rubbing her head.

Nesta shot her an alarmed look across the table and Elain flushed.

“All you alright?” Azriel asked, and she tried not to bleat in excited panic as his fingers brushed the back of her head. “What happened?”

“I—dropped something,” she fumbled, cursing her sister for being such a salacious wench.

Wasn’t it enough that she and Cash were already going to keep her up all night? Did she really have to make Elain look silly in front of Azriel, too?

“Does it hurt?” Azriel said, still studying her head before letting his eyes go to the server. “Do you need ice?”

“No, no,” Elain said hurriedly, trying to regain her composure. “I’m fine.”

“Did you at least find whatever you were looking for?” Mor asked, and Elain’s flush deepened.

“And then some,” she grumbled to herself, and Cassian gave a quiet but unmistakable laugh before letting out a surprised exhale. Elain had a fairly good idea what Nesta was squeezing to shut him up.

“Should we order, then?” Mor asked, hand falling onto Azriel’s arm. “Any particular requests, Birthday Boy?”

“He’s thirty now,” Rhys pointed out. “I think that makes him a Birthday Man .”

“Birthday Old Man,” Cassian amended. “Don’t worry champ, I’ve already put some viagra in your bathroom.”

“You’re not supposed to share your prescriptions, Cash,” Azriel said with mirth, eyes sparkling even as his face remained neutral. “And besides, I would feel dead back if you needed one tonight and couldn’t find them.”

“Checkmate,” Mor purred as Cash flipped her off.

Beside Azriel, Elain was fighting not to blush again. Cash’s comment, however sophomoric and lewd, had her imagining what Azriel was like in bed. She wondered for a moment if Mor knew before dismissing the thought and the twinge it induced.

“Let’s put this poor souls out of his misery and order,” Feyre said, smiling at the server where he still waited patiently. “Maybe if Cash’s mouth is full, he’ll stop talking.”

Cassian grinned, and, after placing their requests for the chef’s tasting menu, they all settled into an easy conversation. Cash and Rhys regaled them with stories of Azriel at various ages, from the gawky child he’d been when they’d first met him to the shy teenager who’d been terrified of girls.

“Let him be,” Mor said, touching her friend’s shoulder. “He was sweet in high school!”

Rhys laughed.

“It took him a year to pluck up the courage to say three words to you,” he pointed out.

“And they were ‘here’s a pen’ in response to you asking him the time. Nice work, Shakespeare,” Cash said, attempting to muss Azriel’s perfectly styled hair before being batted away.

“I can’t imagine Az ever being awkward,” Elain blurted. “I bet girls thought he was mysterious and cool.“

“See?” Azriel said, gesturing to Elain. “This is why I sat over here.”

“Oh please ,” Rhys said, bubbling his lips. “Ellie’s just being polite. If you two had known each other in high school, we all know how to would’ve gone: you’d have had an obscene crush on her and your dreams of true love would have been dashed after she politely signed your yearbook ‘have a good summer, Adrian’, leaving you heartbroken and alone.”

Azriel gave Elain a soft smile, and her heart burst open as thousands of butterflies flitted out of it.

“I hate to say it, but he’s probably right,” he told her. “I assume high school Elain was very popular.”

“She was,” Feyre said. “Eight different guys asked her to prom.”

“I’m not surprised,” Az said, and Elain made a great show out of drinking out of her masu to avoid having to answer.

She was relieved when the food began arriving to distract everyone, if only to save her the temptation of telling Azriel that there was no universe in which she wouldn’t have been into him, high schoolers or no.

Instead discussion turned to the Feyre and Rhys’s wedding as they ate, and as final plates were being cleared, Cash took the opportunity to once again mocked Azriel for the fact the latter had lost the rock-paper-scissors competition to be Rhys’s best man.

“I lost on purpose,” he told Elain quietly, taking a sip of the Yamasaki Single Malt he’d ordered after dinner.

“Why?” she laughed, following his gaze across the table to where Cash and Nesta were now bickering about whether Rhys’s stag night in Vegas would be better than Feyre’s hen do in Napa.

“Because Rhys told me that you’d convinced Feyre to pick Nesta as her maid of honor, and no offense, but your sister terrifies me. I’d much rather be with you.”

She laughed, biting her lip. It felt so terribly like they were flirting, but she couldn’t decide if it was her imagination or not.

“She terrifies everyone,” Elain said. “And I have a feeling this won’t our last trip down the aisle together.”

Azriel only quirked a bemused brow at this, which had Elain flushing scarlet.

“Not like that! She laughed, fumbling to pretend the idea of them being together was absurd rather than her heart’s desire. "I meant for Cash and Nesta’s wedding. Don’t tell me those two aren’t going to end up together.”

“We’ll have to work out a custody agreement when they finally get over themselves and start dating properly,” he agreed. “I’m spending a fortune on earplugs.”

She laughed, and he seemed warmed by the gesture, because he flashed a modest—albeit dimpled—smile being turning back to the larger conversation.

After dinner they’d gone a cocktail bar, then an Irish pub, and finally—much to Azriel’s chagrin—a karaoke bar. Rhys and Cash spend the majority of the evening trying to wrestle Azriel on stage while Mor and Feyre sang duets to Beyoncé and Spice Girls.

Elain was content enough to sit back and simply observe the scene as it unfolded around her. It was hard to contain her giddy, dreadful anticipation when Mor left around one to check on Emerie and Azriel—besides bidding her farewell with a soft kiss on the cheek—didn’t move a muscle.

Less than an hour later, Cash and Nesta both disappeared about an hour after without so much as a goodbye. Elain groaned, hoping they’d be asleep by the time she got home.

She’d have to rally if she wanted to manage it; they would be at it for hours yet.

By three the place was clearing out, and besides them, only a few tables of marathon drinkers and a girl on stage performing a beautiful rendition of Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide” remained.

“We’re gonna go,” Rhys said, arm slung around a rather drunk, giggling Feyre. “Ellie, do you want to come with us?”

Elain glanced at Azriel, who’s glass still had two fingers of whiskey in it. If she wanted a chance to be alone with him, this was it.

“I think I’ve got one more in me,” she said, smiling.

“If you mean drink, I’m in,” Azriel said.

“Oh c’mon, brother,” Rhys goaded. “Just one song. I wouldn’t even film it….much.”

“Do Beyoncé!” Feyre chimed in, and Azriel shook his head.

“You know I’d play in traffic before I ever sang karaoke,” Azriel said mildly, making Feyre laugh. "Thanks for coming.”

He rose, embracing Rhys and pressing a kiss on Feyre’s head.

“C’mon, my little drunkard,” Rhys told her. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Let’s have sex when we get home,” Feyre said, her attempted whisper fully audible. Rhys pretended smack his forehead with his palm and a mimed, “ Oh brother ”, to Azriel and Elain before coax a still-singing Feyre outside.

Azriel chuckled before draining the last of his drink and rising. Elain pretended not to notice the way his well-tailored jeans fit his lean legs and…other parts of his anatomy as he adjusted his belt buckle and glanced down at her.

“Bud Light?” he asked, and she nodded, bobbing to her feet as well.

If she wanted a way to get closer to him that was more elegant than her increasing urge to crawl across the table and into his lap, this was certainly it.

“I’ll come with you.”

He flashed her a modest smile before indicating she lead the way. He ordered and waved off Elain’s attempt to pay before leaning on the bar to avoid towering over her. The gesture brought them nearly eye-to-eye, and Elain had to actively fight not to let hers roll back in pleasure at the bergamot and amyris wood notes in his sinful cologne. Up close Elain could see how much green he had in his hazel irises, and she wanted to tip into them and swim until she drowned.

“Did you have fun?” she said, desperate to get the conversation flowing again, and he smiled, making her stomach flop.

“I did, yeah,” he said, glancing around the bar in bemusement, as if still wondering how he’d ended up there. “Thank you for coming.”

Elain shrugged, grinning.

“You say that like you didn’t think I’d show,” she said, resting a cheek in her hand. She knew by now her expression was not her less than a swoon, though she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Hadn’t been this been her plan all along? Finally get Az’s attention long enough to tell him how she felt? Now was the best chance she’d probably ever get.

“No, I figured would,” Az said, interrupting her reverie. “Or hoped you would, whatever.”

Was that—

Did that mean what she thought it did?

Normally she would have chalked it up to wishful thinking, but the way he rubbed the back of his neck, dimples appearing as he huffed what almost sound like a sheepish laugh, had hope igniting in her chest.

“What does that mean?” she pressed, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

For the first time all night, he didn’t look away. Instead, his eyes skated back and forth across her face, as if she were a riddle he only had seconds to memorize. She watched, transfixed, as he wet his plush lower lip with his tongue before biting it almost self-consciously.

“It means I’m glad you came,” he admitted. “And that you didn’t go home with your sister and Rhys.”

It wasn’t the confirmation she’d been hoping for, and the ambiguity of the statement had her conviction waning. That could just as easily have been mean platonically, and if she pushed him and ruined things between them by making it awkward—

“Of course I’d be here for your birthday,” she said, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “That’s what friends are for.”

She couldn’t help the way her voice got stuck on the word, not when her throat suddenly began to clog with tears.

She had to get out of here, right now. Before she started crying and made things worse. She made to retract her hand but Azriel grabbed it, grip gentle but intent.

“El, don’t go,” he said, and she was surprised at the frank discontent in his normally-impassive expression.

She waited for him to explain himself before instead he let out another strained laugh, grip on her wrist easing. However, he didn’t let go entirely, choosing to intertwine their fingers instead.

Holding hands.

She and Az were holding hands.

And he—

She glanced back up to find he was studying her again, his face a mixture of terror and delight. When she gave his hand a soft squeeze, he let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Jesus, I am bad at this,” he said, reaching up to tuck a curl behind her ear. She wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it, but she thought his gaze flicked down to her lips as he continued to study her with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Bad at what?” She asked, though she’d begun to suspect she knew exactly what, even if it seemed too good to be true.

“At least my timeline is improving,” he breathed instead. “And I haven’t offered you a pen you didn’t ask for yet.”

Hoping she wasn’t misreading the situation, she let her finger trail down to trace the circular buckle of his Gucci before glancing back up at him and purring, “Do you have a pen?”

He smirked before raising his right wrist and glancing at his watch face over her shoulder.

“It’s….3:17 am,” he said, smile spreading as she gave a low sound of approval and flicked her gaze to his lips.

“Smooth,” she said, and tried not to lose her mind as he let his raised hand fall to the back of her neck and bent to kiss her.

He had almost girlishly full lips, and they opened for her as they settled into the kiss. Immediately his hand tangled in her hair so he could alter her head position slightly and get a proper taste of her. She groaned into his mouth he pulled at her lower lip with his teeth. He tasted like oranges and the expensive Japanese whiskey he’d been drinking all night, and pleasure tightened in her low belly as his tongue brushed hers. Her brought his free hand up to cradle her face, and in response she pushed closer to run her hands underneath of his shirt and down the silken skin of his back.

“Fuck,” he breathed with a heated half-laugh, nose brushing her cheek as he bowed into her touch. “You’re killing me, woman.”

She only smirked, feeling more confident now that she had before. She could hardly believe this was happening, but she was too excited about it to fully care.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, and he bit his lip, as if restraining himself from kissing her again.

“Like to another bar?” he asked, dazed as he continued to stare at her lips.

“Like to my bed,” she said boldly. “Or yours, depending on where Cassian and Nesta ended up.”

He didn’t speak immediately, just studied her, and she panicked.

“I mean, only if you—I’m sorry, should I not have—?“

He only kissed her again in response, more gently this time.

“Please stop apologizing,” he said, kissing her jaw now before seeming to realize something and pulling back, brows synced.

“I—Jesus, do you seriously not know?”

She felt a bit sheepish at his incredulous tone and fought not to stiffen.

“Know what?”

He laughed softly, though their was a edge of self-deprecation in it that kept the gesture from seeming conscending.

“I really am the worst at this.”

“At what?”

“El, I’ll crazy about you. I have been crazy about you since we met.”

“You have?” she blurted, horror fading into genuine—if elated—confusion.

He laughed.

“Did you think it was coincidence that you and I are always sitting next to each other at dinner? That I always find you at Rhys’s dumb parties?”

“I—“ she began, still trying to decide if this was a dream or not. “What about Mor, though?”

“Mor?” he repeated, confused now, too. “What about her?”

“I thought you and she—“

He leaned in to brush his nose against hers, and she blushed at the innocent affection in the gesture.

“Not at all,” he assured her. “I did have a thing for her in high school, but I got over it after she and Cash slept together at prom. We’re just friends, I swear.”

“But she’s always touching you, and every time I see you together you can’t stop looking at her.”

At this he laughed, his smile so genuine and open she almost didn’t recognize him.

“She’s always been touchy-feely,” he said. “She grew up in Madrid, and people are just more affectionate there, I guess. And I only watch her when you’re around because she called me out for having an absurd crush on you, and I was afraid she was going to get drunk and blow my cover by telling you.”

Elain shook her head, still not quite believing what she was hearing. Reading her expression, he bent to kiss her softly.

“What guy wouldn’t be crazy about you?” he breathed. “You’re incredible.”

This seemed to break the spell, and she twined her fingers in his hair and pulled him down for another steamy kiss.

“Text Cash,” she said a little breathlessly when they broke away. “I don’t want an audience.”

She couldn’t felt but feeling smug when he almost dropped his phone at those words. It felt good to know that she wasn’t the only one affected by all this.

“Cash and Nesta are at the lof—“ Az began after a minute, but Elain cut him off with a kiss.

H rose, pulling her against him as his tongue brushed the roof of her mouth.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he said as she kissed his neck and tugged on his earlobe with her teeth, earning a low groan. “You’ve been drinking.”

She grabbed his chin so he would look at her.

“Not that much,” she said, and it was true. “And besides, I wanted this way before tonight.“

“Good,” he breathed, pressing a hand to her low back to bring her close to him. “Because so have I.”

Though they spent the majority of the ride up town and the elevator up to her apartment making out, something seemed to shift as Elain’s door clicked shut behind him, as if the gravity of what they were about to do had finally caught up to them.

Reluctantly Az peeled his lips from where they’d been glued to her neck as he took a small step back, as if to give her space.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, feeling embarrassed for how much she still wanted him even now that he seemed to have come to his senses.

“Maybe we should—” he broke off, looking somewhat guilty. “Hold off.”

She nodded, trying to keep the tears at bay again.

“Are you worried this could mess things up in the group? Because I understand—“

“No,” he said hurriedly, coming forward again, as if he could no longer stand to be away. “Not at all. I just—you’re special, El. You deserve to be taken out and spoiled.”

“Az, you just took us to a $1,800 dinner! Or did you think I didn’t see you pulling our server aside?”

Azriel opened his mouth, and she covered it with a finger.

“You don’t need to earn my affection. It’s yours already, free of charge.”

“I’ve just been—I waited so long to make my move and I’m terrified of fucking it up,” he said with a soft laugh.

“Why, are you bad at sex?”

Azriel laughed, seemed to relax at her teasing.

“I’ve never had any complaints,” he breathed again her lips, kissing her deeply again.

She gently bit his lower lip in response.

“Then I’d say you’ve gotten nothing to worry about,” she said, kissing him a third time.

She moaned softly when drove his fingers into her hair, hips canting towards her as he pressed her more fully into the door.

She could feel his body’s reaction to her pressing between her thighs, and she moaned again.

“Fuck,” he breathed onto her skin. “You are so gorgeous.”

“So are you,” she said, running her hands up the back of his t-shirt and feeling the mosaic of muscles flexing underneath. “Take this off.”

He laughed and pulled the offending garment over his head, making her groan in delight.

“God, this body ,” she breathed, running a hand down his chest and enjoying his shiver at her delicate touch.

He responded by spinning her away from him and gently dragging down the zipper of her dress until he could slip a hand inside of it.

“I knew you couldn’t have a bra on underneath this thing,” he said, voice a touch smug as he cupped both bare breasts and her breath caught in her throat..

“I’m surprised you even noticed,” she said, voice somewhat. “I wore this dress for you, and you didn’t even look at it once the entire evening.”

She laughed, the sound into a soft moan as he twisted one nipple in experimentation. When she sighed and let her head fall back onto his shoulder.

“Of course I noticed the dress,” he corrected. “You have the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen. I just knew that if I let myself look, I might not be able to stop looking.”

“You shouldn’t say that until you’ve seen them without the sorcery of underwire,” she said.

