#;;v: yet more eager burnt.

[asa-do-your-thing]

Mine is the Vengeance

18+ MINORS DNI (Dark)Aemond Targaryen x F!Reader (/OC, hair colour is mentioned), mentioned Aegon x F!Reader 3.8k Warnings: DEAD DOVE I REPEAT DEAD DOVE, dubcon, noncon, blowjob, cunnilingus, P in V sex, smut duh, derogatory language, sexism, parent-child incest mentioned, as always no proofreading no nothing

Time had seemed to slow around you. Biting back tears, you flinched every time Queen Alicent took another section of your dark locks to braid them sweetly up onto your head, creating a beautiful updo. Two moons had passed since you’d been married, and it was common knowledge that Prince Aemond Targaryen had only ever touched you on your wedding night, refusing to interact with you more than he had to, only the two of you and Queen Alicent knowing why.

It was not your fault, you thought to yourself and sighed. You were not to be blamed. Though still, you had to be grateful that he stepped up the way he did. A true Prince, you thought with a tiny sneer.

“‘Tis alright, my dear, he can be peculiar about your… previous duties to King Aegon. It is now in your responsibility to give him a son, seeing as… the realm does not have a clear successor. To keep the peace, you’ll gift Prince Aemond a little son, so that Jaehaera can marry someone befitting her position,” Alicent whispered soothingly, yet the frigid coldness of her voice did not soothe you at all.

Ah yes, having to give your husband your body, because your rapist is burnt and broken beyond repair, so no heirs may follow. Wonderful. Wonderfully splendid news indeed. Though, with a resigned nod, you accepted the Queen Mother’s dubious advice and flinched as she pinned your veil into your braids.

“Now you look beautiful enough for him. Go now, child, and do what must me done. And oh, before I forget it - do give him one of the smiles that enraptured King Aegon so. You know, he told me that that was the reason why he… paid you such attention. He always used to ramble on about your smile. Now go, child, go, and show Aemond how pretty you can be.”

With a lingering trace of hesitation, you rose from the stool, your royal dress rustling softly against the stone floor. The reflection on the grand mirror struck you; you were a vision of pure elegance and regality, every inch the consort of a prince. As you walked towards the door, Alicent's words rang in your ears, "...show Aemond how pretty you can be."

The long hallway leading to your marital chambers seemed like an endless path. It was as though each step echoeed back into the silence, reminding you of your duty and what had to happen for you to walk this shameful path. Aegon, drunk. Aegon, sobbing. Aegon calling you ‘Mother’ while he held you down onto the mattress.

Aegon, who had screamed at you. Aegon, who after having received an earful by the Hand, Lord Otto Hightower, rashly betrothed you to Prince Aemond. Aegon, who caused all of your and Aemond’s misery. Though… it was your misery, first and foremost. Aemond never had to cry because Aegon had ripped him up because he was too drunk and eager. You clutched the delicate fabric of your gown, feeling knots in your stomach. Swallowing hard, you lifted your hand to knock on the door.

Prince Aemond sat his desk, engrossed in scrolls bearing news of the current situation across Westeros. Alliances, Troop movements and such things. He looked up as you enter, his violet eyes betraying surprise before he quickly masked it with hateful indifference. His gaze travelled over your form, taking in your carefully arranged hair and the gown that fell around you like a dark green waterfall.

"Are we receiving guests?", he asked with a hint of sarcasm in his cold voice. Your heart fluttered uneasily but summoning all the courage you had left, you flashed him a radiant smile - one that was reportedly fondly spoken about by King Aegon himself. Maybe… maybe he’d play along, just this once…

"No," you replied softly, moving closer to where he sat. "I just thought... perhaps..."

You trailed off, aware that your cheeks were red with embarrassment. He regarded you for a moment longer before sighing and setting aside his papers. He stood to his full height and stepped closer to you, glowering down from his not insignificant height.

“Did the Queen Mother send you?”

Clenching and unclenching your fists, you nodded gently. “Yes, my Prince. I was to, well I still am to… fulfill my duty.”

The Prince looked down at you with a blank face, before disgust took over his fine, Targaryen features. Stepping ever closer to you, he held you by your wrists and looked you over, like cattle in the markets.

“Hm. Wouldn’t it be the greatest way to show my dear brother, the King, that I despise what he had done by just not touching you? Hm? So that I’ll be the next in line? Hm. I doubt that the Queen Mother really wished for me to bed you. Maybe you are just such a harlot that you’ve decided that you neded to get your fill again, now that my darling brother is burnt and crippled?”

His words stung, every syllable colored with venom. Your eyes welled up, threatening to spill over with unshed tears. Your heart clenched as he let go of your wrist. You turned away from him, unable to bear the scorn etched on his face.

“No,” you whispered lost in the silence of the room. “I am not a harlot,” you affirmed more firmly, turning back to him, your chin held high even as your eyes betrayed an ocean of hurt. “You know I am not. You know exactly what the King has done. Does that truly make me a whore? And I came here because it is my duty. Whether you choose to fulfill yours or not is up to you.”

Aemond crossed his arms over his chest, appearing unmoved by your heartfelt plea. But you saw something flicker in his eyes, a spark of understanding perhaps? It was quickly extinguished by a cold hardness that made you shiver despite the warmth of the room.

“Your duty?” he echoed, his tone laced with mockery and bitterness. “What a pleasant duty it must be for you – first my brother and now me?”

He began pacing around the room, looking more like a caged beast than a prince. You watched him quietly, feeling small and insignificant beneath his irate gaze.

After a long silence that felt like ages, Aemond stopped before the hearth, its flames casting ominous shadows on his face making him appear more dragon than man. He finally said in an eerily calm voice, “I will take you, then. Take you in every way known to man. You’ve been a whore once, so why not be a whore now? Give me my damned son and then you can go and fuck my corpse-like brother again for all I care.”

The words hit you like an ice-cold gust of wind in winter's heart. The world seemed to crumble around you as you grappled with the gravity of his words.

“My Prince, Prince Aemond,” you implored softly. But a single glare from him stopped your protest. “As you wish, my Prince.”

Silence between the two of you spread as the two of you stared at each other, not quite knowing what to do now.

“Take off your clothes, but be slow. With every piece of clothing that you lose you shall tell me what my brother had done to you. Tell me all about yourself and your wonderfully wretched body, my dearest Lady Wife,” he murmured and sank into a chair with a small smirk, pouring himself a cup of wine.

You felt like a deer caught in the glare of a predator, frozen and terrified. But this was your duty, as painful and degrading as it was. Each slow inhale and exhale felt like a shard of ice piercing your lungs as you reluctantly began to unlace your dress from the back. As the fabric loosened, you began to speak, each word echoing sharply in the silent room.

"His hands...he was rough with them," you started, trying to keep your voice steady. "He tore at my clothes with an eagerness that scared me."

The room was silent except for your voice and the soft rustling of fabric. The first layer of your dress fell to the ground, pooling around your feet. You could feel Aemond's gaze on you, cold and unyielding.

"He pinned me down in the council chambers...," you continued, paling slightly at the memory. "His breath stank of wine... he didn't even look at me... not really. I was two and ten, I’ve not even flowered then."

As you spoke, another layer fell away. You stood before him shivering slightly, feeling naked despite being partially clothed, your veil tickling you softly.

Your eyes met Aemond's gaze and for a moment, there was silence - a tense void filled with resentment, hatred – but also a seed of understanding that seemed to have sprouted from his icy demeanor.

“He didn't care about me... I was just an object to him,” you whispered, stepping out of your last dress, standing there like a doll, which some girl used to dress up, as you stood there in your shift, your hose and your luxurious headdress. “He always wanted me to tell him that I loved him. All while he was fucking me, scraping my face against stones, letting me bleed.”

Aemond’s eyes widened slightly at your statement while his jaw clenched tight. He downed the rest of his cup in one go and sat onto the bed, motioning you to come forth.

“That sounds like you were not a whore at all… but your gasps and moans were heard all through the Red Keep. Why did I always have to listen to your moans, never your sobs? Why did I even have to see you bouncing on his cock, tits out as if you were on the street of silk?” He asked slowly and bent you over his knees, methodically rolling up your shift to bare your arse to him.

All the heat rose to your face in embarrassment and anger as you tried to lie down in a more comfortable position, or, preferrably, to wriggle out of his grip completely. All you got, in return, was a hard slap against your supple arsecheeks. “Aemond! My P-prince! What are you-?”, you yelped, but were cut off by another rough spank.

"That's 'Prince Aemond' to you," he said, his tone firm. "And you will speak to me respectfully or you won't speak at all."

You bit your lip, forcing back the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes as your face burned with shame. But under his gaze, you found the strength to continue.

"My... my moans," you choked out, swallowing dryly. "They were not of pleasure but of pain. The King... He... He enjoyed making me cry out..."

Another slap made you gasp with surprise, your body jerking under the sudden pain, your headdress jangling at the sudden motion. You glared at him, your eyes aflame with anger and hurt. But he remained stoic, his face impassive as he stared back at you.

"You were there in the shadows, watching... listening," you said bitterly. "Did it bring you pleasure too? Hearing my cries? Seeing my discomfort? Pumped your fist while I bled?"

Aemond didn't respond but his grip tightened on your wrist and for a moment his face hardened.

"Am I expected to believe that?" he asked softly. "You expect me to believe that it wasn't consensual? That you weren't enjoying yourself? You looked so serene. Like the statue of the maiden in the sept…"

His words were like a knife in your heart and you jerked away from him only to be pulled back into place by a strong hand on your shoulder.

"Look at me, woman," he commanded, forcing your head up so your eyes met his. There was a strange look in his eyes now – not quite apologetic but no longer filled with rage either. “Tell me that you’ll look at me the same way and that you will not be complaining, chattering or crying. I want you to be as serene as you were back then.”

Bile rose in the back of your throat but you nodded slowly, getting up, but yelped as Aemond ripped your shift off your body, leaving you there in your bejewelled veil and your stockings. Not for long though - he pushed you down onto his bed with a force that knocked the wind out of your lungs.

“Tell me you want me too. Tell me that you’ll be as wanton for me as you were for him,” he whispered into your ear, his long silver hair brushing over your shivering, naked form. “Don’t deny it, I know you liked it, just as you’ll like this… But I’ll be gentle, I’ll treat you like a Lady…”, he mumbled on as he fumbled with his doublet.

Was he… was your sick, twisted husband truly trying to get himself to forget that you were here against your will? That you would never truly give yourself to him or his brother?

You did not immediately reply and received another slap, this time against your mound, making you yelp. “I… uh… yes?”

"Good. That's a good girl," Aemond purred, his eye flashing dangerously in the candlelight as he worked the buttons of his doublet. "Remember, you're here to please me. You're here to make me feel like the king my brother is."

His words stung, but you chose not to respond. Instead, you lay stiffly on the bed, your eyes fixed on an intricate pattern on the ceiling, trying desperately not to think about what was about to happen.

"What happened with my brother... It doesn't matter now," Aemond said softly, interrupting your thoughts. He dropped his doublet onto the floor and moved to unbuckle his pantaloons. His eyes ran down your exposed form greedily. "I will make sure that it is different. I will make sure you enjoy this."

His hands roamed over your body — fingertips barely skimming your skin, followed by gentle caresses and soft strokes that made you shiver despite yourself. He was true to his word: he was gentle — at least so far.

"Stop it," you whispered, your voice breaking as you pulled away from him and covered yourself with your arms. "Please."

Aemond's brows furrowed in confusion — or perhaps frustration — as he looked at you questioningly.

"I said I want... I want you too," you lied through gritted teeth, forcing a smile onto your face. You had to keep him appeased — keep him from hurting you any further. "But I want you... naked too. Show me how I should touch you."

Your plea seemed to surprise him as he quickly rid himself of the last articled of clothing. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, such a wanton little wife I have. Laying there with Jewels and a modest veil covering her hair… wanting to touch me. Alright then, Lady Wife, touch me,” he tutted and pushed you back up onto your knees, his finger pressing against your chin. “And do keep your wonderful smile while you try and take me with your mouth.”

You looked down at Aemond, the glow of the draping curtains casting shadows along his chiseled body. Forcing a shaky breath through your lips, you nodded and gently wrapped your hand around his hard cock. The contact made him hiss and you glanced up through your lashes to see him watching you intently, a peculiar look in his eyes.

"Well? Don't just sit there," he growled, his fingers tangling in your hair, playing with your veil. You swallowed hard against the knot in your throat before you lowered your head down onto him, his swollen, leaking tip staring at you teasingly as you wrapped your lips around him, quickly bobbing up and down along.

But Aemond had different ideas. He guided you at a leisurely pace, drawing out the experience as he muttered deeply under his breath. His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear that hadn't fallen yet.

"Slow down," he murmured. "I want to enjoy this." The way he spoke to you was as if he truly believed that this was what you wanted too. It was like he was coaxing you along, encouraging you like one might a timid horse.

You could feel the heat radiating off him as he pulsed subtly under your touch, his fingers relaxing their grip on your hair as if he was trying to fight against the pleasure coursing through him. His other hand fumbled for something on the side table - a small vial of sweet smelling oil - and tilted it into his palm.

"Open," he commanded softly. As much as you didn't want to obey him, fear of punishment had you complying immediately. He slowly poured the warm liquid into your mouth before pulling back slightly to watch it run down your chin and onto your heaving tits. It tasted nice, at least, you thought. At least he hadn’t hurt you too much. At least, you thought with an embarrassed blush creeping up your cheeks, it felt… okay. Not good, not great, but there had been a certain head between your thighs. Maybe it had just been the lewdness of the situation.

"That's a good girl," Aemond purred in your ear, his voice thick with lust as his cock twitched against your cheek. "Now, back to it."

You swallowed him deeper this time, taking him all the way down, your nose brushing against his pubes. He moaned approvingly, his grip on your hair tightening again as he started bucking his hips into your eager mouth in short, shallow thrusts. Your mind drifted away as you thought of anything but what was happening: the feel of sea breeze on your face, the smell of wildflowers blooming on the hills of your home, and the sound of your mother singing one of her lullabies.

Aemond's breathing became ragged and uneven above you. "I'm close," he panted, warning you just before hot, sticky seed shot into your mouth. You didn't stop until he told you to pull away, gasping for air as you wiped your face and chest with the edge of the bedspread. There was a tense silence between you both before he finally spoke up again.

"Get on all fours and spread yourself for me," he said simply. “I wish to taste you.”

As you were unpinning your veil, you felt Aemond’s big, sleek hands on your shoulders as he shook his head. “No, keep that on. I want to fuck my little doll - the doll Mother has dressed, the doll my brother has played with. But now you are mine. My pretty doll. Taking me so innocently…”, he rambled once more as he lowered himself between your trembling thighs.

Were men not supposed to be spent after their release? What was he doing to you?

You braced yourself as best as you could against the intrusion, trying not to whimper as he spread your lips apart. His tongue lapped at your clit, teasingly at first, then firmly, compelling you to arch your back and cry out in both pleasure and pain. His fingers plunged inside of you simultaneously, stretching you impossibly wide while his tongue continued its ministrations on your overly sensitive button.

"You like that, don't you?" he asked smugly, his voice full of satisfaction. "Tell me you like it."

"I... I-I," you couldn't help but moan as he pressed his face against your core harder, his tongue leaving a trail of fire along your sensitive folds.

"Say it," he growled against your thighs, his cock hardening once more against your thigh.

"I... I like it," you panted. "Oh.. oh Gods Aemond - I like it. Just like - mmph!”

His finger pushed into you to the hilt, curling and stroking inside until you were trembling on the edge of climax. "Say my name again, whore," he demanded low.

"Aemond," you gasped out, panting for breath. "I - I like it Aemond!"

He chuckled darkly against your core, his tongue flicking over your clit furiously as his fingers moved in and out of your wet channel. The waves of pleasure crashed over you like a tsunami, rendering you helpless underneath him until your back arched from the mattress and you cried out his name once more, clenching around his invading digits.

He pulled back just as quickly as he'd started, leaving you panting and drenched with sweat. "Good girl," he praised, wiping his mouth with the back of his forearm before capturing your lips in a searing kiss, forcing his tongue roughly into your mouth. As much as you hated to admit it, your body responded to him regardless of what your mind thought of him; juices slicked between your thighs as he ground against your core, hardeness poking your soft flesh.

You hated it. You loved it. You hated him. You loved him. You -

"Now let's see how tight that cunt really is," he growled against your ear before roughly rolling you onto your stomach, spreading your legs apart and plunging his length inside with one smooth motion, placing your veil over your hair in a way his mother used to do in the sept.

You could do naught but squeal and moan, trying your hardest to push him out with your cunny while tears formed in your eyes. Did he not promise to be gentle? But if you were to complain, what would he do then? What was he doing now? Your mind raced incessantly.

Would he also want to call you Mother? Suckle on your teats after he was spent? Or was he different to Aegon? Aegon would’ve finished minutes ago, you thought nervously. Why was Aemond toying with you like that?

He pulled back, almost fully before slamming in again, mercilessly repeating the motion until you were begging for mercy. "Aegon was right," he grunted as he pounded into you, grunting with each thrust. "You are tighter than a maiden!"

The mention of his brother's name sent daggers through your heart and spurred you onwards. Your walls clenched and unclenched around him, desperately trying to force him out.

"Yes," he moaned, interpreting your actions as pleasure instead of pain. “That's it my pretty doll, squeeze me tighter... tighter! Show your husband how good you can treat him!”

With a final grunt, he released his seed inside you, collapsing on top of your trembling frame. "You're mine now, doll," he panted, spent but still hard inside of you. "Mine and only mine. Put on a cloak and go show yourself to Aegon in his sickbed. Show him my dripping seed. Tell him that you’re mine." A few seconds passed before he pulled himself out of you and turned away. “I’ll see you in a month, if your blood has come again. If not, well… Fare well, until you can hand me my heir. Good night.”

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Can I request some sort of smut with Prince Regent!Aemond? I can't get him out of my head!!!! I see him being so mean and intimidating on the Iron Throne, like he wouldn't wear the eye patch bc he knows he looks "scary" to everyone in the court without it...except his little wife doesn't find him scary. His sweet wife is willing to fulfill his every need, no matter what that is, and is a good girl for him when he fucks her roughly, and it ends up melting his cold heart. Just a thought 😮‍💨

please the heinous bitch I'll become when Aemond takes this role on, lord forgive me. this is brilliant, thanks for sending in the ask boo xx

hope you love it!

Dearest, Ruthless Husband

PAIRING: Prince Regent!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Wife!Reader

WORDS: 2,432.

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of cruel!Aemond, degradation kink, p in v sexual intercourse (consensual), oral male receiving, mentions of breeding kink.

A/N - writing this got me so hyped for Prince Regent Aemond!!! I hope you all enjoy, the smut is a little different to what I normally write or go about it, but sue me. Intrusive thoughts won!!!!

The Dance of the Dragons as most maesters and commoners of King's Landing had dubbed the unfolding family feud within House Targaryen, was beginning to simmer and churn. Brutal words exchanged, promises unkept and broken, and battles ruthlessly fought, both sides began to earn their gains, and yet also face immense losses. The most recent, left the Usurper King Aegon, burnt and beyond repair. The King had succumbed to his bed chambers, in the endless care of maesters, tending to his wounds as he remained unconscious from milk of the poppy. Although the realm staggered on, it needed to be assigned someone to represent the sovereign himself, and no other candidate stood out, other than your royal husband, Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen.

Before the war had torn through the Seven Kingdoms, you had been betrothed to the young Prince. Paramount in securing an alliance on behalf of the Crown, you had grown doubtful that the marriage would remain fruitful, weary that Aemond merely saw you more as an obligation than an actual human being. Much to your surprise and in favour of the Gods, the Targaryen prince, took a key interest in you, as you gradually began to spend more and more time immersed in each other's sole company. Till proof had been cemented when he meekly admitted his love for you.

"It will be undying, this union, bound to me forever, my love. You will never no of hate nor harm, that I can promise you, my wife to be."

And although, Aemond had always been more of a withdrawn, private man since your first acquaintance, the longer this war prolonged, the more it seemed to have hardened his exterior. The man you'd once soulfully cherished and dreamt of now absent, replaced by a strange clone, the warmth buried inside seemed to have gone out like a candle in the wind.

He did no harm towards you, although, you scarcely saw him. Occasionally, he'd accompany you to dinner, only to be torn away from you, more prominent, urgent matters to attend that broke in the dead hour of the night. The bed had grown lonesome, and you struggled to sleep without his comforting presence and familiar body warmth. Regardless, your safety was still a priority, he made certain that you were around, in his vicinity.

****

Nowadays, you often found your husband seated firmly atop the Iron Throne, speaking and acting on behalf of his elder brother, the King. Many a times, he'd often privately disclosed of how he'd envisioned himself instead, given the miraculous chance, he sternly believed he'd be the better choice, "I'm far more suited than the likes of him." And yet, now that his treasonous wish had been granted, the circumstances unfortunate, he did not feel as willing for it. Eager to uphold duty nonetheless, you knew, however, that Aemond loved his family immensely, this including Aegon. They grew together, trained together and fought together. Yet he only now, fully understood the burden in which the crown wielded.

Today was no less different.

Entering the throne room, crowded by those who'd sworn allegiance unto King Aegon the Second, and those in chains, forced upon their knees, for those who had instead sworn fealty to Rhaenyra only to be captured. Aemond coldly observed them from above, the ferocity of the throne, its sharp, steel blades exemplified by his exposed sapphire eye. Since your beloved husband was publicly anointed as Prince Regent, he had taken to the habit of unveiling his lost eye, no longer bearing the notorious eye patch that modestly covered his ailment. He never hid it out of shame, though rather sympathetically as means to not frighten the maidens of the court. Yet the spoils of war had unleashed a crueler side to Aemond, one that you did not sense of its existence, though neither grew fearful of.

"Sided with the false Queen, my elder sister, Rhaenyra Targaryen, you have committed the highest form of treason against the Crown... Cowards and traitors, you shall all face the wroth of the Dragons through me... I do not see it fit to send you all to the Wall, no that would be mercy...Death to the whole lot of you."

His words sent a cold chill through your body, shuddering against his low, unwavering tone. Aemond had always spoken with a steadiness, and that remained unchanged. You could not deny that seeing such a formidable side of Aemond, unlike before, was invigorating. In the haste moments that you were caught in your own bewildered thoughts, with a sway of his hand swatting for the guards to remove said traitors, the out-roar of prisoners begging and pleading before their Prince Regent and the rattling of their heavy chains as they'd been forcefully led away was a chilling memory. After the final few had left to the dungeons below, you'd caught sight of Aemond staring right at you. Mindlessly, a faint smile fell upon your gentle face, and in a few seconds to come, Aemond demanded that all vacate the room, except for you. As the others departed, you walked in the opposing way, strolling closer and closer to where your husband remained comfortably seated, coming to a halt before the stony steps.

Upon hearing the final closing of the main, oak doors, an eerie silence fell upon the void of the room. Aemond's eye turned from the shut doors back down unto your feeble state below, the height and distance made you look smaller, more miniscule.

"You dare to taunt me with that smile, woman? Your presence during court already weakens me so."

"I merely wish to see my husband in all his glory, for it feels like a lifetime that I have not been blessed in his company. If needs be that I must seek you out myself, then so be it."

"Hmm."

Just as you'd taken the first step up, Aemond commanded for you to stop. Caught mid-way, you were startled by his objection as he often never resisted you.

"You think you can go unpunished just like that, do as you please and walk yourself right up here. Simply because you're my little whore?"

You were mildly perplexed by his minor outburst, although with the sly grin strewed across his face and the low deep chuckle he provoked from his own amusement, you knew he was simply taunting you. And yet, being Prince Regent, you had no choice but to obey.

"On all fours woman, I want to see you crawl to me, like the bitch that you are."

Hesitant at first, the burning glare from your husband's end though convinced you otherwise. Now on all fours, you slowly began to mechanic your way up to him, feeling Aemond's grin seething into the tender skin of your back, straight through your gown. Did this amuse him, seeing you grabble for him on the grimy, ancient floor, practically yielding to his every word.

Now at his feet, you remained on your knees, sore palms resting on your thighs, you looked up at him eagerly, a soft smile upon your face. If he thought he could taunt or debase you, he should reconsider.

"Satisfied yet, my dearest?" You meekly interject, your smile growing brighter.

"Not yet. Have you any bright ideas, wife, or must I command you like a hound?"

Although his voice stern, the sly grin remained faintly embedded across his face, and eyebrow perked, eager for your response. Yet your remained endearing, a lustful look across your face, as your hands began to gently make there way up his lean thighs.

"You have worked so tirelessly for the realm, and yet your wife remains lonesome, in her own company. From time to time, my husband is too busy fulfilling the duties of the realm, he seems to have forgotten his duty to his wife. Leaving me to touch myself so desperately... I suppose, I must remind him."

Now your hands reached the buttons of his trousers, Aemond bucks his hips forward, as you undo them, pulling them and his under garments just low enough, that his bare cock strings out. Already glistening at its tip, the sight always left you dumbfounded. His length was greater than average, and veiny, you could sense its palpating throbs against the soft palms of your hands, as you began to stroke its firm state.

"Already hard for me, my Prince. Have you missed me so?"

His pre-cum already spilling from the pinkish tip, you'd noticed the more fasten your pace grew, the firmer his grip tightened on the metal arm rests of the throne. His once-steady breathing now heavier.

"Fuck Y/N. Don't keep me waiting."

A sweet giggle escaped your lips, as his eye and the sapphire gem remained fixated on your kneeling frame below his knees. Soon enough, still massaging his hardening cock, you ease yourself between his thighs, spreading his legs out wider for you to adjust yourself. His wish, his command, you brought your mouth to his cock, in the same, sensual pace, sucking at his cock, feeling the throbs and familiar taste in your mouth.

"Seven fucking Hells," He breathlessly huffed, his chest now heaving against your slow, engulfing motions.

It was undeniable that the tip of his cock was stiffly hitting the back of your throat, regardless of how often this act was done in the privacy of your shared chambers, his length was one you could never quite adjust to, often gagging at it, although now you'd grown familiar to manoeuvre and angle it accordingly.

"That tight, pretty mouth of yours, oh, how I've missed it."

It had been a while since Aemond and yourself had shared these intimate moments only lawful between a man and his woman, since the uprising of the war. The Gods were now charitable, for both your favours were being met.

"Mmm. F-Fuck I'm close, Princess. Straightened up."

The thudding of his hard, long cock you could feel had grown tenser. Pulling out, caused a visceral reaction from him, as you once more, obeyed his command, straightening your posture enough, that the cleavage of your breasts was the main attraction between his thighs. Immediately, he hastily spilled his warm seed over your breasts, causing a mess all over you, some of his wetness had seeped in between the cleavage, whilst the rest glistened against your soft skin, before pooling down, drenching your garments.

"A masterpiece if I ever saw one," He chuckled, as his thumb tenderly wiped away at the remnants lingering over the corner of your moist lips.

"Aemond, I need you dearest," You sulkily yearned, a hand clutching to your clothed cunt, feeling yourself beginning to grow avid, as a long, familiar feeling brew between your thighs.

"Up- Come, my dearest-" His hand smacked against his thigh, as the other held your hand in is lifting you up, guiding you to ease yourself down over him: hastily pulling your layered gown up and tearing your undergarments into two, his firm cock easily finding its way inside of you.

Muffled moans helplessly tore through you, once again, the neediness for your husband's cock, and the long-awaited wait, stimulating you enough. His wetness that coated him, helped to ease himself plunging in, now adjusted, your hips beginning to sway forwards and back over his strong lap, his rough hands held you firmly by the waist, steadying you over him.

"I ought to fuck you senseless, leave you satisfied enough for until the next time I return from battle. Perhaps I ought to fuck a babe into you, my dearest."

Still childless, it was all bad-timing for only a few months after your wedding, the war broke out and Aemond was caught in the haste of it all. He scarcely had time to bed you, although now that his family numbers were dwindling, it seemed a babe was of great importance, an heir for the Prince Regent.

"Y-Yes, Aem- I want your child."

"Your wish is my command, wife. I shall see you swell greatly with child, as many sons and daughters as I see fit."

Earning more helpless cries and screams for your husband, the room echoed with your pleas and Aemond's heavy breathing. You were certain the guards posted outside, would know of the events unfolding from within, and yet no shame. For they'd have to answer to Aemond, and that itself, was a threat.

"Fill this pretty cunt of yours, this cunt that belongs to me. I shall keep you full, as need be."

"A-As you desire, m-my Prince-"

One of Aemond's hands remained supporting your lumbar, snaking its way behind, and the other found its way to your scalp, tugging and pulling at your hair, as your head rocked back in tune to his aggressive motions. Words no longer comprehensible to exchange, Aemond's lips found themselves occupied, lapping and suckling at the sensitive crook of your neck, leaving harsh, red marks across your skin.

"Finish me, Aem. I-I need you to fill me-"

The excitement that had brewed in anticipation for this monumental moment, had finally met its need. Your sweet, hot cum pooled over his sturdy, long cock inside, pooling beneath your gown, and in response, evoked the same pleasurable reaction from your husband. Feeling his hot seed once more, shooting itself inside, coating your walls. You felt certain a child was procreated in that precise moments, though regardless, would pray to the Gods to grant you the chance to bear a healthy babe.