With that he spun her to face him, catching her gaze to ensure he had her permission before tugging down the top of the dress so her breasts fell free.

“Gorgeous,” he said, easing to his knees so he could replace his fingers with his mouth. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“If I known this was going to be your reaction, I would have worn a bodycon dress in front of you ages ago,” she said, threading her hands through his hair as he dragged his teeth and tongue along her nipple.

“You don’t need some tight dress to be sexy,” he said, resting his chin her her sternum so he could gaze up at her. “I’d take you in your overalls and pigtail braids any day.”

“Is this some Pippy Longstocking fetish we should all know about?”

He grinned, rising to his feet and giving one of her curls a playful tug.

“Because as devastating as you are playing dress up in your sister’s clothes, I prefer you as you.”

“You can’t say that when I’m naked,” she said with a smile, touching his cheek.

“Why not?”

“Because I may start crying and ruin the mood.”

He cocked his head to the side, tracing her lips with a finger.

“I wouldn’t mind a few tears from you in bed. But only if it’s from you sobbing in pleasure.”

His words sent blood pooling south, the intensity cause a dull throbbing.

“Why do I feel like you could do it, too?” She asked, reaching down to free his belt as he heeled out of his boots.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, taking her hand and guiding it between his legs. “Forget this,” he said, squeezing gently so she could feel how hard he was. “I could go down on your all night and be the happiest guy on Earth.”

Emerie had said as much once, at a drunken girls’ night.

Azriel strikes me as the type of guy who loves eating girls out. It’s why gay women find him so easy to befriend; we recognize kindred spirit.

Elain vowed to never tell the others she’d been right.

“Will you let me?” He asked, gently nudging her dressing off her hips until it came free and pooled at her feet.

“Is this a trick question?” She said, voice going hoarse as he slipping a hand into her underwear.

“Some people don’t like it.”

“I’m not one of them,” she said, he smiled, coaxing her legs around his waist so he could carry her.

“Thank God,” he replayed. “That would break my heart. Which way?”

She pointed him in the right direction before giving into temptation and kissing him again, looking to way she could feel like body reacting to hers as he held her close. Only when they reached her room—which was decidedly messier than she’d have liked considering Azriel Macar was now in it—did he set her down.

He wasted no time into coaxing her onto the bed, taking only a moment to admire the silky black thong she wore before dragging into down her thighs and discarding it.

“Spread your legs for me, El,” he said, brushing kisses to her knee as she slowly did as he commanded.

The light from the nearby street lamp made the room a lot less dark than Elain was used to during sex, and for a moment she though to be embarrassed or postpone. Then she glanced down to admire the contrast of Azriel’s inky black hair framed against the pale skin of her thighs, and she forgot what it even meant to be self-conscious as he finally put him mouth on her.

She swore at the first brush of his tongue, which was both deliberate and extremely delicate. She threaded a hand through his hair at his second stroke, the touch more intentional this time.

“Azriel,” she breathed.

She watched the muscles in his beautiful back shift at this, as if hearing her moan his name had untethered something in him. When he put his mouth back on her, it was clear he was no longer attempted to tease her. Instead he felt right to where she needed him most, refusing to relent until she tipped over the edge.

Even then he didn’t seem satisfied, it and it was only after he made her come a second time did he pull back, licking his lips before bending to kiss her.

“Take your pants off,” she demanded. "Right now.”

She felt him grinning against her neck as he peeled off of her, slowly working the buttons of his pants before sliding them down his trim hips. He wore black boxer briefs underneath, and he honestly looked like an Armani model. She bit her lip, eying the sizable swell of him through the cotton.

“Those too,” she breathed, greedily drinking in his well-defined adonis belt and the bare trace of hair above the band.

He did as she commanded, and she nearly melted. Naked he was a God, all rippling muscles and smooth unblemished skin, save for the chest piece tattoo that extended onto his shoulders and halfway down his arms. She let her eyes sink lower. Even half-hard he was big, and her belly clenched.

Wasting no time, she urged him to take her place on the bed before kneeling at his feet and putting her mouth on it.

“Shit,” he hissed, driving a hand into his hand then down his face. “Ellie, you’re kiling me.”

She looked up at him through her lashes, and he growled in approval, seeming to decide something before breaking her grip on him and hauling her to her feet. He kissed her again, and she could feel his cock as it practically pulsed between them.

She still wasn’t sure she could believe it was for her, that somehow he wanted her as much as she did him, and had for almost as long.

“Condoms,” he breathed against her mouth. “I need to be inside of you.”

She froze.

“I don’t have any,” she said, dismayed.

How could she be so stupid? Why didn’t they stop on the way home? The closest bodega was six blocks, and she knew everyone who worked there. The last thing she needed was all of them knowing—

Azriel pressed a swift kiss to her lips before tangling from her.

“Where are you going?”

“To grab a condom.”

“Naked?

He flashed her a slight grimace, “Let’s agree you won’t ask where I get it from.”

“Oh Moses,” Elain said, face flushing scarlet as she listened to Nesta’s door creaking open.

Azriel was back in less than a minute, tossing an entire box onto the nightstand as he pulled open one of the foils with his teeth, using his free hand to push his damp hair, long enough to brush his cheekbones now that it wasn’t styled, out of his eyes.

“You found those distressingly fast,” Elain said, unsure if she was amused or mortified at the situation.

“Cash is predictable with his hiding spots,” Az said, eyes hooded as he stroked himself several times before rolling the condom onto his length.

“And why did you take the whole box?”

Azriel laughed softly.

“Because I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”

Without another word Az sank to his knees again, one hand lazily stroking himself to maintain his erection as he went down on her again.

This time it only last three seconds or so before he pulled back, resting one knee beside her hip to steady himself before pulling her onto his shaft in a single wet stroke. Using her left bent leg as leverage, he adjusted his angle, smirking at her low, guttural moan of pleasure.

“Good to know your g-spot is as sensitive as the rest of you,” he breathed, and she laughed and tugged him into an ambitious rhythm.

Soon the only sound was their shared breathing, and the sliding on their bodies against one another. She came first, and he followed even before the dizzying waves of pleasure ceased. He pumped lazily in and out of her for another half dozen stroke before gently extracting from her and peeling off the condom.

She curled against him, cheek pressed to chest as her hands continued to explore. Her fingers caressed his swelling pectorals and each of his abdominal muscles before lazily venturing back between his legs. He gave a hiss of pleasure as she began to work his silken shaft in earnest, and in minutes he was fully ready again.

He groaned when she snatched one of the condoms and rolled it onto him before swinging a leg over and sinking astride him.

Her third orgasm hit her only a short time later, and she sighed when he bucked up into her before going languid under her ministrations.

She leaned down to kiss him as he ran a soothing hand down her back.

“Jesus,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to hers and swirling his hips, still inside her despite his orgasm. “That was incredible.”

She purred her contentment, feeling something even more alluring than desire swell in her chest as he discarded the second condom and tugged her into his arms, tangling their legs. He still smelled like cologne, but it had mixed with her perfume, and sweat, and the scent was intoxicating. She wanted to bath in it—in him—until she died from bliss. She listened to his breathing even out, and as she was drifting off to bed, he felt his breath ruffle her hair.

“Do you like pancakes?” he murmured. “I want to make you breakfast in the morning.”

“Really?” she said, looking at him over a shoulder and melting at the warmth in his smile, less guarded now than it had been even hours before.

“I want to make breakfast for you every morning,” he breathed. “I have since I met you.”

She smiled, nestling closer to him.

“I’d love that, but I should probably be the one making you breakfast. It is your birthday, after all. You have to let me give you something other than a bj and a few orgasms for your birthday, even if it is your dirty 30.”

Az choked on a laugh.

“Say you‘ll dinner with me, then. No family or nosy friends around, just us.”

“I think the word you’re looking for it ‘date’,” she said, laughing as his cheeks flushed before realizing something. “Or is the idea just too formal for the situation? I know we did things a bit backwards...”

“We did,” he agreed, stroking her cheek. “But that doesn’t mean I want to spoil you any less. So yes a date, if you’ll still have me.”

“I will,” she said, meeting his hazel eyes before gently kissing him. “With pleasure.”

He smiled against her mouth.

“Then that’s the only birthday gift I want or need from you.”

She smiled, feeling happy to the point of bursting when he kissed her ear and closed his eyes again.

"Happy Birthday, Az.”

His hum of contentment vibrated through her back.

“The happiest,” he breathed.

#featherywrites #elriel smut #elain x azriel #acotar modern one shot #four word prompts

[seasonofthewicth]

nobody does it like you do - act 2

Thank you so much for all your reactions to part 1! I hope you enjoy part two just as much :)

CW: mentions of past minor character death (incl. a pregnant woman)

7.3k - masterlist - ao3

--

Her first day of shooting isn’t great. It’s not bad by a long way, but it could have easily been better. They’re on location in a forest somewhere in the outskirts of Rifthold and she didn’t even know there were places in the city like this, she’d assumed it was all the sprawling metropolis of skyscrapers and crowded streets, but apparently not.

She’s cold. There’s a machine beating down torrents of fake rain on her and Fenrys where they stand opposite each other on the muddy path through the trees, they’re filming the scene where their characters first meet. Her feet are soggy inside the canvas trainers she’s wearing and they keep spraying water on her hair to keep the wet look running throughout all of the takes and she hates it. She’s uncomfortable and stiff but she comforts herself with the knowledge that Fenrys is the same if the frown he wears whenever the camera isn’t on him is anything to go by.

It helps, barely.

She keeps having to spit water out of her mouth between lines, she swears it never rains this heavily in real life but who is she to comment, and she watches Rowan’s lips twist in displeasure where he sits behind the camera every time she does it. Aelin’s not sure what else she’s supposed to do, he can sit there out of the line of the water all fine, but she can’t speak with her mouth full.

It can take time to fall into the natural rhythm of shooting a new project, even the shitty ones she’s done in the past have shown her that, but there’s something about the way Rowan watches her that prickles the back of her neck, his stare intense and heavy as he watches, that adds the pressure. She wants to show him that she can do this. She wants his approval.

She ignores the reasons why.

After they finish and Rowan has called cut she sulks back to her trailer, she’s only just managed to change out of her sodden clothes when there’s a knock at the door. It’s Fenrys, warm and dry now in his own change of clothes.

They’ve sort of become friends recently, after swapping numbers after the table read he had texted her first. The studio has put him in the same complex as her and they’ve shared a car back there a couple of times after some of their meetings. She likes him a lot actually, and while she knows his reputation of infamy with the ladies follows him around like a bad smell, she feels comfortable with him.

“That could have gone better,” he tells her as he flops down onto the two-seater sofa at the end of her trailer, the other half has a mound of clothes dumped on it that she hasn’t bothered to sort through yet.

She just shoots him a look that she hopes says tell me about it.

“Tomorrow will be better,” he tells her, reassuringly. He would know she supposes, he has far more experience than her.

“I hope so.”

“How’re you finding it so far, working with Rowan?” he asks, and she frowns, bristling at the fact that he somehow knows the worst question to ask already. Aelin doesn’t think she’s behaved weirdly around Rowan since the day at the table read, in fact she’s tried to avoid him where possible. Maybe that’s it.

“Fine,” she says, but that’s not quite true. It messes with her in a dangerous way every time she knows he’s watching her. She should be able to turn that part of her brain off during a scene, she trained for years to learn how to do that, but he gets to her. She’s working on it.

Fenrys laughs, seeing right through her.

“He’s not bad once you get to know him, the first time we worked together I thought he was a total dick.” She gives him the same look as before as she clears the clothes and sits down next to him.

“I swear he’s not that bad. He’s just-” Fenrys pauses, weighing her up with a look, and something that he takes in from the way she stands, gnawing on her lower lip with her hair still wet, has him saying; “He’s got a lot riding on this.”

“Why?”

It doesn’t feel like he has a lot riding on this, his last piece was nominated for the Oscars, how much higher than that can you get? It’s not like he’s in the same position as her, desperately clawing herself back to a place where she can be cast in a role and it not be followed by a stunned, oh?

She knows there were articles written when her casting was announced that were doubtful of her ability to do this movie, that questioned whether she’s up to the task and whether she’s good enough to be standing next to names like Fenrys and Rowan. Some of the articles were straight up mean, and she only knows that because she searched them up like a masochist when all the ones Elide sent over were far too nice.

A dark part of herself can’t help but fall prey to some of the headlines. The ones that throw around words like nepotism, the ones that question whether Aelin is talented enough to be where she is cut deeper than any knife, and only half of it is because she sometimes wonders the same. She should be better than that, but the reminder catches in her throat that she really does have a lot riding on this.

“It’s not really my place to say.”

That’s a load of shit, and she tells him so. He only shrugs, not willing to so openly gossip about their boss.

“How well do you know him exactly?” She’s fishing for any details, but it definitely could be passed off as casual curiosity.

“He directed my debut, we keep in touch every so often.” He’s nonchalant. “He asked me to audition for this.”

“Nice humble brag.”

Fenrys only flashes her his movie star grin, in combination with the wink he throws at her it’s almost an effort not to blush.

“He wanted you cast, you know?” That she didn’t know, but it’s nice to hear.

“Why? He doesn’t know me.”

“You’re hard work, you know?” He’s joking but it doesn’t sit quite right. She knows it’s true. “Come with us tonight. There's a group of us getting dinner, and you can ask him yourself.”

It’s an olive branch. She knows it’s obvious to everyone that she’s uncomfortable, still hasn’t quite found her feet on set after taking such a break, and it’s one that she’s grateful for. No matter how closed off she knows she still seems to them.

“Okay,” she says and Fenrys’ smile is genuine and a part of her lifts, it’s a start.

They share a car to the restaurant and he fills the journey with easy chatter. She appreciates it because she feels really fucking rusty. It’s been a while since she spoke to anyone outside of her immediate circle of friends and family, and it’s always been easy with them. This is different, but not unwelcome.

Sometimes she worries that, as much as they love her, Aedion, Lysandra and Elide are inclined to tread lightly around her. She’d like to think that she’s not that fragile, that she could take the full front of their humour and teasing like she used to, but then remembers when Fenrys’ joke fell flat for her in the trailer and she thinks again.

Either way, the cast and crew here don’t treat her like she’s broken, or even breakable, and it’s refreshing.

Fenrys leads the way into the restaurant, and there’s definitely paparazzi down the street snapping away at them as they cross the short distance from the car to the door. She tries to ignore it, she’ll text Elide once they’re done here, even though Elide will probably be overjoyed. It’s probably (definitely) easier to publicise your talent when she’s out there doing things with other famous people compared to staying inside her home alone.

Fenrys greets the staff on the door and they lead them through the restaurant to a staircase at the back of the room and it leads up to a private space with only one table. Right, privacy. Some of these guys are proper celebrities.

They’re the last ones there, and there’s two seats left at the table. Manon is here, so is Rowan and one of the executive producers who she thinks is called Gavriel.

“Alright guys, you all know Aelin,” Fenrys says and she smiles as they greet her.

Fenrys holds a chair out for her, the one next to Rowan, and she slides into it as he takes the one on her other side.

Rowan offers her a quirk of his lips, one she returns as she takes him in. He’s wearing short sleeves this time and she gets a good look at the tattoo snaking the whole way down his left arm. It’s in the Old Language and she can’t read it, even though her father had spent hours trying to teach her when she was a kid, but the lettering is beautiful and neat. She wants to reach out and touch, to trace the lines that roll down his golden skin.

She doesn’t. Obviously.

A waiter comes over to take their drink orders, Fenrys gets a beer, Manon and Gavriel opt for wine, but Rowan asks for an orange juice. He’s not drinking either and she wonders if it’s related to the reason he needs this movie to go well. So she’s nosy? So what?

She sits back and observes as the conversation flows, laughing along at the easy banter that flows between the three men and the sarcastic quips Manon throws in. Fenrys clearly understated his relationship with Rowan, they seem tight and have a clear fondness for one another. It’s easy to slot herself in as the night progresses, snarking with Manon and joining in with the general light-hearted mockery of Fenrys.

She thinks maybe so far she’s got Rowan wrong.

Tonight he’s quick-witted and charming, and he makes his best effort to include her in the conversation which she appreciates. It’s a contrast to the dark and teasing side of him she’s seen so far in the hallway and the table read. Maybe he’s decided to just start again, pretend they never met before she was cast, and she can do that too.

“So, Aelin.” Manon turns the spotlight to her after a while. “Tell us the scoop. I’ve not seen you in anything for a while.”

It’s not a nasty question, Aelin can just tell from the way she asks it, nothing more than genuine curiosity lies in her tone even if the phrasing is somewhat harsh. Manon might not be the bubbliest of characters, she’s blunt and doesn’t beat around the bush, but she’s not unkind, and Aelin doubts if she knew the truth she’d ask that question in such a way.

Elide managed to keep the worst of her… career break? One could phrase it more like breakdown, out of the limelight. She somehow managed to keep the worst of it hidden, and Aelin will owe her that for the rest of her life.

All the world knows is that Sam was murdered when they were both still newbies to their respective industries, neither of them had had their big break yet, and after that she took a break. For three years.

She remembers the headlines from the time, most were in smaller magazines, Sam wasn’t famous enough to make the front pages. Her mouth tastes like bile.

Singer-Songwriter Sam Cortland, 20, murdered in random street attack in Orynth, girlfriend Aelin Ashryver unharmed and working with police to identify suspect.

No one knows she knelt there in his blood begging for him to open his eyes, not even Aedion, or Lysandra or Elide, and she blinks back the image now. Her hands are curled into fists below the table and she forces herself to uncurl them and lay them flat against her jeans.

“Yeah,” she says after clearing her throat. “I took a break from it all for a few years, but I’m back now obviously and really excited for it.”

Manon nods and Gavriel raises a glass. He’s been nothing but kind to her all night. He kind of reminds her of her father, though he’s not that old, probably not even forty yet. He’s softly spoken and counters each snarky comment from Fenrys or Manon with something softer but no less amusing.

“Good to hear,” Fenrys says with a grin, clinking his glass against Gavriel’s.

The way Rowan watches her as he raises his own glass in a toast to her, careful and without speaking, tells her he knows. At least the basics about Sam, and it seems like maybe he did google her just like she joked back at the table read.

Their meals arrive then, mercifully taking the attention away from her. She needs to find a better way to deal with the attention than shutting down, especially if this film is going to be as big as everyone thinks it will be. She should call her therapist.

She will.

Eventually.

They leave the restaurant not long after, Fenrys covering the bill, emphasising that this was a celebration and an initiation for Aelin. She almost blushes for some unknown reason at his words, but she likes it. It sounds good. Like she really is back, or at least will be.

They each give her their numbers, and she likes the way he’s in her phone now as Rowan rather than Rowan Whitethorn, it feels like he’s not just someone from work. Not just her boss.

They each say goodbye and share a series of embraces, ignoring the small group of paparazzi that follow, desperate for any kind of incriminating image of any of the five of them. It’s clear that most of them are here for Fenrys, but she still makes sure to keep her expression clear and guarded as Rowan wraps her into a one-armed hug when they leave. It’s not just for the paparazzi.

Back in her apartment, when she’s tucked up in bed knowing she should be asleep, she can’t stop herself from googling him. She’s honestly surprised she’s lasted this long.

The first few news articles to come up are all about the movie and she scrolls past them, instead pulling up his Wikipedia page and scrolling straight to the personal life section. Maybe this is the weirdest way anyone’s ever got to know a friend, but she’s intrigued and still slightly flustered by him so it will do.

The section on his personal life is relatively bare, and it doesn’t surprise her. His Instagram account alone told her pretty explicitly that he’s a private kind of guy. She almost scrolls away after the first few lines, they don’t give her much information other than the college he went to and the languages he speaks, but she reads the final few lines of the section anyway.

In March 2018 Whitethorn’s fiance, Lyria Woods, passed away as the result of a road traffic accident. The driver of the other vehicle was found to be under the influence of alcohol at the time of the accident and was later sentenced to 6 years in prison for death by dangerous driving. Woods was 12 weeks pregnant with their child at the time of the accident.

Only a couple of weeks after the Oscars that she and Lysandra watched. She does the maths and realises this is his first film since then and thinks she knows what Fenrys meant.

Fucking shit.

Her second day of shooting goes better than the first, just as Fenrys said it would.

She’s more relaxed when she crosses the set from her trailer with a coffee in hand and she thinks she knows her place a little better now, even after only one night spent with the others.

She lies back while her make up is done, chatting to the make-up artist instead of sitting silently like the day before, and she’s almost ready for the discomfort that her wet hair will bring. The weather adds to the atmosphere of the film, dark and dreary and moody, and she gets why they’re doing it, but it still sucks.

Fenrys is ready when she gets there, and while she’s not avoiding Rowan today after finding out about his… past, she just finds it difficult to look him in the eye knowing what she does. He probably wouldn’t be surprised that she knew, if it’s on Wikipedia it’s public knowledge and they have made jokes about googling each other, but she feels weird in a way that she didn’t learn it from him. It feels intrusive, or invasive, to find out about something like that through Wikipedia.

But even though they bonded somewhat last night, and he greeted her this morning with an easy hey, they’re still not close. No matter that she thinks she might want them to be. She’s trying again to ignore the way she feels drawn to him, the way her eyes seek him out without her permission.

She knows she kills the take. Knows it from the high five Fenrys slaps against her palm once Rowan’s called cut and from the swift nod he offers her when she glances towards him.

There seem to be two Rowan’s too, there’s the award winning director Rowan Whitethorn, and then just Rowan.

Rowan Whitethorn is cool and calculating and distant, quiet while he watches their scene from his place behind the camera, the big black headphones he uses pushed down around his neck. His eyes are as sharp as a hawk’s while he watches for all the minute details of their expressions and any improvements they could make. He doesn’t give her that many she’s pleased to note.

The way he instructs them is impressive, with clear directions and thoughtful analyses. She’s been here two days and she knows how he got the Oscar nomination, he’s scarily intelligent and seems to know exactly what’s off about a performance before she figures it out herself.

The other side to him, the side that is just Rowan is…

Just Rowan is the one she likes more.

She suspects the smile he gives her later, after they’ve nailed the bulk of the scene in one take and she’s being twirled around by Fenrys, comes from him.

She has two full days off in a row, and she decides the best use of her time is to go and stay with Aedion and Lysandra. Fenrys isn’t free, and the reason she is is that he has a load of solo scenes to shoot, and she doesn’t envy him at all.

Lysandra is ecstatic when she announces via a group text to her and Aedion that she’ll be at their house for lunchtime, and she loves it, but it makes her feel a little guilty. That she’s let it get to the point when her friend reacts like that at her promise of a visit is quite frankly appalling, but she finally feels as if she’s taken the first step. She’s on the bottom rung of the ladder, and it’s taken her a while, but she’s there now.

Aedion and Lysandra live in a disgustingly big house in a gated part of the suburbs, and she knows the house isn’t exactly what they would have chosen in an ideal world, it’s too big and garish and grey, but there are gates by the entrance and 24 hour security.

It still messes with her head that Aedion is that famous. Aedion. Her gangly cousin, always too tall for his own good, who used to pull her hair when they were kids and sneak her extra helpings of cake at family parties before her parents divorced. She doesn’t know that much about football, so little in fact that her dad and Aedion teased her relentlessly for years, but everyone tells her he’s good.

Like really good.

The salary he gets from the Ravens is more than enough proof.

She rings their front door bell and she can hear Lysandra’s quick steps before the big wooden door is pulled open.

Her friend is glowing. Her dark hair falls into waves near the end and her staggeringly beautiful face is free of any make-up and unblemished and dewy. She’s had time to get over the insecurities that come from being friends with Lysandra so it barely phases her as she wraps her arms around her friend.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers into Lysandra’s hair. It smells like coconut and citrus and just Lysandra.

“I missed you too. So much,” Lysandra sighs as she pulls back, dragging Aelin into the house and shutting the door.

Their hallway is grand and open but there’s a pile of their shoes by the wall and a rack of coats that make it feel more homely. There are framed photos carefully arranged on the sideboard in the entry way that show the two of them with their whole family and all of their friends.

There’s one on there of Aelin and Lysandra at eighteen, their arms thrown tightly around each other while they grin massive, excited smiles at the camera, or more likely Elide behind it. She remembers the day it was taken, Lysandra had signed to her first agency and arranged to move to Rifthold, and they had taken her out to celebrate.

It was around the same time she signed for her first movie, a tiny role with two lines and twenty seconds of screen time but it got the ball rolling with her first proper acting credit, and she’ll never forget it.

A head of golden hair pokes around the kitchen doorway at the end of the hall and she lets her cousin sweep her up into a hug, swinging her up and around so her feet dangle above the floor.

“Alien, we’ve missed you.”

A stupid nickname from when they were young, the kind of young where he thought it was hilarious to replace her name with an extraterrestrial, but it only makes her smile now, squeezing her cousin tight before he puts her back down.

“Yeah, I bet you’ve been lost without me.” She beams at them, taking a moment to soak in how it feels to be with them even as Aedion rolls his eyes. “I’ve missed you both too.”

“Lunch is ready, come on,” Aedion tells her as he takes her case and drags it through the house, leaving it by the bottom of the stairs. It’s then that she spots the frilly pink apron tied around his waist.

“Alright,” she laughs. “I can’t wait to try what the domestic goddess has in store for us.”

Peals of laughter burst out of Lysandra and she grins back at her, forever grateful that they managed to keep their relationship with each other from ever impacting on their relationship with Aelin. At first she had been worried that Aedion and Lysandra would become AedionAndLysandra and that she wouldn’t have a place left with them, but she needn’t have worried, and they worked too well together for Aelin to have ever wished for anything different.

“Gods, shut up,” he mutters, slinging an arm around her shoulders and leading her to the kitchen. “So annoying, both of you.”

She grins as she hears Lysandra smack an overly dramatic kiss to his cheek.

Aedion’s a surprisingly good cook, the lunch he’s made is tasty despite being carefully planned to fit into both his and Lysandra’s strict meal plans. If they’re the cost needed to be able to live in a house like this, Aelin doesn’t want it.

“So,” Aedion says after he’s finished chewing a mouthful. “How are things going?”

He asks it with a gentle kind of sensitivity that she understands what he’s really asking. She knows it’s code for are you still sober? but she also knows he hasn’t asked it because he doubts her. Aedion and Lysandra have always been in her corner, even in her darkest moments they were there.

She never wants to put them through anything like that ever again. Never wants them to experience anything as terrifying as the last night she ever touched a drug. That night, almost a year ago now, will forever be the bottom of her pit. She doesn’t remember much of it, other than the devastation on Aedion’s face as he carried her out of the men’s toilets of a seedy nightclub in Perranth. The way he’d bitten his lip as he picked her up off the sticky floor, pulling the hem of her dress down to cover her underwear where it had ridden up.

The thought makes her sick.

He’d had to skip a game, leading to a bollocking from his coach, but he’d done it for her. Had carried her out of the club and into a car, waiting to take them back to his house. Lysandra had stroked her hair where she lay on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor while Aedion called a doctor to the house. Even through his panic he had thought of her and how little she would want it publicised that she’d been pulled out of a club, off her fucking rocker on whatever substance she’d been given by the lowlives she had fallen in with. She’s really, really lucky that for once Aedion hadn’t been followed by paparazzi.

She takes a sip of her sparkling water before she answers, it feels like all she ever drinks these days and it tastes like shit but it’s worth it if she never reverts back to where she was.

“I’m good.” She’s almost surprised to find that it’s true. “I’m feeling much better.”

She can barely look at them, can barely take the level of subdued joy on their faces.

“We’re glad Aelin, really glad.” Lysandra’s voice is sincere.

“So, how’s the new project going?” Aedion asks her, sensing her discomfort almost immediately.

“That’s good too actually.” It is. It feels good to have something positive to focus on, something that she feels is productive and worth doing. “It’s nice to be back and be busy even if the morning shoots begin disgustingly early. It’s good to be on set, surrounded by it all again and to remember that I can actually do this.”

She stabs her fork through a piece of tomato a little aggressively as she finishes and the look Lysandra shoots her tells her she’s not impressed with the self-deprecation but that she’ll let it slide for now.

“And Fenrys Moonbeam, is he really that good looking in real life?”

Aelin laughs. “More actually, sometimes it's too much.”

“Nice,” Lysandra nods appreciatively.

“Is he alright though?” Ever the overprotective older brother figure, she expected some version of this question from Aedion.

“He’s great. He’s hilarious and it really helps on the long days,” she says before taking her next bite.

“And Rowan Whitethorn’s directing isn’t he? What’s he like?”

Aelin blinks and finishes chewing slowly. “He’s… fine.”

She knows she’s fucked it when Aedion and Lysandra share a look, matching smirks beginning on each of their faces.

“Fine,” Lysandra repeats. “What exactly does fine mean Aelin?”

She purses her lips. “He’s a great director.”

Lysandra rolls her eyes. “And?”

She could probably lie here, they’d probably let it slide if she said some bullshit about how they’ve not spoken much and how she barely knows him, but she honestly needs to talk to someone about this. You know, to set her straight.

“And he’s really hot.”

She’s blushing as Lysandra laughs and Aedion chuckles.

“You’ve got a crush,” Lysandra sing-songs, and when she doesn't respond she says, “Have you got a picture of him? I don’t think I actually know what he looks like.”

She can’t blame Lysandra for that, she’s still kicking herself for not recognising him that day in the hallway, but he was only on screen for a few seconds at the Oscars and it wasn’t long after Sam so it wasn’t like she was paying attention in that way. She still thinks she should have noticed.

She pulls her phone out to find the only picture she has on there with Rowan. She had only taken it this week when they were eating breakfast with Fenrys one morning, in one of the tents that had been set up for them to sit in between takes, and Fenrys had pulled his phone out to snap a photo of her for his Instagram story.

She’d been wrapped up in one of the huge parkas they’re given for the times in between scenes holding her croissant high up in the air when he’d taken it. He’d captioned it she could have dropped her croissant and tagged her, and she’d gained a good few thousand followers. She’s almost at a million and they’re only a couple of weeks into shooting.

She had taken one of him in response and then spun around to force Rowan into a selfie with her, he’d protested but she’d pouted until he relented, grumbling something about actors that she knew he didn’t mean. She didn’t post it anywhere, she kept it to herself and she can’t lie, she’s looked at it way too many times since.

She’s smiling a wide smile, cheeks stuffed full of her croissant and it’s really kind of gross, but the small smile on Rowan’s face makes it bearable. More than bearable, she has to resist the temptation to make it her lock screen because that would be weird.

She remembers the heat of his chest where he had stood behind her to lean down so their faces were level, the hand he rested on her shoulder to steady himself and the way his fingers had brushed against her neck in the lightest caress.

She hands the phone over to Lysandra and wants to pull it back almost immediately.

It’s not that she’s embarrassed or whatever, even if they think it’s a bad idea they’d let her down gently, it's just that their opinion matters to her a lot. And while they haven’t exactly approved of her string of random hookups in the years since Sam, they’ve never tried to comment on it other than to check she’s in a good place with it, but she knows they’re waiting for the next person she sees seriously.

There’s a fairly large part of her that thinks her first relationship since Sam shouldn’t be with her boss. And that fucks her up a bit, because since when was she considering a relationship with him?

“Oh yeah,” Lysandra says, scaring away the intrusive thought and raising one perfectly arched eyebrow. “He’s hot alright.”

Aedion nods along, peering over Lysandra’s shoulder. Lysandra’s eyes are far too knowing when she looks back up at Aelin and passes the phone over. She doesn’t say a word before locking the phone and sliding it back into her pocket.

“You’ll have to invite us to set sometime.” Lysandra is sneaky but not subtle.

“I will,” she agrees.

The next week flies by, she shoots every single day but one, and she’s far too exhausted each night to do anything other than scrounge up a measly meal that can be pulled together from her cupboard basics and the limited vegetables in her fridge before falling straight asleep. They’ve made good progress so far, and she knows it's going to be good, but she’s tired.

She’s seen a lot more of the process outside of her own character by now too, and she’s amazed, but not surprised, when she persuades one of the crew to let her watch back one of Fenrys’ solo scenes from the previous week. He’s a phenomenal actor, that much is clear, but she had allowed herself to get caught up in Fenrys as her friend, the happy and funny guy she spends her time with, forgetting the talented and driven lead actor of their movie.

Not that she can forget it in the scenes they share, but she’s mostly concentrating on the emotions her character is going through, and responding to what Fenrys gives her. It almost feels too natural for him, and she forgets that it takes work.