Huffing and puffing, hot, perspiring skin against each other, resting your foreheads against one another, almost in sync, you both exchanged faint, genuine laughter.

"I-I have missed you my dearest. It pains me so, to be away from you so often and for so long. I cherish these moments with you, even catching you lingering in the shadows, watching me."

His sweet words warmed your meek heart, and you knew that your husband was apologetic in some sense, even if he struggled to admit it.

"I know my love, but soon enough, a war always comes to an end. Just be sure, I have you returned to me in one piece, and at my beckon call."

A deep, low chucked echoed from deep inside him, as he bashfully looked down, before returning his sole gaze unto you, your fingers toying with long strands of his platinum hair.

"Even if the Gods have other plans, I will defy them for you, always. I promise to return to you, and if the Mother is willing, a babe in your arms. I love you."

general taglist - @evenstaris @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @ilikeitbetterangsty @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @randomdragonfires

Aemond taglist - @godrakin @megatardisbaby @harrypotteranna23-blog

[mrsaltieri-real]

OKAY! Hear me out. Mickey goes out to a party, you had a different thing with friends. You come home earlier. You go to bed. Mickey comes home, horny, missing you, somnophilia ensues, a little frantic, a little needy, he just *has* to have you. Like you are barely wet enough when he is sliding, maybe some apologizing for not being able to hold back, hell maybe he cums a bit quick but you KNOW, he hits you back after. Thoughts?

Sweet Dreams (Mickey Altieri X Fem!AFAB!Reader)

Word count: 3k

Warnings: 🔞, langauge, smut, p in v, teasing, degradation, praise, spitting, somnophilia, (pre-established consent) drunk!Mickey, dub-con, (kinda I guess) implied denial, implied forced orgasms, kind of cock warming, Mickey whimpers (yes that’s a warning) basically pure smut.

Oh, you bitch you’re KILLING me. This was so much fun to write and not going to lie, somnophilia is a big ol’ kink of mine. Also it just fits Mickey so well what choice did I have to write this? Thank you for the request! I kinda went off to be honest. Couldn’t help myself.

For those who don’t know: Somnophilia: a sexual interest in engaging in sexual activity with a sleeping person

Exhausted, you unlocked your door and stepped inside your dorm, your social battery completely and utterly drained. You couldn’t help but be pleased you decided not to go to the sorority party with Mickey because even just having a quiet drink at your friend's apartment on top of spending the whole day studying had completely burnt you out.

As much as you loved him, you couldn’t help but feel a little put out at how energetic he was, always seeming to have the eagerness and energy to jump from one activity to the other regardless of what it was. He was just as, if not under more pressure than you were in regards to his current predicament yet nothing ever seemed to be able to stop him or tire him out.

Kicking your shoes off and quickly changing into one of Mickey’s shirts and discarding of your bra and clothes in your hamper, you yawned as you padded off to the bathroom to quickly brush your teeth, before sinking contently in your soft bed, eager to let sleep completely take you over.

He’d definitely had a few too many.

Mickey hummed to himself softly and tunelessly as he stumbled down the corridor to your dorm room, clumsily fumbling with your spare keys in his hands as he tried to unlock your door, failed and tried again whilst trying and failing to be as quiet as possible when he finally made his way inside.

He took his shoes off by your door, almost falling over as he bent down to pull them off and cussing softly as he tried to regain his balance before finally discarding them along with the rest of his clothes except for his briefs.

He groaned a little, stretching as he stood back up and cracked his neck, trying to be stay quiet as he walked over to your bed, smiling affectionately when he saw you lying on your stomach with one leg wrapped around the covers and your arms wrapped around the pillow your head was laid on, wearing nothing but his old black Star Wars T-Shirt and the pair of pretty baby blue soft cotton panties he loved seeing you wear so much.

Seeing you like this, looking like you were being served to him on a platter mixed in with the natural feeling of the alcohol sending him to his overwhelmingly horny state was almost too much for him to handle.

“Baby?” He whispered softly as he sat down beside you on the bed, moving so he was leaning over you, pressing his lips softly to your cheek, “You awake? I missed you.”

No response.

God, had he ever wanted you this much before?

He reached out his hand, moving some hair gently out of the way so he could lightly press his soft lips to your now exposed throat and whispered, “Baaaaby?” in a long, drawn out voice before his hand buckled under his weight and he had to stop himself from falling and crushing you with a hushed, “Ah, fuck!”

You mumbled something unintelligible before rolling onto your back, your light snores halting but still remaining fast asleep.

Mickey sighed a little, collapsing onto his back and staring at the pitch black ceiling, uncomfortably hard but being completely unable to do anything about it. He was debating just jacking off, but even hammered he knew that wouldn’t be anywhere near as satisfying as the wet, tight feeling of your pussy. That was until he remembered a conversation the two of you had a couple of weeks ago.

“You know you can fuck me whenever, right?” You’d said whilst sat crossed legged on his bed whilst he worked on a paper for his film class. This made him pause, putting his pen down and turning in his chair, expression endearing and surprised.

“And what do you mean by that?”

You hesitated for a second, eyes dropping to watch your fingers play with the corner of his comforter, “You asked me a while back if there’s any kinks or things I wanted to try,” Your shoulders upturned in a slight shrug before you continued, “If there’s a time where you want to fuck me but I’m sleeping or whatever, you can. I’m just letting you know I’m giving you permission in advance.”

Mickey laughed a little, standing up from his chair and walking over to you, placing his finger under your chin and tilting your face up so you were forced to meet his eyes, “That really want you want? Me to fuck you whilst your fast asleep and none the wiser?” You nodded your head, your lips curving upward into a wide smile as you looked into his bemused eyes, saying softly, “Yes, that’s what I want.” Another laugh before he said gently, “Well, aren’t you just fucking twisted.” You scoffed at him, slapping his hand away gently. “I’m serious! You ever want to do it, you can.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows as he straightened out, dropping his finger from your chin and his face turning a little more serious as he asked, “Are you sure?”

You moved to your knees and rested your hands on his shoulders. “I wouldn’t tell you I wanted that if I didn’t want it.” You pointed out, tugging on his shirt for him to lean down. He nodded his head a little, his gorgeous smile lighting up his face as he said, “Good point,” Before giving into your tugs and moving down to kiss you eagerly.

He had no idea that you had this kind of edge to you. The one thing Mickey loved about you is that so far, you’d engaged in every kink he himself has had. Whether that be his habit of edging and denying you of release when you needed it the most, allowing him to treat you like a literal piece of meat whilst he’s fucking you, knife play, anything and everything he’s wanted. He knew you’d do anything for him. But it took him longer than he’d liked to get you to admit what you wanted him to do for you. And now you have? He wasn’t only pleased, but extremely engrossed and fascinated with the knowledge of you wanting him to do this to you, do it for you.

Not to mention that this was a little for him as well. God, he wanted to do this just as much as you did.

And who was he to deny you if you wanted it so badly?

Between both of your busy schedules you hadn’t had the time to bring this fantasy of yours to life, but what could be a better time? You were fast asleep, he was wide awake, drunk and so hard he felt as though his cock was about to burst through his briefs, the intense throbbing becoming almost painfully uncomfortable.

He moved slowly to start with, rolling onto his side and gently running his large hand up your torso till it found one of your tits, lightly and curiously palming it through the thin material of his T-Shirt just to test the waters, watching your face in the dark to wager your reaction. He couldn’t help but smile as he heard your breathing subtly hitch as he used his thumb and forefinger to gently roll your nipple, your forehead creasing just slightly before he released it and it smoothed out, a soft sigh falling from your lips as you remained fast asleep.

Your body was just so warm, so fucking soft and desirable it was like he couldn’t help himself. He had your pre established consent and god, you just looked so perfect lying before him, an absolute fucking treat and just completely irresistible.

“I’m sorry, I just… God, I need you so fucking bad, sweetheart.” He whispered as he moved onto his back, lifting his hips to quickly yank his briefs off, kicking his foot so they unravelled from around his ankle and were quickly discarded God knows where before he gently pulled himself on top of you, propping himself up with one arm and slowly sliding his hand down between the two of you to feel your heated cunt through the thin material of your panties. You weren’t as wet as he’d usually like, but drunk and frantically turned on he didn’t care, quickly pushing your panties to the side not wanting to waste any time taking them off before guiding his cock to your hole, trying to push himself inside of you.

“Fuck,” He muttered, spitting on his fingers and dragging them around and into your cunt to add some lubricant and repeating the action till you were slick and ready for him, slowly rolling his hips till he began to gradually fill you, cursing softly at how tight you were.

You moaned a little in your sleep and even unconscious, your legs willingly opened for him and your head rolled to the side, another soft snore escaping you as you continued dreaming intently. The dream pretty much consisted of everything he was already doing, Mickey touching you, pushing himself into you. In your dream however, you were responding to him, moaning loudly, nails digging into his toned back and your legs wrapped securely around his waist. Reality, for the moment of course, was much different.

Mickey’s hands clumsily pulled your shirt up so your tits were on display to him as he messily began to thrust his hips, moving one arm to curl under you knee, pulling it up, groaning a little too loudly as he felt you slowly become wetter and wetter with every frantic pump of his cock he sent your way, your pussy subconsciously clenching around him in a way he knew was going to make him fall apart in less than a few minutes, the curse of him being absolutely wasted and way too turned on by both you and the act of knowing that you wanted him to be doing this to you yet you had absolutely no idea.

You stirred quietly due to the pressure building inside of you, feeling slightly bemused. Was this still a dream? You felt yourself wanting to open your eyes to see what was going on until you heard the familiar pants and groans of your boyfriend, feeling his hot skin moving against yours and his fingers gripping your hip and under your knee so hard it was bound to leave marks in the shapes of his long fingers. The smell of alcohol and mint on Mickey’s breath suddenly fanned over your face, immediately waking you up and causing you to register what was happening.

God, you told him you wanted this weeks ago but you’d honestly never thought he’d actually do it.

Knowing he thought you were fast asleep whilst he was using your body for himself to get off was too big of a turn on. You couldn’t stop your hips from adjusting just slightly so he was hitting that sweet spot but otherwise staying completely still, ensuring your breathing remained as even and steady as it had been whilst you slept whilst trying your best to keep your eyes closed as he fucked you hard and fast, yet not anywhere near as precise and calculated as he usually was.

“Fucking whore, my fucking whore,” His words were loud and slightly slurred, his hand dropping your leg causing it bounce slightly on the mattress beneath you so he could adjust himself to bury his face into the crook of your neck, the vibrations of his soft groans spreading throughout your entire body and making goosebumps rise across your skin. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip to prevent yourself from offloading the built up moans on the tip of your tongue as he continued chanting degrading praise at you, his breath hot against your throat. You screwed up your eyes tight, fingers subtly gripping the soft material of the comforter underneath you and quietly relishing in the sharp intake of breath he sucked in as your cunt clenched around him, but he was too drunk and too busy fucking you to realise the action was very deliberate.

“Such a tight little cunt.” He mumbled against your skin before stopping suddenly, his heart thumping in his chest as he caught his breath, his breathing shaking a little. “Fuck,” He whispered quietly, lifting himself up a little so one of his hands was gripping the head board. You stayed quiet, eyes closed but your body still reacting to him, cunt leaking out your arousal around his stiff, unmoving cock, still trying to milk him as if it had a mind of its own.

You let out an almost silent whimper as he slowly pulled out, head of his dick just judging at your entrance before sharply snapping back inside of you, the action causing a loud and surprised yelp at the same time he let out a loud, unfiltered moan at the feeling, beginning to fuck you with more vigor and determination with his thrusts still messy and unsynchronized but God, still so fucking good. He either was too drunk to register or simply didn’t hear the sound you made as he continuously rolled his hips against you, his skin slapping against your swollen clit with every snap of his hips.

Even drunk, Mickey was a better fuck than anyone.

“Take it, fucking take it like a slut,” He slurred under his breath as he began bottoming out.

You couldn’t take much more.

Incapable of being able to pretend to be asleep anymore, your legs wrapped around his waist and you moved your hips against his, hand reaching up to knot your fingers in his hair and pulling his face down so you could crash your lips against his, taking him by surprise as the series of built up whimpers and moans fell out of you and into his mouth, unable to even attempt to stay silent anymore. His hand dropped from the headboard but he managed to quickly catch himself, hands moving toward your hips to grip them tightly, pressing you firmly into the mattress.

His surprise was short lived as he responded, moving his lips messily and clumsily against yours. You could taste the alcohol on his tongue as it swirled against yours as you suddenly had an idea, something you wouldn’t even attempt to say to him whilst he was sober. Your hands released their grip on his hair and wrapped tightly around his neck, locking your hands together, pulling your mouth away from his and whispering into his ear, “Cum for me, Mickey,” Your heels digging into his lower back as you heard him let out a sound he'd never made before.

A whimper. A fucking whimper. Somehow, you’d managed to make Mickey Altieri whimper.

He whimpered as his hips stuttered again, your heels holding him inside of you as you felt him cum, ribbons spurting out of him with vigour and coating your walls. As he came, he continued to release those deliciously slurred whimpers you didn’t realise you needed to hear so badly, the sounds making your pussy continue to pulse and tense tightly around his softening cock and your back slightly arched off the bed, wanting to soak in every single moment as you softly whispered, “Fuck yes,” under your breath, moaning out his name repeatedly in his ear, smiling a little as you heard him sharply suck his own teeth at the feeling of your throbbing cunt still flexing around him.

He didn’t want it to be over yet, that was far too quick. He caught his breath a little, his hips still twitching and moving slightly, as though he was trying to push his cum even deeper inside of you as he caught his breath, leaning back so he could look down at your almost smug expression.

“M’ sorry,” He mumbled, his hair messy and sweaty, sticking to his forehead, “M’ gonna make you cum though, promise.”

You opened your mouth to object, you didn’t need him to. He’d done exactly what you wanted him to do and it had completely lived up to your expectations but he shook his head, shushing you gently.

God, he was being sweet. How fucking hammered was he?

You didn’t have much time to think as he gripped your hips, moving so he was sat back on the balls of his feet, on his knees with your ass resting on his thighs and his soft cock still inside of you as his hands slid down your torso gently before finding your swollen clit and his fingertip began to softly graze over it, causing you to jump a little at the sensation.

He smiled a lazy, deeply satisfied smile but you noticed it had somewhat of an edge to it before he used his thumb to pull back your clitoral hood, his other hand moving to gently use the pads of his fingers to rub over your strained clit with a little more force and precision, making your head fall back against the pillow and your cunt yet again clench around his soft cock, moaning his name softly.

“Feels good, hm?” He asked and you nodded your head quickly, moving your hips against his fingers, “Yes Mickey feels so fucking good, please don’t stop!” You begged him.

Then Mickey did just that. He stopped, his fingers sharply pulling away.

“Why-“ You began to question him impatiently, lifting your head before his expression instantly made you clamp your lips together. Fuck, he looked pissed.

He cocked his head at you before saying in an almost amused voice in spite of himself, “You like taking control?” You blinked, opening your mouth again to respond before his fingers glazed over your clit again, making your hips buck and your head fall back, groaning as he continued talking, “You like telling me when to cum? You fucking ruined it. Could’ve made you cum all over this dick the same time I fucking did.”

“I- I’m sorry,” You whispered pathetically. You subconsciously knew it wasn’t your fault, he was close regardless of if you’d moved, or told him to cum but the feeling of his drained cock still buried deep inside of you and his fingers, still a little messier than usual, rubbing over your painfully swollen clit made it hard for you to pay attention to him. Besides, you knew better than to try and tell him all of that.

Even though he was fucking hammered, Mickey always needed you to know that he was in control, not you. The fucking had somewhat sobered him up slightly and now he had come down from the high of his orgasm, he was back to himself and he’d thought of a fun little game he wanted to play with you. Of course, he wasn’t actually mad at you. You wanting him to fuck you whilst your were asleep and then surprising him like that had turned him on even more, and now he was sobering up he didn’t want the game to be over.

“You are?” He asked teasingly, fingers abandoning your clit as he straightened up, letting spit fall from his mouth and onto your clit before messily spreading it all over the bundle of nerves, the sensation making you whimper in turn, “No, you’re not. But you will be. Because I’m going to keep rubbing your pretty little cunt till it makes me hard again. Then you’ll be fucking sorry.”

You opened your mouth to speak but instead let out a surprised yelp as his hand came down, smacking your exposed clit sharply.

“Does that sound good?” You nodded eagerly before he laughed a little, voice still just a little slurred as he spoke, “It won’t be. Because I don’t care how many times you cum, how much you beg me to stop, I don’t care if it gets too much for you. I’m not stopping till I can fuck you again. It’s your own fault, you ruined it.”

Fuck.

[eterunameo]

@laethir || Starter Call

Praetor of Law Hér Nelyafinwë Maitimo kept very large and ornate chambers within Tirion’s houses of parliament for his work. A great deal of it’s furnishings were gifts from his family, the large centre table in particular had been a family effort after he had mentioned a need for such a thing in passing. The desk he sat at right now had been a more personal search, but he had still enlisted his father’s aide in it so that it might fit all the many treatises he was wont to pour over, as he was doing right now. 

Or at least feigning too.

This gift of a gully that Telvo was worrying into his office floor with his pacing feet was new, and perhaps not as welcome as the others had been. Upon hearing a knock at his door Maitimo had assumed his littlest brother would find his voice eventually to relay what was so obviously troubling him. But after a drawn out silence of him pretending to read and Telvo pretending to look at his books, he decided a push was needed. 

“You cannot hover about me forever little hummingbird.” Maitimo rasps a sigh in his brassy but fond tone, snapping his book shut with a sense of finality. “Come, what can I do for you?”

[oh-for-fic-sake]

The Detectives Den

Masterlist

Summary: walter take you to a cabin for what you thought was a romantic weekend, but he has an ulterior motive afterall mateing season is just arou d the corner~

Warnings: Adult Situations +18, Smut, rough sex, primal sex, male dom, werebear Walter, Mating, Breeding, Turning, Noncon Bite?, claiming bites, soulmates, au shifter

A/n: so here it is! The were bear i started months ago and abandoned but picked up again today because of this post. Typos ahoy!

Taglist: in reblogs

You cried into the matress clawing desperately unsure if it was an attemt to help the huge male above you, or tryingmto escape him. For some reason since being here at the cabin he seemed different? Instead of being your huge soft teddy bwar he was wild, dark and growly both at peace and on edge. It was like he was now this big bad bear of a man, growling and strong all macho 'chop wood and start fire'

You grunted as he rutted harder almost fucking your hips pff the bed sending your feet scrabbling on the wooden floor, your socks sliding on the smooth wood.

"oh god~ sl-slow down! WalteAGH~" you cried out pressing up onto your elbows and stamping a foot on the floor grunting. Walter snarled into your back almost viciously before pressing an open mouthed kiss to your back lappjng the salty skin. He growled feeling his inner beast beat on his own restraint. The beed to uck and bit was almost overpowering. He wanted you dripping, ozzing his cum as he stained your perfect frailty with his venomous bite and change you for the better. He needed it like he'd never needed anything in his life. It was his own fault he was so needy and eager... restless. Hed had you at his side for six months far to lost in his bliss of having his mate he'd all but forgot about the mating season untill he was weeks away.

He snarled grolwing deeper and deeper his inner bears bellows trying to break through damanding you put your head down and take your mating properly. Face down ass up and minimal complaints! The deep sounds echoed through as the harsh breaths and grunts fanned over the sensitive skin of your shoulder blades.

"W-walt! Fuck please- hurry!" You whimpered over your shoulder as the large hands of your lover held you still bent over the bed pinning your hips into the matress and he thundered away, burrying himself to the hilt again and again still trying to feed you every thing he had and more. You cried out as he arched, tipping his hips striking your clit with his heavy sack moaning out his pleasure, the small pats making his cock twitch flexing agaisnt your tight channel as he speared you pryingnyou opene like never before.

These were no calculated strokes, he was fucking you with little care to how you withered and cried at his onslaught. Maybe thats why he brought you out here? You were deep in the woods and no one could hear you scream out your pleasure.

He growled low in his throat again biting back at his beast who was watching as you keened and scrabbled bent over on the bed your bare back glistening, tiny beads of sweat rolling down your sides. The scent of your arousal was enough to make him rabid, he needed this! Needed the release. His instincts were screaming savagely just below His mate! His female! His entierly!

And you were. He'd known the second he'd seen you in the cells. He thougt you were coming to bail out your foster dad who'd been caught at the center of a party filming a snuff film. A dark bdsm practice where the sub was unknowinly 'snuffed out' usually sufficated or break their neck from trying to escape. Either way it was a disgusting practice that was hard to pin blame, who was the one to arrest? The person tying the bonds? The dom? The spectators?

As it turned out you were there to cuss him out and hand in evidence phone records, emails, previous incidences. It turned out your father had been arranging these snuff films as a quiet hitman business silently offing people for a price.

Walter had gone out of his way to protect you, luring you to him with sweet dates and raw sex appeal. It had taken just over two months but he managed to secure a relationship with you. Youd been a couple for six months now, and finally it was time!

Finally he could claim you as his own kind did. Allbeit a tad late with only weeks to get you used to your rightfull place. Beside him. Below him!

He'd managed to et you out here to his den, secluded in the forest for a month long stay, mot that you knew it'd be a month. He'd said it'd be a long week end, you wasnt the outdoorsy type... well not yet.

"Shh, shh mate~ calm down you'll get there, just not yet... don't come yet we need- I need you to hold on for me" walter growled lowly into you making you sob and slump on the bed moaning into the covers. He moved slower trying to remember you were human, no matter how close the season was he couldnt mate you just yet. He had to give you the bite, then claim and help you come around to your new form and mate you... all in three weeks. If he tried to mate you properly now youd never survive him.

"Bu-but Bear!? Please i cant!" You wailed grunting and pressed back on him urgently unaware of just what was about to happen. He almost felt guilty, but it was better this way. Bite and help them transition then breed and continue the line. Or risk looseing you? His one mate! Once you were turned you'd feel the bond and wouldnt leave. It was how things were done, tradition!

Walter shook his head ridding the doubts that collected in his mind before chuckling... if only you knew how right you were~. Because be was a bear, a grizzly to be exact. It always brough a smirk to his face when you called him that, it'd soon be an inside joke between you. For every shifter there was a soul mate. The wolves had it easy,being pack animals their mates were mostly wolves themselves. But bears? No. Bears were solitary and their mates tended to be human.

For everything that happened in his life, he never imagined getting such a sweet gentle mate! You were a prize, his prize. Gifted to him by the old gods. You'd love and raise his cubs to be strong, fierce boy's and dainty smart females. His mind drifted, he couldnt wait to fill you, to plant his seed inside your womb and watch you create his cubs. But first he had claim you.

His eyes glazed as you beat at the bed arching your back to him trying desperately to pull him deeper clenching your pussy tight trying to force him to his own end where you could join him. You walls trembled as the suckled on him desperate to have walter quake at the knees and rut you into a tantelizing climax.

Walter snarled eyes now flickering with the burnt red brown that his beast held, the copper tinge glowing with a primal rage and need to latch onto his female and hold her still, repriand his sow for trying to take control and steal his seed before he was read to gift it to her!. Thoughts of tearing the skin and biting you twisted around his mind like a raging storm, his fangs ached. The venomous gift that would seal your fate to his forever thrumming in his jaws eagerly waiting. He was ready. He.was .ready! Years of woundering, then months of play the human game had made him impatient. He needed it, needed to feel the bond tie you together!

"Fine! You asked for it!" He snarled, an inhuman tremorto his voice made you pause, just as you tried to turn and question him you screamed out in panic. Walter bit you. Hard!

You thrashed squealing and panicking, kicking your splayed legs as your neck siezed, cramping. You muscle constricting around what felt like two deep thorns searing into you. Then a deep burn built. You cried in panic, fat tears rolling down your face mind bearly grasping what was going on around you. The shunts of your lovers hips became heavier and more pronounced, every breathnow a severe growl ratteling your bones. His cocks invasion slicing through the pain and terror as he moved faster and harder into you hitting your clit.

You wept tears streaming down your face as he fucked you rougher growling into your neck. Then despite the pain and fear the knot in your tummy snapped and you came around him. The trembling and mind numbing orgasm tore through you making you massage his still thrusting cock. You sobbed collapsing, giving up the fight as your sensitive body ached.

As if rewarding you for finally giving in Walter released your neck leaving it wet. You shuddered knowing that there would be blood but there wasnt much you could do about it. You keenesoftly as he roared over you victoriously painting your insides with his essence, lightly fucking into you. Instinct driving him to scent your cunt as deep as he could for your change, so youd smell of him warding off all other males in the area. This female was taken.

"Fuck. Fuck that was- better then the stories" he hummed over you smileing to himself head hanging down feeling at peace now his mate was claimed and would change. You'd be like him, strong fierce and safe. Able to take care of yourself and protect yourself and his young... fend off any vile human, fend off anyone but him~ your bear, your male, your mate!

"W-walter? My neck? What did you do?! Whh did you!- it feels funny it tingling" you panicked as walter pulled away from you befor slowly crawling onto the bed pullingnyou gently onto the soft bedding tugging you up to rest on your back.

"Its fine, perfect even- its the venom getting to work love" he explained cooing at you wiping you down patting the wohndmon your neck. In his spare of the moment bite he'd been rougher then he could have been, and that was part of the reason his venom was making you go limp already.

"V-VENOM! WHAT VENOM?" You bellowed now bawling panting, hyperventilating eyes wide and tears rolling down your face. His heart clenched as your hand waved in the air trying to hold him but you couldnt feel it, only a heavy numb limb that was useless.

"No, no its not bad- not bad my we t little mate... your turning, you'll turn and be like me" walter said hushingnou craning over you taking your waving hand an pressing kisses to the palm.

"Turn?! What are you- you bite me! We need help! Im gojng numb! Cold walter im bleeding out! Am i bleeding!?" Yu yipped still not understanding what was goingnon? He bit you... HE BIT YOU!? you tried pryingnyour hand free wanting to feel the damage on your neck. The room was spinning, you were growing cold you felt li,e you were dying!

"No shh your not bleeding, your turning... youve taken the bite soo well, so well love... you'll be fine... you'll sleep and then wake up stronger then ever" walter hummed fawning over you, giving you small gentle stroke's he knew he couldnt sit you down and explain, you were falling fast. He just had to reassure you untill you drifted off into the change.

"Wha?"

"Shh im here im here mate... your gonig to be a bear just like me" he whispered softly grinning down at you unable to stop. He was too damn proud, he found you and bit you! Youd be with him always!

"Bear?" You muttere trying to hold him closer as the room began shimmering, lights and blaack dots laceingnyour vision as the heated chill rushed through you drowning your body in a strange soothing yet frightening feeling.

"Yes... I'm a shifter, I brought you here to- to my den, the den of my forefathers, ive given you the bite just as my father did to our mother inthis very cabin!" He rushed trying to explain best as he could not liking the scent of terror on you. He never wanted to scare you, but fear was inevitable. Still if he could ease your worries before you succumbed he would.

"What- walter im- its fuzzy!" You cried desperately tryingnto cling to the little consciousness you had. But it was getting harder as the seconds ticked by.

"Hush im here, it's the change my love... youll be like me... a bear shifter- and just before mating season too...You'll change and then we will mate over and over untill your carrying my cubs~" walter said as a lump swelled in his throat. His father had said this was the worst bit. The fear and panic as your new found mate fell to the transformation. But as the guilt and anxiety sent in so did the excitement of your furture. Your mateing, your family-cubs and a den of your own! It was enougn to make the grown boar cry like a young cub!

"W-walt your scaring me~" you slurred as the room began spinning, a hot sensation coursing through your veins but your skin was cool and prickling.

"Shh its okay love, you need to sleep, just rest when you wake things will be... they will be perfect, sleep, give in don't fight, you dont want to be awake for this part" he said movi g to lay your hand back down at your side. Then sat up besode you looking around for another pillow tomprop under your head.

"W-walter! No, dont leave-" you cried bawling frightened as your eyelids got heavy, he sounded as if he was drifting further from you. Bringing another wave of panic, especiallywhen he placed your hand down.

"I'm not, i wont leave you, not for a second my beautiful female" he said leaning over you holding your chin peppering kisses over your face. Making sure you felt he was still there even as you drifted into the comatose state that would protect you from the pain of your initial transformation. You cries slowly doed off as you closed your eyes unable to fight anymore and let the black take you.

Walter stayed put watching you with baited breath. Now it was his job to gaurd you. Protect and care for you as the grueling first shift took holdand he spied what bear you'd be. The venom in all shifters was the same, each becmea different animal in accordance to their individual traits. He was a grizzly one of the largest bear, his cousin geralt was a polar bear and sy a kodiak. He knew youd be a bear because you were mates, and thats just how it worked.