His text meets her at lunchtime on the Sunday they both have off, when she’s still in her pyjamas on the couch, debating whether to start a new series or watch the latest cheesy rom-com that Netflix has released.

She auditioned for one of them a couple of years ago, and she’s far enough past the bitterness that comes with not getting the role that she could enjoy it. Maybe a little, cynical part of herself thinks she’s glad she didn’t get it. What she has now is far better. She’s being a snob, but she straight up doesn’t care. It’s not like anyone else is here to judge her.

Fancy coming to Rowan’s to watch the game? I’m leaving in 20 his text reads.

She didn’t plan on doing anything today, but the invitation sparks something in her, and she’s never been to Rowan’s place before. The studio put him in a house about thirty minutes from set, and she’s curious. How much luxury does the big name director get compared to what she and Fenrys have got? She’s lucky really, that Dorian managed to negotiate the same for her as they offered Fenrys.

rowan’s??? She replies, followed by what game????

She gets up off the couch, putting the lid on the tub of yoghurt she was tucking into with a spoon and walking through to the kitchen to throw it back into the fridge.

Tall, grumpy guy that bosses us around all the time comes through a minute later and she grins at her phone at the description. It’s followed up by Ravens v Panthers.

She taps out, getting changed will be ready in 15 and he replies with three smiling emojis.

She doesn’t think it will be anything fancy if her impromptu invitation is anything to go by so she only swaps her pyjama bottoms with tiny cartoon sheep down the legs for a pair of black leggings and throws a sweatshirt over her oversized t-shirt.

Manon is there when they get there, sprawled across the two seater sofa at the far side of Rowan’s living room, and she gives them both a wave when they enter the room. The house is a pretty modest, two-up two-down in a sweet neighbourhood and it’s cosy inside with relatively modern decor. She doesn’t know for sure whether or not that fits Rowan, but she feels like it does.

He doesn’t let them in, Fenrys swings the door open and marches in like it’s his own place and she wonders how much he and Rowan have hung out, or whether that’s just him. Rowan appears in the doorway about a minute after they come in, a bowl of snacks in his hand that she thinks could be popcorn and he puts it down before coming over to wrap Fenrys in a hug. They slap each other on the back in the way that guys do before pulling back.

Aelin stands at Fenrys’ side watching the exchange, unsure whether to greet Rowan or just take a seat, and once they’re done he seems to regard her with the same sort of uncertainty. Fenrys darts around Rowan to throw himself onto the other sofa and she doesn’t give herself long enough to doubt her decision before she opens her arms and steps towards him.

“Hey,” he says simply as he wraps her into a brief hug. “Thanks for coming.”

She wraps her arms around his own broad shoulders, and it feels nice. He’s warm and strong beneath her hands and the way his arms loop around her waist, so far his hands reach back around to her stomach, gets her in a way that she really doesn’t need to think about. It feels really good pressed up against him like that.

“Hey,” she breathes as he pulls back, and she knows he sees the blush on her cheeks. She’s not fifteen, she really needs to sort herself out. “Thanks for having us.”

“Of course, make yourself at home.” He gives her another half smile, offering a flash of his straight, white teeth, and again she’s struck by him. That his place is behind the camera is a crime. “I’ve got more snacks and drinks in the kitchen if you want.”

“Beer?” Fenrys asks her, already heading to a door that she assumes leads to the kitchen.

She shakes her head, “do you have sparkling water?” She directs the question to Rowan who nods.

He doesn’t have to speak before Fenrys says “on it,” and leaves the room.

She assesses the seating choices left in the room, there’s a cream two-seater sofa opposite where Manon lies, and that’s probably her best bet, but Rowan has already taken his seat on it, an ankle crossed over a knee as he settles into the cushions. There’s plenty of room to sit by him and not touch, and she weighs it up against having to ask Manon to move.

She’s friendly with the girl, but still feels slightly intimidated by the calculating and sarcastic blonde despite the fact that she’s a few years younger than Aelin herself, so maybe Rowan is the safer choice.

Fenrys comes back into the room just as she takes her seat.

“Move your feet, Blackbeak,” he demands as he hands her a glass of sparkling water, it’s chilled with a couple of cubes of ice and she appreciates it.

Manon lifts her legs for Fenrys to sit, but plops her legs back down across his lap immediately and sticks her tongue out at him as she does. Aelin feels herself smile at the display, and the fact that she’s included in this circle of friends. She hasn’t really made an effort with anyone new since Sam, the only people she’s really spoken to are Elide, Lysandra and Aedion, and they were all there for her before Sam. It feels really damn good.

She really, really, doesn’t understand the rules of football, but it’s easy enough to cheer along when the others do and laugh at their outrage when something doesn’t go their way. It’s the most animated she’s seen Rowan so far, and she’s not quite sure which way their allegiances lie, but it’s probably with the Ravens being in Rifthold and all, and she knows her own is.

Everytime Aedion gets the ball or is shown on screen she can’t hold back the cheers. She’s proud of him and she knows how hard he works to be as good as he is, and even knowing as little as she does, it's special to watch him excel.

Rowan and Fenrys both seem a little starstruck that he’s her cousin, to her he’s just Aedion and they’re the real, scary celebrities, but they gush about him like starstruck little boys.

“And you were at his house last weekend?” Fenrys cries, almost outraged that this is the first he’s ever heard of it, but honestly? They’re both Ashryvers; it’s not like it's a secret.

“Yes,” she laughs. “He’s basically like my brother.”

“Gods, Aelin.” He sounds almost pained that she hasn’t brought this up before. “You've been holding out on us! Please give me his number or introduce me or something.”

“Sorry.” She laughs again and throws a smile to Rowan that he returns with another quirk of his lips. “Invite me earlier next time and I’ll ask him to sort a box for us at the stadium.”

“Seriously?” Even Rowan sounds awed now.

“Yeah, just let me know,” she says. “It’s no big deal.”

It really wouldn't be, Aedion has been telling her for years to invite any friends she wants to games, she would just need some friends outside of him, Lysandra and Elide first.

“It’s definitely a big deal,” he says, watching her with a smirk still playing on his lips.

She shrugs. “Just make sure you text me early next time.”

“Oh, I will,” he says, and she has to look away from him. The way his voice curves around the words, all low and intense, is definitely about more than just the game.

She tries to pass it off as just looking to where Fenrys is cheering loudly at the next play, but Manon is there again, looking at her with such a knowing expression that she immediately focuses back on the TV.

At half time she needs to use the bathroom and Rowan gives her a quick rundown of the layout of the house. She’s quick to do her thing and runs by the kitchen afterwards to grab a refill of her drink and find something to eat.

Rowan had told them all to help themselves, explaining that he felt they had as much right as he to poke through the cupboards in the only just filled rental property and she gets it. The places the studio rent out for them are nice enough, and she’s more than grateful that they do, but it’s never quite home. Even if her home is somewhat impersonal, it’s still home.

She’s on her tiptoes, scanning through the relatively well stocked cupboards on the hunt for anything chocolate, when someone enters the kitchen behind her.

“I know I said help yourselves, but you’re going to eat me out of house and home at this rate.”

It’s Rowan, and he leans against the doorframe as he watches her startle and spin to face him, his legs are crossed at the ankles and his arms are folded over his chest. The pose highlights his powerful arms that she wants to be wrapped up in again and he looks really good in the dim lighting of the kitchen. It bounces off the lines of his tattoo, shining and highlighting the swirls that she can barely look away. She wants to ask what it means.

Aelin scoffs and pushes the cupboard door shut gently, they’re not eating that much and if they are it’s definitely not her, Fenrys and Manon are another story.

“There’s nothing stopping you from kicking us all out,” she says and he laughs, shaking his head.

He tilts his head to the side, his gaze picking her apart by the second before he says “maybe not all of you.”

His words and the way he shifts in the doorway as his eyes run her up and down gives her the confidence to bite her lip and look up at him through her lashes. He pushes off the door frame and comes to lean against the counter by her side.

He opens a cupboard door on her other side and rummages through a shelf before handing her a foil packet.

“I have a feeling this is what you were after.”

She accepts the chocolate and tucks it onto the counter at her side as she mirrors him and leans against it too.

“Unsurprisingly, you’d be correct.”

He presses his lips together before his lips twist again, it’s the same expression from before that she knows means he wants to smile but he can’t quite commit, and she feels her body loosen like she wants to lean forward to press into him. She doesn’t though.

What she does instead is take a sharp breath and a step back. “Thanks.” She waves the bar of chocolate in the air before stepping around him and making her way back into the living room, forcing her steps to seem calm and collected as she feels his gaze heavy on her back.

“Anytime.” His words follow her out of the room, they’re a promise.

Luckily, Fenrys and Manon both ignore it when Rowan follows her and retakes his place next to her.

#rowaelin #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowaelin au #ndilyd #nobody does it like you do #cw: minor character death

[skellebonez]

i have been laughing for like an hour at that one post about Macaque with hiccups so. what if like. drabble about that with idk prompts number 9 and 72 i guess???

Anon, you have NO IDEA how much I loved this post by @animemoonprincess , I have been wanting to write something using this idea for so long. I just wanted to write silly goofy "Mac can't control his powers when he has hiccups" fic for a while and this was so much fun!

How long have you been standing there?/Don’t you dare.

"And... how long as this been going on?" Pigsy asked, torn between shaking his head in disbelief and worry and holding back laughter at the sight before him. He honestly felt kinda bad for wanting to laugh, but after all the stunts the immortal monkey had put himself and his friends through... he allowed himself a few chuckles.

"Three-hic-HOURS!" Macaque snapped, laying flat on his chest and gripping the sides of the table in front of him with a scowl. "I can't take i-hic-it anymore, you have to have some-hic-thing to make them STOP!"

Each hiccup made Macaque's tail bristle and fluff up, as if each one startled him, and made his glamor glitch awkwardly. If that was the best way to put it.

"Mac, you look miserable," Mei said, holding back her own laughter as she looked up something on her phone.

"I am," he said, uncharacteristic honest for the moment... but then again, it wasn't like he could hide this fact.

"Don't I know that feeling," MK offered in solidarity, patting the immortal monkey on the back and wincing when another stronger hiccup made Macaque jump.

They had all wondered why he was wearing a cloak and avoiding them for the last hour when he finally showed his face, only hearing the hiccups coming from him and seeing the way he jumped ever so slightly with them. He'd stayed as close to light as much as he could, very unusual for himself, and tried to just go about what his initial mission was (which was apparently getting some ice water in the hopes it would help alleviate his symptoms).

And then he has hiccuped just a little too hard at the wrong moment and managed to fall through Sandy's shadow and into the lower levels of the drone ship.

To say they were all grateful the ship wasn't flying at the moment and that he was on the upper level was an understatement... even if he would have survived the fall. Being immortal the way he was.

Right now he was in the ship's kitchen with the rest of their little group (minus Wukong who had seemingly vanished to... wherever it was he liked to hide), gripping the table as stated before to presumably not fall through a misplaced shadow again in the overly brought room, and looking... well...

He was blue. Literally, his hair had turned blue. Then he hiccuped and it became an odd shade that looked like his own mixed with stripes of Wukong's hair color. His eye that had a glamor over it changed color every other hiccup as well, and so did the color of his outfit (though he didn't normally have a glamor over that he couldn't control what glamors were put up or taken down it seemed).

The next hiccup was followed by a soft whimper of frustration as his two ears became six before their eyes. And that... made Pigsy pause.

"Does this hurt you?" Sandy took the initiative to ask, raising an eyebrow of concern.

Whatever laugher was about to bubble up from the group surrounding Macaque paused instantly once he brought up the possibility. MK in particular paused, a look of realization and slight guilt dawning on his face.

"No..." Macaque started slowly, seeming to think over his next words carefully before he sighed in defeat and face planted into the table. "But -hic-... it is very -hic- uncomfortable," the other admitted after, his ears changing color from completely normal to a rainbow on either side. "Imagine feeling the -hic- chest spasms but in what-hic-ever part of your body changes. And it's -hic- really tiring to have my -hic- powers activate like this."

Well... that was actually moderately concerning. Not dangerous sounding, exactly, but Pigsy could imagine how much this was affecting the other when the last hiccup made whatever glamor over the dark circles under his eyes fade away. They all knew that Macaque was hardly sleeping but this...

"Well," Mei said cheerily, jumping up from her seat and waving her phone. "I have a few idea on how we can get rid of these that are less dangerous than finding a rare flower that blooms under very specific circumstances. What have you tried already?"

~

To say they had been unsuccessful was an understement. They’d tried nearly everything they could think of.

Macaque had tried holding his breathe again, breathing exercises, drinking the ice water he had left his room to get. Sandy had suggested compressing his chest with his knees, but that hadn't worked either. Pigsy had brought him some ice to chew on with much the same result.

Mei's idea of eating a lemon slice or swallowing a spoonful of sugar, while creative, were even less well received when they did not work. There were other methods she found online that she immediately vetoed, no one wanted to anger the immortal by attempting to tickle them away (not after his snarled "Don’t you dare.")

MK's attempt at scaring them away was... laughable. Literally, instead of scaring Macaque the young man just sent him into a fit of laughter that only seemed to make him both even more exhausted and grateful for the short bit of amusement.

"Well now what?" Tang asked, checking off each attempt on a sheet of paper. "We've tried almost everything."

Macaque hiccuped again, groaning in exhaustion and covering one of his eyes with his cloak hood up to hide... whatever was on his face he didn't want anyone to see. No one said anything about it, the sight of the other making them just feel too bad for him to push the issue for the moment.

"Maybe if I pass out from -hic- exhaustion they'll stop," he almost slurred, leaning even harder against the table. He had been dealing with this for 4 hours with little to no relief sight. He looked awful. "Just let me pass -hic- out."

"No way!" Pigsy said firmly, helping Mei look up more cures on her phone. "What if they don't stop? You could fall through the floor again and we are not having-!"

Pigsy never got to finish that sentence because one second Macaque was alone at the table looking miserable.

The next Wukong was standing behind him and jabbed two of his fingers on either side of his neck.

"WHAT THE HELL!?" Macaque snapped after a yell of pain, breathing heavy as he clutched his chest and glowered at the Monkey King. "How long have you been standing there, Wukong!?"

"Only long enough to know that all of you didn't see me," Wukong said with a smirk, gesturing with his hand to the other immortal. "Hmn... sounds... awful quiet now... don't you think?"

Macaque paused, a look of confusion crossing his face before he realized... he wasn't hiccuping anymore. He stayed quiet for a moment, everyone did...

And no sound came aside from everyone's breathing.

"That actually worked!" MK shouted in relief, moving to hug Macaque in his excitement before realizing who he was hugging and letting go with an awkward chuckle.

"I know it's been centuries," Wukong said, face softening with a sad smile as his words continued. "But I remembered that worked for you... back then. You could have asked me for help, Mango."

"... yeah... thanks, Peaches," Macaque said slowly, looking at him with an almost suspicious gaze for a moment before he frowned oddly and stood to wander off. "I'm... going back to bed."

The group watched Macaque make his way to the hallway, movements slow and sluggish from his odd endeavor.

"Sleep well!" Mei suddenly shouted after him. "You deserve some rest after that!"

He paused just long enough to nod before heading on his way.

"You gonna explain any of that, Peaches?" Pigsy asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. "The heck did you do anyway?"

"Compressed his wind pipe and scared him half to death," Wukong answered with a shrug. "It was the only thing that worked when we were... friends. And no, I don't want to explain. Not until he wants to."

No one said anything to that, just nodded in silent agreement.

When Macaque woke up the glamors were back up and where they used to be... except, Pigsy noted, whatever had originally been concealing the dark circles under his eyes.

He also noted how when Mei asked how he sleept he sounded more honest than he had since joining them.

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #fanfic #gen fic #humor fic #BUT THEN FEELS #mk #qi xiaotian #sun wukong #monkey king #six eared macaque #mei #long xiaojiao #sandy #pigsy #tang

[takahero]

some descriptions of Basta in Inkheart if you’re interested!! spoiler warning just to be on the safe side, in case u haven’t read it. and my unsolicited commentary here and there

“‘Naturally I recognised them at once. Capricorn had sent his best men. Even Basta was with them.’” — pg.99

“Rasping cat’s-tongue voice” pg.125

“(Basta’s face) was thin, sharply angular, with close-set eyes…Basta was not a tall man, and his shoulders were almost as narrow as a boy’s, but Meggie held her breath when he took a step towards her…He had an aura of fury about him, or something keen and biting—” pg.126

“Only Basta wore a snow-white shirt, just as Dustfinger had said, with a red flower in the buttonhole of his jacket, a red flower like a warning.�� pg.131

“He caught her eye, and with a twisted smile kissed the blade of his knife.” — pg.173 (I JUST HAD TO ADD THIS)

“‘Oh, Basta can’t write,’ replied Capricorn calmly. ‘None of my men can either read or write. I’ve forbidden them to learn.’” — pg.176 (literacy rights for Basta 2k21)

“She could see the trepidation even on Basta’s face, although he was doing his best to hide it by assuming a particularly bored expression.” — pg.185

“‘Abduction!’ Basta savoured the word. ‘Sounds good to me. Really good.’” — pg.192 (ok but if u read it a certain way. unofficial evidence that basta would enjoy reading if he could LMAO)

“‘Where’s our luggage?’ she asked.

“Dustfinger looked at her with amusement. ‘I expect Basta’s divided it out among Capricorn’s maids. He likes to ingratiate himself with them.’” — pg.213 LMAOOOOOOO OH MY GOD

“Basta was still standing in the road. His face was sharply outlined when he lit a cigarette with a lighter.” — pg.215

“And he bent down to cut through the leather thong that Basta wore around his neck. It had a little bag tied with a red drawstring hanging from it.” — pg. 231

“‘Ah, Basta!’ Fenoglio smiled. Each of his separate wrinkles expressed self-satisfaction. ‘One of the best villains I ever thought up. A rabid dog, but not half as bad as my other dark hero, Capricorn. Basta would let his heart be torn out for Capricorn, but his master is a stranger to such loyalty.’” — pg.264

“‘You know, if you were to ask me which of those two I was prouder of, Basta or Capricorn, I couldn’t tell you! Even though some critics said they were just too nasty!’” — pg.265

“Basta emphasised the word, putting his foxy face so close to Meggie’s she could see herself reflected in his eyes.” — pg.301

“‘You’ll do no such thing!’ he spat at Flatnose, as the grey cat disappeared under the wardrobe. ‘Killing cats is unlucky. How often do I have to tell you?’” — pg.303 (friendly reminder that the last time he appeared, he kicked a dog in the ribs 😐)

“Basta was walking just behind her, and she heard him quietly cursing the rain.” — pg.304 (irrelevant but i kind of hc basta to like the rain, since it would dampen dustfinger’s showbiz LMAO)

“Basta’s eyes always narrowed when he smiled.” — pg.305

“‘You wear long sleeves,’ Fenoglio continued very slowly, as if giving Basta time to take in every single word, ‘because your master likes playing with fire. You burned both arms right up to the shoulders when you obeyed his orders and set fire to the house of a man who had dared to refuse his daughter to Capricorn. Ever since then, someone else has laid the fire, and you confine yourself to playing games with knives.’” — pg.308

“‘Oh, I know all about you, Basta,’ he said. ‘I know you’d give your life for Capricorn any day, and you’re always hungry for his praise. I know you were younger than Meggie when his men picked you up, and ever since you’ve loved him like a father. But shall I tell you something? Capricorn thinks you’re stupid, and despises you for it. He despises you all, his devoted black-clad sons, although it’s his own doing that you’re still so ignorant. And he wouldn’t hesitate to set the police on to any one of you if it was to his advantage. Are you quite clear about that?’” — pg.308 (FENOGLIO…..RUTHLESS)

“Basta winked at Meggie.” — pg.310 (wink 1)

“Every cruel deed with which he had ever credited Basta was probably going through his head. Basta relished the fear on his face for a few delicious minutes.” — pg.312

“Basta’s car had not been in the car park at all since they’d come here. It was unusual for it to be gone so long, because Basta didn’t like to be away from the village for any length of time.” — pg.318 basta is a homebody guys

“‘Save your tongue for later, scribbler!” Basta interrupted. ‘I don’t like whispering.’” — pg.324

“Almost all the women in the village kept away from Basta, but he didn’t keep away from them.” — pg.337

“‘Take him, for instance,’ he said, pointing to Basta. ‘I always knew he was a very unhappy boy before you picked him up. As it says in another very fine book, it’s terribly easy to persuade children that they are worthless. Basta was convinced of it. Not that you taught him any better, oh no! Why would you? But suddenly here was someone to whom he could devote himself, someone who told him what to do — he’d found a god, Capricorn, and if you treated him badly, well, who says that all gods are kindly? Most of them are stern and cruel, wouldn’t you agree? I didn’t write all this in the book. I knew it, that was enough.’” — pg.345 (this is really the part that made my stance toward basta change. like PHEW. that’s a lot to unpack)

“Basta was notorious for his silent tread.” — pg.363

“Basta’s breath smelled of mint, fresh and sharp. Apparently a girl he’d once wanted to kiss had told him he had bad breath. The girl had regretted it, but ever since then Basta chewed peppermint leaves from morning to night.” — pg.364

“He whistled softly through his teeth, then held the book close to Meggie’s face.”— pg.374 (i was rendered speechless)

“Basta’s lips quivered with annoyance, but he bit back his reply and, without a word, put his hand under the black cloth.” — pg.377 (ugh I loved this. like we know he worships capricorn like a dog, but earlier fenoglio flat out told him capricorn couldn’t care less about what happened to him. more than that, capricorn asked basta to bring meggie and fenoglio — prisoners — into his home. later dustfinger says that basta would’ve slept on the threshold of capricorn’s room if he could but none of the men sleep there. so with all of this fresh in his mind, you can imagine him feeling quite hurt and betrayed. UGH I wish he had a greater arc surrounding capricorn…like even if we saw a few hints that his loyalty was starting to show cracks…idk what his arc is in inkspell so maybe I’ll sit tight for that)

“He was in a hurry to get back to the light of day, away from the dead and their ghosts. His hand shook as he hung his lantern on a book and opened the grating over the first cell.” — pg.409

“Dustfinger was always surprised to find how easily you could scare the man with a few words.” — pg.409 LMAOOOOO

“‘That notion of burning us isn’t a very new idea, Basta, but then you were never fond of new ideas.’” — pg.422

“His teeth were almost as white as his shirt.” — pg.442

“Meggie saw from his face that everything in him felt revulsion, but he came closer and took the creature. He held the scaly body well away from him as it wound and twisted in the air.

“‘As you see, Basta doesn’t care for my snakes!’ said the Magpie, with a smile. ‘He never did, not that that means much. As far as I know Basta doesn’t like anything but his knife. He also believed that snakes bring bad luck, which of course is pure nonsense.’ Mortola handed Basta the second snake. Meggie saw the viper’s tiny poison fangs when it opened its mouth. For a moment, she almost felt sorry for Basta.” — pg.446

“‘Basta likes to use snakes to scare women who reject his advances. It didn’t work with Resa. How did it go exactly — didn’t she finally put the snake outside your door, Basta?’” — pg.446 (10/10 resa & snake well-deserved)

“Basta did not want neighbours. Indeed, he wanted no other company but Capricorn’s. Dustfinger knew Basta would have slept on the threshold of Capricorn’s room if he had been allowed to, but none of the men lived in the main house.” — pg.478

“Basta was probably the only man in Capricorn’s village who locked his front door.” — pg.480

“They said in the village that whenever Capricorn had a house set on fire Basta took away a brick or stone, even though he feared fire at other times, and clearly that story was true.” — pg.480

“(Everything in Basta’s house was scrubbed clean, as spotless as his snow-white shirt.)” — pg.481

“Once or twice, footsteps approached, but each time they passed by the house. What a good thing Basta had no friends.” — pg.482

“Basta was not in a good way. Whenever they looked at him they saw his hands clinging to the bars, knuckles white under his sun-tanned skin.” — pg.503 (BASTA’S SUNTANNED?!?!)

“Basta in particular was the object of enough scorn and derision for ten men, and from his failure to react at all one could only guess at the depths of his despair.” — pg.503

“For the fraction of a second life came back into Basta as his former lord and master stopped by the bars; he raised his head, his eyes pleading silently, like a dog begging for forgiveness…Basta only bowed his head and stared at the floor. Elinor thought he looked like an oyster with the flesh and life sucked out of it.” — pg.504 (i honestly still can’t wrap my head around his behaviour in this chap. i mean yes, the gladiator-style death sentence looming over his head can’t be understated. but i think for me it was how rapidly his spirits deteriorated from screaming for help in the cell to becoming a husk of a man before he even saw capricorn again? how?? was it all because of dustfinger spooking him so bad in the crypt?? 🤔🤔)

#the list nobody asked for #im gonna keep adding and editing for personal reasons #it’ll be interesting to see if any of my thoughts change after inkspell tho I’m kinda scared #basta #i could’ve sworn there was another wink!!!!!!!!! I SWEAR #basta: don’t swear oaths u can’t keep #inkheart

[punkpoemprose]

A Convenient Arrangement Part 9

Universe: Canonverse Arranged Marriage AU Rating: T Length: 6514 Words A/N: It’s been a while, I probably still won’t be updating regularly because I’m busy, but here’s something for now. P.S. asks & comments are very much appreciated, nice comments make me feel like writing every time I get them, but please don’t ask when I’m going to update. I don’t have answers for you.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8]

Kristoff felt uncomfortable to say the least. He was standing still while a stranger and his party of assistants measured him, held fabrics up toward him, and made comments on his physique both complimentary and, well, he couldn’t really say that the rest were meant to be kind. He wasn’t used to people who said things but didn’t say them straight, and while he was sure that “it’s like dressing a bull” wasn’t meant to be directly insulting, it also wasn’t quite a compliment either. He’d never been particularly ashamed of the way he looked, but he was being made certain from the commentary that he wasn’t built for whatever the “fashionable” silhouette was.

He wanted to walk away, to say that he’d wear his own clothes and to tell them exactly where they could shove their measuring tapes. He hadn’t exactly expected a “professional tailoring” to be a fun experience by any stretch of the imagination, but he also wasn’t prepared to be someone’s dressing doll. They hadn’t asked him his opinion on anything, and he wasn’t sure if that was a blessing, or whether it meant they were going to dress him like some kind of dandy who’d never spent a day of his life working.

“The yellow silk?”

He closed his eyes, just so he didn’t have to see whatever they were up to. Whatever it was involved tassels.

He could only distract himself by thinking of something else, by going inside himself and putting his mind to use imagining himself somewhere, anywhere else. He wondered how often he’d need to do such a thing, now that he was prince consort to the crown princess of Arendelle and soon to be some sort of aristocrat given lands and titles to justify his marriage. He couldn’t help but wish that he could just go back to the mountain and be away from all the new responsibilities his marriage to Anna had foisted upon him.

He had no objections to his duties to her, but to the court and the country, was another point entirely. He liked to think of himself as a good citizen of Arendelle. He paid his taxes, he worked hard, he tried his best to help his fellow man where and when he could, but he wasn’t built for pomp and circumstance. He wasn’t even built for suit fittings.

He let his thoughts drift away from the room, pushing all worries of brocade and buttons out of his mind, and landing himself back into memories of the early morning and being in bed with Anna. It was the easiest to imagine, the quickest way to relax.

He remembered waking up at first light with the gentle pressure of her body against his, the sheets tangled around them from their turning and shifting in the night. She’d fallen asleep on his chest, and when he woke, he’d been holding her there. Her hair had been partially in his face, fanned out across his chest and over his arm. While she had still been asleep, he’d carefully brushed it away from his face. While smoothing it under his hand, his heart raced over the intimacy of the action and the fear that she might wake up and tell him to stop.

He didn’t think that she would have asked him to, not when she so often was the one touching him first, reaching out for his hand, but after their conversation the night before he was worried. She didn’t trust him completely despite the strides they’d made, and despite the fact that she’d apparently vouched for him with her sister. He couldn’t blame her really, especially not after hearing all the ways in which her trust had been broken in the past.

Give her time. Give her love.

He could imagine his mother giving him the advice. He was far from a love expert himself and his family was a bit overzealous in their love and support, but he thought that maybe taking their advice and running it through his filter first might produce a kind of logic. Imagining what his mother might say about how he should treat his wife was probably a good place to start.

He’d give Anna all the time she needed. This was new for them both, but he was already believing that she might be his other half, that fate brought them together as mad as it sounded. So he knew that she was worth the wait. He already saw the little ways he was falling in love with her.

After he’d moved her hair, he’d enjoyed resting with her in his arms, feeling the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed with him. He’d felt her rouse, but didn’t say a word. He’d known that once they left bed, he was unlikely to see her for the rest of the day. Kai had him scheduled for several meetings and lessons and tours, and Anna, regardless of the promise made to them of no joint duties for a week, certainly had responsibilities of her own to attend to. He still didn’t know what they were, but he knew she must have some. Someday he would too.

He missed her already. He missed the rightness he felt while holding her close. He missed the way that she made him feel almost comfortable in the palace walls even while he was under the scrutiny of those who didn’t think he belonged.

He didn’t belong, of course. Being her husband gave him a reason to live in the castle, it gave him station, but it didn’t make him belong. Standing where he was now, walking through the hallways to get to the room without her by his side, constantly needing to check the little map she’d drawn for him, had made that abundantly clear. He wished he had it in him to announce to the room, to everyone who looked at him sideways, that he hadn’t asked for this, and that they could trade places with him if they preferred, but he couldn’t say it.

He couldn’t even offer a single breath to the idea that it would be anyone else at Anna’s side.

He may not be royal by anything but marriage but holding her made him feel like he was exactly where he needed to be.

He’d held onto her as long as he could in bed, not telling her that he was awake even though he knew that she was.  He remembered her snort-laugh when he’d told her that he’d pretended to be asleep this time. He hadn’t said that he’d do it again to just hold her a little longer.

He remembered the way she’d nuzzled her face into his chest and murmured about breakfast without making any moves to leave him for a long while. They may have never moved, but of course a knock had eventually come, summoning them both from bed. They’d broken their fast together in relative quiet, the silence only broken by the sounds of silverware clinking, and he’d felt like he’d wanted to say something, catching her staring at him every now and then, but he didn’t have the words to say what he was feeling. He still wasn’t sure of what it was he had been feeling.

Domesticity? Comfort? Love?

None of the words fit. Not yet at least, though he’d like for them to be the right words someday.

Another knock had come and interrupted the quiet meal, and with the quick scurrying and whispering of an anxious looking maid, Anna had excused herself from the table. She’d given him a look that he registered as a sort of longing, he only knew it as such because she gave the same look to her bacon, and then she was gone.

A knock came again, this time in the present, pulling him from his recent memories abruptly.

“My Lord?”

It was Kai, and in a short a time as Kristoff had known the man, he had never been so grateful for his appearance as he was now. Which was saying something given he and Anna were thus far the only people who didn’t make him feel like a complete outsider.

He met the man’s eye and, reminded by his presence that he needed to at least feign manners, only gave him a somewhat subtle look of “save me”.

Blessedly Kai obliged.

“His lordship is needed elsewhere. Please collect your things so that we might have the room to discuss his next appointment for the day.”

The older man turned toward the tailor and his staff and with a look that clearly said “now” sent them all scrambling to pick up fabrics and tapes and bits of paper. When they dispersed, the heavy oak door closing behind them with a thud, Kristoff let his shoulders slump. The sigh that he let out was unintended, but hardly unwarranted.

He took a deep breath that was his first in what felt like hours.

“A bit much, weren’t they sir?”

Kristoff examined the old man, gazing at the scowl of distaste on his face, directed at the door. He knew that his status as his valet was a temporary one, but he couldn’t help but feel that he was exactly the sort of person he’d like in his corner in the long term.

“That’s an understatement.”

Kai gave a bit of a wry smile before recomposing himself and appearing more regretful than amused.

“His father was the royal tailor to the King, a very noble and understated older gentleman who listened more than he spoke. He made the most excellent suits.”

He looked down at his own jacket for a moment, adjusting the sleeve as if he were recalling a garment from an earlier time and in doing so, found his current attire not quite up to snuff. Kristoff had felt similarly in his wedding clothes, recalling the way he could only compare them to his more comfortable daily wear.

“The Queen and Princess have a dressmaker in their employ who is similarly talented and reserved,” Kai continued, bringing his attention back to Kristoff and meeting his eye with another apologetic gaze, “Unfortunately, on such short notice we relied on the assumption that the young tailor would be like his father in manner, which is clearly not the case. I apologize. Perhaps we can find someone else, but given the short notice…”

He knew that Kai was implying that they were out of options unless he had a better one. It felt strangely like a test in ways Kristoff couldn’t quite put his finger on, almost as if Kai were trying to determine something about him from the uncomfortable situation.