He sat back cringing as you grunted moaning as things began to shift, your body would rid itself of toxins and ailments first. Flush your system before the real process began. He stood from the bed making his way to the bathroom to fetch the many damp towels he'd need to clean you up. It had been him to insight the change and now it was his duty to care for you through this difficult transition. And it would be is absolute pleasure, because this was the all important duty for him as a male his kind, this would tighten his bond with your beast. He would oversee everything and help you, even help break bones to help you shift faster. Anything to get you through a full shift cycle, to beast and back so you could awaken that little bit faster and begin your life as a true pairing. Despite th grusome nature of the event, walter couldnt be more pleased because thos was the true beginning of his life with you, and he wouldnt change a damn thing.

[thornedrose44]

Supercorp prompt-

Lena takes an art class to de-stress and Kara is the nude model. Awkward semi- naked flirting ensues.

(A/N: So, I put my own twist on this (hope that’s okay), I made Lena a teacher just because I liked the idea of Lena having to keep her lack of chill under control and be professional in front of a class funny - though this fic went down just a really light, fluffy route which I hadn’t expected when I started it.)

Read on AO3

It had been going well, the first term had passed with only a few missteps and one trip to the emergency room - though, the Dean had told her that Zach had yet to make it through a single class without some sort of accident and had been preemptively banned from taking Chemistry classes for fear of taking out an entire graduation class. 

Lena had never expected to return to her alma mater as a lecturer but the stars had aligned at just the right time. The youngest Luthor had reached a stage in her career where she had finally proven her adoptive mother wrong about not finding success as an artist and had made enough money that she need never paint another picture in her life again. The lack of necessity and the return to a more Luthor-esque lifestyle - galas, fancy balls and paid talks - had subsequently impacted her inspiration. She needed a change. A return to her roots and some sort of stability without losing her ability to make a personal impact with her work. 

Her mentor - J’onn - was stepping down from the art department and had recommended her as his replacement; National City University had jumped at the chance of the world renowned Lena Luthor taking up a teaching position there. 

She was now a third of the way through the school year, settled comfortably into her new role, and absolutely loving it. Her spark was back, and she was enjoying being in one place surrounded by her old friends. She was reconnecting with skills and techniques she hadn’t touched in years whilst simultaneously giving advice and encouragement to students that reminded her of herself when Lillian had cut her off to force her into attending business school and abandoning her dreams. She was finally able to return the kindness J’onn had given her all those years ago to the next generation of artists. 

It was the second term that Lena experienced her first set of real nerves. 

Lena had an artistic weak spot, an achilles heel that she had been able to keep out of her signature artistic style but she would now be forced to confront. 

Life drawing.

It had been her lowest scoring class by a mile and she had avoided the advanced elective classes like the plague. Lena knew practice made perfect but she’d never had enough interest to develop her skills. Her interest had always lied more in natural landscape beauty - J’onn had said her true inspiration lied with trying to recreate her childhood memories of Ireland: emerald rolling hills, rocky cliffs, dense forests ensconced by a mystical fog that lended her artwork a fantastical element that she was now known for.

The problem lied in Lena’s lack of interest in people. 

She had never really seen the ‘art’ in them.

Kelly, Sam and Andrea had spent hours over evening drinks psycho-analysing just why that might be, their two favourite theories were Lena’s family (the loss of her mother and the general unpleasantness of the Luthors) or Lena’s truly terrible dating history (their favourite topic of conversation due to the sheer number of embarrassing stories it elicited).

Lena refused to acknowledge the accuracy of both theories. 

It was therefore with a sense of dread that Lena prepared for the first Life Model Drawing class that Tuesday afternoon. The one small silver lining was that she didn’t need to arrange a model - she had vague memories of J’onn trying to entice volunteers and grumbling under his breath about some of the less than pleasant eager volunteers. J’onn had a list of regular volunteers that he had accrued over the years that were reliable and just liked to help out - most of them older with an appreciation for the arts and more time on their hands than they knew what to do with. The University admin team had organised everything and simply told her to expect a Kara Danvers at the studio some time before the class.

Lena had finished prepping the studio well in advance, reviewed the relevant techniques for most of the morning and even phoned J’onn for a much needed pep talk over lunch. She had just convinced herself that everything might be okay, that she just might be able to do this, when the most beautiful woman Lena had ever laid eyes on burst into the studio.

A toned body that glinted with a light sheen of sweat barely covered by a white v-neck tucked in at the front of a pair of dark jeans that merely brought all of Lena’s attention to the bronze belt buckle that locked away a thousand dirty thoughts. Glorious golden ringlet curls bounced up and down as the woman stumbled to a sudden stop as the most piercing blue eyes imaginable behind thick glasses locked with Lena’s green ones.

“Hi, I’m Kara!” The goddess announced, swallowing thickly and stumbling forward in her hefty black boots as she extended out a hand for Lena to take.

Lena only reached out due to years of Luthor training that had ingrained politeness into her muscle memory - her brain still not firing on all cylinders at the sight of the woman in front of her. Kara’s warm palm connected with Lena’s, long fingers curling gently yet firmly around the edge of her hand and sending arcs of lightning through Lena’s body and causing her breath to stutter. 

“I hope you haven’t been waiting for me for too long.” Kara continued, a bright apologetic smile lighting up her entire face and grinding whatever gears were still turning Lena’s mind to a dead - permanent - halt. “I try to always get here early to help set-up but the interview I was conducting overran - I’m a journalist, by the way - and then my bike - motorbike that is -” Lena’s mind caught on the motorbike and turned it round over and over and over again, “didn’t start and… I’m rambling. Oh, golly! I mean heck, I mean sorry.” Kara huffed, cheeks filling with air before releasing into an adorable pout. “Sorry.”

It was then that Lena realised two things.

One, it was her turn to say something and there had now been at least ten  prolonged seconds of silence as they stared into each other’s eyes.

And two, they were still holding hands because that’s what it was now, it most definitely could not be considered a handshake.

“Umm… hi…” Lena choked out whilst simultaneously jerking her hand back to her side, hoping the somewhat stifling heat of the studio would hide the red blush perfusing her cheeks.  “Lena. I’m Lena, that is…”

“Hi.” Kara murmured, smiling soft and sweet at her causing Lena’s heart to flip and melt and dance and do a million impossible things all at once.

“Hi.” Lena repeated dumbly - so dumbly.

“I should…” Kara chuckled, hands miming grabbing the edge of her t-shirt and lifting it up, “You know?”

Oh, god the goddess is going to undress, Lena’s brain screamed in gay at herself.

“Yeah, definitely do that.” Lena encouraged with a flap of her hand towards the centre of the studio where a solitary illuminated stool awaited. “Do you need anything? Is the lighting okay? Stool… umm… sturdy?”

Kara grinned at her, blue eyes barely sparing a glance at the studio’s set-up, “Looks perfect.”

“Great.” Lena cheered, jerking her thumb over at her desk in the corner where she had prepped her teaching materials, “I’ll… uh… be over there.”

“And I’ll be right here.” Kara shot back with a cheeky wink as she walked over to the stool, a towel awaiting her to provide suitable covering until the class had settled, shucking her white shirt over her head and revealing back muscles that would star in Lena’s fantasies for the foreseeable future.

“Yep.” Lena popped, taking a deep breath and trying to work out if she should be murmuring a thank you to God or screaming a desperate why me.

***

The class had gone well - except for the long periods where her brain shutdown whenever she studied the play of shadows across Kara’s defined musculature. She managed to cover it quite well by making it seem like she was just assessing her students’ work closely, analysing their line work and shading rather than going through an extended gay crisis that eclipsed seeing boobs for the first time in college.

Kara, on the other hand, was a consummate professional, holding a steady pose throughout and utterly unfazed by the concentrated gazes on her - though, Lena could have sworn that she caught deep blue eyes tracking her movements round the half-circle every now and again. 

“So, you’re experienced doing this?” Lena asked, once the last student had departed and Kara was finishing re-tying her sturdy boots back up.

“Taking my clothes off?” Kara chuckled, shooting the teacher an amused smirk, getting to her feet and strolling easily over to where Lena was examining the product of her class’ efforts. 

Lena faltered, “I meant-”

“I’m just teasing.” Kara reassured, reaching out to squeeze Lena’s forearm in a half-apology that Lena could have sworn burnt Kara’s hand print into her skin, “I’ve done this for a while now. I did an interview with J’onn a few years ago and his model bailed at the last minute and I was here already and…” Kara shrugged casually like stepping in was the obvious thing to do, like kindness was the only option - which Lena didn’t doubt for a second was something Kara genuinely believed. “I like helping out where I can. And I just kept coming back…” Kara explained, clasping her hands behind her back as she took a tentative step closer to Lena, “I was never really sure why until-”

“Hey, babe, you ready to go?” 

Lena’s head snapped round to see Andrea strolling through the doorway, eyes fixed on her phone utterly oblivious to the moment she had just trampled all over. Lena wasn’t sure whether Andrea was naturally such a good cockblock or if she practiced at it - regardless of either option Lena’s sexlife had vanished into thin air since she’d returned to living in the same city as Andrea. (Not that Lena thought that her and Kara were heading that way but Lena had been enjoying the hope of it at least).

“Andrea, you’re early for the first time in.... well, ever…” Lena snarked, rolling her eyes before glancing over to Kara, only to find the blonde had taken a large step away from her and her expression was far more neutral and guarded than it had been only moments before.

“Wait, we weren’t meeting at 4?” Andrea frowned, still not bothering to look up.

“Ah, so you’re not early, you’re over an hour late.” Lena remarked.

“God, you’re such a drama queen…” Andrea sighed, finally lifting her gaze from her phone, her eyes immediately alighting on Kara with undisguised interest. “And who is this?”

“Andrea, this is Kara the model for our life drawing classes.” Lena introduced taking a protective step in front of the blonde, an action that did not go unnoticed by the other two occupants in the room. “Kara, this is my supposed best friend who is regularly trying to lose that title.”

“Oh, best friend?” Kara repeated; the familiar brightness from before returning to her expression as she looked excitedly between the two friends.

“Yes.” Lena answered, smiling shyly at Kara and immediately forgetting Andrea’s existence, let alone presence in the room.

“That’s great.” Kara grinned, blushing a light pink a second later as her hands fidgeted with her keys, “I mean… ummm…. That you have a best friend. My sister is my best friend, though I have other friends. I just mean that… friends are cool.” 

Lena laughed lightly at Kara’s ramble, leaning closer towards the blonde without realising until Andrea appeared at her shoulder looking far too pleased with herself.

“Kara,” Andrea greeted, holding out a hand for the blonde to shake (Lena was comforted to see their handshake was quick, almost professional in comparison to the lingering touch Kara and Lena had shared earlier). “The pleasure is all mine.” Andrea declared, winking surreptitiously at the teacher - Lena instantly dreaded the upcoming girl’s night.

“Nice to meet you.” Kara replied friendly and sincere, before smiling softly at Lena and muttering a hopeful, “I’ll see you next week?” 

“I’ll be here.” Lena reassured, watching as Kara nodded farewell to Andrea and departed, waving on her way out.

“Well…” Andrea murmured mischievously.

“Don’t.” Lena said sharply, holding up a finger to deter whatever torment Andrea had brewing. “Not a word. Not a single word.”

“Ooookay.” Andrea lied.

***

“You okay?” Lena asked tentatively, watching as Kara sluggishly slung her bag over her shoulder the pep to her step nowhere near as present as it had been last week. 

They hadn’t had a chance to talk before the class even though Kara arrived much earlier to help set-up - Lena had been helping a student struggling with deadlines and a sudden crisis of confidence which prevented them from interacting. Despite being occupied, Lena had seen the fatigue weighing heavily on the reporter, saw how her impeccable posture dropped and how her students added weary lines to her expression in their artwork. 

“I think you fell asleep on that stool for ten minutes at some point.” Lena murmured, brow creasing in concern.

“Pfft… what?” Kara reassured with a light-hearted wave of her hand. “Impossible.”

Lena arched an unimpressed eyebrow, “You snore. Quite loudly.”

“Oh…” Kara pouted guiltily, rubbing at the back of her neck, “My sister is going through a rough patch and I stayed up late with her last night.”

Lena’s amusement drained away to be replaced with soft, supportive care, “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s doing better.” Kara replied, blue eyes twinkling at Lena’s inquiry that had them both ducking their heads coyly and sharing furtive glances. “I should get going.” Kara coughed out, though she made no move to leave.

“Or…” Lena began hesitantly, heart fluttering in her chest, “we could go for coffee? You should probably have a coffee before driving,” Lena rationalised, nervously stepping back from the blatant romantic line she was toeing, “you know for safety…”

“For safety.” Kara repeated carefully, blue eyes glowing with warmth, “That sounds wonderful.”

***

It didn’t take them long at all to settle into a comfortable routine.

Kara came early to the life model classes, helping set-up the room as they talked about the students' progress and what Lena was going to make the focus of the class. During the class itself, Lena no longer needed to flit as regularly between her students, they had learned the basic techniques enough to practise for themselves, now only requiring light guidance which allowed Lena time to either do some marking or her own art. Kara posed perfectly throughout, though Lena was becoming more and more aware of Kara’s still gaze on her as the weeks passed by. 

After class, it was now custom for them to grab a coffee and go for a long walk around the university campus as they talked about everything and nothing. They would have been building towards a strong friendship if it wasn’t for the lingering touches, blatant flirts, blushes and wandering gazes. 

Lena wasn’t overly sure why they hadn’t crossed that line, made that final move, but she found she didn’t particularly mind the wait. She was convinced that they had both decided that the journey was making the destination all the more desirable.

It became abundantly apparent, though, that Kara thought differently if their conversation after the class midway through the term was anything to go by.

“So do you not like my body?” Kara asked, quick and fearful, eyes looking down at the sketch Lena had done during class of a vase of flowers in the corner rather than of the readily available model.

“What?” Lena muttered in disbelief looking up sharply from her desk to see Kara paling considerably having clearly not intended to ask the question that she had blurted out.

“I… uh…” Kara squeaked, mouth opening and closing rapidly, before lifting her bare wrist up with a jerky motion and whistling in exaggerated surprise, “Wow, look at the time. I’m late for… uh… this thing. Work thing. Interview! That’s a work thing.”

And just like that she was gone - Lena wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a Kara shaped hole in the studio wall with how fast she disappeared - leaving Lena with a sinking, twisty feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her she might have lost more than her regular coffee with Kara over that one interaction.

***

Lena had Kara’s phone number and they had taken to texting throughout the day; however, since Kara’s panicked question - which probably revealed some deep vulnerability in the blonde - there had been complete and total radio silence. No memes, no cute animal pics, no sweet check ins… Lena’s phone remained silent when it once vibrated with life. 

Lena wanted to text or call Kara the second she had left the studio but Lena didn’t feel like this was a conversation they could have over text, so she waited impatiently for them to be face to face again, counting down the days until the next class. 

Lena even took to repeatedly checking in with the admin office to confirm that Kara hadn’t pulled out of modelling; reaching the stage where Jess, the most senior admin in the team, had taken to emailing her every couple of hours to reassure her that Kara still hadn’t cancelled. 

When Kara appeared, nervously stepping into the art room, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt, it was like Lena could finally breathe easy again. The fear and loss eeking away in an instant, giving Lena the necessary courage to stride forward and bare herself in a way that Kara had been doing every week without Lena fully realising.  

“I don’t like drawing people.” Lena announced, shoving her hands into her pockets to resist the temptation to reach out to the other woman as the blonde blinked at her in surprise, listening intently. “It’s kind of a thing with me.” Lena winced, pushing down all the reasons for why that is. “When I draw something I… kind of let whatever it is into me, let it consume me and it… stays with me for a long time after that. It’s why I draw what I draw. I draw my home because it's a part of me already. Drawing someone means carrying them with me and… that’s scary for me.” Lena breathed, glancing at the blonde to see soft understanding in blue eyes. “I just wanted you to know it’s not you.”

Kara nodded, shuffling closer and dipping her head so that she could whisper into the still space between them, “Thank you.” 

“Right,” Lena murmured, swallowing thickly before jerking a thumb over her shoulder, “I should-”

“Do you want to get dinner?” Kara inquired earnestly causing Lena to freeze in hopeful surprise. “After class, that is?”

“Um… Yes.” Lena replied, nodding her head eagerly.

“Awesome.” Kara grinned brightly.

***

Kara took her to a tucked away italian restaurant that was one of National City’s hidden gems. The food was outstanding and the company was even better.

It wasn’t a date, but it wasn’t just friends going out for dinner either. 

Lena would call it a test-run but that would imply that Lena wasn't already one hundred percent certain that she wanted an actual date with Kara. It was more of a date-appetiser if Lena was going to call it anything, a taste to build interest before the real thing. 

Once they had finished their food, Kara didn’t hesitate to interlace their fingers as they went for an evening stroll around a nearby park, both wishing to prolong their time together.

“Can I see your art?” Kara requested; they had been sitting on a bench in front of a lit-up fountain for the last twenty minutes or so in comfortable silence. Lena had expressed an interest in sketching the fountain and Kara hadn’t hesitated to find them a seat and encourage Lena’s desire without complaint, occupying herself with people-watching in the meantime. 

“I’m pretty sure the images are all over the internet.” Lena replied drolly.

“Yeah, I know it’s just…” Lena’s pencil froze in it’s movements finally noticing how hard Kara was trying to act casual, “what you said about it being a part of you, I thought-”

“You want me to show it to you…” Lena inferred, setting her pencil down and closing her handy sketchbook in an instant. 

“It’s stupid, I’ll-” Kara laughed awkwardly, shaking her head in an attempt to brush over the request like it wasn’t a big deal

“I don’t have many pieces here in National City,” Lena said thoughtfully, getting to her feet and holding out a hand for Kara, “but I have some works in progress that I can show you… if you want that is?”  

“I would love that.” Kara beamed, jumping to her feet as Lena tugged her back towards her campus studio, already picking out her favourite pieces in her mind that she wanted to share with the blonde.

***

Lena and Kara’s ‘friendship’ continued to blossom into something neither could have anticipated that day Kara sprinted into the studio all those weeks ago. The weekly class they shared was now always followed by dinner, taking it in turns to share their favourite cuisines and restaurants. They had also grown beyond only seeing each other on their allotted class day, sharing lunches and movie nights and spontaneous coffees as they learned each other's schedule and needs. 

Lena read all of Kara’s articles and spent many an evening asking countless questions about the background to each of them. Likewise, Kara would appear for coffee with one of Lena’s artworks saved in her phone, burning with curiosity about what had inspired it.

Time spent with Kara flew by and, before Lena knew it, it was the final class prior to spring break. Her last class with Kara until the next school year and Lena was finally ready.

She had finally figured it out.

Why she had waited.

Why she had yet to seize the numerous opportunities to transition her relationship with Kara into a romantic one.

It was because she knew. 

She knew from the second that she had taken Kara’s hand in hers when they first met that this was it. That Kara was it.

And that was, and still is, terrifying. 

When they had first met, Lena hadn’t been ready for Kara. Hadn’t been ready for everything that Kara represented and would come to mean. She had needed the time, the time to lower her guard, to trust and hope. 

And now, she was ready and she knew exactly how to let Kara know.

The class came to an end with Lena giving her students a quick speech on how proud of their progress she was and wishing them a good spring break. Kara lingered behind as was now custom, helping Lena tidy up the area before they headed out together.  

“Kara?” Lena called out nervously, sweaty palms rubbing against her black denim covered thighs as her heart beat thunderously in her chest. “I was wondering…” Lena began, clearing her throat as Kara stopped what she was doing to give Lena her undivided attention. “Can I… can I draw you?”

Kara’s brow instantly furrowed in confusion, “I thought-”

“Yeah…” Lena laughed shyly, staring into deep blue eyes, practically begging for Kara to understand what she was really saying. “Can I?” Lena repeated.

Kara pursed her lips thoughtfully as she studied Lena’s expression - it was then Lena realised that Kara understood exactly why they had been waiting. Kara wasn’t replying because she wanted to check that Lena was sure, was giving Lena a chance to delay, was saying - without really saying it - that she could wait longer.

Lena didn’t take the escape Kara offered, instead she lifted her head higher and arched an eyebrow at the blonde.

A thousand-watt smile of excitement took up residence on Kara’s face as she nodded eagerly, “Of course.” 

“Clothes on.” Lena clarified - she had promised herself that the first time she truly studied Kara’s body it would be in a setting where touching would not break any professional standards. 

***

Lena had Kara sit opposite her in her private studio, their knees pressed tightly against one another providing a warm point of contact to keep them grounded. Lena’s gaze flickered from her sketchpad to Kara’s features; occasionally, she would reach out to adjust a lock of golden hair so it caught the light. Kara, meanwhile, had an ever constant soft smile that didn’t diminish for the entirety of the session even as she was forced to rein in her boundless curiosity to stop herself from sneaking a peek at Lena’s sketch until it was ready to be revealed.

Lena only drew Kara’s head because, though, she had spent countless hours in the presence of Kara’s naked body over the course of the last few weeks - when Lena thought of Kara (really thought about her in the way that made her heart skip), it wasn’t her abs or her biceps that Lena pictured (though she did think about them regularly when she was in her bed alone at night). 

It was Kara’s eyes that Lena thought about most. 

How they were so bright and hopeful whilst simultaneously melancholic and lost.

There were whole galaxies in those blue eyes and Lena knew that she could spend the rest of her life drawing them and never get bored, nor get them exactly right.

“What do you think?” Lena asked, slowly turning her sketchbook round for Kara to see.

It wasn’t finished. It was mere line work that would require further detailing but it was a good start and she hoped Kara could see its potential like she did with everything else in the world - like she did with Lena.

“It’s…” Kara began, licking her lips as she pulled the sketchbook closer to her chest like it was something treasured and infinitely rare. “It's incredible.” Kara breathed, the sincerity of her words undeniable due to how they were accompanied by a watery film to her blue eyes.

“I like your body.” Lena whispered, shattering the companionable silence they had drifted into as Kara admired Lena’s artistry.

“W-w-what?” Kara stammered, head jerking up at the out-of-the-blue declaration.

Lena reached out for the sketchbook, lifting it out of Kara’s hand and placing it on the nearby table so that she could take Kara’s hands in hers. 

“You asked if I liked your body a while ago,” Lena reminded the blonde, “and I just thought you should know that I do. I really, really do. I mean really.” Lena emphasised, glancing appreciatively down at Kara’s body prompting the blonde to blush a pleased pink. “But it's more than just that. It’s become more than that. Talking after class, getting coffee, going for dinner… it's the best part of my week. You’re the best part of my week.”

“Lena-” Kara began, her mouth suddenly snapping shut as her jaw clenched and her chin lifted in determination. Blue eyes studied Lena for a long moment and all Lena could do was hold her breath and wait. 

Lena made Kara wait weeks, she could therefore wait the stretched seconds that Kara needed in return without complaint

Kara got confidently to her feet, tugging Lena up with her, squeezing their hands once before releasing her so that she could reach up to tenderly cup Lena’s face. “I’m going to kiss you now.” Kara declared, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Thank fu-” Lena sighed gratefully, cut off from offering up her thanks by Kara’s perfect lips sliding over hers.

[amonrawya]

The Greatest Gift of All

(Inspired by^ for the people who asked :D hope it was worth the wait!)

*

Long before the war, before Captain America or the Winter Soldier, there was simply Bucky and Steve. At least, that's what history says. But they missed out one very important person, a girl called Y/N.

Women in those times often found themselves with little opportunity, and only two easily attainable pathways in life: wife and mother. But Y/N carved out a life for herself that defied all expectations, and it all started in Brooklyn.

She dived headlong into scuffles, usually next to Bucky in defence of Steve. Regardless of the opponent, Y/N stood by them both, and often held her own quite impressively.

Her dress style borrowed from more masculine cuts, and Y/N was never seen without her cap. A lot of people had a problem with this, but she shut them up fairly swiftly.

Everything about this girl drew Bucky in, a battle he fought with little effort. They reveled in each other, flaunting their love at every opportunity. More than a few were jealous that the rough and tumble girl got the best looking boy in town. 

In a way, before even coming of age, they started an adult life together. The three of them moved into a flat. Y/N and Bucky took hard labour jobs, or anything they could get. They had little room to be picky. 

Both managed to hook steady summer jobs at the local docks. They used most of their money to keep a roof over their heads, buy food, and pay for Steve's medical needs. He attended art school, and sold his work every now and then; but physically, he was in no condition to work.

The war appeared on the horizon, just as they started to pull themselves an inch above the poverty line. Y/N saw it coming, the inevitable. She treasured every second they spent together, and dreaded the day when the draft came.

A lot of the older women she worked with were disrespectful, looking down on her pre-marital relationship with Bucky. They claimed she couldn't possibly understand their grief, despite the fact Y/N had seen Bucky off at the docks that very morning. 

In truth, they already planned on being married, but at the time, they simply didn't have the funds. Bucky promised, once the war ended, that ring would be on her finger.

Except, he never came home. Not properly. The person Hydra gave back to Y/N was damaged and jaded, angry at the world, angrier than she ever saw. But still, they loved each other. Though she never forgave them for stealing away his innocence, for trying to snuff out the light in his soul. A part of him would always belong to them, and she hated it.

Refusing to stay home while they risked their lives, never knowing, Y/N trained as an army nurse, working specially with the Howling Commandos unit.

Then one day, she went out to welcome them back from a mission. Every face looked devastated, but none more so than Steve. His eyes, red-raw and streaming, seemed incapable of rising from the ground. At first, the realisation didn't process, the idea simply incomprehensible. He promised.

Dugan was the one to finally break through and catch Y/N as she fell, holding her as the tears poured. Once he shook off his daze, Steve took his place, sharing in her grief.

Her world fell apart so quickly, with no warning and no mercy. Their commanders celebrated the capture of Arnim Zola, while Y/N and Steve sat, staring at an empty place at their side.

Everyone mourned Bucky, and swiftly after, began to mourn Y/N, too. The loss took a part of her...the sparkle, the happiness, the laugh that lit up her face. It all vanished. She worked hard, looked after them all, but only Steve was able to make her smile. Even then, it looked pained.

So when Steve went down with the plane, the very last shred of Y/N died with him. No tears left her eyes, no screams ripped up her throat. A cold numbness took over, freezing the woman from the inside out. 

V-Day came and went. The Commandos stood and drank to their lost comrades, and Dugan silently drank another...for the loss of a bright, fiery girl who had virtually nothing to lose, and still lost everything.

She spent her days as a robot, doing nothing but going through the motions of badly imitating life. The flat was empty and quiet, yet somehow, bursting with the ghosts of her loved ones. Nightmares plagued her, terrible images of Bucky's body, forever trapped in a freezing hell, nothing but food for the birds. And Steve, his body...was it cast adrift in the ocean? Or destroyed, burnt to ash in the belly of a metal beast. 

They were simple folk before the war turned them into soldiers, into weapons. Before symbols and flags stole away their names, driving them to sacrifice their lives for a greater cause.

Y/N knew their fight against Hydra was important...knew the honour behind their sacrifice. But when it's you left sitting at an empty dinner table, it's much easier to be angry and bitter.

She never married, never settled, bouncing around countries working as an army nurse. The Commandos slowly died around her, each one fading to grey as the curtain drew the show to a close. Each death, each funeral ripped open her wounds, bigger and deeper each time. Until eventually, Y/N let the blood flow freely.

Or at least, that's what would have happened. But one choice, one decision, made by a boy she thought dead in the far future, changed it all.

*

Bucky Barnes struggled to find himself again. His memories were mostly all returned, if a bit hazy and fragmented. He had Steve there to right any wrong recollections, and connect with on their shared experiences. But something always seemed to be missing, a piece of the jigsaw that hadn't been found.

He remembered Y/N. He remembered her clearer than anything. She was glowing like honey in the sun when Bucky closed his eyes and brought her back to mind.

Face covered in muck, hair tousled and streaked with grease from the boats, soot on the very tip of her nose and a cap perched jauntily on her head; wearing the deepest expression of concentration as she aimed a hanful of rotten fish guts at the sleezy Connell boy from Fifth, who decided his opinion on her backside mattered. The image shone crystal clear. Her laughter, rolling out from between curved lips, beautiful and full of mischief. 

It never failed to make him smile. Or cry. Or sometimes, both. He missed Y/N than he thought possible for a human being. 

Bucky often wondered about her life, whether she went on to marry, or maybe even have children. Was she happy? Did she bury him and move on? If they met today, would Y/N even recognise the man he was now? 

More importantly, in his mind, something he both feared and longed to know: would she still love him?

Unbeknownst to Bucky, Steve saw all this. Understood, to a degree, his pain. But he and Peggy never got the chance to bond so strongly. He knew Bucky needed him, but Steve also knew he needed Y/N more.

So once his goodbyes were said, he looked one last time at Bucky, and smiled beneath his suit as he vanished into time.

*

The living room looked exactly the same as he remembered. Bucky's coat, slung over the back of the chair, his sketchbooks strewn around the desk. Every rip and chip. His heart swelled with nostalgia, and pain, thinking of the life they were supposed to have.

What must have been in their heads...running off to fight, so eager to throw everything away. And who was left to stare at empty beds and eat breakfast alone every morning? Y/N.

His chest constricted, hearing the keys in the door, the lock rattling three times before letting her in. His nerve faltered for the briefest second, wondering if he was ready to see her again.