Kristoff didn’t take more than a moment of thought before interrupting, “There’s a tailor in the market I usually buy from, he does good work. He has my measurements already. His wife is pregnant, he could use the money.”

Kristoff didn’t expect Kai to grin. He was already mentally admonishing himself for interrupting, but the balding old gentleman simply nodded.

Whatever the test had been, he’d passed.

Maybe royals are meant to be contrary. I’ve always been good at that.

“Nilsson. I don’t know his first name. He’s got a market stall but does almost all the work out of his house by the docks. He’s got a slate out front, pretty easy to find if you’re looking for it.”

Kai pulled a paper and pencil from somewhere on his person and against his palm, quickly jotted the notes. Kristoff wondered if that level of efficiently was born or made. He’d always been proud of his own ever evolving competence in his work, but he never thought that he’d be ready for anything in the way Kai seemed to be.

“I’ll see that he is made aware of your lordship’s request and that he understands the quality required. Are there any specific requests you have for fabric or color?”

Kristoff looked from the man to the door and back again.

“No yellow silk.”

***

Anna wasn’t wholly certain as to why she was feeling so nervous. She’d sent Kai after Kristoff only a few minutes before, evidently interrupting his whole schedule though he hadn’t said anything about it. Anna just knew the man well enough that when she saw him pull a pencil and a folded paper from his pocket that he was rearranging a schedule. She remembered him crossing off sections of the page like he had for her father before.

No matter how much everything changes, some things stay the same.

She couldn’t help but wonder if he was enjoying assisting Kristoff. Soon enough he’d be Elsa’s personal counsel again, but Anna liked to think that he was enjoying the sort of daily trials and tribulations that were coming with helping her husband.

She’d been too high strung after her meeting with Elsa to be much use in focusing on anything let alone tracking someone down, but now it was at least a little bit relaxing to move her thoughts people instead of the stress of upcoming responsibilities.

When Elsa had sent a maid to fetch her in the middle of breakfast she had, of course, been up for hours and as such had already eaten. Anna suspected that her sister never actually slept and that it was the answer for why she was always up and ready for the day at the crack of dawn.

She hadn’t been more than half awake when she was taken from her bacon and from Kristoff’s quiet company. She’d been promised a week by her sister, one week of no duties, but that wasn’t exactly true. It had been more like one week with no scheduled duties, just meetings when the occasion arose, as it had in the middle of breakfast.

“Anna,” her sister had said, looking a bit tired which reminded Anna that her sister was indeed human after all, “I’m planning a party.”

That had been all that was required to shock Anna into full consciousness.

She may as well be running off to join the circus for how like her that is.

“You didn’t get an engagement party and we want the citizens to be able to celebrate the wedding, so the council requested that I announce a festival in your honors.”

That had made more sense, but now, standing alone in the library, trying to distract herself by staring at the shelves upon shelves of books before her, she wondered why exactly a party was needed at all. She appreciated her sister’s interest in her input about the colors and the food and the events, and she knew that it was meant to be an apology of sorts for the fact that she’d had no control over her wedding, but Anna also wasn’t ready for another big event.

She’d only promised Kristoff a week without duties, and they were now getting a full month. Somehow it didn’t seem to be a balm in her mind. She hated the idea that they would soon need to be a public spectacle, that they would be watched and commented on. She hated the thought of watching Kristoff shrink away like he had in the kitchens, that he might think again that he didn’t belong when all she wanted was for him to feel right when he was at her side.

She could hear the talk of the town in her ear, not truly there, but just as real in her head as if there was some chatty merchant’s daughter at her back.

They had to steal him from the mountains to marry her, who wants used goods?

To her right she could hear her giggling friend.

So sad, isn’t it? Poor man.

To her left, not in her imagination, but in reality, was a cold and empty hearth with a settee between her and it. Her hands shook at her sides as she tried to focus on anything but the creeping sensation of frost in her chest that she knew was only in her head.

Why did I choose the library? Of all places, why did I decide to tell him about the festival in the library.

She clenched her fists, closed her eyes and breathed.

The girls slipped away, the empty fireplace remained out of sight, but as she focused on her inhalation the icy sensation left. She smelled parchment and dust, felt the warmth of light streaming in from the nearby window, and let herself remember years of pulling books from the shelves written in various languages and staring at pictures before she could read them herself. The memories of her youngest days came clearer now that she was free to recall them.

I loved it here once.

She felt him enter her space.

Despite the bulk of him she hadn’t heard him approach, but she could feel the tension in her body release when he surreptitiously slid into the space at her left side, putting more space between her and the fireplace, bumping his hand into hers casually.

She experimentally opened her palm, slowly uncurling her fingers, and felt the last of the unease roll out of her muscles when he slipped his hand over hers, palm to palm. He wasn’t holding her hand, his fingers barely brushing hers, but she found it comforting.

She could hardly call herself knowledgeable about affection, but she was learning that this was Kristoff’s way of showing it. They hadn’t said anything about love. It didn’t make sense to yet, they were intimate strangers, they were a paradox, but where he couldn’t say love he showed it.

She wondered when she’d be able to show him in return. It had been so easy to pretend the night before. She wanted to be able to open up to him more, but every time she wanted to the what ifs got in the way.

You need to stop doubting yourself.

But a lack of self-doubt, her reckless willingness to believe in the best of people and that she deserved a happy ending had almost ruined everything once. She was afraid it risk it again.

“Want me to come back in a bit?”

His voice was low, soft. He could already read her so well, but he was still working out how to react to her feelings. She wondered how he could be so understanding of her needs after spending so many years alone. She had a hard enough time understanding how she felt lately let alone comprehending how others did. Even as empathetic as she was, she felt like she was always missing the cues that he was seemingly catching without a second glance.

She slipped her fingers between his, moving slowly and focusing on the secure feeling it gave her to have his hand locked against hers by the connection.

“No, I’m sorry, I was just thinking.”

She opened her eyes and saw the concern in his gaze when she met his eye. It made her feel simultaneously guilty and vindicated, like his understanding that there was something wrong justified her feelings. She did feel bad for making him worry about her though. She didn’t want him to go anywhere just because she was battling with herself.

After a few moments of quiet, he spoke, “Kai filled me in on the way over. A festival?”

She sighed and nodded, glad that she wasn’t the first to tell him about it. She wasn’t sure that she’d be able to express the positives about such a thing when she was already so focused on the negatives.

He didn’t look particularly upset about the event, which surprised her. She recalled how he’d been in front of the crowd at their wedding, stiff and uncomfortable. She didn’t really want to put him in that situation again, but he didn’t seem to share the same opinion.

“Yes.  There was a council decision that we should do something for the people at large because most of them couldn’t attend the wedding. They’re curious about us.”

Kristoff nodded. He seemed relaxed and at least accepting if not a bit interested about the matter.

“It makes sense. It’s been a long time since there’s been a real festival. Most times someone will put on something for the holidays, but the big festivals haven’t gone on in years. I can only just barely remember what they were like when I was a kid.”

That’s because they died with my parents.

It felt strange to think of it, that there hadn’t been festivals in years. Even before her parents had passed away, the events had been a shadow of what they were when she was young. She wished she had a better memory of them now, how the festivals used to be, how her parents used to greet the people and dance. It was mostly a blank, interjected with what she’d been told about sweets and dancing and music by others. She supposed it was normal to not remember much from her toddler years, but she longed to know what it would be like, if only to know what to be prepared for.

Kristoff would remember a little more than she would, but he wasn’t that much older than her really. She wondered if the trolls had their own festivals and celebrations and whether he’d tell her about them if she asked.

It was still strange for her to think about sometimes. That her husband was raised by the very trolls that had locked away her memories, that under different circumstances they may have met as children and that it could have changed everything if she had.

She didn’t know what it would have done in the long run. She didn’t know if they’d have been happier if their stories had played out differently, but as he held her hand, she knew that she wouldn’t want to turn back the clock even if she could. As messed up as everything was, she wasn’t alone, and his willingness to stand there with her, to try for her, was more than she’d ever had with anyone.

“Is it what you want?” he asked, seeming to take her dour expression as an indication that she didn’t want the party.

All I wanted for years was a celebration, people, music, and dancing. I wanted any of it. I wanted all of it.

“I… they didn’t ask…”

She shook her head for a moment, then looked at him apologetically, squeezing his hand a bit when she saw the furrow of his brow and the downturn of his mouth. She felt like she shouldn’t be worrying him, but she also liked that he seemed concerned. It was nice to know that someone cared whether she wanted something instead of just assuming.

“What I mean to say is, it doesn’t really matter if I want it or not, but I think I do. My sister was really excited to give us this because our wedding wasn’t…” she trailed off, knowing that he understood.

“She wants it to be a big thing for us even though she doesn’t even like big events. It’s sweet and I think it will really improve public perception of the crown, but I just don’t want it to be overwhelming for you. I imagine there will be a lot of eyes on us.”

His expression softened then. There was an understanding in his eyes and something else there that made her feel warm.

“As long as I don’t have to wear a suit like they crammed me in at the wedding I’ll be fine. Let them look, my eyes will be on you.”

She felt herself flushing bright red, and she was certain she was outshining her hair.

He said things like that in such a matter-of-fact tone that it was proving to consistently catch her off guard. There was no art to the way he said the words, no intent to woo or win her over. It was just the truth in his mind. She’d have his attention, even if all eyes were on him.

She needed to change the subject, averting her gaze from the intensity with which he was meeting her eye. She wondered if being with him would always be like this, butterflies in her stomach and the sensation of being wanted overwhelming her thoughts and senses. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be happy again if it was just temporary, a “honeymoon phase”, but there was a small hopeful part of her that said that as they got to know each other his affections wouldn’t wane or remain stagnant but instead that they would grow.

How wonderful it would be to be loved. How wonderful it would be to love.

She’d never felt anything so gratifying as being at his side, knowing that he wasn’t going anywhere.

She was trying to tame her flush with a deep inhalation and exhalation, feeling his eyes on her and imagining the smile on his face that she couldn’t bring herself to look at.

“So, how was your meeting with the tailor?”

He made a pained sound, almost like a man dying.

She, for her part, let out a snort, sending them both into laughter.

It felt good to laugh in the room. It was like they were sweeping the cold from the corners.

I could love it here again.

***

Somewhere in the back of his mind Kristoff knew that he was entirely throwing off Kai’s plans for the day. The suit fitting had been just the first in a long list of tasks that had been set for the day. He was supposed to learn about peerage and how to greet royals, and about a thousand other bits and pieces of manners that Kai had decided he needed to learn as soon as possible.

Kristoff appreciated his assistance, and he did feel vaguely guilty for requesting the help and then being unavailable to actually receive it, but how could he go learn about salad forks and posture when Anna was pouring him a cup of tea and asking him excitedly what he remembered about festivals when he was young.

“I was so little when they stopped. I know now that we did need to close the gates for Elsa, but I just feel like we missed out on so much and that the people would have understood if they were just told… I mean…”

He listened intently to the way she described childhood years in the castle, not knowing why the gates were closed and not knowing why her sister never wanted to see her. It made him sad to think about when he’d never felt pushed away by his own family.

“So, do you remember what the food was like? I know you were only eight, but was there chocolates?”

He smiled, unable to help himself when she was so ecstatic about the possibility of him recalling anything at all about the only festival he remembered before the castle gates closed. It had been the summer solstice festival, before he ran away from the orphanage. He recalled it somewhat if only because it was one of the few bright spots he’d had before meeting Sven and then the trolls.

“I think there was. There were a lot of little cakes and things. We each got to have one and then we got to play a game, but I don’t remember what it was. Something with stones and chalk lines. I mostly remember watching the women dance. They had these bright ribbons in their hair and they were skipping around the maypole so everything was just fluttering and colorful. I kept wondering if one of them was my mom, and if maybe I stood close enough to the front of the crowd…”

He trailed off, then started again, “Anyway, I think some of the cakes had chocolate in them but mine didn’t. Mine had custard and I think it was the first time I had it because I remember being surprised by it.”

She had been writing down little things here and there in pretty script on a piece of paper. The things she wanted for the festival, the things he mentioned. He noticed that she’d stopped though.

“You were looking for your mom?”

He sighed, kicking himself a bit for bringing it up as he described the memory. He shouldn’t have said anything about it.

“I didn’t know what had happened back then… so I just assumed she lived in Arendelle and had misplaced me and that once she saw me she’d take me from the orphanage and I’d live with her. I didn’t even know what she looked like… I still don’t.”

He felt the silence grow around them, an uneasy sort of taunt energy that he hadn’t experienced since their wedding night, when she’d assumed and he’d not been sure what to say.

There’s going to be more of this. It’s not going to be easy all the time.

“You can ask.”

He looked at her then, saw the way her eyes were on the floor, anywhere but on him. He understood in a way. It was awkward to ask. Few people ever had except when he’d been very young. The answer had to be sad. Court order or death or abandonment were the popular choices, otherwise. There was never another reason for a child to be without his mother.

“What happened to her?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t have all the details. I thought for a long time that I’d just gotten lost or something, but not too long after the festival I found out that she had died in childbirth. That was the day I left the orphanage. She was Sami. I guess my dad was from Arendelle, a harvester who died not long before I was born. He didn’t have any family, hers was too far away to contact or find I suppose. It doesn’t matter now anyway; I had a good childhood.”

Anna was quiet at his side. She was looking down at her hands now, they were folded in her lap awkwardly and really he wanted to reach out and hold them.

What’s stopping you?

He moved slowly, slipping a hand into her line of sight before covering her hands with it. Normally he waited for her to make the first move anytime they touched, but he was realizing that she was the sort of person who liked physical contact when she was upset or nervous, and he could provide that for her. He’d gladly give her all the gentle touches in the world if it meant she’d feel safe.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “losing your parents is hard.”

She would know.

He pressed against her hands gently and when she responded by turning her hand and lacing her fingers through his, he felt her relax a bit.

“I didn’t really know them. I was in the orphanage from the time I was born until I was eight. I started working with the harvesters for a while and then I found my family. You know I found them by following you, right?”

He couldn’t remember if he’d already told her that. If she knew that she was the reason he’d found his family.

“I know that the idea that all of this was destined to happen is kind of… strange to wrap your head around if you weren’t raised the way I was,” he said, “but it brings me some comfort to know that even the bad things that have happened might have some good come from them in the end.”

She was quiet for a little while, but when she squeezed his hand he understood that it meant she was okay.

“Did the trolls have festivals,” she asked after a little while.

He grinned.

“About a thousand.”

***

He described it all to her in vivid detail. She’d never heard Kristoff really tell a story before, but when he described the ceremonies and events that the trolls had every year, celebrating the seasons and weddings and births, it was magical. She could imagine herself there, watching it all.

“And when you turn eighteen… or well it was eighteen for me because humans have a shorter lifespan, but anyway, when you come of age there’s a big birthday party for you. Normally birthdays aren’t a big deal because the trolls have thousands of them, but this one is.”

She nodded, rapt with attention, her tea going cold along with his on the side table.

“So my parents both presented me to the family, like they had when they adopted me. You would have laughed if you saw how they dressed me, I had a cape made out of moss and a crown of twigs because that’s the tradition and let me tell you it looks better on the trolls than it did on me. But then everyone came forward and said something about me, even the kids and Sven which is exactly as comical as you’re probably imagining it in your head.”

“What sort of things did they say?”

She didn’t mean to interrupt, but she was genuinely curious.

He smiled and shook his head, looking a bit bashful, “The sort of stuff they show you every day, but don’t say out loud.”

She thought she could imagine.

I’ve been thinking that you’re kind since I met you, but I don’t say it.

I’ve been trying to show you I care about you, but the words don’t come.

“Then everyone sits together in a giant circle and eats dinner. My mother sang a song with my sisters and aunts and… well, someday when you’re comfortable, you’ll have to hear them sing. I know I’m biased, but it’s beautiful.”

Anna couldn’t help but feel a little wistful at the idea of it. She’d loved music as a child. She remembered fondly the days she and her mother would sit in front of the fire and sing folksongs together. She remembered the days her father’s tenor would add to the mix and even more far off, she could recall her sister’s voice mingling in the sound as well.

She wondered if maybe she’d sing to her own children someday, and then with a flush, wondered what her husband sounded like when he sang.

“I’d like that… then what happened?”