"Who the hell are you?!"

Time's up.

Slowly, he turned, and watched as Y/N's eyes widened, all the bags in her hands falling to the floor with a crash.

"...Stevie?" The name came out as a whisper, nearly inaudible.

He grinned, laughing as tears stung his eyes. "Hey, spitfire. Long time no see."

"Steve!" She launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and clinging on for dear life. 

Catching her by the waist, he swung Y/N around, burying his face in her hair. They held onto one another as if they might vanish if they let go. But after a minute, Steve gently pushed her back.

"How? How are you here? What are you wearing? I don't understand, Steve, they said you died! Your plane went down in the ocean," she stammered, hand on his forearm with a grip like a vice.

"I survived. The serum kept me alive in the ice for seventy years," he said, questioning his own sanity momentarily; standing in the flat again made everything that happened seem like a distant dream.

Y/N frowned, brows knitting together. "What? Did you hit your head? Steve, this is 1945."

"I know, I came from 2023. I'm alive," he said, and saw her mentally backing away, so added, "I'm alive, and so is Bucky."

Her head snapped up, eyes immediately filling with tears. A dozen emotions whizzed through them in a second; disbelief, pain, hope. It shone clearly in her face as she stepped closer.

What did you say?" She asked, voice choked as she brought her shaking hands up to her mouth.

"Bucky's alive," he repeated softly, "and I can send you to him, in the future. But we don't have a lot of time. You need to listen to me, carefully, and do what I say."

She spluttered, struggling for words. "I, but...what about you?"

"I've made my decision," Steve said, and gently took her hands in his, "now, please, listen."

*

Bucky watched the machine, feeling a wave of numbness wash over his insides. Nothing was a better deal than the pain, the cruel sting of betrayal fighting to be felt. But he beat it back, unable to allow those thoughts validation.

Steve gave up so much for him, he fought for years to get him here. Steve deserved this. And no matter how wrong those words sounded in his head, he resolutely stood by them. 

The seconds ticked by, noted by Bruce's countdown. A flash of guilt almost made Bucky explain what was going to happen, explain that Steve left them. Left him. But he possessed no energy to speak, they'd see in a second, when no one appeared-

Zap. A blinding flash of light.

There's someone there.

Bucky frowned, hands falling from his pockets. Did Steve change his mind? Did he...

All the thoughts in his head stopped as the figure stepped down. Too small, too lithe for it to be Steve. Bucky's heart rate quickened, something in his unconscious already registering his recognition. 

The suit fell away, and if he weren't frozen in place, Bucky wouldn't have been standing. A quiver shot through him, nearly buckling his knees. Shock, fear and pure disbelief all delayed his reaction.

Y/N looked around, amazed, but turned to stone as she set eyes on him. Her face went utterly blank, a strangled sound leaving her lips.

Wearing her yard slacks, with a small bag on her shoulder, her face covered in dirt, hair streaked with grease, cap perched on-top, slanted to one side...she was everything he remembered, and his heart tried to leave his chest to go to her. To be whole again.

But fear held him back. She didn't know the things he'd done, the person he became after the train accident. What if-

"Who is she?" Sam asked, glaring as he stalked towards her, an accusation rising on his lips.

Bucky answered without hesitation, or thinking; the question had been asked countless times over the years. It always recieved the same reply. "My doll."

Sam stopped short, glancing between them, the way neither took their eyes off the other. He nodded, brows still closely knit, and backed off.

Slowly, Y/N approached, encouraged by the sound of his voice. She reached out carefully, when she got close enough. Trembling fingers brushed his cheek, and a shudder ran through her. 

"My Bucky..." She said quietly, eyes roaming over his face, a small smile tugging at her lips, "...you're here, in front of me. Alive."

He swallowed dryly, heart thundering away beneath his skin. "I'm different...you don't know..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth that her eyes found the cold metal where his flesh used to be. In reaching to hold it, she'd been taken by surprise.

Gently, Y/N took the hand in her own, examing the limb with a careful gaze. Moments passed, and she met his eyes again. Bucky steeled himself for rejection, for the disgust and horror.

Her hand went back to his cheek, and he involuntairly leaned into it. The warmth seeped into his blood. She stood on her tip toes, the smile on her lips blossoming into a bright beam of sunlight. "You've always been my Bucky, and always will be. Metal appendages and all."

He fell apart and dove down to capture her lips, clutching her to him with the hunger of a starving man. She pulled herself in, hands tangling in his brown locks, and both tasted salt on the others' lips.

So filled with joy his heart could burst, Bucky revelled in the feeling of holding his girl again. Laughing through the tears, he buried his face in her neck.

Thank you, Steve, for the greatest gift of all.

[knightprincess]

Heart & Soul (Crosshair x Fem Reader)

Words: 4.7k (yeah sorry long one) Warning: 18+ Mature content, sexual content, unprotected sex, P in V. praise, teasing. 

If there was one thing Crosshair hated, it was the uncomfortable feeling he got when been denied or teased in any sexual manner. He'd lost count how many times (Y/N) in particular had teased him, it always being in a way he couldn't complain about. Mainly her choice of nightwear. A random tank top paired with loose fitting mini shorts. There was just something about those shorts, his body never failed to react, sometimes to the point he struggled to get his words out without stuttering. His brothers too had noticed his reaction, if they weren't teasing him about it, they were normally staring after (Y/N) with desire shinning brightly in their honey eyes. Wrecker never failing to make a loud comment, loud enough for any stranger passing by to hear. Hunter would always stop what he was doing, often times forgetting what he'd been doing and suddenly make an excuse up to go to the refresher. Tech and Echo on the other hand were the most normal, bidding (Y/N) good morning, asking her how her night was, Tech always with a cup of caf waiting for her. 

Many of times had Crosshair found himself imagining what he would do if the pair of them were alone, the many scenarios playing out. Nearly all of them having something to do with (Y/N)'s pleasure filled moans filling the quiet ship. Yet to the snipers frustration, the chance had never arisen. The only time it had was when (Y/N) had been severely injured and knocked unconscious during a mission, he'd stayed by her side, holding her hand. Refused to leave until she woke. He'd stayed with her after that too, her admission of feeling safe with him and her simple question of asking him to stay had him all to eager to share her bunk. 

That event had kicked started their close bound. If there was ever a moment where Crosshair needed medical attention, he'd only ever allow (Y/N) to attend to his injuries. He'd also be the one to watch holo-films with her, just as he'd shared his secrets with her and vice versa, she'd also been the one he told of his hatred for Kamino and the reason for it, about his scarring training. (Y/N), had somehow made it a little better, knowing she was listening helped a lot, never once had she judged him for his past but instead accepted him for who he was. Yet despite that she seemed to deny him the acknowledgment of being teased by her. It wasn't just the shorts but other things too, the way she would sway his hips a little more when she knew he was watching, the comments to escape her perfect lips every now and again, even the way he would press up against him in the tight spaces of the ship. 

Often in those moments had Crosshair's mind played tricks on him. There being times he swore she whispered something to him, or when he felt her gentle touch burnt through his armor, yet never once could he confirm it in anyway. Yet still his body had reacted, goosebumps raising in the area she touched with her softly burning touch, the hair on the back of his neck would raise as he'd find his chest tightening and words becoming stuck in his throat. His member would twitch and begin to throb, almost begging to be touched and paid attention to. 

The nights after these chastise interactions, his mind filled with seductive encounters with (Y/N), his short soundless sleep being filled with vivid dreams, his mind tricked him into believing they were a secret reality, those dreams eventually turning into pinning wishes of his heart. Those wishes he was sure would be unfulfilled. The same ones he refused to utter a single word about, not even to (Y/N). Instead he suffered in silence until he could escape to the refresher unnoticed and jerk himself off. Those moments always being to the thought of (Y/N) in her loose fitting black night shorts, although he would occasional wonder if it was wrong of him to satisfy himself while thinking of her. Just as he found himself hoping no one heard his soft moans of her name when passing by the refresher door. 

It wasn't until a special stake out mission did the unfulfilled hopes and fantasies really begin torment Crosshair. The small Inn the team found themselves in, not having enough rooms for all of them to be alone. Instead pairing would happen. Tech and Echo had voiced their acceptance of being room mates for a few nights, not finding anything out of the ordinary since the pair often fell asleep in the cockpit. Crosshair on the other hand had quickly been paired with (Y/N), Hunter resigning himself to the fate of sleepless nights, knowing Wrecker could snore loudly and often moved around in his sleep. The occasional time he'd have imaginary arguments with someone. 

Each pairing heading to their rooms moments later, all with the hope of having a bed to themselves. Echo and Tech had the luck of the draw, both wasting no time in stretching out over the beds with Tech setting up his equipment moments after entering the double room. Hunter and Wrecker also had beds to themselves, Wrecker almost breaking his with his eagerness to try out the bouncy mattress, a few comments escaping about how fun the stake out mission would be. Crosshair and (Y/N) on the other hand weren't as lucky. The room housing a single double bed, if anything it appeared to be the honeymoon suite. Both looking to the other with uncertainty before returning their gaze to the room before them. The roomy bed pushed up against the back wall, ottomans at the end of it, a single door leading to the on-suite bathroom, another double door leading to a spacious balcony, one with a breath taking view. The pair had stood in the open door way for what seemed like forever, neither speaking a word as they both tried to work out a solution to what could only be described as the awkward situation. 

"Congratulations" come a unknown voice from behind the pair. The duo looking around quickly. Crosshair's hand on the weapon holstered to his hip, the other reaching for (Y/N) as if to protect her from the intruding voice. (Y/N)'s hand reaching for her lightsaber, as if on instinct, yet both falling into confusion upon seeing a middle aged woman peering at them, a bright smile on her lips as her eyes washed over the pair. Yet letting a sigh escape her lips upon seeing their confusion reigning down on her. "On your wedding. Only wedded couples stay in this suite" added the woman, dressed in simple garments, it being likely she helped run the inn and unaware of them just staying for a mission. Just as it was unlikely anyone knew about the ongoing war on the backwater planet they found themselves on. 

"Oh erm ...." (Y/N) had began, her cheeks turning a pale shade of pink. One of Crosshair's hand finding its way to the back of his neck in an awkward manner, clearly as lost for words as (Y/N) was. The surprise of the assumption knocking them both off guard, to the point they were unsure what they were to do now. In a rare moment, Crosshair had been pleased for Hunter's sudden appearance, his honey eyes begging for help in the situation. Although it was clear Hunter found amusement at the scene he found himself walking into. 

"It was a secret wedding. Only a few of us in attendance" spoke Hunter in response, his smokey voice barely above a whisper as if it was a secret only the middle aged woman could know. Crosshair could only throw Hunter a highlighted I hated you look, (Y/N)'s glare accompanying it, both unsure how that played into the stake out mission but couldn't object without making it obvious something was amiss. Crosshair soon reached for his stash of toothpicks, his eyes growing wide as he recalled something from days before hand, although he'd believed it was a vivid dream he'd began to wonder if it held truth to it. 

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Crosshair had been sat on his bunk, when news of the stake out had been delivered by one of the many Jedi General's, the republic having decided the group of five and (Y/N) were the best for job. Maybe it was there unparalleled success rate or their abilities to improvise when the time arose, or the fact they weren't so obviously identified as clones as others had been and (Y/N) was often mistaken for a Senator rather than a Jedi Knight. Although Tech had stated that was from her well known undercover op a few months prior to the war beginning. 

A joke had been made about how to blend in further. Echo throwing in (Y/N) marrying one of them would be a good diversion, Tech agreeing quickly despite the laugh to escape (Y/N) as she believed it to be a joke of some sort. Hunter had thrown forward the idea of (Y/N) using her Senator persona, with the rest of them being her security, although that would mean her giving them her lightsabers, something they all knew she was unsure about. Crosshair on the other hand had been close to (Y/N), sat opposite her in the tight confinement of the Marauder, he could see how unsure she was about being the center of it all. Especially after her last uncover op had resulted in injury for several of them after a fire fight had broken out. 

Crosshair had been lost in thought while looking at (Y/N) with softness, he'd not heard Wrecker agreeing with the marriage idea and volunteering the sniper for the role. Using Crosshair's calm and collective nature as reason for his recommendation. (Y/N) getting up with a sigh and snapped Crosshair out of his thoughts, not a single word passed her lips as she climbed up into her quiet spot above the bunks, it being clear she wanted time alone to think over everything, where as Crosshair turned his attention to his brothers, quickly understanding he had missed something important. 

"The stake out mission, will require a believable distraction for being there. (Y/N) unfortunately will have to bare the brunt of the stress" started Tech, finding himself overwhelmed with guilt over his agreement to the idea, just as Echo found himself the same for submitting the idea in the first place. "The distraction will be (Y/N)'s honeymoon" carefully spoke Tech, as if fearing how his younger brother would react. He watched as the others did, as the different emotions passed over the snipers features, confusion, uncertainty, anger and concern. A unspoken question on his lips of wondering if there was a better way. 

"(Y/N) just said decided among us and tell her after" excitedly spoke Wrecker, as if the idea of marrying a Jedi Knight was the best thing he'd heard in a while. Although he stopped upon noticing the glare Crosshair shot in his direction. "We were going on which one of us would be best. Since none of us are really keen on the idea either" calmly proclaimed the human bulldozer, as if attempting to calm Crosshair's murderous glare and redirection the attention elsewhere. Even now the glare Crosshair had mastered terrified Wrecker, far beyond what the war had thrust far thrown at them. 

"I'll do it" muttered Crosshair, unsure what had come over him, he'd felt the need to protect her and correct what had been deemed an injustice done against her. Plus deep down he knew he held a secret love for her, not just lust but pure adoration too. She brought out his soft side, showed no judgment towards him, instead only care and acceptance, the least he could do now was this to help her through the mission and bare some of the burden weight. 

Crosshair had climbed up to her hideout seconds later, joining her in the tight space above. Lying next to her. He knew she had turned the cramped area into a little room for herself, a couple of pillows and blankets one side, the other (Y/N) laid across the floor with a book in her hands, although it was clear she wasn't reading it, instead staring at the printed words as if they held the means of her escape from what troubled her. 

"Come to tell me who the unlucky one is?" quietly whispered (Y/N) her voice unenthusiastic as she listened as Wrecker pulled down his bunk and the remaining three make excuses to leave the area and uncomfortable silence. Crosshair merely hummed in response, tucking his arms behind his head as he looked up to the drawing taped above, softness returning to him as he realized the drawing were portraits on him and his brothers. Each portraying them in the midst of something. Hunter seemingly lost in thought as he span his vibroblade between his fingers, Tech captured talking of something, Echo as he watched the colors of hyperspace, Wrecker while holding his Tooka doll, Lula. The one of himself depicting him doing his normal rifle cleaning routine, he did after every mission. Yet as Crosshair strained his memory, he couldn't ever recall seeing (Y/N) around during any of the moments depicted, as if she had drawing them from pure memory rather than being there with them. 

"That would be yours truly" admitted Crosshair, reaching out one of his hands to gently take the book from her hands, instead reaching for the holopad close by. Pulling her close upon retrieving it, his mind focusing on comforting her and accepting the burden they would both be sharing. He wasn't sure why he place a soft kiss to her hair line, but felt the need to do so. The pair finding comfort in each other as they decided on a film to watch, Crosshair feeling a little more confident the longer (Y/N) stayed in her position, her head against his shoulder, one of her arms stretch across his chest. 

The pair having fallen asleep like it. Tech having noticed Crosshair hadn't come down so checked on the duo, moving a blanket from the opposite side and draping it over the pair, before returning to the cockpit, where Echo had already nodded off. Hunter and Wrecker too had fallen for the lure of sleep. The next day would bring the short wedding, nothing too special, although Tech had began to question whether it would be valid or not in the minds of the pair and those to witness it. 

The following morning the little ceremony took place. (Y/N) in her Jedi robes, her lightsabers attached to her belt, Crosshair donning his normal armor, rifle attached to his pack with other weapons on his personnel. The group stood next to the Marauder. Hunter, Tech, Echo and Wrecker stood by as witnesses. Crosshair and (Y/N) facing each other, as they had done many times in the past, although not with the meaning this time had.

"Mhi solus tome. Mhi solus dar'tome. Mahi me'dinui an. Mhi" spoke both (Y/N) and Crosshair in unison. The pair of them being serious. Yet as quick as that it was done. 

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As if a wave hit Crosshair, he seemed unsure how he'd forgotten it, was there a mind trick being played on him or did both he and (Y/N) suffer some injury during the trip to get to the backwater planet. Yet he didn't voice his thoughts, neither did (Y/N) stood next to him as if she was in some sort of trance. Without a second thoughts Crosshair slipped the bag from her shoulder, gently picking her up moments later, as if to play the role he'd just remembered, a playful scream and laugh escaping (Y/N). One of her arms hooking around the back of his neck, the other reaching up for his free shoulder. 

"Please tell me you have those shorts" whispered Crosshair, wondering if he'd be blessed with such a sight. He'd never admit those tiny black shorts turned him on. (Y/N) merely nodded her head in response, already being able to guess where this was going. His lustful looks and terrible excuses hadn't gone unnoticed by her. Nor had his jealous looks when they'd all find themselves at 79's. Crosshair never failed to scare some poor soul away or intimidate them into leaving, most of the time without uttering a single word. Most clones learnt quickly Crosshair wasn't to be messed with, especially over something that was his or someone he cared about, other patrons had also learnt the same lesson through a few fights. 

"Hmm. Maybe I can use them to motivate you into doing a good job" commented (Y/N), hearing Crosshair chuckle as he carefully dropped her on the bed, the yelp to escape her only serving to make Crosshair chuckle a little louder than before. The sniper soon sat beside her on the bed, both suddenly becoming lost in the view from the balcony doors. Crosshair found himself wondering what was so important about the planet they were on, why they would need a cover for being in a place so far out of the way, he was surprised both the republic and separatists even remembered it. Even he couldn't remember the name of the planet, even when Tech had spoken it several times. 

"A reward for a job well done ....." whispered Crosshair, breaking the silence between them, gathering the necessary things, needed for the mission, (Y/N) looked to him, sensing there were words left unsaid. "ner kar'ta bal runi I have a few other ideas too" admitted the sniper before their conversation was interupted. Both walking from the room moments later, Crosshair with a stronger feeling to protect the woman he gained the right to call "His Jedi" 

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Upon returning to the suite that night. (Y/N) went to the shower as she had stated she would before hand. Washing away the mixture of mud, blood and anything else dirtying her. She made sure to clean up after herself, if only to ensure Crosshair could shower in peace too. Before leaving the fair sized bathroom, she dressed in the loose fitting black shorts and a figure hugging black tank top. Wrapping her hair in a towel to ensure it didn't drip water everywhere. Upon entering the main suite, she found Crosshair effortless cleaning his rifle, although she knew he had already done that, so had likely been doing it to pass the time. 

"All yours" softly spoke (Y/N), causing Crosshair to jump slightly, it being so clear he'd been lost in his thoughts, although he soon stood and turned towards her, his breath getting stuck in his throat upon his eyes landing on her. The top she wore leaving little to the imagination, the fabric hugging all her curves and showing her erected nipples clearly. Yet soon enough Crosshair snapped himself out of it, sending himself to the bathroom. The moment he stepped under the warm water of the shower, he felt his tense muscles relax, yet his wonder got wilder. Questions floated through his head as he washed away the boggy mud sticking to his skin and rinsed his short hair back to the natural silver color. He wondered what would happen between himself and (Y/N) now. By Mandalorian rule they were technically married, he a clone and she a Jedi, a pairing not too uncommon since the war had began. 

As the sniper stepped from the shower, he felt his confidence rise as the nippy crisp air bit at his exposed skin. Although he barely noticed as he wrapped a towel loosely around his waist, using another to catch the water droplets making their escape down the back of his neck and face. The same towel becoming useful again moments later as he cleared the steam from the mirror before him. Just seconds later leaving the bathroom to find (Y/N) on one of the chairs in the corner of the room, holopad in hand as she read over something.

Once again Crosshair felt his confidence rise, just as he wanted to see where things would go from here. (Y/N) had worn those shorts as she said she would if he did a good job. Yet once again he noticed she wasn't actually reading what was one her holopad. She was a fast reader, her knew that, so knew she would have likely turned the page by now. The sniper wasted little time getting to her, sitting on the stool before her, resting her bare feet on his toweled lap, hearing her hum as if she had been waiting for him to return. Without really thinking began to run his fingers up and down her calf, soft strokes as if he was teasing her in ways different to how she often teased him. 

He soon moved up her body, connecting their lips within seconds, his hands trailing down her arms and body. Her own arms swinging around the back of his neck, as if to pull him closer to her. The kiss seeming so right to them both, Crosshair feeling as if the missing part of him, had been found. Where as (Y/N), felt the love she knew had been missing from her life, the passion she had only dreamed of one day experiencing for herself. The too soon parted, if only to catch their breath. Their heads resting together as they looked into the others eyes, as if looking for any sign of rejection or regret, both pleased to find nothing of the sort. 

"Ner kar'taylir darasuum, maybe we should take this to the bed" whispered Crosshair. Seeing her agreement as she placed the forgotten holopad to the side, standing up moments later. (Y/N) allowing him to lead her to the bed, his instruction to lay on her back something she did without question, not being surprised when he pulled the rim of her top down, exposing her breasts to the cold air surrounding them. Although his hands soon found them, his lips following shortly after. Crosshair's free hand soon began to move lower, reaching beneath the hem of her black sorts, although he stopped in surprise to realize she wore no underwear beneath the shorts. His eyes growing darker with lust as he looked to her, continuing on with play with her nipples and finding her sensitive spot hidden beneath the shorts. 

The moment contact being made, (Y/N), softly moaned, it sounding so sweet to Crosshair as he continued to play with her. Running his long fingers through her folds, hearing her moan every time. The sound only serving to get him excited too. He didn't stop (Y/N) when her hands reached for the towel hung around his waist, gently undoing it, finally pay him attention. Her hands soft as she pushed him over, connecting their lips once he was on his back, her hand finding its way to his member, wrapping around him as she began to pump. Crosshair's only response was to hold back his own moan as his hands found her breasts again. Pulling her top up and over her head moments later. If only to gain better access to her. 

"Want me to take the shorts off too" teased (Y/N), seeing the way his honey eyes darkened further. Yet before she could reached for the hem of her shorts, Crosshair's hands found his wrists. In a blink of an eye their position changed again. Once again he was back on top of her. His lips finding hers as his hands found his own member. His patients showing through as he continued to play with her, his own games in mind and desires. Just as he wanted to pleasure her in a way she hadn't been before. 

"No" responded Crosshair after what felt like hours passed. "I want to take you, while you're wearing them" added the sniper, swiftly pushing the shorts to the side, enough to give him access to her core. With a silent request and (Y/N) nodding in response, he soon began to run his member through her wet folds, hearing her moan further. "All this wetness for me. whatever did I do to earn such a reward" whispered Crosshair, as his lips found her jaw, not wishing to stifle her quiet moans. He soon lined himself up with her entrance, looking to (Y/N) once more before slowly pushing himself in, feeling how tight her walls were around him, it taking all his strength not to come right there and then. "Fuck you're tight" whispered Crosshair, placing his hands beside her head to stabilize himself. His other hand resting on her cheek once he was completely sheathed inside her. Allowing her time to adjust to his size. 

Upon (Y/N) nodding, he began to move, pulling almost all the way back out before thrusting back into her. Feeling her legs wrap around his waist, she soon pulled his lips back to hers, feeling each and every thrust he made into her. Her moans growing louder although stifled by Crosshair's lips on hers. Their tongues fighting for dominance all the while. Crosshair soon began to pick up the pace of his thrusts, obeying her request he goes faster, soon finding her sweet spot. His self given order to hit it as much as he could, thrust giving her the maximum amount of pleasure he possibly could. Without warning he soon pulled out, positioning her on her hands and knees, sliding back in without much effort. Keeping up with the same pace as before. Hearing (Y/N) moan even more than before, as she felt him go even deeper than before. 

"Sing for me cyar'ika" spoke Crosshair breathlessly, gently moving his hands from her hips to her shoulders, pulling her up to rest against him. Her head against his shoulder as he went deeper inside her. Her lips against his ear as she moaned his name with pleasure. His hands finding their way back to her breasts once he was sure she wouldn't fall, giving them the attention they deserved. "Good girl" praised Crosshair, his own lips finding her neck as he gently began to nibble and suck, determined to leave a mark that would mark her as his own. 

"Cross" moaned (Y/N), feeling as her stomach began to knot, knowing she was close to her climax. "I'm gonna come" moan (Y/N), as she screamed out moments later. Crosshair not letting up on his pace, riding her through her high. Switching positions again when she was had come back down. This time allowing her to straddle him. Pushing her shorts to the side again, as he re-entered her, the sound of their moans ringing out and mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin. Although Crosshair soon sat up, wrapping his arms around her waist, her lips finding his neck as he had done with her earlier. Stifling her moans as she nibbled and sucked on his neck, leaving a mark that would be visible there for days. 

In a last whim, Crosshair flipped them again, back to the original position, although not pulling out this time. His thrusts becoming sloppy as he reached his own end, yet determination in his eyes to get her to climax again before he did. "You going to come for me again Cyar'ika?" asked Crosshair breathlessly, seeing her nod beneath him, he soon reached for her sensitive spot, rubbing in circles to bring her to her climax sooner. Hearing her moans grow louder again as she began to beg for her end. The pair soon coming at the same time. Crosshair deep inside her, collapsing on her moments later, pulling out, using what remained of his strength to do so. His lips once again finding (Y/N)'s as he brushed some of her hair from her forehead, stuck there by the layer of sweat to coat them both. 

His arms soon wound around her waist again, (Y/N) finding the energy to reach for the blanket to cover them both. Snuggling closer to him upon doing so. Both trying to catch their breath, while trying to avoid the lure of sleep. The day tiring both of them out, although neither could argue with how it ended. 

"Ner Mesh'la" whispered Crosshair before dozing off, his arms still around (Y/N), his head resting against hers, a rare soft smile on his lips. (Y/N) following along shortly after, her last thoughts on how the rest of the scout mission was going to play out. But also being thankful, she had Crosshair with her. 

[romanticchemacademic]

Dear future health professionals and stem professors,

We need a revolution of thought. Only through a renaissance of pure and genuine passion towards medicine and other sciences will we have competent doctors, nurses, other healthcare workers, and teachers. We live in a world where people pursue noble professions for the sake of social and economic advancement. However, we lack individuals who love the process of learning and their career.

I recollect quite a marvelous excerpt written by one of the world’s greatest scientific minds, Albert Einstein. In his book, The World As I see It he writes:

ACADEMIC CHAIRS ARE MANY, but wise and noble teachers are few; lecture rooms are numerous and large, but the number of young people who genuinely thirst for truth and justice is small. Nature scatters her common wares with a lavish hand, but the choice sort she produces but seldom.

We all know that, so why complain? Was it not ever thus and will it not ever thus remain? Certainly, and one must take what nature gives as one finds it. But there is also such a thing as a spirit of the times, an attitude of mind characteristic of a particular generation, which is passed on from individual to individual and gives a society its particular tone. Each of us has to do his little bit towards transforming this spirit of the times.

Compare the spirit which animated the youth in our universities a hundred years ago with that prevailing today. They had faith in the amelioration of human society, respect for every honest opinion, the tolerance for which our classics had lived and fought. 

  I believe that one of the faults lies within education institutions. Educators rely on testing, textbooks, and detached memorized lectures. Lectures lack passion and another essential factor: the real practice. The theory is important but the practice is necessary to understand the theory. But without passion, nobody will learn to love the material being taught. Ibn Sina is known for being one of the greatest physicians and teachers of Islamic medicine. I am not completely sure whether what I am about to mention is true. But I read that when he lectured theory to the medical students at the Madrassa (University) he would show them how it worked. Besides medical history and theory. He also taught physics, astronomy, philosophy, and mathematics. However, he is also famed for being an excellent teacher duly because he would take his students to test out the theories and practice what they have been taught. If they were learning medical theory, they were taken to the hospital to observe patients and their cases. If they were learning astronomy, they would all gather in the evening to look up at the heavens to look at the constellations. Lastly, his passion for his vocation was the final touch. Educators without the drive cannot teach. Learning is about understanding oneself, others, and the world. Learning evolves our minds and our spirits by making us get in harmony with the universe. I believe this ties in with Aristotle’s famous saying, “The unexamined life is not worth living”. Though my interpretation may be a wee bit off, I translate it as thus; we can gather all textbook knowledge as possible but if we do not put into practice the knowledge learned, what is the point? I yearn and I pine to experience all that I have learned. I want to see why the theory makes sense in reality. I want to conduct experiments. So much potential is being wasted. Biology is the study of life. However, when I took the course, it was so cold to a point that it did not even feel like I was studying the human body but something alien instead. There is also such a rush to memorize material within a couple of weeks because of exams that the material ceases to be interesting and becomes more of an arduous chore instead. Our sense of time-shifted completely after the industrial revolution. Perhaps this is a reason why we feel the need to rush through everything and not take our time to study profoundly. 

We need another Scientific Revolution, curious minds thirsting for the acquisition of knowledge and unanswered questions. However, I believe that the leading force behind this is a necessity. I would like to mention an example to illustrate what I mean from a novel I read a while ago called, The Physician by Noah Gordon. A boy from Medieval Europe lost his mother from an unknown disease leaving him orphaned. He then grew up with the necessity to learn what the disease was and how to prevent other similar deaths, so that others do not suffer what he has suffered. He then worked with Barbers (people who performed medical procedures in Medieval Europe). But the medical knowledge these professionals had was not enough to answer his question. Thus, he traveled to Persia where there was a quite renowned and exclusive medical school. He did not have the economic means or previous schooling to attend but he impressed the headmaster with his passion and knowledge. Thus, the headmaster admitted him into the Madrassa. The European boy then invested all his time doing research, dissections and treating patients until he finally found out what ailment caused his mother’s death, side sickness (appendicitis). He figured out a way to treat this illness, removal of the appendix. From his initial necessity which was the driving force for him to pursue a medical career, he became a famous physician and felt that all his suffering and odyssey were worthwhile. The sense of necessity leads to the feeling of passion. It was his love for his mother that made him follow such a journey full of obstacles. I am beginning to apply that to my own life. I want to figure out my necessity which will be the driving force to power through university and medical school without ever feeling burnt out. I want to feel fulfilled. I believe this is what all pre-medical students and teachers should think about. What is your necessity? We are going to be dealing with human life, someone’s mother, father, friend, sister, uncle, lover, husband, or child...It is not something to be taken lightly. I know so many doctors lacking empathy because they went into the medical field with just the intention of being acknowledged as “Doctors” and getting rich. But I feel that even the most apathetic healthcare workers can become great empathetic professionals the moment they realize that something was triggered deep inside them, perhaps a loved one having an unknown disease. This would lead the apathetic doctor to do mass amounts of research to try to find a cure. This feeling becomes a necessity. A necessity to not lose the loved one. A necessity to save lives. Thus, finding passion, purpose, and becoming a better person. Though each person is different, we all share a selfish feeling. Most of the time we do not truly care about other peoples’ suffering until it happens to us. Once we are affected by something, we drive all our time and attention to find a solution or a way to deal with a problem. We become consumed and completely obsessed by it. I regard this as passion. I do not think passion subsides, it lingers on inside us. It is a fire that never burns out. I remember my high school teacher writing in my yearbook:

Remember a few things, BE PATIENT. You are eager and you will accomplish so much. But take your time, you are always rushing. Life is a journey, it is not about the destination. Be picky. You love everything with enthusiasm but enthusiasm can burn out. Find a fire inside yourself that burns for a long time.

-V

We cannot rush our personal legend. I believe it comes to us. It is Maktub (it’s written). But we also have to do something. Imagine you are on a stranded island but you have a machete, a fishing rod, coconuts, a cave for shelter, wood for a fire, an ocean full of fish. Everything required for survival is there, but you simply have to cut open the coconut with the machete, go fishing for food, fire to cook, and warmth. The fish isn’t going to swim right into your hands and the fire will not light itself. We must use our resources and do our bit. The Universe has a lot going on, we must help out a bit.

If you ever think about quitting, try to remember what made you start your odyssey in the first place. I do not know what my necessity is yet but that is okay. I believe it will come to me eventually. So for now, I simply love to romanticize academia. I like to imagine the: earthy tones of the universities archways, cobblestone paths, laboratories with clean Erlenmeyer flasks, beakers, pristine white lab coats, bunsen burner flames changing colors as different salts are added, Bromothymol Blue pen stains, elegant calculations inside a worn leather-bound notebook, formulas scrawled over the blackboard, forgotten cold Irish breakfast tea on the desk, academics discussing theories, applause from a successful experiment, gray rainy days spent inside the lab, Whitman, Hemingway, et Sir Arthur Conon Doyle being read during break, intellectual conversations with professors, chemistry reports being written, molecular models built, volumes of ancient words, fire slowly burning in the stone fireplace, trying to understand, looking at the constellations on a clear night in the astronomy tower, reciting poetry, Tchaikovsky playing whilst completing a long lab report on Lê Chatelier’s theory of Equilibrium, curious minds, sleepless evenings in the library, beautiful anatomical illustrations...Just imagining these things motivate and inspire me to continue my path. Though it may seem superficial, it awakens something inside me. I yearn and I pine to become a Chemistry Romantic. 

I want to conclude this letter by saying that pupils and educators keep ideals alive and can change them accordingly as well. We have the power to become excellent professionals or simply exist and do nothing for the human race. But if you plan on becoming a physician or educator, you must find the trigger which brings your passion to life, your necessity. Once you find that, you are guaranteed greatness and fulfillment. However, do not rush. Perfection takes time. A couple of obstacles should not hinder you from persevering. Many will tell you to give up but do not. That is the Universe testing you. Do your best until you master the topic. Once you know better, you are then able to do better. 

Regards,

Confessions from a Chemistry Academic

[fific7]

There May Be Trouble Ahead - Part 1

John Whittaker x Reader

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s all lemon zest 🍋 because the world deserves more of the over-eager puppy that is the handsome Johnny Whittaker. And puppies need discipline.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including oral between consenting adults*. Some drinking.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(Not my GIF, credit to owner)

The tennis ball whizzed past your ear, missing it by a whisper. Several strands of hair were pulled from underneath your cloche hat by the force of the resulting breeze it created as it travelled past your head.

“Sorry!” you heard a male voice calling and looked round to see a tall, lean figure bounding towards you, tennis racquet in hand. “So very sorry! That was my absolutely pitiful serve.”

You tucked the errant strands of hair back under the brim of your hat, and bestowed a small frosty smile on him. “Are you being taught?”

A pair of sparkling dark eyes looked back at you, a confused look in them. He ran his fingers through his equally dark hair, pushing it back off his forehead where it had flopped during his gallop over to you.

“Tennis,” you clarified, “Are you being taught how to play?” “Ummm...no?” he replied, confusion still reigning on his face.

Smirking, you looked up at him and intoned in a serious voice, “Well, you should be. Because you’re atrocious at it.”

“Ha...yes... I do believe you have a point,” he said, an embarrassed look on his face. “Can you ever forgive me? Would a glass of champagne help to restore my standing with you, Miss.. er...?”

You gave him your name, before saying, “You didn’t have any standing with me before this incident so how can you restore it?” He gave you a big grin, “Another good point! How about I create a standing with you, then? I have a feeling we could become really good friends!”

He ignored your sceptical look and stuck his hand out towards you, “John Whittaker, very much at your service!” As you reached - out of politeness - to shake his hand, he grasped your hand and brought it to his lips instead, ghosting a kiss over your knuckles and gazing at you through his long lashes as he did so.

You felt the barest fluttering of butterflies in your stomach. This gentleman was going to problematic, you could tell.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Reaching the art gallery where you worked as a conservator, your thoughts wandered back to the young man you’d encountered earlier. He reminded you very much of an over-sized, over-enthusiastic puppy. But a very good-looking one. And well-presented too, despite his slightly dishevelled appearance following his tennis match.

You were still slightly surprised at yourself, having accepted his invitation to partake of some champagne at one of the large hotels in the area later that evening. Your usual type of chap was more bookish, less flighty than your new acquaintance seemed to be.

Oh well, variety is the spice of life.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

John Whittaker came hurtling down the staircase in his large and stately home, swinging himself right round the large carved pineapple at the bottom of the banister rail, landing on his feet with a thump right in front of his not so large and stately mother.

“John!” exclaimed Veronica in an annoyed voice, “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times…!” He landed a kiss on his mother’s cheek, “Sorry, mater - but it’s the only way I know how to come downstairs.” Planting an additional kiss on her other cheek, he continued, “I have a date in town, darling mama, so don’t wait up!” He headed for the imposing front door while his mother asked him hurriedly with whom he was meeting. He ignored her but his sister Marion, having heard the commotion and appearing suddenly from the sitting room, smugly supplied the answer.

“Some woman he met only this afternoon, Mama, I overheard him telling Hilda.”

“Traitor!” yelled John over his shoulder as the front door slammed behind him.

“That boy!” said his mother, “He will be the death of me!”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

John jumped athletically into his open-topped sports car and started it up. The girl he was meeting had really piqued his interest. She was beautiful but enigmatic.

He’d attempted to get some personal information from her after his tennis ball had nearly brained her as she’d been passing by, but apart from agreeing to meet him later at The Grand (which had put a huge smile on his face) she’d fobbed him off and hurried away. He didn’t think it would be seemly to chase after her.

He stopped at a junction and as he turned the car towards town, he sighed. He hadn’t had too much luck with the ladies so far in his life. What with the divorce from Larita - he shuddered at the thought, what a mistake that marriage had been! - and the train wreck of a relationship with Sarah… well.

He thought to himself that he was due a bit of luck in that area, surely?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You arrived ten minutes after the time you’d agreed to meet, not wishing to appear too keen. Well, you shouldn’t, should you?

Walking into the gilded elegance of The Grand, you felt slightly underdressed as you hadn’t had time to go home and change. But at least you didn’t smell of paint and white spirit, your afternoon having been spent reviewing canvases for restoration. Asking the concierge where the bar was situated, he pointed you in the general direction with a slightly disdainful look.

Smiling to yourself as you headed towards it, you wondered if he thought you were perhaps a working girl, so to speak, although how you were dressed could hardly be classed as being provocative in any way. You wore a plain white blouse and a mid-calf black pencil skirt with low heels and your trusty grey day coat, which was uplifted by its discreet darker grey faux fur collar.

Reaching the bar, you spotted your new acquaintance sitting at a table, dressed in smart dark beige trousers and a white shirt with a burnt orange V-neck jumper over it. A wine cooler was sitting in a stand next to his table, an uncorked bottle of champagne nestling in it. He was looking rather forlorn, and you realised he probably thought you’d stood him up.

“Hello again,” you said, seeing his face light up as you spoke. “Hello again!” he echoed, leaping up and rushing round the table to pull your chair out, asking at the same time if you wished to check your coat in. You smiled and shook your head, but you did remove it and place it over the back of your chair. If the evening disappointed, you wished to be able to make a speedy exit.

Settling yourself at the table as John pushed your chair in for you, you watched him wave off a hovering waiter and then reach for the bottle of champagne himself and expertly open it, with a fairly small ‘pop’ and no spillage. He filled two flutes, waiting for the drink to quieten down before topping them up and handing one to you. He finally sat back down, holding up his own glass and you clinked yours against his, as he said “Chin-chin!” with you repeating the toast.

He lounged back in his seat, smiling at you, “You look very businesslike. Businesslike… and beautiful.” You felt a blush rising in your cheeks although you willed it not to. “Thank you. I think,” you replied. “Oh it was definitely a compliment,” he grinned, “…I’ve been avidly thinking about you the whole afternoon.” You gave him an amused look, “Oh, really? And what thoughts were you thinking about me?”

He leant in towards you, dark eyes gazing into yours, “Ah. They were very specific thoughts. About how I want to learn everything there is to know about you.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

He was a silver-tongued charmer, you decided as you heard his answer. “What would you like to know?” “Everything.” You laughed, “I don’t think it’s possible to ever know everything about someone.” He looked pensive, “I think you’re very possibly correct.” “I’ll tell you something about me in return for the same information about you.” He laughed, “Perfect! That’s an admirable solution. You go first.”

So you both began with the basics, age (he was three years older than you), place of birth, education. You then informed him of what your chosen career was, and his eyes widened with interest. “Tell me more!” he said, “It sounds fascinating.” “You need to tell me what you do for a living first.” He looked embarrassed, picking up his glass and sipping from it. “I… umm.. don’t really do anything much.” Your eyebrows raised themselves, and he hurried on, “I look after our family estate. Trying to save it from sinking like the Titanic.”

“Oh,” you said, a little amazed, “I see.” He leant forward, “Has that put you off me?” he asked, anxiously. You smiled, “Not yet.”

“Well, thank the lord for that,” he exhaled, “I thought it might.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

John listened eagerly as she described her job, disagreeing with her when she said it wasn’t terribly interesting at all. He was still feeling relieved that she hadn’t run out of the room when he said he was the heir to a crumbling estate. She’d mentioned that she didn’t need to work, but she’d chosen to work. He thought that was astonishing and admirable.

He had a bright idea. He’d invite her for tea. Then he’d see what she really thought about him. And after the absolute car crash of the first meeting with Larita, this new lady friend of his would be seen by his family as a huge improvement.

He felt a slight sinking feeling in his stomach. He hadn’t yet mentioned that he was divorced. Oh. Well, no time like the present.

“I’m divorced,” he blurted out while she was still speaking to him about her work.

He watched her eyes widen and thought, “Damn! That’s blown it, for sure.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You stopped speaking as he made his admission of divorce, absolutely astounded. For some reason, you couldn’t imagine him as having been married, never mind divorced.

“Divorced?” you repeated, feeling like a parrot. He nodded, eyes wide and fearful. “That’s.. unexpected.” He nodded once more, “Dreadfully scandalous, I’m afraid. I met an American woman in the South of France and, well, we got married almost on the spot.”

He looked down, before meeting your eyes again, “That was a horrible, awful decision on my part. We should never have got married. Had a fling, maybe - then moved on. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He smiled sadly, “I hope I’m slightly less of a fool these days.”

You wondered what to do. Maybe you should just run screaming from the room. But you liked him, he seemed like a genuinely nice man. So instead you heard yourself saying, “I hope so too.”

He smiled, covering your hand with his, “Can I entice you to come to tea? See the old pile? Meet the family?”

“It seems very quick to be meeting your family… however I’ll say yes, John, you can.”

Silently you were praying you wouldn’t regret agreeing to this.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@paracosmenthusiast

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

[parvuls]

fic: at certain times

word count: 12k

tags: year 2 canon-divergence, getting together, first kiss

summary: The Swallow's Samwell Awards issue of '15 crowns Jack and Bitty as Samwell's cutest couple. It is somewhat unfortunate, then, that they're not actually a couple at all.

read on ao3

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The kitchen smells like something burnt, a smoky tang that clings to the walls and floors, stings inside Bitty’s nose. April should smell like hot cross buns and zucchini bread, he thinks wistfully, but it turns out that some Aprils poor ovens are pushed to their last legs prematurely, leaving his kitchen smelling like Ransom forgot his frozen pizza in the microwave again.

Dex has been tending to Betsy on her deathbed all month, spending most of his free hours at the Haus. Bitty called him again after class, while he was standing in Superberry with Jack, and promised to pay for his services with froyo. Said froyo -- which Jack insisted on paying for, bless him -- is still on the table, untouched, yogurt melting over the rim of the paper cup and dripping onto the wood. Dex has been kneeling in the same strip of sunlight on the floor since he arrived with his toolbox. Bitty isn’t sure what exactly he’s been doing, but he seems to be too busy waving a screwdriver in the air and ranting to remember his abandoned bribe.

“So we finally got over the fucking Samwell Republican sticker thing,” Dex says, his face red and his brow furrowed. He’s been disgruntled all day because of an email he’d received, which he claims Nursey will never let him live down. "And Bitty, I know this is Massachusetts, okay? But I haven’t even actually voted yet! Fucking Swallow. How can I be Best Republican?"

Bitty hunches over in his chair, palms clasped together on his knees like a prayer. He’s anxiously following the motions of Dex’s screwdriver with his eyes while listening with only half an ear, deeply confused by the conversation subject. “The Swallow does pieces on politics? I can’t even imagine what an article like that’d look like, honestly.”

Dex grumbles quietly, shoving a hand under his backwards snapback to scratch at his hair. “No, it’s like -- their Samwell Awards thing? I don’t know, I just got an email about it this morning. I guess it’s like that 50 Most Beautiful shit they do.”

Bitty’s never heard of it, but then again, Bitty carefully sidesteps most articles of The Swallow whenever he comes across them. Those guys write about their team an uncomfortable amount for a university with almost ten thousand students. As long as Holster or Ransom aren’t reading it aloud at team breakfast, Bitty’s not eager to find out what The Swallow has to say.

He asks, though, because Dex seems to be upset about this and his frogs need to be handled with care. “Like in high school yearbooks?” Heather Barron was his class’ Best Laugh back home, and she made everyone who signed her yearbook tell her a joke so she could laugh for them.

“I guess,” Dex says distractedly. He bends down low to reach something close to the floor. “This girl from my Intro to CompSci class got the same email about it -- she won Best Dressed. I mean, who even judges these things? That’s a matter of taste.”

Dex wipes a dusty hand across his forehead and Bitty momentarily forgets to care about The Swallow in favor of looking on worriedly. Betsy is unplugged from the wall with her back side facing the room, surrounded by loose cables and scattered bolts. She looks old and frail. Bitty kind of feels like he’s watching an open-heart surgery occurring right in front of him.

“Can you save her?” Bitty presses a hand over his heart, dreading the reply. Dex wrinkles his forehead even further and doesn’t meet Bitty’s eyes.

It is then that their ordinary afternoon is interrupted by three emphatic knocks on the front door of the Haus.

"Did someone just knock on our door?" Shitty yells from somewhere down the hall. Bitty assumes he’s still curled up on the couch of sins in a t-shirt and flimsy underwear, mourning his grandparents’ affirmative RSVP response to graduation.

His tone sounds downright shocked at the sound, but that’s probably reasonable. Bitty’s been living in the Haus for over nine months now and he’s never once heard anyone knock on that door. It’s always unlocked, anyway; it’s actually nothing short of a miracle that they’ve never been burglarized. Not that there’d be anything to steal, of course, other than Holster’s collector's edition Simpsons DVD box set, or maybe one of Jack’s used jerseys to be sold to the highest bidder on ebay.

"Well, whaddaya know,” Ransom appears in the hallway outside the kitchen doorframe, likely summoned downstairs by the abnormal noise. His eyebrows are high on his forehead as he stares down the hall at the door. “It didn't collapse. I told you it’s sturdier than it looks."

Neither of the boys makes a move to actually open the door. There’s a second set of knocks, this one slightly louder than the first, and Bitty huffs as he gets off his chair. He casts one last hopeful look over his shoulder. Maybe, he wishes silently, Betsy has performance issues and would be magically fixed once she’s not under his constant scrutiny. Or maybe Dex does, and would magically fix her. “Y’all, when someone knocks on a door, they generally expect you to open it for them.”

He shoulder-checks Ransom on the way to yanking the door open, and is presented with some guy Bitty’s never seen before standing on their front steps. He’s wearing an atrociously ugly plaid vest and an awfully wide smile, which only grows wider when he sees that it’s Bitty who’s opening the door.

“Eric Bittle!”

“Yes?” Bitty agrees, eyebrows drawing together. He’s usually pretty good with faces, but he doesn’t think he’s seen this guy in any of his classes. Maybe a hockey fan. Still -- Bitty’s mother brought him up right, and he’s resolved to stick to his manners even if he now lives in a frat house. Someone with malicious intentions, he rationalizes to himself, wouldn't knock before entering. “Hi. Wouldya like to come in? I’m afraid our oven’s down, so I don’t have much to offer in terms of baked goods --”

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary!” The man dismisses quickly, his smile not waning any; it’s hard not to eye it suspiciously. Absently, Bitty can make out the sound of feet shuffling, which presumably means the boys are crowding together behind him to peer curiously at the stranger on their doorstep. “I’m from The Swallow, I’m here to deliver a message for you. And Jack Zimmermann, but I’m sure you can pass it on. Our annual Samwell Awards issue is coming out early next month, as you know --”

“Sure,” Bitty confirms politely, although he’s never heard of the thing until about two minutes ago. There’s no sense in getting the man down.

“-- and we wanted your response on the win. We do that for the real popular categories. If you want to draft a short statement, you can reply to the email we sent you two --”

“I’m sorry,” Bitty cuts him off, maintaining a carefully polite tone. He hasn’t checked his email since the previous night, too preoccupied with avoiding his American Publics essay and fretting over Betsy. Somewhere behind him there are more heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and one of the boys whispers excitedly, Bitty won a Samwell Award!, though he’s not sure which. “What win? Who’s you two?”

“Oh,” the Swallow guy blinks, obviously taken aback. His smile doesn’t completely disappear but thankfully thins a little bit, at last stretching over less than two thirds of his face. He looks marginally less maniacal like this, Bitty thinks uncharitably. “You and Jack Zimmermann?”

There’s another shuffle of feet. Bitty turns his head to catch Jack pushing Shitty aside, coming to stand a step behind Bitty’s right shoulder. Bitty hasn’t seen him since they got back from Superberry and Jack headed upstairs to study, chirping Bitty for not doing the same all the while. He’s taken his thin fleece jacket off since, and the soft V-neck he’s had underneath clings to his biceps, to the shape of his pecs. His hair is messy, the smell of his aftershave hasn’t faded yet, and his palm rests lightly between Bitty’s shoulder blades to keep his balance in the narrow, crammed doorway. Bitty’s stomach jumps at the sight of him and he can feel a reflexive smile tugging at his lips. It’s an uncontrollable reaction to Jack’s presence, no matter how many times Bitty’s seen him that day. Good gracious, but it’s plumb pathetic.

Jack is oblivious to Bitty’s eyes on him, too busy frowning at the Swallow guy from above Bitty’s head. “What is this about?”

The guy’s expression is clearly confused, despite the upturned mouth in his creasing face. His eyes survey the huddled group in front of him searchingly, as if waiting for them to catch up. When no one adds anything his smile drops entirely and he says: “You guys won Cutest Couple!”

Time seems to slow down while Bitty’s mind stomps on an emergency break and short-circuits completely. He knows things are happening in the backdrop, can hear someone behind him, probably Holster, choking really loudly on their spit, but none of it truly registers.

The Swallow guy is frowning now, looking completely baffled as to why they’re not enthused at the news. “Seriously, did you not get the email?”

“We. What?” is the only thing Bitty manages weakly. Whatever smile was on his face is thoroughly wiped off now. His heartbeat begins pounding in his ears, drowning out any further background noise under its heavy thrumming. From the brief glance he braves, Jack is not coping much better. His mouth is opening and closing silently.

"Yeah!” The guy recovers, apparently blind to the catastrophe he’s inadvertently causing. “I mean, I’ll be honest, some of the staff was like, ‘enough with the fucking hockey team’, and Khalil and Sara who did that awesome Halloween costume, they came really close -- but I was totally on your side. Anyway, the draft should be in your inboxes. We’d like to have your response in the next couple of days so we can start running it. The more romantic and gooey the better, of course. Thank you!"

He smiles and then skips down the stairs before Bitty’s brain fully catches up with what has just occurred on his front porch. He can barely grasp at tail ends of thoughts before they slip away from him, disappearing in a cloudy daze of absolute horror. His pulse is still racing and his fingers, wrapped around the door handle, are trembling.

Behind him, Ransom makes a slow wheezy sound and then descends into hysterical laughter. Bitty’s feeling rather hysterical himself, actually, but he’s not in the mood for laughing at all.

.

.

.

“Can’t believe it’s another year we didn’t win Best Party,” Holster mopes back in the kitchen, sprawled out spread-legged in a chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s because of Alpha Sigma Phi and their fucking tropical Christmas party, I know it, Rans, I can feel it in my booze bones. Like, okay, they served drinks in real coconuts while bare-ass naked in twenty degrees, so what."

Ransom reaches out to give him a consolatory clap on the back. "We've always got next year, bro. Our names will appear on the holy Swallow pages, I promise."

“You’re right,” Holster sighs rather dramatically, sagging down a few extra inches in the chair. “We mustn’t despair. I’ve already bookmarked some ideas -- think we can keep live parrots in the Haus? Only for a few hours!”

“What I would like to know,” Shitty muses, stroking his mustache between two fingers while looking from Jack to Bitty’s flaming face and back again, “is who the fuck is their source. I mean, no offence, Bits, but if anybody is going to be Jackie’s fake-ass boytoy I call double fucking dibs and I’m willing to fight you on it.” He then considers it for a split second longer and says, “Or negotiate with food, honestly, I’m amendable.”

“Cooking is a touchy subject right now,” Dex mumbles from his perch by the counter, away from the cluster of boys that’s spread out at the table.

Dex looks like Bitty feels, actually: like he’s seriously regretting being present in this instance, and is looking for any excuse to make a quick escape. Or -- maybe only partially how Bitty feels, anyway. There’s another whole side of Bitty that’s feeling like there’s a vacuum in his chest, a ringing in his ears, a voice in his mind whispering, they know, they all know, Jack knows and he hates you for it.

Bitty has been studiously avoiding Jack’s face since they all withdrew from the door. He’s convinced that his feelings are written all over his face, pining daydreams altering his features and sappy midnight fantasies painting his cheeks bright red. He’s sure that one look in his eyes would give away every guilty thought he’s had since November, so he determinedly keeps his head down. Only, then Jack clears his throat and Bitty can’t help but spring his eyes up to look at him -- like a moth drawn to the flame that’d inevitably scorch it.

"Well, whatever is the misunderstanding, obviously they can't actually run that, Bittle. I mean, because. Hockey, and." His eyebrows do something complicated that Bitty cannot bring himself to study too closely.

The words hit like a two-hundred pound flour bag dropped on Bitty’s chest, weighing him down into the floor. Bitty tries to swallow, fails, tries again. His throat still grates like it’s made of raw sandpaper when he speaks.

"Right, no, of course," there’s this horrible sinking in his gut, a phantom sensation of freefalling that tastes like acid when it reaches the back of his tongue. "Of course, Jack. I know that. The last thing you need right now is --" he finally swallows past the lump in his throat, drops his eyes to watch his toes curl inside his shoes and dent the fabric upwards. “-- rumors about the gay kid on your team.”

Shitty says, “Bitty,” with a sharp edge in his tone, and when Bitty looks up Jack looks like he’s been struck.

"Hold on, Bittle, that's --"

“It’s okay, Jack!” Bitty makes a valiant effort to smile reassuringly. His chest is growing tighter and tighter, and he really can’t handle hearing Jack’s explanation right now. He feels like he’s shaking all over, like more and more words are being rattled out of his mouth without his permission. “I mean, it’s utterly ridiculous, but that’s The Swallow for you, I ‘spose. We’ll tell them it’s nonsense before anyone in the league catches wind of it. I’m sorry I even put your career at risk like that, honestly.”

“Bittle,” Jack says again, more firmly. He looks almost angry.

Holster’s stunned look is flickering between the two of them, and Bitty can feel the humiliation crawling up the back of his neck. He thinks that if he stays sitting in the kitchen any longer the boys might actually hear the splintering sounds his heart is making in his chest. Or he might start crying, whichever comes first.

“Don’t worry about it, really,” Bitty forces himself out of his chair, squeezes Jack’s elbow in passing for good measure, even though bringing his hands anywhere near Jack feels like torture. He doesn’t want Jack to feel guilty about this -- it’s not his fault. “It’s fine. I gotta go, I’m meeting Prof. Atley, but we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

He bolts out of the kitchen and rushes down the hall. The last thing he hears is Ransom saying, “Dude, I’m pretty sure his meeting with her was like, four hours ago,” before the Haus door slams shut behind him.

.

.

.

The worst part is, Bitty knows Jack is straight.

Jack dates 50 Most girls from the tennis team, he takes ladies in tall heels to Screw, he brings puck bunnies to his room during kegsters. Or -- that turned out, actually, to be not all that true after all -- but.

Jack is straight. Bitty knew this all along. Bitty knew this and still let his foolish, stubborn heart say, maybe. Bitty saw Jack laughing at his weak chirps, and looking at him sometimes when Bitty was turned away, and there was that party, with Parse, and Bitty’s blood was rushing in his ears and he tried so hard not to listen, but they almost looked like they -- and Bitty thought, maybe --

But Jack wasn’t. Of course not. And Bitty knows it’s so unfair and so unjustified that he’s allowing himself to be mad about Jack’s words. Because these boys accept Bitty for who he is, have never shied away from him, have always been comfortable with his presence in their lives and their house and their locker room, and that’s not something to be taken for granted. It’s not their fault that they’re straight and that’s easier, not their fault that Jack’s straight and Bitty can’t bring himself to let go. Besides, something like this, it could wreck Jack's career even if it were true, and it isn't, so of course Jack would want it gone. It's not personal, Bitty knows. He has no reason to be so hurt.

Except maybe it stings a little, how untrue it really is. Maybe it burns a little inside to know that other people see what he sees, what he wishes were true, and still know that he can never have that for real. And maybe it hurts, that Jack can so easily make the article go away and never deal with those rumors again, because it's simply not true about him, but it will always be true about Bitty. Maybe he’s tired of how he will always have to fight for his place while people like Jack Zimmermann can walk right in.

Maybe.

But none of it is Jack's fault. Because Jack is straight, and Bitty isn’t, and he’s gone and fallen in love with him anyway.

.

.

.

Breakfast with only Lardo and Jack is a quiet affair the next morning. Habit has them settled down at the team’s usual long table, but they take up significantly less space just the three of them. Bitty is surprised by the two empty seats remaining to each side of them despite the crowded dining hall, but considers that maybe the Samwell population knows whose seats are available and aren't willing to risk it.