He laughed warmly at her enthusiasm.

“Then they gave me my crystals. I earned some when I was young… you earn them as you learn and grow, they’re…” he trailed off for a moment, thinking.

“They’re connected to the magic in the world. It probably sounds strange, but given what Elsa can do I’m sure you can understand. It’s strange, but the trolls can feel the magic all around them, it’s in their blood, and the crystals can help them in feeling it more strongly and in shaping it. I don’t have that connection, but the crystals are part of the culture so they gave them to me. Sometimes when I’m lucky and the energy is there I can get them to react the way they should. The trolls can use them to start fires and change the direction of streams and… it’s amazing. Mostly I can just get them to glow sometimes.”

Anna felt a small thrill in the pit of her stomach that she wasn’t sure whether she should tamp down or not.

Because she’d seen his crystals. She’d touched them because he’d given her license to snoop through his things. She had still felt a little bad about the snooping though. She wondered if he’d be annoyed if she mentioned it.

She tried to read him. His body was relaxed at her side, his smile soft and his brown eyes were gazing upon her face with a warmth that made her feel like they’d known each other for months or years instead of a week.

It’s worth the risk. It’s worth it to open up to him. Has he hurt you for trying yet?

“I made the pink one glow,” she blurted, unable to help herself.

His brow furrowed, then he looked thoughtful.

“I’m sorry,” she added, not sure how to take his reaction, “I probably shouldn’t have snooped, but when we were at your cabin you told me I could look at your things while you were gone and I thought they were pretty and…”

She didn’t have anything else to say for herself. She held her breath, hoping that he wasn’t upset with her, hoping that at any moment he’d be amused by the fact that she was able to get one to glow without even knowing about them or their meaning.

“Pink?”

He asked it so quietly she almost didn’t realize he was asking her a question.

“Pink,” she answered, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice as she said it.

The confusion left his face, and when he met her eye again there was an intensity there that Anna couldn’t understand. His eyes held her gaze for a moment, before quickly, almost so rapidly that she wouldn’t have noticed, shifting to her lips and back again.

She hadn’t noticed how close they’d gotten on the settee, but now with him leaning even further into her space, she could feel his breath, she could see the stubble barely peeking up on his cheek, she could see him lick his lips.

She swallowed, then parted her own.

It would be so simple.

She’d only have to lean forward, just a little.

She could feel her heart racing in her chest. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and then she felt him draw closer.

This is it.

She remembered the kiss they’d shared at their wedding, she remembered how it felt when he’d pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Those had been chaste, one necessary for ceremony, the other to soothe, but a kiss now… it would mean something.

She tried not to feel disappointed when it never came, when instead his hand slipped from hers and went to her waist, when his forehead tipped against hers.

It’s too soon.

He wants to, but it’s too soon.

She tried to understand. Logically she knew it was true, and even the pain she’d suffered from another almost kiss in this place couldn’t challenge the warmth of his touch and the gentle way he spoke next.

“That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard.”

She felt an ache in her chest, almost as pleasant as it was new.

It means something.

She’d almost known it when she’d touched the gem, but now the confirmation in his words, the weight to them and the intimacy of their foreheads together, left her no room for doubt.

He pulled her into an embrace, their foreheads parting but his arms wrapping around her comfortingly, leaving her head to rest against his shoulder.

She almost opened her mouth to ask him what it meant, but then she closed it, letting herself have this moment with him.

I trust him.

He’ll tell me in his own time.

#A Convenient Arrangement #kristanna #frozen fanfiction #arranged marriage AU

[the-obiwan-for-me]

imagine obi wan and satine in space ikea...

You know.....I was afraid of this happening when I dumbly posted those prompts. But, shockingly, I made it work. It didn't turn out the way I expected, but what do you want from me!??!

Set in the "She Said the Word" AU, between the first story and the sequel.

Accent Pieces

“Why are we here again?”

“Because our children wanted our input.”

“My input was to call a designer.”

Obi-Wan chuckled as he inspected a bin overflowing with colorful throw pillows. “It’s their first place, darling. Let them have their fun.”

Satine didn’t like feeling elitist. But, considering the first place she lived as an adult, once she was done running for her life and rallying clans to her cause, was the palace in Sundari, she realized she may struggle with that feeling as they followed behind Korkie and Ahsoka through the maze of aisles in the warehouse like furniture superstore.

Satine gently fingered a blanket draped artistically over the arm of a sofa in one of the many displays meant to mimic some form of hip, young, urban living. It was soft, she had to admit. “I just don’t see the need to shop like this, Ben. I could have given them the name of a number of designers, as could Padme, and their little place could have been set up exactly how they liked, without spending hours lost in this….zoo.” She whispered the last bit as a couple of oddly furry, unusual beings brushed past her. She had never seen anyone like them, and she prayed she hadn’t offended them with her poor choice of words.

Up ahead, Korkie and Ahsoka had stopped to try out a number of sofas. Satine had to admit that the style this store seemed to feature was very similar to her own particular tastes- streamline and minimalist- even if it was inexpensive and arrived unassembled.

“What do you think of this one, Mum?” Korkie called from where he sprawled on a bright purple sofa that made Satine’s eyes burn.

“Well, it certainly is...purple.”

Ahsoka snorted. “It does come in other colors.”

Satine let out a sigh. “Oh thank the stars.” She considered it more closely, paying attention to the lines and the shape, picturing it in the sun filled room of the children’s small apartment they’d be sharing, now that they were officially settling in Coruscant. “I think it could be a lovely focal point for a room, Korkie. Just...just not in that shade of purple.”

The boy- well, man. Satine had to remind herself he was an actual adult now- studied the color. “You really don’t like the purple?”

Satine chewed on her lip, looking around the displays nearby. “Well, darling, if you’re insistent on that color, I would suggest some pieces in more understated tones, like those grey chairs over there. Same with your accents.” She walked over to the blanket she had inspected a few moments earlier, white and grey but shot through with a lovely shade of green, and laid it against a sofa cushion. “Something like this would look lovely against that vibrant hue.”

Korkie ran his hand over the blanket, appreciating the softness, and considered his mother’s advice. “Hmm...yes, I can see that.” He looked up at Ahoska. Some unspoken exchange passed between them. “But maybe not the purple.”

“Oh thank the stars,” Ahoska breathed, slouching back onto the sofa she had been admiring. “Grey. I still say we go with grey.”

Korkie got up and moved to her sofa, sprawling against her, just how Satine imagined they would spend most of their evenings. Exactly how they spent most of their evenings in the family lounge at home. It made her heart clench a bit, thinking of these two officially off on their own. “I know you say that, but grey is so boring,” Korkie said.

“Well, then you accent with color, darling,” Satine explained, before reaching for a pair of bright red throw pillows.

Hours, perhaps days, later, it seemed to Satine, they sat around a table together, surrounded by shopping bags full of pillows and blankets and an odd assortment of kitchen gadgets, eating strangely delicious cafe food, served up to them as they walked along a queue to make their selections. Protectors lurked near doors and along the perimeter of the bustling cafe. Satine was still baffled by the concept of a cafe in this great hulking labyrinth of a store, but after their marathon shopping experience, she was grateful for the rest and the sustenance.

Korkie and Ahsoka spoke in animated tones, going over their ideas for their apartment with one another, before their conversation melted into a new one about their plans for that evening, and for the next week. Both were wildly over excited to settle into an adult life on Coruscant, finally free of the burdens and stressors of war, looking forward to bright futures full of possibilities. It warmed Satine to her core as she watched them, sipping on her overly sweet fruity fizzpop.

Obi-Wan leaned close to her ear, his warm breath tickling the fine hairs along her neck. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

She smiled coyly. “It was an experience.”

“But you enjoyed yourself.”

“I enjoyed spending time with you and the children.”

“But this place isn’t all that bad. You like all the things they picked out.”

She rolled her eyes. “Korkie has my eye for lines and Ahsoka knows nothing but simple and useful. They did well. But if I never see a piece of mass produced furniture again, it will be too soon.”

He laughed, and pulled a bag up from beside him. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t mind the textiles too much, as I bought you that blanket.”

She looked in the bag, and there sat the blanket of white and grey and streaks of brilliant green, soft and plush and begging to be wrapped around her shoulders. She laughed in delight.

“It’s perfect, Ben. Thank you.” She kissed his lips, free as they were to behave as somewhat normal Coruscanti shoppers, away from the prying eyes of Sundari. “This day has been perfect.”

“I’m glad you think that, Mum,” Korkie said from across the table. “Because we’re going back to assemble furniture for the evening!”

Satine groaned.

#writing prompt #She Said the Word #Obitine #obi wan kenobi #satine kyrze #korkie kryze #korkie is a kenobi #ahsoka tano #space ikea #sooooo spakea? #fanfic writing #star wars fanfiction #domestic fluff prompt #why did I do this to myself? #my fic

[cuddlyscribe]

Could I request first date headcanons for Lee, Choji, and Shino. These babies need love 💜 you’re awesome

YESS i 100% agree, we need more content for these precious bbs. fun fact, shino was one of my og naruto crushes back in 5th grade LOL. and no YOU are awesome dear! thank you for the request!! ❤️

Let me just get this out of the way now: yes, the power of youth does extend to dates

Lee is going to absolutely COMBUST with excitement on your first date. So please be patient with him because he is going to be simultaneously excited and terrified (gently place a hand on his shoulder and it’ll help) 

So he wants to make your first date extra special, and pretty much works himself to death trying to put together one befitting someone as amazing as you 

But everything he comes up with doesn’t feel deserving of you. So he asks Gai and he just makes it worse 

So he decides to ask Tenten for ideas and she pretty understandably smacks him on the head and tells him to just ask YOU where you wanna go 

OF COURSE, why didn’t he think of that?! promises to punish himself with like 1000 pushups or something later

Immediately is rushing to your place and getting down on one knee to basically ask you (in so many words) where you wanna eat 

“Dearest y/n, I have been trying to plan our date and want to know where your favorite place to have dinner is so I can treat you!

During the date, he’s going to be trying to compose himself but every time he sees you it’s like... HOW ARE YOU SO CUTE HE CAN’T FOCUS

Talks a lot to calm his nerves, and most definitely tries to impress you with some new Taijutsu he’s been working on 

If he gets a kiss at the end of the night, don’t be surprised if you hear him go screaming down the road yelling about it to everyone 

AHHH sweet boiiii!! His heart is fluttering at the idea that you agreed to go on this first (of many hopefully) date with him! 

There’s a very obvious spring in his step the day of your date, and everyone is pretty much giddy with him 

While he’s nervous, he knows that you guys have hung out loads of times before and this’ll be the exact same thing (albeit with the “date” label attached)

Takes you to the BBQ place he loves, because it almost makes him feel like Asuma sensei is there to cheer him on in spirit and give him that extra boost of confidence no im not crying

(But please tell him if BBQ is not your thing, he will be over the moon to accommodate and take you anywhere you like!!) 

During the date, Choji is a bundle of sunshine (as usual) He’s such a fantastic listener and always knows the right thing to say 

But forgive him if he gets a little daydreamy while admiring you as you talk 

“S-sorry, y/n, I can’t help it! You look amazing in this light...” 

Won’t shriek like some people we know if he gets a kiss at the end of the night, but will not be able to wipe the smile off his face for at least a week afterwards

This is your world, y/n, he’s just living in it 

“Thank you for this opportunity to take you out, y/n.” Okay is this a date or a business meeting

Is very serious and calm when asking you, but if you look VERY closely, there is a definite small reaction when you agree. 

The bugs are freaking out on his behalf

Shino is a very keen observer, so he knows what a first date entails. He wants to make everything perfect for you. 

(But to him it means something extra because you weren’t offput by his insects which is a HUGE deal to him, don’t understate that!) 

He takes a trip to the Yamanaka flower shop to pick up some he knows you will love. Don’t ask how he knows, he just has this really good intuition. 

Might also drop by a bakery if you are a fan of cakes or pastries. Again, he knows exactly what you’ll love! 

On the date, he will be pretty much exactly what you’d expect. Maybe a little more talkative because this is a date and he doesn’t want you to think he isn’t interested

(But he’s still coming out of his shell, so he’d appreciate it if you didn’t push him too much to talk a lot) 

“Thank you for everything, y/n. Really...” 

Becomes soft on the walk home and on your doorstep. Once he’s out of view of others, he kind of relaxes and will gladly accept a kiss goodnight.

Silently VERY grateful for the high collar of his jacket because bb is sooooo red 

#naruto #naruto x reader #rock lee #rock lee x reader #choji #choji x reader #shino #shino x reader

[jetaime-jespere]

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

This is for the lovely @sequinsmile-x on her birthday. I started reading her stories back in December and was a huge fan from the beginning. Fast forward a few months, and I am somehow lucky enough to call you my friend. For all the pep talks, the inspiration, and the laughs- you have been a bright spot of 2021. But I stand true to my word if harm ever comes to Theo Hotchner, you know what’s coming your way ; ) Happiest of birthdays, my friend! Enjoy every moment and all the cocktails.

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

The Day After Thanksgiving

The fragrant aromas of hazelnut and vanilla waft through the air as Aaron precariously grips two full mugs of coffee in his hands. He sidesteps a few toys and a pair of shoes that were somehow missed in last night’s cleanup as he carefully ascends the stairs. The coffee threatens to slosh over the edge of the mugs and stain the hardwood floors; he slows his steps and tiptoes past closed bedroom doors. He avoids the squeaky floorboards - he knows exactly where they are by now - and kicks another stray toy against the wall in his haste to get to Emily before she wakes up.

Coffee in bed is a sacred routine for them, one they haven’t abandoned even balancing the demands of three children and two grueling careers. It’s one of Emily’s little pleasures, an act so simple Aaron can’t deny her whenever he gets the chance. That alone is how he found himself awake before the sun rises, rearranging the various pyrex containers of Thanksgiving leftovers to locate the coveted bottle of Emily’s favorite creamer in the fridge. It was wedged behind the cranberry sauce and macaroni and cheese they made for Nora, who vehemently refused to eat turkey. Of course, she’d eaten maybe five bites of her specially prepared dinner before she’d crawled into Emily’s lap in the middle of dinner. Yet it still brings a smile to his face; it’s their first holiday season as a family of five - something they never expected, something they’ll never take for granted.

Read the rest here or on ao3

When he shoulders the door open, Aaron finds her awake, feeding Leo. She holds him at her breast, her head tipped back and her eyes closed. She senses his presence innately, attuned to the softness of his steps as he steps over the threshold of the sanctuary of their bedroom. Emily’s face stretches into a brilliant smile when she sees him, but it doesn’t hide the exhaustion that paints her features.

“He’s awake again?” Aaron sets the mug on the nightstand and kisses her cheek then the top of Leo’s head. “I thought you’d at least get another hour of sleep.”

“He had other plans,” Emily murmurs, lovingly shifting their son in her arms. “He’s almost done.” She reaches for the coffee with her free hand, lifts the mug to her lips. “Thank you for this.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Aaron watches her finish Leo’s feed with unabashed awe. There’s nothing but adoration in his eyes, amazement at how she handles motherhood with an abundance of patience and grace. There have been ups and downs, tears. arguments and fights, her nerves stretched thin and his worn down. But these moments make it worth it, ones he wouldn’t trade. He leans down to take Leo to give her a break. The little boy’s eyes are already closed, contentedly asleep once again.

“You’re spoiling me.” Emily says with a grateful smile. She rests back against the pillows, eyes closing again. “What was I thinking when I agreed to go Black Friday shopping with JJ and Garcia?”

“Might be good to get out of the house. Away from the chaos.”

“Into a whole new kind of chaos. Garcia means business. I’m afraid of her ambition.” Emily rolls her eyes at the thought of the shared document Garcia had sent to her and JJ - essentially a shopping itinerary, with all the best deals and discounts clearly marked.

“You say it like you’re surprised.” Aaron gently places Leo into the bassinet before crawling back into bed with his wife. “It is Garcia we’re talking about.”

“Maybe I’ll learn my lesson next year.” She snuggles against him, seeking a few extra moments of peace.

Christmas Tree Shopping

It’s scarcely a week after Thanksgiving when Aaron caves to the persistent demands from Nora and Jack, unable to hold them off any longer. Less than an hour later, as the sun starts to go down in the early December sky, the Hotchners find themselves at an idyllic Christmas tree farm in Loudoun County. They’re not the only ones, as families make their way through the maize of evergreen, the air thick with the cloying, yet not unpleasant, scent of pine needles.