Lardo is chewing her toast silently by Bitty's side, oversized hoodie draped over most of her face. Jack is sitting across from them, peeling the shells off a pile of hard-boiled eggs. His body is curved in a stiff line over his plate and his elbows are tucked in close to his sides. He keeps sneaking glances at Bitty every few minutes, looking torn; Bitty busies himself with spooning exactly three banana slices in every dip into his oatmeal bowl, keeps hurriedly shoving them into his mouth every time Jack looks like maybe he’s going to actually say something.

Bitty spent the majority of the previous night hiding out in a quiet corner of Norris library, binging episodes of The Great British Bake Off on his phone. When he ultimately found the courage to come back to the Haus, he power-walked straight into his room and didn’t venture out for anything more than brushing his teeth. The walls in the Haus are thin, however, and he could still hear Jack in his own room through the closed doors, speaking on the phone with his father in brisk French. They didn't exactly sound angry, but Bitty had unintentionally overheard enough of Jack’s phone conversations to recognize Jack’s business tone easily.

Jack’s lawyer had sent The Swallow a sternly phrased email first thing that morning -- for formality, Jack informed Bitty when the two of them left the Haus for breakfast with Lardo. His hands were tucked deep in his pockets and his eyes were hidden beneath the bill of his Habs cap. He kept his body angled away from Bitty, maintaining a careful six feet between them, and Bitty’s whole body ached like he’d spent the night playing consecutive shifts instead of tossing and turning in his bed. It was the only time they’ve acknowledged the Swallow article since the previous afternoon. Bitty changed the subject immediately after, and prattled meaninglessly the whole way to Commons.

The three of them separate after breakfast, Lardo heading for the studio and Jack and Bitty for their respective classes. Bitty spends most of his spare noon hours trying to do work in the kitchen, but he steals longing glimpses at Betsy more often than he does the reading for US Intellectual HIST or the darn American Publics essay he still hasn’t started.

This day needs an assist, he justifies when he eventually deserts his open notes on the table in favor of hunting down a clean towel. Polishing dishes is a more effective way to escape his blues. Maybe he’ll make some jam -- that doesn’t require a working oven, and it’d be a longer-term distraction from the mess he’s landed in.

Jack’s lawyer's actions in mind, the knock on the Haus door doesn’t really surprise Bitty. He can’t help the way his body tenses at the sound, though; the blood rushing through his body is too much like the terrible lightheadedness he experiences when checked.

Jack comes down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and grinds to a halt when he sees Bitty leaning against the wall at the entrance to the kitchen and staring at the door.

“It’s probably the Swallow rep,” Jack states the obvious, voice completely monotonous and face blank.

Bitty's gut lurches. He tries his very best, but he’s certain that his smile looks even more put-on than it was the day before.

“We should probably go get it, then,” he says. He keeps his hands wrapped in the dish towel as they move to open the door, to have something to do with them and to cover up the way they’re shaking.

The guy standing on the bottom of their stairs is the same one from yesterday. His loose printed shirt is somehow even uglier than the plaid vest, but this time no smile is taking up the majority of his face. In fact, he isn’t smiling at all; he kind of looks like he’s been sent to the gallows and couldn't beg out of his sentence.

“We've been informed that a mistake was made,” the guy says promptly, glancing between the two of them. Everything about his face and his body language appears cautious.

“Yes,” Jack confirms firmly. The guy blinks in sync with Bitty, both of them waiting to see if Jack has any intention to follow that statement with an explanation, but none seems imminent.

“We understand that it’s an honest mistake and we just want it scrapped," Bitty says instead, trying to keep his voice from betraying any emotion, even when his vocal cords are wound tight. "We can't be the cutest couple if we're not -- if we're not."

“You talked to your lawyer,” the guy says faintly. Bitty's not sure that he actually heard a word of what was said. He keeps eyeing Jack’s rigid posture and bulging muscles like he’s afraid that he’s going to be dragged into a fist fight right there on the lawn.

“It’s a legal matter,” Jack replies curtly, frowning.

“No one ever sent his lawyer after us,” the guy says, fainter still. “It’s just The Swallow, man.”

Jack's frown deepens. He’s wearing his hockey face, mouth pinched and eye narrowed, every angle of his face turning sharper. He looks serious, assertive, like he’s getting ready to step out on the ice for the puck drop. Bitty’s heart hurts so badly looking at him that he has to turn away. His eyes, mid-movement, catch on three faces eavesdropping from behind the living room’s doorway. He just barely suppresses a heavy sigh.

"-- you’d be spreading misinformation with unwelcome consequences,” Jack is talking, apparently, and Bitty tuned out most of it. “So you understand why we need you to retract that immediately and delete all further copies."

"Yes," the guy nods tentatively, eyes jerking in Bitty’s direction and then immediately back to Jack. "I'm -- sorry? We really thought you were --"

"Well we ain't," Bitty says, wringing the towel in his hands to hinder an uncommon urge to break something with them.

"Yes, I -- I understand," the guy seems as spooked by Bitty now, contemplating him and the towel as warily as he did Jack. "But we --"

"And I've got a date!" Bitty blurts, before he can hold his tongue from making his situation worse. Shitty whispers, the fuck, brah?, loud enough to carry all the way to the front door. "A date! With. Someone else, obviously, who is very much not Jack Zimmermann, so if you could -- make it go away -- good heavens this could be embarrassing for my date --"

"Of course,” the guy is nodding more vigorously now, head bouncing much like a dashboard bobblehead. He takes a cautious step back. “We're, uh, sorry. We’ll take care of it."

The guy retreats from the porch, glancing back every few steps as he hastens down the sidewalk.

Jack shuts the door behind them when they step back inside, and has to move closer to Bitty to allow the door to close. It brings his arm flush with Bitty’s back, solid and warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Bitty’s breath catches. His look flits sideways to watch Jack’s face twist into something Bitty hasn’t seen since the playoffs last year. He really felt like Jack and him were getting steadily closer throughout the year, considers Jack one of his closest friends, but he doesn’t think he’s imagining the distance between them in the last twenty-four hours. It’s more painful than the verbal confirmation that Jack will never like him back was. It’s painful that Bitty’s been shoving his feelings so far down to avoid this very outcome, only to have it blow up in his face through no fault of his own.

"What's that now!” Holster’s booming voice snaps Bitty out of his brooding, and he jerks his eyes up to see that Ransom, Shitty and Holster have crawled out of their eavesdropping spot and are blocking the hallway. “You've got a what and didn't tell us!"

“It’s not a big deal, y’all,” Bitty mumbles, mortified at how much he’s really not lying at all. He slinks away from Jack’s touch, tries to at least be subtle about it. Jack's expression is shuttering further with every moment that passes and Bitty is feeling irrationally miserable about it.

“Is too, Bits!” Ransom claps him on the shoulder excitedly, shaking his entire frame. "You know you gotta tell us all about it, we get veto rights! Is he hot? What's his name? Is he going to be your shoulders for Spring C?"

Bitty’s lousy day has only been getting progressively worse, which he thinks validates the way he bristles and knocks Ransom's hand off his shoulder. "I am average height, Justin Oluransi!"

.

.

.

So it's not -- really a date.

Anthony from his Eating Practices Since the 19th Century course, who sits two seats away from Bitty and always forgets to bring a pen, caught up with him after class and offered to study together. Bitty’s doing alright in that course, but Anthony is smart and friendly and it’s a good incentive to actually get some work done before finals, so Bitty smiled and said yes. He didn’t think a few days later he’d be lying about it to his friends.

They meet outside Annie’s because Anthony preferred it to Founder’s, which Bitty didn’t mind. He was a little embarrassed about how the librarians might react to the sight of his face. They, unlike some others, don’t have a problem believing he’s a member of the Men’s Hockey Team, and the treatment earned by his teammates’ behavior extends to him.

Ransom wouldn’t let him leave the Haus until his outfit has been appraised, which means he’s maybe a little overdressed for a platonic study date -- but Anthony is in nice jeans and wearing neither a team logo shirt nor a marijuana crop top, so he’s already setting the bar higher than Bitty’s usual company.

"After you," Anthony beams, opening the door for Bitty. It’s awfully nice of him. Maybe Bitty should consider running cotillion classes for his boys before graduation.

It’s easier to revert to his sunny nature in the company of someone new. Anthony keeps up chatter about the last subjects they covered in class, relates to Bitty’s chronic procrastination tendencies, and even insists on paying for both of their drinks. Bitty tries to refuse, instantly dejected by the stark reminder of coffee runs with Jack, but Anthony argues that they’d probably refill several times and Bitty can get the next one. His winning smile is so convincing that Bitty can’t find it in himself to say no.

It happens again when Bitty begins leading them to a larger table in the middle of the café where they’ll have more room to spread out. Anthony points at a table by the windows instead, says, “There, it’ll be quieter,” and Bitty instinctively thinks, those are the windows Jack and I always sit by. He then thinks, good Lord, ERB, get a hold of yourself, and agrees. There’s not much point in attending a study date if he’ll be constantly thinking about Jack Zimmermann.

They spread out all their notes and laptops and books, settling on both sides of the small, round table. Anthony drinks his coffee extra hot and the steam fogs up his glasses, which causes Bitty to laugh and Anthony to grin sheepishly. It sets a good mood for their joint studying.

They work decently well together. Anthony's been more diligent with his schoolwork but Bitty is a faster reader than him, so they catch up with each other fairly quickly and proceed from there. Bitty finds it fun, partnering with someone who doesn’t consider violent food breaks an essential part of studying, and enjoys having somebody to complain about the professor with. The two of them are just starting on technological advances at the end of the century when Bitty’s shoulders fully loosen for the first time in three days and he thinks: this is going well, this is nice, maybe we can do this more often.

This is also the exact point he looks up to tell Anthony about Louis Pasteur and catches Holster and Ransom spying on him from outside Annie’s front window.

His knee-jerk response is uncontainable: he groans out loud. Anthony seems alarmed, twisting in his chair to look over his shoulder and detect what Bitty’s glaring at. Ransom, who clearly knows they’ve been caught, looks directly at Anthony with a deliberately threatening face, pointing two fingers at his eyes, then at Anthony, and back at his eyes.

Anthony makes a confused face into his mug and says, "Um."

"Gosh, I am so sorry," Bitty drops his face into his palms, trying to smother the waves of heat rushing to his cheeks. "It's my teammates -- they have no boundaries and they -- gracious, they think this is a date --"

Anthony swallows a mouthful of coffee too quickly before he sets his mug on the table. "Oh, uh. Do you… not think this is a date?"

Bitty lets his hands fall into his lap. His eyes dart to where Holster and Ransom are waving their thumbs up in the air as they mercifully walk away from the window and then back to Anthony, whose face is unmoving. "...What?"

The top of Anthony's cheeks pink, and he adjusts the glasses on his nose with a knuckle. "I... totally asked you meaning this to be a date."

"Oh," Bitty exhales numbly. Oh, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, he thinks, and then opens his mouth to say something to Anthony -- anything at all, because the poor boy is starting to squirm in his chair -- but all his words seem to get stubbornly stuck behind his teeth.

Because Anthony is perfectly nice. He’s mild-mannered, has a pleasant smile, and he's made Bitty laugh in class a few times when the professor wasn't looking. He's sitting across from Bitty with his hands twitching on top of the table, like Bitty's answer on the matter of their date is important to him. Like he would actually really like it to be one, so he found the courage to ask.

"Oh boy, I really didn't realize," Bitty confesses, finally, clutching his coffee tightly between his fingers. He's never thought he'd be this bad at this, but apparently he's just completely and entirely blind to anyone's affections as long as anyone isn't Jack Zimmermann. And now he made this difficult for both Anthony and himself.

"That's okay," Anthony says, clearing his throat. His lips quirk up in some intimation of a smile, which is, while still very pleasant to look at, much less genuine than his usual smile. "No, really, it's cool. My fault for not being clearer. We can -- I can go and order a refill for this coffee, and when I'm back we'll forget about it? We still have work left to do." He drags his legs out from beneath the table, turning sideways in his seat, before he risks another look at Bitty. "Unless you --? I mean, now that you -- realize -- would you want it to be…?"

The answer to that, Bitty thinks regretfully, is too complex for an acquaintance. Because how does one say, you're very nice and I imagine liking you could be very easy, but I've never dated in my life and right as I thought maybe I'd give it a try, I went and fell head over heels for a grumpy, kind-hearted, heterosexual Canadian?

One doesn't, Bitty reckons, but one also cannot keep waiting forever for something that will never, ever come. So he straightens his back and says, with his best Georgia smile, "Well, how about we carry on studyin’, and maybe we'll see how things go?"

It's a little more strained after that, but that's more Bitty's fault than anything. Anthony is still as perfectly polite as he was before, as focused on the reading. It's just that now every time Anthony smiles at him Bitty freezes, and then feels guilty for freezing, and gets mad at himself for not giving this a fighting chance, and by then he's not smiling back for so long that Anthony's smile shrinks, and Bitty feels even guiltier --

"Look," Anthony tells him after they packed everything back into their bags and walked companionably outside. "This hasn't been ideal, but I still had a good time. I'd like to maybe -- do it again?" Anthony smiles genuinely this time, and his smile is so pleasant, and he tilts his head the slightest bit closer to say, "As an official date this time?", and --

This is the second time Bitty freaks out about a very nice boy leaning in to possibly kiss him at Annie's, and it's exactly as mortifying as the first.

Bitty jumps back painfully obviously, as startled himself by his physical reaction as Anthony clearly is. He's blushing fiercely when he stammers, "Oh -- I -- I don't think it'll work out, I'm so -- I'm so sorry --" turns around, almost breaking into a run, and calls out, "I'll bake you a pie!"

The corners of Bitty’s eyes begin to burn, indicating the impending shameful tears. He’s terribly upset with himself for his reaction, but he’d be even more upset if he allowed himself to cry over it, so he makes the effort to blink furiously the entire way home.

.

.

.

The team gathers to eat dinner together that night. Bitty’s still a little vulnerable in the aftermath of his failed study date, but he does his best to hide it, pushing himself to be cheerful and revel in quality time with his boys. It’s easier when Ransom spends most of the walk to the dining hall engaging him in a conversation about wild alien conspiracies. It’s harder when Shitty and Holster join forces to cajole him into giving deets, and don’t take his, “Oh good Lord, there’s nothing to talk about!” as an acceptable answer. Telling them the truth is not an option -- they’re his best friends, but they would absolutely, no question about it, chirp him to death, and he’s really not in the right mood to take it good-naturedly.

Bitty’s surprised when it’s Jack who eventually tells them to knock it off, shoving Holster’s shoulder to force his way into sitting between him and Bitty at the table. Holster topples sideways into Nursey, and Jack seizes the vacated space and grants Bitty a miniature triumphant smile.

Jack’s dour mood had persisted through yesterday and during their walk over, but Bitty’s been watching him gradually thaw ever since they arrived at Commons; this smile is the first true, earnest one in days, and it melts Bitty on the inside. He’s immensely relieved that at least their friendship isn’t ruined, that the past few days have only been an unfortunate bump in an otherwise smooth road. Bitty tries to cling on to that, use it to move forward from the raincloud lingering over him since his afternoon with Anthony.

A baby-faced freshman approaches their table while Chowder is telling them about a text conversation with his sister. Bitty has his phone out before anyone else even reacts -- the nervous look in the kid’s face is enough warning, and he’s not disappointed; the kid zeroes in on Jack and asks for a signature on his Samwell jersey. There is absolute silence at the table while Jack surrenders to his inescapable fate and pulls out a pen. He then ducks his head and hangs on to that pen once the kid is out of earshot and the boys begin chirping him ruthlessly, yelling loudly enough to rattle the cutlery.

Bitty’s hiccupping laughter comes as a surprise to himself, but it’s the welcome sort. He directs his smile at his phone while he tweets -- true friends don't care that you're a professional hockey player; true friends ask you to sign their mashed potatoes during dinner -- and when he raises his head Jack is peeking at his screen and grinning at him.

“Not a professional player yet, eh? You can’t go lying to the Twitter.”

Jack is so obviously pleased with himself, white teeth gleaming in his mischievous grin. Bitty's heart soars and then swiftly sinks to the bottom of his stomach. He tries to hang on to the gratitude for what he has, but something in Jack’s voice triggers the memory of it stating, obviously they can't actually run that, and then, consecutively, the memory of Anthony's dumbfounded look when Bitty fled away from him.

Not even Jack's benign chirps or his concerned glances can restore Bitty's uplifted mood after that.

.

.

.

Can’t make it to Founder’s tonight. Sorry! :( :( Raincheck?

The reading room is quieter than the rest of the Haus at night. It's dark out, gray shingles lit only by the lamp inside Bitty's bedroom and the faint glow of the streetlights down the road. Bitty lets his legs dangle from the edge of the roof, cradling a can of Twisted Tea and watching his shoes swing twelve feet above the shadowy green of the lawn.

There's the sound of a creaky window sash sliding up behind him. “Hey, Bittle.”

Bitty turns around. Jack is sitting on the ledge of his windowsill, holding a folded blanket in his lap. It takes a few seconds to blink away the disorientation caused by rumination and beer. “Jack! What’re you doing?”

Jack shrugs. “You said you’re not coming with me to Founder’s, and then you didn’t answer your phone. I wanted to check in.” He holds out the blanket with a modest smile. “Here -- so you won't get cold. Spring is pretty rough on you Southerners, eh?”

Bitty snorts inelegantly at the chirp, but stretches his arm to accept the blanket. He twists back to watch the twinkling Christmas lights on the LAX frat house across the road. They never take those down, and never add any new ones during the holidays. It’s as good a reason as any to hate the lacrosse team.

Jack clears his throat, an obtrusive sound in the relative silence. “Can I -- do you want me to stay? I mean, I can leave if you need some quiet.”

Bitty looks at him from over his shoulder, chin digging into his collarbone. Jack’s face is gentler than Bitty’s seen it in a while, mellowed out by the orange tint of the streetlights, and it’s so unfair. Even when Bitty’s upset about Jack he wants Jack near him, wants to hear Jack’s opinion, wants his straightforward, pragmatic type of advice. He wonders what Jack’s face would look like if Bitty was brave enough to tell him the truth about what’s bothering him. A sardonic laugh almost escapes him at that visual.

“No, you can stay,” Bitty says instead, and then makes a herculean effort to brighten up. “As long as you promise not to prattle on, you chatterbox, you know I like silences.”

The chirp falls flat when Bitty’s cheery façade cracks. Jack swings both legs out the window and slides down to sit by Bitty while Bitty takes another swig out of the can. There’s a lot of space on the roof, two empty lawn chairs on Bitty’s end, but Jack sits right next to him. Bitty’s shoulder knocks into Jack’s bicep and Jack’s thick thigh brushes against his, but Jack doesn’t take any action to inch away.

Bitty collects his knees close to his chest, leans his chin on top of them and continues watching the span of street visible from their roof. Beneath their feet, some couple probably returning from the bars by the river stumble together on the sidewalk, the echo of their giggles drifting up to the reading room. Bitty can’t quite cover his grimace in time to hide it from Jack.

"You're upset," Jack jabs Bitty’s elbow with his own, brow furrowing.

"No!" Bitty objects quickly, hoping his voice is only a lick squeaky. He's not drunk by any means, but the Twisted Tea makes everything a bit fuzzy, softens the world at its fringes. "I'm not upset. It's -- finals are coming up in two weeks, and I've got this essay I haven’t started, and -- you know, Betsy hasn’t been well and what am I gonna do, if I can’t bake to distract myself before the tests --"

"Bittle," Jack cuts him off quietly. Bitty lifts his head off his knees just enough to enable a quick glance; Jack is looking at him, those intense eyes trained on Bitty’s face, making his cheeks flush self-consciously. Jack’s expression is his distinct blend of uncomfortable but determined. "You're upset. Are you -- is it -- your date was this afternoon…?"

Bitty’s blush deepens, and he lays his cheek down to avoid eye contact. "So?"

"So," Jack begins, clumsily, and then shifts his arm so it nudges Bitty’s, fingers curled loosely into his palm. "Did he -- I mean."

It takes Bitty a moment to decipher Jack’s faltering sentence, but -- "Gosh, no," Bitty denies with profound embarrassment once he follows Jack's train of thought. Jack, unable to shake off the role of captain, is assuming some boy hurt him. Bitty doesn’t know how to tell him that he couldn't even get through the date to get hurt how normal people do. "He was a gentleman. If anything, it was me who was on my worst behavior."

Jack doesn’t look convinced. He bumps the back of his curled fingers against Bitty’s thigh. "But you're upset."

Bitty loosens his grip on his knees, keeps the hand not holding the can busy by fiddling with the hem of Jack’s blanket. Jack is both the last and the only person he wants to talk to about this. Bitty’s original plan was to get tipsy enough to fall asleep without thinking his emotions through, and then spend the next day compartmentalizing it away -- but Jack’s presence brings everything to the forefront of his mind, plucks at the tangle in his chest until it unravels.

"Well, because --” he sighs, and the expansion of his lungs must fracture some dam, because the words begin spilling out in long strings of nonsense. “I just -- I came here from Georgia because I thought it’d be different, y’know? I couldn't fit in there, and I know -- you said yourself -- I know it’s not any different here, not really, not in hockey, but outside of hockey it’s Samwell, so at least I could be me, right? But apparently I can't even be that, because I can't manage a simple thing like a date with a cute boy," he stops to take a deep breath, buries his face in the nook between his knees. "And, goodness, I can't believe I'm -- none of this is on you, I'm sorry --"

"Bittle," Jack touches his knee, inches away from his cheek, causing Bitty to look up. Jack doesn’t move his fingers from Bitty’s bare leg after Bitty lifts his head. "Don’t be sorry. It's okay."

Bitty searches Jack’s face. He doesn’t know how to read it, what the tiny microexpressions currently mean, but Jack’s fingers are splayed in the valleys of his joints and there’s something grounding in it. He takes another big breath in an attempt to calm himself down.

"I guess," Bitty whispers, but the turmoil in his chest doesn’t settle, not after he started letting it all out. He can almost picture it surging in him, clawing its way up to his mouth. "But -- is it? Okay? I'm just." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself, both for feeling so much and for being unable to articulate feelings with the proper words. "I feel like I can't just be me. Because who I am isn't good enough at home, and isn't good enough for hockey, and who I am likes boys but apparently I'm no good at liking them right, or -- the right ones --"

He restrains himself from saying anything incriminating, biting his lip hard enough to taste the metallic flavor of blood.

"You are good enough for hockey," Jack says, stilted. His hand tightens on Bitty’s knee and belatedly pulls away. "You're a strong player, and you did a great job this season. I know we lost, but you still did good. You'll be even better next year."

Bitty exhales sharply, rubs his eyes. He knows Jack; he knows he chose to latch onto hockey because that's something he’s capable of expressing. Telling Bitty he's a good player is something Jack can find words for. Bitty didn’t expect Jack to be the right person to talk through an identity crisis, but it’d be an easier evasion to accept if he wasn’t wrong.

"Jack, no offense, but that's a load of horseshit." Jack is clearly caught off guard, seems to be gearing himself up for retaliation, but Bitty talks right over him. "It is! It is, because I might do alright now -- here -- but if I wanted to go into real hockey, into the league, you think they'd be alright with who I am? You've heard what some guys’ve got to say on the ice, and this isn’t even professional hockey."

"You want to play professionally?" The familiar glint in Jack’s eyes indicates that he’s losing track of the grand scheme of the conversation.

"No! But that's not the point!" Bitty swallows, because it isn't, but getting to the point might as well be impossible with Jack. He can't exactly tell him that he's heartbroken and disappointed in himself and everything looks more bleak from this perspective. He's no better than Jack right now; they’re both afraid to dip their toes into the murky waters of everything Bitty said that isn’t about the game. "I couldn't if I wanted to because of who I am."

"You could," Jack says, looking away, his shoulders tight. The conviction in his voice gets Bitty's attention. Jack really isn’t the most emotive of guys, and it takes a lot to get his voice to change pitch. "The league isn't a very welcoming place, but it's hockey. The whole point is hockey. And if you're good at hockey, they'll just have to accept that -- at some point. It might be hard, but if hockey is what you want, then --" he looks up, catches Bitty's eyes. Jack’s are unfocused, like somehow he forgot Bitty was even there. "I mean -- you said it isn't, but if it was -- all I'm saying is --"

"Sure," Bitty brings the can up to his mouth for another swig, skeptical even in the face of Jack’s unanticipated speech. "I get it. You can play, and all."

"Yes,” Jack insists, turning his upper body towards Bitty. Their knees press together and Jack’s face is suddenly a lot closer than it was before. Bitty has to blink a few times until he can get his pulse under control. “You can. Because you are good enough, Bittle."

They stare at each other, time stretching between them, caught up in the unforeseen gravity of the situation. Bitty can’t really wrap his head around hearing Jack defending him with such vigor, but he knows there’s nothing he can say to argue. That’s Jack’s opinion. He’s never been guilty of handing out compliments he doesn’t believe in.

"Thanks, Jack." Bitty whispers. "'m sorry. It's been a rough day. Sometimes --” He sighs again, bows his head, and musters the last shreds of his courage to be at least a little honest. “I guess sometimes it can get lonely. And it sucked to realize that it's my own fault I'm alone in the first place."

Jack subdues gradually, his shoulders folding inward and the fire in his eyes dying out, leaving room for something much more empathetic than Bitty expected.

"I'm sorry, Bittle." He reaches out to grasp the ball of Bity’s shoulder in his large palm, squeezing it tightly. It’s a friendly gesture of comfort, one the boys in the team offer each other all the time, but Jack’s thumb is absently rubbing small circles on the base of Bitty’s neck and it spreads tingles through his skin.

“It’s alright,” Bitty moves away, smiling, but the words are like dust in his mouth and it isn’t really alright at all. They settle back into sitting side by side, and Bitty notices Jack's fixed eyes on the side of his face, but he doesn’t turn to look.

.

.

.

Friday evening finds Bitty scrambling to complete last-minute assignments before Spring C the next day. He shuts himself away in his room and turns off his phone, tries to make his eyes focus on long lines of text instead of on any creaking noises in the Haus that might provide a distraction. This tactic has failed him more often than not, but for once the Haus is completely empty and any creaking Bitty might hear could only be chalked up to Ransom’s ghosts. Lardo and Shitty are out buying booze for Spring C, Holster is with the frogs, Ransom is at his weekend study group, and Jack has been in Providence with his mother all day, looking at potential apartments, and will be returning later to have dinner with her and her former Department Chair.

Studying is easier when Bitty’s using it to avoid thinking about other things. Lately, since his oven has been acting up, it’s been easy using studying as a distraction from thinking about Jack -- about Jack moving to Providence, about Jack taking the first steps in his adult life away from Bitty and the team. It isn’t a better distraction than watching Say Yes To The Dress with Holster or listening to music with Lardo, but in the absence of all other options, it’s good enough to push Bitty to make his deadlines, even if it’s at the last minute.

Bitty’s laptop emits a sharp ping that alerts him to a new incoming email, and Bitty scrambles up from the floor, almost tripping over two piles of reading material on his way. His room is an absolute mess; papers covering the bedspread and the desk, textbooks spilling from inside his bag onto the floor, pens scattered haphazardly. He’s been reviewing for the HIST test while emailing back and forth with the TA for his American Publics course -- the last three lectures of which he honestly cannot remember, but is somehow expected to write two thousand words for anyway.

The new email in his inbox isn’t from his TA, however. It reads, RE: RE: Your Nomination in the 2015 Samwell Awards, and only contains one line of text, visible in the thread’s preview without Bitty clicking it open. Attached is a confirmation for the removal and termination of the aforementioned article.

Bitty pauses, his essay forgotten, and goes over the subject lines four more times.

Bitty hasn’t read the article. Bitty didn't want to read the article, had convinced himself that he was indifferent and was more interested in putting the whole ludicrous affair behind them. But now he’s incapable of dragging his cursor away from the email’s subject line. He can’t help but want to know what they have to say -- want to know why anyone would mirror his misguided feelings for a close friend.

It can lead to nothing but trouble. Bitty still opens the article file for the first time since the whole mess began on Monday, because he won't have the guts otherwise, but for some masochistic reason he just has to know.

.

The Samwell Swallow

Vol. 26, Issue 31 | May 2015 | Special Edition | The Samwell Awards

CUTEST COUPLE AWARD: ICE HOCKEY AS A LOVE LANGUAGE

Our most dedicated readers will know that the title of Samwell’s Cutest Couple is highly coveted. Perhaps only second to Dream Date or Biggest Gossip in prestige, this award is one of the greatest honors young Wellie lovebirds can strive for. This year, we’re proud to elect JACK ZIMMERMANN ‘15 and ERIC BITTLE ‘17. We know: enough with the fucking hockey bros. But hear us out.

These unlikely candidates were initially nominated by Zimmermann’s fellow photography class students with an exclusive scoop. Bittle was the subject of Zimmermann’s midterm project! (Awe.) Such a grand romantic gesture could not go overlooked, and we set out to investigate. Copies of Zimmermann’s photos are brought to you here, courtesy of the Department of Visual Art.

[Images: a collage containing a dozen semi-professional photographs, all depicting BITTLE. His character is consistently linked to themes of warmth and light, and is obviously portrayed with great affection.]

We were delighted by what we learned. Observant Wellies report that the two are often seen taking long romantic walks around campus, with Zimmermann’s lens sometimes pointed at the scenery, but more often at his boyfriend. Sources at Annie’s, the local café, tell The Swallow that, “Yeah, they’ve been like, coming here at least two or three times a week this year? There’s their table [points at a secluded window table in the corner]. The tall guy always pays -- what? No, they’re almost always alone. Except this one time that they were here with this other couple? I don’t know, man, I see lots of people on dates, but these guys kinda stand out. They’re always giggling with each other, it’s ridiculous. And loud.”

Our research yielded clear results: service staff at Samwell’s Jerry’s, Superberry and Stop&Shop have gone on record with similar statements; students who shared a class with the two disclose that their constant whispering and flirting have been impossible to ignore; even the janitor at Faber Memorial Rink reports that current team captain and fellow liney spend every weekend skating alone as they watch the sun rise, while no practice is scheduled! It’s official - Bittle and Zimmermann are, indeed, 2015’s Cutest Couple.

[Image: BITTLE and ZIMMERMANN at the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team’s #Epickegster this winter. The two are standing very close in the midst of what appears to be an intimate conversation, leaning towards each other under a bag of free condoms. Text under image reads: Our staffers report that the two then disappeared upstairs while the party was still in full swing. Get it, boys!]

.

Bitty spends a long, breathless moment staring at the screen with unseeing eyes.

It’s like an out of body experience. Bitty can’t feel the tips of his fingers, can’t feel his toes. He can’t lift his hand to ram the laptop lid shut so his eyes are still glued to the block of text, words blurring together into a solid sheet of gray. His mind keeps losing footing, coherent thoughts cutting off before they can run their course, parts of sentences jamming into one long sequence -- grand romantic gesture, long walks, whispering and flirting -- that plays over and over. Distantly, he’s aware that there are stray tears in the corner of his eyes, but he’s too disconnected from his limbs to do something about it.

People look, he thinks, brain stuttering over the realization, pushing itself out of its shock, people look and see -- people look at the two of us and what they see is --

A loud noise behind his back scares the living daylight out of him, enough to send him spinning on the chair. The door to his bedroom swings open, nearly banging against the wall with the strength of its motion. Behind it is Jack, standing in the doorway with his eyes blown wide and his face pale, looking like he's seen a ghost; panting for breath like he ran a marathon to get there.

Bitty nearly collapses out of his chair, stumbling over the papers on the floor to step closer, arms reaching out automatically. “Jack -- what --? Is everything alright? Aren’t you supposed to be with your mom --?”

“Bitty,” Jack breathes out, unsteady, and then tumbles further into the room. His hair is disheveled and his buttoned shirt is smeared with stains of sweat, and Bitty’s brain is still coming back online but he’s suddenly overcome with how handsome Jack still is, even like this.

And then Jack takes a lengthy step forward right into Bitty’s space, his body enveloping Bitty’s and his broad palms cupping Bitty’s burning cheeks, and tips Bitty’s mouth into his.

Bitty’s eyes remain wide open for one paralyzed split second, taking in the sight of Jack’s dark eyelashes and sculpted brow bone from extreme up close, and then Jack’s lips move and Bitty’s eyelids flutter closed, melting into the unfamiliar action.

Jack's mouth is as soft as Bitty imagined, as hot, velvety lips sliding against Bitty's and catching on the dip of his cupid’s bow. Bitty’s mind keeps up a remote chant of oh my god, Jack is kissing me, oh god, what is happening, before that too is silenced by the thrill of Jack’s mouth parting against his, deepening the kiss, and then everything goes blessedly silent.

An undetermined amount of time later, Jack’s phone begins buzzing insistently; Bitty can feel the vibrations from where his hip is aligned with Jack’s. Jack ignores it, separating their lips to angle his head in the other direction and suck Bitty’s bottom lip into his mouth, tongue wet and tentative. His phone buzzes again, though, and subsequently two times more, and then Jack finally sighs into Bitty’s mouth.

“That’s my mom,” he says quietly, breaking their mouths barely far enough apart to speak. His lower lip is shining with spit and Bitty feels faint, needs to sit down before he falls over, needs to step back before he sinks his teeth into it impulsively. “She’s waiting for me...”

“Oh,” Bitty says. His voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away. He has so many things he wants to say -- what the hell, and what does this mean, and but aren’t you, and stay, stay, don’t go -- yet the only sounds his mouth can apparently make are, “Uh. Okay.”

“We have this… dinner…” Jack continues, and his eyes are so blue and his lips are so red and his cheeks are so pink, and Bitty thinks that maybe this is a very vivid stress-induced hallucination, and also thinks that he wouldn’t mind hallucinating a little longer. “I gotta go, but I’ll -- I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” Bitty says again, even though he’s not sure it is. He’s pretty sure, actually, that once Jack exits the door of his bedroom this spell will break like at Cinderella’s midnight clock strike, and Jack will return from dinner with his mother still painfully perfect, and still painfully straight, and still so, so far out of Bitty’s reach.

Jack backs up towards the door, eyes lingering on Bitty as his hands drift down Bitty’s arms. “I’ll be back,” he repeats, although Bitty’s not any more convinced, and then he takes his hands away and fumbles blindly for the doorknob, slips out into the hallway from whence he came.

Bitty hears his breaths shallow into nothing more than gasps of air, and promptly crumples backwards onto his chair.

.

.

.

Bitty spends the entire time Jack is absent slowly going out of his mind.

Once the shock passes and the fogginess clouding his thoughts clears, all he can do is think: think about Jack kissing him, and the lovely shape of his mouth, and the bewitched look on his face; wonder how the hell it happened, and why, and what it even means. He conjures a dozen, a hundred versions of what transpired to bring Jack to his door, and even more of what would happen if he does indeed come back.

Bitty paces back and forth across his room, unable to focus or hold onto any one scenario for more than a few seconds. His heart beats so fast for so long that it develops into nausea; he continues pacing while clutching his stomach and praying that he won’t throw up, because he doesn’t think he’d survive that kind of embarrassing memory.

Shitty and Lardo come back at some point, stoned and bearing three bags of sour worms. They squint at his messy room but don't comment on the condition of his hair or his shaky limbs, kindly offer him some sour worms and the opportunity for contact-high in Shitty’s room. They back off and close the door as soon as they see the look on his face. Bitty runs his hand through his hair one more time when he tries to imagine what his face must look like to successfully scare them away.

A long while later there are footsteps in the hallway outside his door. Bitty braces himself to tell Holster or Ransom or, god, Chowder that he’s busy right now. He tries to remind himself that he loves them even when he's in a state, and sits down on the bed to tell them that he isn’t feeling well -- except then the door opens, and it’s Jack standing in the doorway.

Bitty’s heart jumps, somersaults, and plummets all in the space of one millisecond, as he stands up abruptly from the bed and stares, openmouthed.

Jack doesn’t look as rumpled as he did earlier. His collar is adjusted neatly and the tails of his shirt are tucked and smoothed into his pants, but his face is a rich shade of pink and he’s clenching and unclenching his fists by his side. He seems so awkward, standing there, that Bitty’s continuous state of panic morphs into a different chaotic mess of confusion and affection, all while Jack does nothing but stare at him.

“How was dinner?” Bitty squeaks out, eventually, when it’s clear that Jack’s not going to speak anytime soon.

Jack looks like Bitty has veered off script unexpectedly. His eyes widen and he clenches his fists and then releases them again, compulsively. “Eh -- good, good.” Bitty nods. There’s a long stretch of silence neither of them fills. Jack inhales and says, right when Bitty is sure that his heart is sincerely going to beat out of his darn chest, “I. Bittle. About earlier.”

The color in his face deepens further but Bitty can’t tell what that means, if he’s already regretting what he’s done or if he’s just tripping over his own emotions like Bitty is. “You should -- the door,” he stutters, because whether he’s going to be kissed again or be let down gently, he’d rather do it without an audience. Jack looks at him like he spoke in a cryptic foreign language, so Bitty forces out, blushing to the roots of his hair, “Come in and shut the door, Zimmermann.”

“Oh -- shit, ouais,” Jack jostles into action, stepping away from the threshold and kicking the door shut after him. It’s the first time Bitty has seen him move with anything other than practiced poise.

Bitty’s room isn’t very large, and with the door closed the atmosphere in it quickly shifts. There’s an inherent intimacy in the short gap between their bodies that heightens in a small, enclosed space, and Bitty can feel his body heat rise and spread to his palms and his face as a result of it.

It’s unsettling, and Bitty suspects that he could grow to crave it, but not as long as he has no idea what is going on. “Jack --”

Jack interrupts him, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Wait, Bittle, listen. I -- it’s really important that you know that you shouldn't feel obligated.”

There are maybe a hundred thousand things that could’ve come out of Jack’s mouth after Bittle, listen, and Bitty spent two and a half hours imagining a good deal of them. Telling Bitty that he shouldn’t feel obligated is so perplexing that Bitty’s too wrongfooted to protest, and Jack carries on speaking. “I know as team captain I have a certain amount of authority and I didn’t even -- think about that, before, which is really wrong --”

Bitty squints, slowly gaining a renewed grasp on this bizarre situation. The only thing he manages to think with clarity, through the storm brewing in his chest, is, You doofus, what on earth are you talking about. “Jack. The season is over."

"Right," Jack shoves his hands in his pockets, squares his shoulders. "But -- still. Technically we kept up with a.m. practices even after the playoffs, so."

Because you are an insane person, Bitty thinks to himself, coming to terms with the fact that the tone of his thoughts is on a scale ranging between neurotic and cloyingly smitten. He opens his mouth, not sure what’s going to come out of it, but Jack keeps talking without pause.

"Anyway, the NCAA allows intra-team dating but doesn't say anything about involvement with captains. I checked."

This bowls Bitty over, a new wave of warmth rushing to his cheeks. "You checked?"

There's a sheen of what can only be nervous sweat above Jack's upper lip that shines under the glaring ceiling light. “It’s only thirty pages.”

Bitty feels lightheaded again, as he allows himself to consider for the first time that evening, with some measure of possibility, that Jack Zimmermann in fact came into his room and kissed the right sense out of him with the intention to date him. It’s almost too much to consider, making him weak at the knees. He grabs the edge of his desk to be on the safe side.

“You -- I -- dear god, what is even happening? What brought this on?” Because they’ve been spending -- well, they’ve spent almost every waking moment together this semester, excluding this odd week since the damned Swallow article. Jack had plenty of opportunity to confess his feelings had he possessed any, and the best time certainly wasn’t while his mother was waiting for him downstairs to go to a formal dinner.

“Well, I,” Jack stammers, dropping his chin to his chest. His ears are bright red, dark enough to be seen from a few feet away, and Bitty is enchanted by it. “I didn’t know, but. I read the stupid thing in the car because I couldn’t -- my mom said -- I kept thinking about you in every kitchen that we looked at, and I…”

Bitty can feel his eyes widen, his organs flipping over inside him. "You… did?"

Jack lifts his head, and when the two of them finally make eye contact it zings through Bitty’s body. "Yes. I mean, I guess it’s hard not to. If you're not on ice, you're baking, Bittle. Or tweeting. Or baking and tweeting."

He winces as soon the words are out of his mouth, and Bitty can’t help it: he bursts out in laughter, high-pitched and giddy. This boy, Bitty marvels, and euphoria spreads like thick cotton candy in his chest, making it hard to speak; to breathe.

Jack’s face still looks vaguely horrified, like he’s regretting ever opening his mouth. "Crisse, sorry, it's not -- I wasn't trying to --" he blows out air, starting over. "It's fine that you do. I mean, more than fine. I thought about you in the kitchens because I like it. I like you."

His voice is unmistakably uncomfortable, and beads of sweat are glinting on his temples. Bitty’s so overwhelmed by hearing Jack speak candidly about his feelings that he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. "You like me? But you're -- I mean, I thought you --"

Jack’s eyebrows draw down and his mouth thins. He looks irritated, but Bitty knows it’s the shape his face takes when he’s distressed. "I know last year it didn't seem like -- but I thought this year you knew things changed --"

"-- were straight," Bitty exhales, chest heaving. God. This is real. "I thought… you were straight."

Jack squints, stopping himself in the middle of his sentence. He seems honestly, genuinely confused, the big lug. With a more functioning part of his mind Bitty recognizes that this is probably the most facial expressions he’s seen Jack make since meeting him.

"But I kissed you."

"Yeah," Bitty swallows, cheeks probably glowing bright red. Somehow it’s so much more jarring hearing the words out loud than it was to have Jack’s mouth on his. Like something that’s not supposed to be discussed out in the open. A secret lifted right out of Bitty's subconscious, manifested by sheer will. "Uh. Sure did. Thus my confusion."

"Your -- confusion…?" Jack trails off. His flushed face begins shifting by degrees, a smile spreading slowly but steadily and creating the smallest, sweetest crinkle at his eyes. He wipes his shiny brow with the back of one forearm and then crosses the distance between them in a few short strides, sweeping in to kiss Bitty.

It’s not any less mind-blowing the second time around. Jack's fingers slot under Bitty's jaw, titling his head up, his other palm sliding from Bitty’s neck to his shoulder and down his back in a tantalizing stroke. Bitty grows hot all over, bending his body into Jack's to press their chests together, his hands hesitatingly finding their way to Jack's hips. He hooks them over the sharp curves of Jack's hip bones, feels the strength in Jack’s obliques through his clothes.

Their mouths create a soft slick sound when they glide against one another, lips meeting and parting smoothly. Bitty gathers the confidence to attempt parting his own lips, applies the slightest pressure of tongue to Jack's bottom lip, and is rewarded by Jack's shudder and the tightening of his hand on the small of Bitty's back.

Jack pulls his face back slowly enough for Bitty to blink his eyelashes open and catch Jack licking his lips, exhaling shakily.

"I like you, Bitty," Jack leans their foreheads together. His eyes are staring right into Bitty’s, drooping and soft and so clearly fond that Bitty feels the tremor flow in his body all the way to his toes.

"Me too," Bitty whispers. His heart is still beating irregularly, vainly trying to catch up with the emotional upheaval of the last few minutes. “Jack --. I like you, too.”

Jack smiles at him, and it’s more honest, more tender than Bitty's ever seen it. It makes Bitty so happy that he wants to burst into giggles, wants to hide his beam in Jack's chest until butterflies stop fluttering in his ribcage.

Jack runs his fingers into Bitty's hair, gently brushes through it. He's bashful, both of them avoiding prolonged eye contact, and it's so absurd that they're shy after kissing like that, but Bitty can't help it. Jack tips his head to kiss Bitty's chin, his temple, makes Bitty actually giggle when he kisses his ear and then settles his lips in Bitty's hair, tugging him closer into the crooks of Jack's body.

"Hey, Jack?" Bitty says quietly, leaning his cheek on the curve of Jack's shoulder and wrapping his arms around Jack's waist, hands linking at the arch of his spine.

"Yeah?" Jack mumbles into Bitty's hair, mouth moving against the crown of his head.

Bitty presses his lips briefly to the closest patch of Jack's skin he can reach, which is the dip in his clavicle. It's barely a kiss, but his entire body shivers with the knowledge that he’s allowed. "Wanna be my date to Spring C tomorrow?"

Jack draws back far enough to be able to look down, tilting his chin into his neck and catching Bitty's eyes with his. His face is pink and his lips are swollen and Bitty's so unbelievably in love with him, but it's the furthest thing from pathetic now. It seems funny that it was ever something shameful at all.

"It'd be my pleasure," Jack smiles, and leans in for another kiss.

[asphyxiateher]

Only Monsters Come Out at Night

A/N: Debating on whether or not I should put this on AO3. Thoughts? Do I need to edit what I have before posting on my favorite website? Anyways, I’m really into horror and I’d like to try my hand at focusing on MC’s descent into madness while falling for her captors. Dimitrescu Sisters x OFC (Desdemona) Summary: Desdemona, her twin brother and best friend are on vacation in Romania when things go horribly wrong the moment they run out of gas. Desdemona has the misfortune of enchanting the monsters that decided to terrorize her group. 

        It was a cold, pitch black night in the northeastern mountainous region of Romania, a heavy fog enveloping the roads which made it nearly impossible for any source of light to pierce through the gloom. This did not bode well for Desdemona and her friends as they dared to venture through the treacherous weather in order to reach their destination. The humble village of Bran should have been a welcome sight by now although from where the unlucky travelers were currently stranded, Desdemona had her doubts. To make matters worse, her best friend, Veronica, shoved a crumpled map of Brasov, Romania into her boyfriend’s hands and demanded answers. Her hot-headed friend was teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

“Desmond, are you sure we’re headed in the right direction? None of this seems to make sense!”, Veronica exclaimed as she nervously rummaged through her shoulder bag for yet another cigarette. She struggled to light her cigarette this time, the harsh winter’s wind blowing hard against her bare hands caused them to shake violently.

 Desmond sighed in exasperation and ran his fingers through his messy chestnut brown hair, pushing wild dark curls away from his eyes.

“You think the shopkeeper gave us the wrong directions to fuck with us because we’re tourists? I knew we were gonna get shit signal out here in the bum fuck middle of nowhere but come on, the old guy looked knowledgeable. Can’t blame me for trustin’ him.” Desmond casually replied with a shrug. He then took a moment to straighten the map again before folding it neatly and tucking it into his pocket.

Desdemona was of the same mind as her twin. It seemed likely that the locals would be completely burnt out from the flocks of American tourists invading their hometown just to squawk about the castle that inspired Bram Stoker’s Dracula. How exhausting it must be to constantly point out where to go to book a tour or who to call to arrange such things when the internet exists. In hindsight, Desdemona should have known better than to bug the polite yet obviously impatient shopkeeper about their vacation plans.

“Think about it, V, Desmond has a point. The guy probably gave us the run around for shits and giggles. You know, it would have been fine taking a wrong turn and then having to backtrack all the way back into town, but we should have just stayed the night at the Inn. Now we’re outta gas and it’s fucking freezing out here.” Desdemona added, now hugging herself tightly and occasionally rubbing her arms to keep warm for as much as possible.

Veronica growled but relented as she took a long drag of her cigarette, her foot resting against their rented vehicle. She took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. Snowflakes began to drift downwards, and it only fueled Veronica’s anxiety about being stranded in the middle of nowhere in the dark. “Alright, alright, we can either freeze to death in this piece of shit,” Veronica began as she kicks the van for good measure, “or we can freeze to death out there looking for shelter. I think I see a path over there that we can take to find what we need. It might lead us to people who can help us, or it might lead us to certain death. All I know is that we need to make a decision now, it’s starting to snow.” Desmond grins and wraps his arm around Veronica’s waist, pulling her close and pecking her on the cheek. “To certain death it is! Des, grab the essentials and let’s head out. According to the map, there are a few small villages in the surrounding area. Chances are we’ll stumble into one of them eventually and find shelter. We’ll get this mess sorted out.” Desmond eagerly stepped away from Veronica’s embrace and stepped towards the beaten van.

After a few moments of scrounging around for what they deemed important, Desdemona ended up with a backpack full of snacks, water, spare clothes, and the first aid kid. Veronica settled for an entire carton of cigarettes and a few spare lighters because you know, it was “absolutely essential” to her survival in a foreign land. Desmond found a flashlight and decided that going light would be preferable to him in case they ran into any trouble. They paved the way forward, following the path that strayed away from the lonely sliver of road. Turning back to get a final look at the abandoned van, Desdemona swallowed the surge of fear that was beginning to creep up on her. She had seen enough horror movies in her lifetime knowing that this probably wasn’t going to end up well for her little group. The logical side of her brain, what little rational thoughts she had left, gnawed their way through her brain begging to be voiced out and heard.

‘Turn back around, it’s safer to stay put and wait until morning! This is dangerous and you know it!’

Desdemona reluctantly glanced back at her brother walking ahead with Veronica hand in hand and the younger twin suddenly stopped in her tracks. Maybe she should stay behind just in case while her gregarious brother searched for help in these mountains; after all, he was far more easygoing and could easily charm the most stubborn of fools into helping him.

“Des, what’s wrong? I thought we all agreed that we should stick together.” Veronica called out to her, uncertainty lacing her tone as her eyes flicked back and forth between the van and a terrified looking Desdemona.

Nervously fidgeting in place, Desdemona struggles to settle the conflicted thoughts warring in her mind. She knows that staying behind and waiting for help would be the wisest course of action, but there was safety in numbers. There’s danger lurking beyond the vast expanse of mountains that surrounded them and she would be utterly defenseless if left alone. Desdemona’s instincts were begging her to go back to the van but the connection she shared with her twin demanded that she follow him through the sketchy path that would most likely lead to their demise. She couldn’t let anything happen to Desmond, she would never forgive herself if something happened to him out here.

With a shaky resolve, Desdemona straightened up and gazed back at Veronica with a small smile on her face. “I’m just nervous, you know. Desmond and I binge watched all the Wrong Turn movies last Saturday so being out here alone in the dark is uh, freaking me out a little. I’ll be fine, though, let’s just keep going.” Desdemona lied as she rushed over to her best friend who rolled her eyes at the revelation.

“No wonder you’re acting all sketch, Des. First of all, binge watching horror movies the weekend before your vacation was stupid as hell so now you’re all hyped up over nothing. Secondly, Wrong Turn sucks. Y’all should have binged Hatchet, Danielle Harris is so hot!” Veronica declared, eager to get conversation going as the three of them trekked through a rocky and narrow trail that led to who knows where.

Desmond was quick to reply in defense of his favorite horror movie franchise and Desdemona was thankful to hear them bicker back and forth. The conversation drowned out the sound of cold whispers tickling naked branches in the distance, the loud crunching of their footsteps on the snow-covered ground, and ravens crying out above them. It was so eerie and something about it all didn’t sit right with Desdemona. She hooked an arm around Veronica’s free arm and together they discussed their favorite horror movies. Veronica could tell her best friend was still a little spooked, so she pulled her closer until she was pressed against her side to provide as much comfort as she could give.

The trail continued to narrow the further they moved along but nothing they observed thus far gave the impression that that anything was out of the ordinary. When they reached a clearing, Desmond sighed with relief. His breath steaming the frigid air was nearly the only thing they could see ahead if it weren’t for the flashlight providing what little comforting light source they had. The snow fall began to pick up the pace but it wasn’t blinding, thankfully. Desmond brushed aside large shrubs and stepped further into the winding path, coming to a full stop when he realized what lay ahead of the weary travelers.

The trio stared in awe at the overpowering sight of a 15th century castle looming over a quiet village sheltering underneath a blanket of darkness, or what Desdemona assumed was its shadow. No amount of fog could hide the monstrosity that was the architectural brilliance of this castle that Desdemona saw before her very eyes.

“Desmond, honey, where the hell do you think you’re going? Don’t leave Dezzy and I behind!” Veronica suddenly shrieked as she sprinted after her overly excited boyfriend down the hill that led into the village. Desmond turned around and could only offer a sheepish smile with a shrug before eagerly running into the unknown. Desdemona tore her gaze away from the castle and spurred into action, jumping and running as fast as she could in order to catch up with her twin.

Desmond was energized by both the cool crisp air and the promising sight of civilization, but that energy was quickly drained out of him when he encountered something wholly unexpected. Veronica reached the eldest Hawthorne sibling and was about to admonish him for leaving the two frightened girls behind, but she was quickly shushed by Desmond. Desdemona quietly approached the scene, her eyes widening when she realized that this was not the village of Bran at all.

They had indeed reached a small village but it looked completely obliterated. The houses looked shattered and broken, as if something gigantic and menacing had come through and picked away at the people that once inhabited this community one by one. Desmond cautiously led the group forward, calling out for any signs of survivors. This wasn’t on the itinerary…

Veronica was on the verge of tears, her hands covering her mouth as she observed the tragic scene before her. Every now and then, she would step into a broken home and call out to somebody – anybody- only to step back out with a grim look on her face. She pulled out her cell phone and attempted to dial emergency services only to be met with disappointment.

“There’s blood.” Desmond says quietly. His eyes peer over the trail of fresh blood and fear grips him the moment the flashlight scans over the corpse of a rotting horse. “Fuck, that stench – we need to get the fuck out of here now!” Veronica cries, gagging and turning away from the horrific view.

Desdemona would have expressed an equally strong reaction had she not felt a sense of…wrongness abruptly assaulting the atmosphere. The moment they stepped foot into the village, the environment reacted to their presence and that did not sit right with Desdemona at all.

“Desmond, do you hear that?” Desdemona asked, her voice laced with terror. Desmond Hawthorne heard the fear in his sister’s quivering voice and it made him feel uneasy. “I don’t hear anything, Des.” He replies as he reaches for Veronica’s hand and squeezes it tight. The couple began to frantically look around them as they slowly backed into Desdemona. As soon as they grouped up again, both Veronica and Desmond wrapped themselves around the youngest sister. The oppressive silence sent a whole new wave of fear over the group before something insidious could be heard approaching them in the distance. Desdemona gasped when she heard maniacal giggling and it was getting louder. A fluttering of what sounds like wings -bats, ravens, perhaps- advancing towards the group sent chills down Desdemona’s spine. What the hell was coming after them?

Desmond flashed his light from side to side before it settled on the massive black ball of insects that instantly appeared before him. The insects dissipated and somehow revealed the shape of a human being wearing a dark robe and hood. The only thing he could truly make out was the color of a red pendant wrapped around dainty, pale skin and a blood smeared smirk. Desmond’s heart dropped in absolute horror and panic immediately set in.

“RUN!” He screamed, taking off with a terrified Veronica in tow. Neither of them looked back to make sure Desdemona was following. The flashlight dropped, and it briefly circled the ground. The flickering light revealed two other black masses of insects approaching the younger Hawthorne sibling who was paralyzed with fear. All she could hear in that moment was delirious laughter coming from the women that revealed themselves two seconds later, the insects dissolving into thin air right before her very eyes.

The crazed woman standing directly in front of Desdemona leaned forward and took her time sniffing her pretty prey who stared at her with petrified gray eyes. Desdemona found it alarming that despite the lunatic’s appearance, dried blood caked on her lips and unruly red hair and a wild, untamed look in her eyes, she found her quite…striking. Perhaps she was going mad. None of this made sense, how could this be happening right now?

“Mmm, sisters, look at what I found. Such a pretty young thing all for me and she smells oh so delicious.” The woman with the green pendant spoke, giggling madly at the profound effect she had on Desdemona.

 “Daniela, you’re delusional, she’s mine; I’m the one who picked up on her tasty scent!” The one with the red pendant spoke after she turned her attention to the only human who didn’t run from them.

The brunette with the yellow pendant reached over and yanked on Desdemona’s hair so hard back, Desdemona thought her life was over. She bared her teeth as she skimmed her nose across the young woman’s neck. Her tongue darted out between blood smeared lips and left a wet trail, causing the smaller woman’s breath to hitch at the unwelcome contact.

“Mmm, she smells so utterly divine. Bela, by the way, it wasn’t you who found MY new pet, it was me! You ungrateful wretches always want to touch what’s mine!” The hooded figure’s grip on her hair tightened and Desdemona whined, causing all three women to delight in her torment.

What Desdemona couldn’t figure out was what they wanted to do with her exactly and why they were fighting over her like three starved wild dogs fighting over a piece of meat. She needed to get out of there fast. “LET GO OF MY SISTER, YOU UGLY CUNTS!” Desmond’s angry voice broke through in the distance and all three creatures turned their attention on the young man who dared interrupt dinner time.

Desdemona decided this was the time to take advantage of their distraction and she quickly slipped away, sprinting as fast as she could to the nearest unoccupied house. Desmond, relieved that his sister broke free from whatever those things were, spun on his heel and ran the opposite direction. He could only hope that all three of them would make it out of this godforsaken village alive.

All three women threw their heads back and laughed wildly into the air as they knew catching their prey would be much more satisfying when they caught them alone in isolated surroundings. It added to their fear and it made the blood taste that much sweeter.

“The hunt is on, sisters. Leave the pretty plaything alive, but the others, we will present to our dear mother as gifts. We’ll make the new pet watch mother undo their very lives; it’ll only make her that much more delicious when we have our fill.” The one with the yellow pendant stated as she sniffed at the air, shuddering when Desdemona’s irresistible scent filled her nostrils once more.

Desdemona found refuge in a large house a few yards away and slammed the front door shut when she ran inside. She quickly assessed what she assumed was the living room, she found a bookcase and summoned whatever strength she had and brought it down in front of the door. She heard something clawing at the door the instant she blocked the entrance, the door shaking violently and mad laughter filling her ears once more.

Desdemona shakily reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, turning on the flashlight and began to look for another way out.

‘Jesus fucking Christ, Jesus Christ! What the fuck are those things!? Where’s Desmond? Is Veronica alright? How the hell do I get out of here? I just want to go home!’ Desdemona’s mind was running through a million thoughts per second but she couldn’t for the life of her settle on anything that would give her a moment’s peace. She was sobbing uncontrollably as she explored the dark home, her hands stretched out in front of her as she searched for anything that would provide answers to her problems. When she found a door near the kitchen, she cautiously opened it and cursed the eerie creaking sound that followed. It was discovered that the door led to a cellar of some kind and Desdemona rushed down the stairs without closing the door behind her. She slowly scanned the large open space and saw that this home had been recently ransacked or rummaged through. Clothes were scattered across the floor, furniture had been broken in half and tossed carelessly to the side but Desdemona found a hallway beyond the room she was in. ‘That must be the way out. Hurry up and grab something to protect yourself with!’