“We’re becoming those people,” Aaron grumbles good naturedly, Leo strapped to his chest in a baby carrier. “Jack, please watch your sister!” A few feet ahead, Nora runs excitedly through the trees, clapping her tiny mitten covered hands with joy. But Jack looks just as excited and takes off behind her as they search for the perfect one. It’s a tradition he never had growing up; one he’d only ever heard stories about from his classmates as he swallowed an emotion he only identified many years later as jealousy.

“What kind of people?” Emily carefully picks her way through the grass, her hand enclosed in his. Her head falls onto his shoulder every few feet; they quietly murmur to each other in broken sentences, interrupted every few seconds by one of the kids, yet it’s a language they’ve mastered over the last few years. Glances and smiles, words that speak volumes, little touches here and there.

“Those Christmas crazed people. Pretty soon we’re going to have an inflatable Santa on the lawn or something.”

“Don’t say that too loudly.” Emily gives him a quick kiss, stopping for a moment to adjust Leo’s hat to cover his tiny head. “Nora said one of her classmates has one. She’s already talking about it.”

“Great.” Aaron rolls his eyes. “I bet Garcia has one we could borrow. Probably more than one.”

Emily laughs, lightly smacking him on the shoulder as Nora grabs her hand. “Mommy, Jack and I like this one!” They all stop in front of a tree on a corner. It’s bigger than Aaron anticipated - he has visions of vacuuming pine needles for the next four weeks - and slightly lopsided, with uneven branches and a few gaps in between. Certainly not what you might see in a magazine, and in no way picture perfect, but Nora and Jack are beaming, their cheeks flushed pink in the chilly early evening air.

“Oh, you mean you two finally agree on something?” Emily quips, letting Nora drag her around the base of the tree, listening as their daughter explains where she wants to put her collection of superhero ornaments. “Who would have ever thought?” But when her eyes meet Aaron’s, it’s clear they’re thinking the same thing too.

It’s perfect.

A Lesson In Gift Wrapping

“Damnit,” Emily swears under her breath as the wrapping paper seemingly shreds in her hands. How does Aaron make this look so easy? With her bottom lip between her teeth, she folds another piece of paper around the box, trying to mimic the process she’s seen him do so effortlessly time and time again. It’s not quite enough paper to wrap around the box, and she shakes her head in defeat.

“Of all the places I looked, I didn’t think I’d find you here.” Aaron’s baritone voice shakes her from her trance. He’s leaning in the doorway of the guest room, an amused but loving smirk on his face. The remnants of the day are there - a hint of shadow on his chin, tie loosened and sleeves rolled to his elbows.

“Thought I might get some of this done.” She looks up at him briefly before her attention goes back to the mess of wrapping paper, twisted balls of tape, and gift bows. “There’s a lot still left to do.”

“Did the North Pole finally accept your elf application?” Aaron teases lovingly, pushing the door  open and side-stepping a large pile of gifts that still have yet to be wrapped. “Looks like we’re a little behind schedule this year.”

With a roll of her eyes, Emily pushes a piece of hair out of her face. “You’re home earlier than I  expected.” She glances at the mess around her with a sigh, and her voice softens. “Leo needs to be fed when he gets up. I need to pick up Nora from school and Jack will be home in an hour.”

He immediately catches the tension in her voice. As the early days of December melted into weeks, the never ending hustle was clearly starting to get to her, especially since cases took Aaron out of town most of the workweek. Evenings were full of obligations - practices and errands, weekends packed with as much family time as they could manage. All the rest was pushed to the side, a never ending list of chores that was only added to, never subtracted from.

The team had spent almost a week in Bethlehem Pennsylvania, ironically called the Christmas City, searching for an arsonist that had the entire city on edge. Perhaps the nickname was an eerie coincidence yet nonetheless it was a grueling case. Since he’d gotten home he could sense the stress emanating from her, curling like fog around her. She couldn’t hide it from him; she couldn’t hide anything from him. And while he didn’t ask, he somehow already knew.  “I asked Garcia to pick Nora up to give you a break.”

“What about dinner?”

“It’s already been ordered.” Aaron says easily, settling beside her on the floor. “Pizza sounded good.”

Relief floods her face. “Pizza always sounds good.” She kicks the abandoned box out of the way to wedge herself against him, lacing her fingers through his. “We’ve missed you around here.” It’s honest, an understated relief that only years of intimacy can bring. Her head finds its way to his shoulder; she leans against him.

“We’re finished until after New Years.” Aaron holds their hands up to the light, staring at the bouncing reflection of their wedding rings. “You have me here until January.”

“Lucky me,” Emily says dryly.

Aaron picks up a stray ball of abandoned wrapping paper and chucks it at her. “What do you say we finish wrapping these together?”

“I say,” she begins slowly, eyes darting between the neatly made bed and his own. “We take advantage of having the house to ourselves.”

He makes her come three times before they hear Garcia’s car in the driveway, and twice more after the kids are in bed, for good measure.

A Deal With The Devil

The name that appears on the screen of his ringing phone is one Aaron can’t ignore. It’s terrible timing, but he’s not at all surprised. His mother in law had an uncanny knack for calling at the most inopportune moments.

“Hi, Elizabeth,” Aaron says hastily, pressing the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he wedges the final plate into the dishwasher. He barely got to the phone in time before it went to voicemail, and something tells him she’s only a little miffed about that fact. Elizabeth Prentiss has an abundance of patience for her grandchildren, but not much for anyone else, he’s come to learn.

“Good evening, Aaron,” she says crisply yet not unkindly. In the background he can hear the mellow crooning of Bing Crosby. He imagines Elizabeth with a glass of wine in one hand, a thick book in her lap. “Is Emily around? I tried to reach her earlier. She didn’t answer my call.”

“She’s giving Nora a bath.” He glances upward, the muffled squeals and giggles coming from the bathroom just loud enough to hear from downstairs. At least things have calmed down since dinner . He decides not to mention it’s already been quite an evening around their house, thanks to unfamiliar vegetables and a long day in preschool. “Is there something you’d like me to pass along?” Of course Elizabeth would call on the one night this week he isn’t away on a case.

“Actually, Aaron, maybe you can help me,” Elizabeth presses, and he knows whatever she’s about to say is something that’s already caused a disagreement between her and Emily.

“I can try,” he offers tentatively, choosing words carefully. The very last thing he wants to do is get caught between their fires. It’s never ended well for him.

“You sound tired, Aaron. Are you not sleeping well?”

“We have three kids, Elizabeth,” he counters back. “I haven’t slept well in years.”

He hears a soft laugh on the other line; for a moment he has to remind himself he’s not talking to his wife. Sometimes the similarities between them are uncanny, much to Emily’s chagrin.

He’s wrapping up the call, assuring Elizabeth they’ll figure out a plan that works for everyone yet doesn’t add any additional stress, while simultaneously cleaning the rest of the kitchen when he hears soft footsteps on the stairs.

“You’re on bedtime duty.” Emily appears behind him, leaning against the counter with an exasperated huff. “She’s in a mood tonight.”

Aaron comes to stand behind her, circling both arms around her waist. Her hips fit snugly against the cradle of his own; he rests his chin over her shoulder to nip at her ear. “I just made a deal with your mother.” He doesn’t miss how she tenses against him, a combination of frustration, annoyance, and exhaustion seeping through her body. It’s the first time they’ve been alone all day. He presses a palm against her chest, feeling the beat of her heart under the warmth of his hand.

“She called again? I let it go to voicemail earlier.”

“Just now. She wanted to talk to you. Luckily, you’re off the hook, because I talked to her.” He kisses her neck. He swipes at a few stray bath bubbles that have somehow found their way into her hair. Of all the versions of Emily he’s loved over the years, this Emily might just be his favorite.

“Let me guess. She wants us to come to her for Christmas Eve dinner instead of her coming here.”

“Something like that.”

“Does she not understand we have three children?” Emily grumbles. “I’ve been over this with her. She’s not the one who has to put them to bed on Christmas Eve, you know. It’s a whole different kind of chaos.”

“I think we can figure it out, Em.” Aaron chuckles. He holds her a little closer, voice reassuring and calm. “I made her a deal.” She noticeably relaxes, her body melding against his. Proximity is one of their love languages, the subtle touches an endless source of comfort for them both.

“ Mommy!” Nora’s voice is an insistent, urgent interruption, one they can’t ignore. “Mommy!”

Emily sighs in defeat, the moment of peaceful bliss abruptly over.

“I’ll go,” Aaron says immediately, leaving a trail of kisses down Emily’s neck. “I haven’t seen you sit down all day.”

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” She presses her hips into his teasingly and turns her head to kiss him. It’s a promise of later, another little luxury they still manage to make time for.

“No, but you can show me once the kids are asleep.” He reluctantly lets her go as he heads in the direction of the upstairs.

“Only if I don’t fall asleep first.”

Visiting Santa

“This is not the smartest idea we’ve ever had, clearly,” Emily mutters under her breath as the crowd around them seems to thicken before their eyes. The mall is packed, full of shoppers and families lined elbow to elbow around a colorful, elaborate display to meet Santa. There’s fake snow everywhere, teenagers dressed up as elves supervising the line and a kids’ rendition of a Christmas song blasting from speakers. “What were we thinking?”

“The same as everyone else in Northern Virginia, apparently.” Aaron finds the small of her back through her coat, rests his hand there gently as Emily pushes the stroller a little to soothe Leo. “Not like we had much of a choice, sweetheart. I’ve been gone all week. When else were we supposed to do this?”

“I could have taken them myself one night.” She looks annoyed and rightfully so, as one of the elves announces it’s time for Santa to take a fifteen minute break.

“And miss all this fun?” Aaron jokes. He’s doing his best to hide his own annoyance, yet the flex of his jaw is a tell-tale sign that Emily spots immediately. “Not a chance.”

They’ve been in line for over a half an hour, and will be for at least another half hour. Beside Aaron, Jack grumbles under his breath and rolls his eyes without even looking up from his Nintendo Switch. He’d obliged reluctantly, partly because Aaron had promised him a new video game if he didn't complain. And from where Nora is nestled in the safety of her mother’s arms, she presses her cheek against Emily’s shoulder. “What if we miss Santa, Mommy?”

“We won’t, honey,” Emily soothes, catching Aaron’s eyes over their daughter’s head of dark hair. It’s the third time she’s asked the question, her dark eyes widening as Santa waves to the crowd before disappearing. “He’s just taking a break.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Aaron mutters under his breath. “Even Santa is over it.”

When they finally emerge from the mall almost an hour later, with three cranky children in tow, Emily passes over the photograph to Aaron. “This is an awful picture,” she snickers behind her gloved fist. It’s true. It was taken at the worst possible moment - seconds after Leo started screaming, Nora’s attention anywhere but the camera, and Jack’s eyes closed. “This is even worse than last year’s picture. We can’t actually display this anywhere, you know.”

“We can give it to Dave. He’ll love it,” Aaron jokes as he tucks the envelope under his arm. “Trust me.”

Twas the Night before Christmas

“Move over, Nora!” Jack elbows his sister squarely in the stomach in an attempt to crawl over his sister to get closer to Aaron. “You’re taking up too much space.”

“Ouch, Jack! Daddy, Jack is being mean!”

“There’s more than enough room for everyone,” Aaron says neutrally and cheerfully. It’s clear he won’t pick a side. “Santa doesn’t want to hear the two of you fighting on Christmas Eve. Last time we checked the radar, he was headed to the United States, wasn’t he?”

From where she cradles a milk-drunk Leo in her arms, Emily stifles a laugh in her fist. She makes a mental note to thank Garcia for showing it to the kids earlier that evening. It’s been the only thing to keep them from completely losing their minds with excitement ever since.

“Nora, why don’t you come sit over here next to Mommy and Leo?” He pats the sliver of space between his thigh and Emily’s, covered in matching flannel pajamas as Emily shifts over.

“Okay, Daddy,” she beams, scrambling off the couch and making a point to stick her tongue out at Jack along the way.

“Nora, apologize to Jack,” Emily cuts in smoothly with a sharp look at her daughter.

The little girl pouts even as guilt spreads across her face. “Sorry, Jack.” She breaks off a piece of the frosted cookie in her hand - the one she isn’t supposed to have on the new couch - and hands it to Jack. “Here.”

“Is everyone ready?” Aaron asks once Nora is settled and Jack has stopped kicking his feet underneath one of the many blankets flung around the couch. “No one needs anything?” He grins at the insistent pleas of both kids, hushes them quietly to avoid waking the sleeping baby on Emily’s chest. “Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house…” He begins, as a silence falls over them all.

Emily watches him read, transfixed by the sight of Jack and Nora completely engrossed in the story they’ve heard dozens of times, as if they never have before. Sometimes it still doesn’t seem real that this is their life now. She would have laughed ten years ago if someone predicted her future.

“A happy Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight.” Aaron closes the book in his hands, looking between Nora and Jack. “I think it’s bedtime, what do you think?”

There are grumbles from them both as they trip over each other on their way towards the stairs, not without frequent peeks over the shoulder to see if in fact Santa somehow materialized behind them.

“Maybe Santa will bring us a puppy, Jack!"

Christmas Eve

“You think they’ll be disappointed when none of these presents bark?” Emily jokes once they’ve finished setting up the pile of gifts. There’s a bottle of wine between them, and It’s A Wonderful Life plays in the background on low.

“I told them Santa doesn’t carry pets on the sleigh.” Aaron tucks his arm around her and brings her into his chest, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. “Said it was too dangerous.”

“Did they buy that?”

“Seemed to.” He shrugs. “We might have some explaining to do if Allison and Shane end up getting Jude a puppy, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” In the easy silence the movie stretches on; they share sips of wine and leftover cookies and murmur soft whispers over the final few minutes.

“I love this part,” Emily murmurs as George Bailey reunites with his family in a joyous, tearful reunion and the opening measures of Auld Lang Syne begin to play. She doesn't look away from the screen.

“You love this whole movie,” he teases gently. “You always have.”

“You don’t?”

“I have other favorites. But I’ll always watch it with you.”Outside, the snow has started to accumulate; it’s already formed a blanket of white across the grass, and is covering the trees. It doesn’t look like it’ll be stopping anytime soon.

“This never gets old,” Emily says from where they’re snuggled together on the couch, staring at the Christmas tree and the falling snow out the window. It’s been their tradition to do this since having Nora - set up presents and watch the movie.

They watch the falling snow in silence once again, their fingers linked, heads bent together, enjoying the few extra moments of peace. It’s only when Emily’s eyes drift shut does she realize just how exhausted she really is.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Aaron murmurs as she opens them. “There’s one thing left to do.”

“We did everything. We even answered the note they wrote for Santa. We forgot that last year.” Emily stretches as she stands, her limbs aching. “It’s time for bed, Aaron. I’m so tired.”

“Not quite yet, sweetheart.” Aaron is reaching behind the decorations on the mantle for the small hidden speakers, flicking a button. “I think you’re forgetting something.”

“What?” She yawns, not even bothering to hide it. “It’s so late.”

“You remember,” he says, holding out his hand as the music starts.

Emily rolls her eyes good naturedly, remembering just what he means. “Really, Aaron?”

“One dance, sweetheart. Please?”

“I'm tired.”

He rolls his eyes. It’s a line she’s used many times, yet for some reason, she always gives in. In fact, she’s stepping into his arms before she even stops talking.

“That’s what you always say.” He takes her hand and wraps his other arm around her back, drawing her in close. “Yet you always end up right here.”

“Because I love you,” she whispers, following his steps as he takes the lead.

Some soft Christmas jazz starts to play, a sultry sounding medley that might just lull her to sleep. “This is the song you picked?” Emily rests her head on his shoulder as he sways them in time to the music. “You couldn’t have picked anything more lively?”

“Shhhh,” he murmurs, his hand bracing against the small of her back as he dips her down and brings her back up. “Just go with it.”

So she does, letting him move them both around the living room in a series of smooth, even steps. When the music stops, they still for a few blissful, silent moments. Still wrapped in each other’s arms, they’re close enough together to feel the other’s heart beating in sync. “Merry Christmas, Emily. I love you.”

“I love you too, Aaron. Merry Christmas.”

#hotchniss #domestic hotchniss #happy hotchners #wsne universe #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron x emily #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #birthday fics and Christmas fluff #Christmas in July #for you my dear friend sequinsmile_x #I hope you enjoy