Desdemona carefully tip toed around the clutter, her phone flashing from side to side but to no avail, she couldn’t find anything that would prove harmful to whatever those monsters were outside. The woman nearly tripped over and fell when her foot stepped in something thick and wet, causing her foot to slip forward. Desdemona quickly steadied herself on a cabinet but it didn’t make her feel any better when she realized her fingers were covered in a thick, red substance.

Her breathing growing heavier, Desdemona flashed her phone light over to the cabinet only to find that it was covered in blood – a lot of it, to be exact and it was still dripping on the floor as though it were fresh.

All color drained from Desdemona’s face when she heard pained howling coming from the village; it was Desmond and he was screaming for help. Her twin was in danger and here she was selfishly trying to find a way to preserve her own life.

She quickly twisted around to run towards the howling but she stopped dead in her tracks when a black mass of insects appeared before her. The cloaked figure could only be identified by the color of her green pendant and a delirious smile plastered on her face. Fresh blood dripped down her chin and Desdemona’s eyes reluctantly followed the pool of blood forming at their feet. There was a sickle in her right hand and it was covered in blood, much to Desdemona’s dismay.

Desdemona began to tremble, overpowered by the frightening sight and the implications that followed a bloodied sickle carried by a madwoman. “The sound of your heart hammering against your chest is like music to my ears, pretty thing. Do not fret, my beauty, the moment we met I knew you were special. You’re meant to be mine, we’re meant to be!” She whispers madly, her tongue wetting her lips as her eyes rake over Desdemona’s body slowly and deliberately.

Desdemona doesn’t know what she’s talking about and she doesn’t want to know. Before she could form any kind of response, she’s pinned against the bloody cabinet behind her. She gasps in surprise and that seems to trigger the creature into action.

Desdemona screams as the hooded woman lunges at her collarbone and pierces through her skin with her razor sharp teeth. Desdemona weakly clutches at the woman’s shoulders, growing lightheaded from the sudden blood loss that was occurring. Feeling the woman about to collapse in her arms, Daniela pulls back and savors the taste of her blood. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she sloppily licks the blood off her mouth and regains what little self-control she had left to preserve her pretty plaything for a little while longer.

When dazed gray eyes meet hers, Daniela’s cold, black heart skips a beat. She had never seen anything more beautiful. So she raises her sickle, causing Desdemona’s eyes to widen in panic and Daniela can’t help but giggle a little.

“Don’t worry, my beauty, I’ll be gentle with you. The hideous man-thing and his bitch aren’t going to be as lucky as you, I hope. You deserve special treatment.” Daniela whispers, her fingers caressing her prey’s tear-stained cheek before swinging the sickle with full forced into the back of Desdemona’s thigh.

Desdemona remembers a high-pitched shriek escaping her but nothing else seems to come to mind after that. She remembers her vision blurring and a creeping darkness soothing her to sleep but what happened after, nothing. She enters the haunting abyss that welcomes her with black tendrils pulling her from reality, sleep coming to her easily. With better luck, she’ll never have to wake up again.

Only fools believe in luck as the nightmare has only just begun.

[mydisasteracademia]

Random Dabi Headcanons

Everyone’s favorite raisin man les gooo

Due to growing up in a wealthy family with a strict diet, sometimes Dabi can be pretty picky with the food he eats. When he gets really homesick, he’ll only eat homecooked meals (and will often just cook for himself).

But at the same time, due to his heavily-suppressed urges to rebel against his father, sometimes when he’s feeling extra angry at society (or he’s in a sour mood because he caught Endeavor or Shouto on TV), he’ll binge in fast food as an extra ‘fuck you’ to dear old Dad.

Sometimes fast food makes him sick. A lot sicker than what happens to your average person. If he eats too many burgers or greasy things it will really fuck with his digestive organs and he has to be bedridden for a few days. He needs to be careful to limit his intake of unhealthy, processed food and mainly sticks to healthier meals.

Really prefers cold things to hot -- loves winter weather, favors colder things like ice cream and anmitsu, and is extremely sensitive to heat. If he eats something spicy, it messes him up for a while (think a trip to Taco Bell or Chipotle, then multiply the sting by 500x.) Hot things literally burn him from the inside out. If you’ve ever burnt your tongue on a hot drink, that’s what’s happening to the entirety of his throat.

He’s literally the only one in the League (besides Kurogiri) who can be outside in December in literally just a V-neck tee, sweatpants, and tennis shoes... and only complain of a ‘minor chill’. Spinner’s in the back literally fucking dying and all he says is “The breeze is kinda cold”.

Dabi, outside in his sweatpants and slippers: “Eh, pretty warm today”

Spinner, wearing two winter jackets and almost literally freezing his scales off: “???????????”

Sings in the shower. I don’t know why, but he definitely seems like the type of guy to belt the lyrics to some angsty ‘teenage rebellion’ song when he’s in the shower.

Adding onto that last point, I feel like he would unironically listen to Ke$ha. If nobody’s around you know he’s performing to ‘Blow’.

Likes to freak people out by tugging on the side of his cheek and opening his mouth unnaturally wide. You know the picture. It’s that.

He can only afford shitty-quality hair dye and has to reapply it every time he gets his hair wet. To date, nobody in the League has managed to catch a glimpse of his true hair color, but there have been some close calls.

Before you ask, yes, the curtains match the drapes. He gets really insecure about it and doesn’t like being naked around other people (especially considering his burns).

As time goes on, he gets fairly closer to Toga and is considered a stereotypical grumpy older brother: grumbling at her eager attention, teasing the hell out of her, sarcastically quipping at her expense. He keeps it muted though, given that he doesn’t really care at the end of the day. He’s not gonna go stand up for her, considering he knows she can handle herself for the most part (and would likely pull the “I’m not her keeper” line), but he would go to her aid if she was overwhelmed in battle because she’s a comrade.

Out of everyone in the League, I think he’d be closest to Twice. Twice kinda reminds him of Natsuo in a way -- and while thinking of his younger brother can make him a bit depressed, it feels nice to have someone so close to his outward personality around. He’s the only person Dabi doesn’t really mock (and given his own mental illness, I feel like he’d be a little more reticent on the ‘crazy freak’ jokes around Twice).

Spinner’s rampant fanboying of Stain kinda creeps him out a bit, as it reminds him of how some people used to idolize the top three heroes when he was a kid (and his own failures of living up to his father’s expectations). He can still remember some of his classmates dressing up in All Might and Endeavor costumes and completely gushing about how cool and awesome they were, and it’s just a bad memory all around that he wants to forget.

Kinda really hates celebrating his birthday, and really tries to keep the others from knowing what day it is. It’s just another reminder that he’s a failed existence and will never live up to anything or anyone’s standards. It really gets him in a depressed state for a while, especially when Shouto’s birthday is just a week or so earlier.

The thought of fatherhood keeps him awake at night in a cold sweat. That, and he doesn’t care much for kids. If he ever had a partner with a uterus, you know he would want them to be on birth control if they were smashing (or better yet, he would likely just go get a vasectomy if he could find a clinic willing to take him). He doesn’t even mind condoms, just as long as there’s little to no risk of pregnancy.

Literally just forgets that other League members exist sometimes. Like Mustard or Muscular will show up and he’ll be like “who tf is that??? oh wait they’re in the lov lmao”

Cannot fucking stand being around Moonfish. That man genuinely freaks him the hell out and he can’t be around him for long without his fight or flight kicking in. (Although isn’t that literally everyone around Moonfish, except for Muscular??)

[eterunameo]

@edhelquendi || Starter Call

It was a good gift, to his mind, he was pleased with himself. Certainly it had taken his many talents and subtle tongue to persuade Olwë Teléran to allow him and some fellows along the marble cliffs, but they had been careful with their chisels, as promised. The result was a perfectly hewn and truly massive piece of gold veined white marble, it’s surface alike to a silver sea rippling in Laurelin’s light. A medium that only his mother could do justice, he thought to himself as he and his workers finally brought their burden to the Feanorian’s doors. 

Tongue having done it’s job, now this ‘well-shaped’ son brought his more blunt skills to bear as he worked along side his compatriots to bear the stone upon his wide back up to Nerdanel’s studio. It took some doing and the surprise was definitely ruined by all the grunts and sighs of exertion needed to get there, but Maitimo was still satisfied when finally it was carefully placed in the room’s centre and he was able to unbend. He rolled his long neck and shoulders for a moment but his gaze slid to his mother with a rare smile.  

“So! Shall it suit your purposes? It seemed ill-inclined to splinter, but you will be the final judge.”

[bigteefsmallbrain]

MORE SOULMATE AU HEADCANONS

Someone called the first set cute and I am unbelievably determined to make their goddamn day/night now, also, just realized you could get around the talking barrier with your soulmate if you direct your speaking at yourself, though I imagine that would be quite hard without a lot of focus or practice, so I’m implementing that in this set, hope you enjoy!!

WARNING: For Midoriya Izuku - Mentions of past fish death; For Umino Iruka - Mentions of his parents passing; and For Erza Scarlet - Death, the Tenrou island incident, signs of depression and loss of a loved one [It turns happy though]

SOULMATE AU HEADCANONS FOR: Izuku Midoriya, Iruka Umino, Erza Scarlet

Izuku Midoriya

Welcome to your own personal hero encyclopedia

Literally your best friend when it comes to quizzes and homework

If you so much as mutter to yourself a question

He is mumbling to himself the answer and all the steps to solve it

Brain = Autopilot

He doesn’t even consider that you might have been rhetorical

Or that you might be taking a quiz

Soulmate asked a question and he’d rather die than not mutter the answer to himself under his breath so his soulmate can hear

He’s your worst enemy sometimes too though

Trying to sleep? Nah, listen to him fanboy over a hero documentary instead

Trying to have a little you time? Funny joke, you’re learning about All Might now

You now know the weirdest facts about heroes

And events that most teachers don’t know about

May I suggest a heroics history teaching job?

Unfortunately, you also have to listen to his crying

I don’t mean it in a bad way

But you have no way to comfort him

Literally all you want to do is give him a hug and comfort him

But all you can do is say comforting words to yourself

Hoping he’ll hear them over his broken, heart wrenching sobs

But don’t worry, he does, he hears everything you say to yourself

He has a notebook dedicated to you and o n l y you

He nearly ripped Bakugo’s head off when the blonde accidentally burnt it’s pages when they were younger

Yeah, fun times [Bakugo double checked that it was the h e r o notebook and not the s o u l m a t e notebook when he burnt it in middle school, never again would he risk hearing his last name be spit venomously from the green haired males mouth]

He writes down anything he deems memorable [AKA nearly everything] that you say

He notes things you have difficulty towards academically and makes sure to break it down and read the now less complex version aloud in hopes he’s helped you

He has, he’s probably the main reason you’re in the top 5 academically

But also he loves hearing your meaningless rambles

You have scared him a few times

“Wait, is he dead? Oh no! Please don’t tell me he’s dead!”

w h a t

“I don’t think I can handle mom crying over another fish.”

Oh, just a fish, thank All Might, he nearly went into cardiac arrest

They brighten his day, and he can’t wait to meet you and tell you just how thankful he is that you’re his soulmate

Just like you can’t wait to hit him upside the head for all the sleepless nights he’s caused with his fanboy behavior

Okay, but when you do meet, you immediately ask for Bakugo

You give zero fucks about possibly being expelled/sent to prison

Hell hath no fury like you who had to listen to their soulmates broken cries over the blondes treatment for years

And Izuku can only hold you back for so long

He definitely wants to see your quirk in action when you meet

And when demonstrating he’s mumbling all the uses and possible ideas

While also complimenting you and how amazing you are

He doesn’t even notice he’s doing it

If you do it back, he WILL blue screen

Midoriya Izuku.exe has stopped working

He literally freezes on the spot

Iruka Umino

Oh do we love our dear teacher

Maybe a little too much

But we don’t talk about that

IRUKA IS THE TYPE TO MUTTER A SWEET SOFT “Good morning my soulmate” TO HIMSELF EVERY DAY AS HE WAKES UP SO YOU CAN HEAR IT AND YOU CAN’T CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE

He will also say other things, like “I made pancakes for breakfast, I wish you were here to enjoy them”

And call you sweet pet names like “Dear” “Darling” “Honey” etc. and when he’s feeling especially corny “Snookums” or something really out there when he feels like you need a good laugh like “Cookie Cutter”

No, I'm serious, if he thinks you’re sad, he w i l l say “Hey there, how’s my little cookie cutter?” to himself in a half joking tone in hopes of brightening your day

You can pry this headcanon from my cold, dead hands

He loves it if you mutter responses to yourself for him to hear in return

His heart will melt the moment he hears you say “Good morning” back, or if you mention wanting to cook for him

He also loves it if you give lesson plan advice to him

Like, he’ll be muttering about the best way to teach his class how to throw shuriken and your voice will pop up in his head with friendly advice

Makes him wonder if you’re a teacher too, or if you’re planning to become one

Secretly hopes you’re planning to become a teaching aid, because A) Work and soulmate at the same time? Yes please, and B) Kami knows he needs help with his rowdy class

If you are, he’s sure to be over the moon when he finds out

In his younger days, before teaching, he definitely went on missions and looked for you when he could

Like, yes, the mission is important, but finding the owner to the beautiful voice in his head is ALSO important

He’d usually finish the mission and stay an extra one or two days looking for you

It didn’t really cross his mind till later that you could be in the Leaf Village, since he figured he would have already found you if he did

Till he saw people older than him who grew up in the village only just finding out they were soulmates

He went on less out of village missions after that

Till eventually he decided to become a teacher

When I tell you this man melts when you talk

I mean he MELTS

He loves your voice so much

It helped him through his parents deaths

Helped him when he felt at his lowest points

You’ve done so much for him, and he’s so thankful, he’s fallen so deeply in love with you and you haven’t properly met yet!

He still wants to marry you on the spot though

It’s not a strange sight to see him browsing rings

Or thinking of how he’d propose

You’ll never let him know that he’s unconsciously spoken out loud about it a few times

Not until you meet, then you’ll mention it

And never let him live it down

“You know, I’ve heard you say you wanted to marry me on the spot, is that still on the menu or…?”

Yeah, when you first meet each other, that’s the first thing that pops out of your mouth

And it has his face burning red

He’s stumbling through his words, trying to convey that yes, he would like to marry you, but he needs your ring size first to go buy the ring

Trust me, this man has made enough trips to know what ring, he just needs the size

Then he’ll be down on one knee quicker that Shisui’s Shunshin no Jutsu

The fact that you seem okay with it also seals the deal for him

He’s so ecstatic when you meet each other

He feels like he could take on Madara one v one and win

He’s so unbelievably happy

Like he’s convincing you to take a photo so he can frame it on his desk and always remember happy

He’s so cute and blushy about it too

Rambles about never wanting to forget the best day of his life so far

“So far?” “Well, yeah, I imagine marrying you will take the spot soon”

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS BOY WILL MAKE YOUR HEART SWOON!!!

He’s so giddy about introducing you to his class too

Especially Naruto

[Mostly Naruto]

He’s showing you off and preening at the congratulations his class gives

And later on introducing you to Naruto personally

As much as he loves his class, he adores Naruto, and really hopes you both get along well

And you do

And it was the worst mistake of Iruka's life

[or best as both you and Naruto often correct him]

Honestly you probably convinced him to at least bring up the possibility of Adoption to Naruto

Which has Naruto howling in excitement and agreeableness

The boy looks up to him and they both have such a father/son dynamic, let me have this dammit

[Also, being able to get Naruto to be the ring bearer/flower boy? P r i c e l e s s]

He loves his family, so very much

And is so thankful that you convinced him to adopt Naruto

The man has been debating on if Naruto would want to be his son or not for ages, you can NOT tell me otherwise

You also can’t tell me Naruto wouldn’t jump at the chance to have Iruka as his father

Erza Scarlet

She’s so eager to find you

She’s spent so long perfecting the art of speaking to you despite the barrier

And she’s always so responsive to you

Always talking about the adventures she's had

What she wants to do with you when you find each other

And she’s always so happy when you do the same

She’s always been responsive with you, even though the beginning was a bit rough with communication

So when she suddenly goes radio silent, it scares you, it hurts when you come to the realization that she’s dead

She can hear you, even in her deep sleep on Tenrou Island

And it’s heartbreaking

Your cries

The endless broken sobs

“I’m so sorry I never got to meet you” No, I’m still here!

“Hey soulmate wha- oh, right, you’re..” I’m not dead! I promise I’ll be there soon!

To say the least, it’s a long 7 years

And you never did get over your soulmates tragic death

Though you did find out who she might have been

Hurts more knowing how she passed on though

She always spoke of her guild, Fairy Tail, and you had been saving up enough jewels to go there, in hopes of finding her

You know she must have been on Tenrou when it fell

And by deductive evidence, it must have been the S class wizard

Erza Scarlet, you’re soulmate

Dead, soulmate

You joined not long after the news had spread

Figured it might help with the ache

It didn’t

But you grew to love the guild anyways

They welcomed you as family

Because to them, you already were

Erza spoke so highly of you

Always talking about how amazing her soulmate was, and everything she wanted to do with them when they met

And it was because of that you were able to deduce that she is your soulmate

Was, your soulmate

It wasn’t an odd sight to see you crying when the Tenrou group was brought up

Or after a particular rough beating from the Twilight Ogre guild

They watched you slowly fall apart when you tried speaking to her

Helped put you back together when you remembered she wasn’t on the other side

And eventually you began healing

Never getting over her or forgetting her

You could never forget her

And broke down just thinking about trying to find another

You took to talking to her in hopes she could still hear you in the afterlife

Talk about your day

How the guild is doing

If there was a particularly rough beating from the other guild

It hurt, much worse than when you forgot that she wasn’t there

But you carried on, believing that if she could hear you, she’d want to know

She adores that about you, your will to carry on, even though it hurts

And she’s sure to leave nothing but corpses in Twilight Ogre for all the years of torment

When Blue Pegasus found remains of the Island, no one stopped you from boarding the ship

They knew you needed this, more than the rest of them

You needed to know if she was really gone or not

And when you caught sight of scarlet red hair

You wept

She’s here

She’s alive

She turned the moment she heard your voice weekly call for her

To say your first meeting was filled with tears would be an understatement

You were attached by the hip from that point on

Not that either of you were complaining

Erza was especially ecstatic to have you by her side finally

After all, she had 7 years to make up for

And you can show her where Twilight Ogre is

The Master and Mira didn’t question why she was especially rough with a select few members

I Hope you enjoyed reading this set of Soulmate AU HC’s! If you would like to see any specific characters, don’t be afraid to leave a comment or submit an ask! If it’s a character I’m not familiar with, I’ll do my best to learn about them!!

P.S. I nearly killed Reader-chan off in Erza’s (:

[pamgkrthwrites]

Flame of Healing | EraserMic x Reader | Chapter 6 - Please Love Me

Masterlist | AO3

Warnings: Angst, Hizashi Flirting, some sexual themes

Word Count: 2162

Taglist: @stargazingaloneatnight @rinzyx05 

A/N: Sorry about the long wait, had exams. Also, I did not write half of this while watching the election results, no.

Shouta got into the couple’s car and started driving to their home. Hizashi was uncomfortably quiet as we waited for Shouta to finally speak. As they turned the street your apartment was on, Shouta began to talk.

“When I followed her into the building I saw her talking to Saito.” Souta began, Hizashi listening in carefully. “They started talking about her quirk and I noticed she grew upset. I thought this meant he was harassing her and so I pulled her away from him. She pulled away and ran off.”

“So you insulted rejects, yay.” Hizashi said sarcastically. “We are trying to make them trust us so I understand why you went to help her-”

“I called out to her as she ran off.” Shouta interrupted. “I was corrected by Saito. Her name isn’t M/N.”

Hizashi froze in his seat and snapped his head to face Shouta. Shouta kept his eyes on the road, however.

“He said her name was Y/N.”

The two grew silent.

“So. She lied. She doesn’t want us.”

“From what I got out of her she thought we were happy without her.”

“How would sh-” Hizashi snapped at Shouta only to be given a glare.

“I yelled at her for that. That’s why she was crying.”

Hizashi slumped in his seat and crossed his arms. The two stayed silent for a moment before Hizashi broke it.

“So, she doesn’t want us.”

Shouta sighed. “I asked her to give us a chance, and she hugged me.”

Hizashi’s snapped over with a smile.

“That’s good! Is that why we are going to visit her tomorrow?”

Shouta softly smiled at Hizashi’s mood switch. He was worried that his partner will fall into a depression about this again, Hizashi had the most hope out of the two of them. 

During their friendship with Oboro, Oboro taught them many things about choosing your own path on soulmates but made it clear he wasn’t saying you should outright reject your soulmate. Like you got to choose your pace of the relationship and not just dive right in just because they are your soulmate.

It was as if he said it before and someone took it differently. 

Shouta didn’t know back then but now he does, that person who mistook his words of choosing soulmates was you. 

It was probably why on some days, the couple would find times Oboro looked off in deep thoughts drowned in sadness, or how when the three saw you walking home he would make sure the two could see her but never approach. 

They knew something happened between you two but they never pushed it out of him. It also hurt them in a way. They thought you were - well, you - and were told you weren’t. They felt so close yet so far. Only for now for it to be revealed they were close this entire time.

“Yes,” Shouta answered. “When we arrive tomorrow we will talk to her about our soulmate bound. She goes to those reject meetings for a reason. All we can hope for is that she will give us a chance.”

---

You’re felt so heavy after crying and hugging Shouta last night. You didn’t even want to get up but you knew you had to, but they were coming over soon and so you had to get ready.

You pushed yourself out of bed and made your way to the kitchen to have a fast cup of water before heading into the shower to get ready. You were a mess but you were going to hide behind a face full of makeup and pretty smells to hid behind.

---

Shouta and Hizashi walked their way from the car park to your apartment door with a small paper bag that had 3 servings of breakfast muffins. The two really didn’t mean to, but they ended up dressing up.

Shouta had his hair tied back, wore black pants and a white button-down shirt. Hizashi had half of his hair in a messy bun and he wore black leather pants with a black v-neck long sleeve shirt.

Shouta knocked and pushed his hands into his pockets. Hizashi waited, swinging on his heels.

“I think we might have overdressed, Shouta,” Hizashi whispered. “it’s only breakfast and we look like we are taking her out for dinner.”

“If we are lucky we will be spending our whole day with her.” Shouta mumbled, a blush starting to form on his cheeks at the idea of you wanting to spend more time with them.

The idea excited Hizashi as well. He had been dying to spend time with you ever since he met you that day in high school. Yeah sure, you were almost kissing Oboro, but he wasn’t angry about it, not anymore anyway.

Shouta was about to grow impatient until he doorknob jiggled. 

The two froze and watched as you opened the door. 

You peaked out to see who it was, being relieved it was the two. You were surprised about their clothing choice as it was July, one of Japan’s hottest months. You wore a white sundress that had your favourite flowers printed onto it. You also had a light cardigan on just for if the cooler in your apartment got too much.

“Isn’t hot?” You asked the two.

The two stared at you before beginning to blush of embarrassment. They were going to regret their choice of clothing later into the day. 

“We brought breakfast!” Hizashi smiled as he stepped closer to you.

You opened the door wide so they could enter. You saw how Hizashi practically ran in, a bounce being in his steps. Shota followed eyeing what you were wearing.

You closed the door behind them and took in a breath. You’ve never been this close to them before and in such a comfortable manner. They were both really eager to have the relationship between you three work. You could tell they would have done anything for you just to like them. 

You made your way to the kitchen and the two followed you, like dogs to their owner.

“You two want coffee or tea?” You asked awkwardly.

“Straight black for me,” Shouta answer before looking up at Hizashi for a fast second then back to you. “Please.”

You felt your heart sting.

They may be trying to put in the effect for you, but the love they clearly have each other will always be there.

You weren’t needed.

Why should you be selfish and want their love for yourself?

You turned around to get Shouta’s coffee, the two noticed how you looked tensed and their glance at each other.

Hizashi mentally kicked himself. Shouta said you felt as if you were not needed or wanted in this relationship. Hizashi wanted to prove that was not the case to you.

“What will you have, little Princess?” Hizashi smiled as he leaned onto his hand.

Shouta stiffened from the nickname and you snapped your head around.

“Uh, w-what?” You asked as your cheeks burned.

You were kinda ashamed at how you were responding to the nickname. Your body buzzed happily at it, wanting him to call you that again.

“I will have whatever you’re having darling.” He smiled, looking into your eyes deeply as he tried to memorize all the colors.

You blushed at the nicknames he was giving you. Weren’t sort of names you give to your partner? Shouta doesn’t seem that fazed by it. 

Did… Did this mean he already saw you as part of the relationship?

No, that can’t be it. They were just playing nice for you. That had to be it.

“I’m having a hot chocolate.” You finally answer him.

Hizashi’s smile widens from your response. 

“Good choice sweetcheeks. Again, I’ll have what you’re having.” He winks at you with his tongue pointing out.

You couldn’t stop or hide the blush burning into your cheeks. Shouta smirked at the reaction, finding it very cute. You pulled your head around, forcing your head around to let yourself cool down.

Shouta looked over at Hizashi and saw an evil smirk on his lips. Shouta followed his eyes and noticed how Hizashi was eyeing your skirt. Shouta side-eyed Hizashi and coughed.

“Your dress looks really nice on you, Y/N.” Shouta said as he rubbed the back of his head. Maybe he wasn’t as open with his flirting like Hizashi, but he still wanted to let you know it wasn’t one-sided flirting that only Hizashi delivered.

“Um, thank you.” You said as your cheeks burnt. You got the kettle and brought it to the tap so you could start pooring water into it.

Than Hizashi had to speak.

“I agree. It really shows off your cute butt!” He smilled.

Your body froze. You felt the harsh blush on your cheeks grow to your ears and heat grow between your legs. You took in a breath and let your body relax before responding.

Hizashi and Shouta watched you. Hizashi waiting to see what you would reply with, and Shouta hoping you won’t reply negatively. He knew Hizashi was going to fast and needed to slow down. When he saw how you were trying to relax, he decided to take control of the conversation. 

“We should be talking about why we are here, Hizashi.” Shouta side-eyed his partner.

Both you and Hizashi stiffened. Hizashi because Shouta had changed the topic but also for reminding him of why there were there. You for that same reason, because the following conversation was going to really put you in your place.

You brought the kettle out of the sink and put it on, turning off the tap. You started getting the cups ready for the hot drinks, waiting for Shouta to start the conversation.

Picking up on your social cue to him, Shouta began the conversation.

“Why dod you lie about your name and not having soulmates?”

You turned around after putting in mugs with milk into the microwave. You crossed your arms so they would not pick up how nervous you were.

“When I was younger I had many issues with people around me judging me. When I was 10 I made the decision to hide thee names to protect myself. I moved away from the town and moved here. Because of my quirk, I then got used to people using me for my quirk and so I never really had a true friend until I met Oboro.”

“Oboro talked about his views on soulmates.” Shouta sat back in his chair as he mentally brought puzzle pieces together. “With you using to hiding our names and with Oboro’s ideals, you thought you weren’t needed?”

“Oboro’s ideals worked for him because he didn’t have a soulmate.” Hizashi comment. You noticed he wasn’t in the playful mood he was in a minute ago, but now mirroring Shouta. Either from their UA training or the amount of time, they had together. “He gave you his ideals because he thought you were like him.”

“That is true…” You tried to avoid their gaze. “I guess I got attached to the idea that I got to choose that I didn’t really think the ideals wouldn’t work for me.”

“Why did you give me a fake name those years ago?” Hizashi asked, with a hint of sadness behind it.

You bit your inner lip from the pain in his voice. You made him sad, did you even deserve their forgiveness?

“I actually found out about you two before the sports festival. Oboro came running into my room and told me about my name on Shouta’s wrist and realised it was me. I don’t know how, my names were always covered. Maybe he saw it one time he came over after school. When he told me he really pushed me to meet you two and I grew scared. When you walked in on us Hizashi I panicked and just gave you my middle name. I just continued the lie. And when Oboro and I stopped being friends… I didn’t think I would see you guys again.”

The room grew quiet as Shouta brought all the information together.

“You have made mistakes, but I know for Hizashi and I, we want to have a relationship with you. We can take this relationship slowly if that’s what you want, just at least give us a chance, please.”

Your heart warmed at his words. Even though you had your doubts, you knew in your heart you wanted to try as well.

“Please, Y/N.” Hizashi’s eyes begged. “Please let us love you.”

You were quite. You knew your answer. You wanted to love them, so, so much.

But would it be best for you?

The microwave and kettle went off at the same time,

“Alright, we will take this slow for now.” You said, opening up the doors you locked a long time ago, thinking they would never be open. The doors to let your soulmates love you.