#Is she blushing because of offended modesty or because she's being (apparently) hit on in front of her crush?

[wild-houseplant]

WIP Wednesday

Praise the lord and pass the potatoes, my punctuality was just a phase. Getting back to my dysfunctional schedule is like coming home! ^_^ 

With this in mind, the snippet I offer is... hmm. I don’t want to say NSFW because I don’t think it is. But for context: that Ser Landry guy does the “I demand satisfaction” line to Rhodri, who recently became aware of Zevran’s flirtations, and she assumes Ser Landry means something rather unsalubrious. She tears him a new cloaca. I’ll stick it under the cut to be on the safe side.

Thanks heaps for the tag @heniareth and @siriskulksnerding for the tags and for showing off your gorgeous works :D :D I’d like to tag you back in anticipation for the Wednesday that’s almost come around again and tag @icylook @strixgirl (if ya don’t mind?) and @anna-the-great-and-terrible -- no pressure, I know these are busy times. Just if you fancy it! :D 

The knight squinted at the Warden. 

“You were at Ostagar," he murmured. "You're Duncan’s apprentice.”

She nodded. “That’s me, yes. How do you do? I am Sev–”

“You killed my friend and good King Cailan!” the man snarled, cutting her off mid-sentence. “I demand satisfaction, ser!”

Zevran’s daggers were already drawn before Rhodri’s mouth could finish falling open. After a moment of stunned silence had passed, the scarlet-faced Warden drew herself up to her full height.

“HOW RUDE,” she shouted at the man. “Not a shred of modesty to you! Coming up to me in the middle of the marketplace to proposition– no, demand that I have sex with you!” 

Rhodri stomped her foot, and as the astonished man started spluttering out a protest, she yelled over the top of him. 

“You people think Tevinters will sleep with anyone, I suppose! Well, you won’t know any part of this Tevinter’s body except the back of her hand! Upon my word, if I knew your family I would go to their house this instant to tell them what a lecherous beast they’ve let loose among civil society!”

With half the market downing bags and tools to watch the spectacle, the blockaded other half formed a protesting glut at the edges of the standstill. The town guard, who had been observing their exchange from her station by the Alienage gate, trudged over now. She tsked and eyed the Warden and the man with inured disinterest.

“Do you really need to air your grievances in the middle of the market square like this?” the guard asked tiredly. “It’s causing a pile-up.”

“There is a need if one is going about one’s business only to have a filthy swine catcall them!” Rhodri asserted, pointing at the knight.

“I challenged her to a DUEL,” the accused roared, his face now brick-red. Whether it was from embarrassment or the strain of the shouting was rather less clear.

“INDEED!” she bawled back. “WITH THAT SWORD YOU KEEP IN YOUR SMALLCLOTHES, IS IT? Come near me or my people again and I’ll send you home to your mother with your 'sword' in a box!”

With a loud harrumph, she turned to the party. 

“We should keep moving, my friends,” she said calmly. “There’s much to do before the sun sets, and if this is what Denerim is like during the day, I shudder to picture it after nightfall.”

Zevran caught the apoplectic knight’s eye and smirked, twirling his blades before re-sheathing them.

[thenovelartist]

The Drunken Vow - Tears of Themis

Number 3 in the "Drunk Wedding" series, here's Marius.

Wow. The hammer smashing repeatedly into his head was a real pain.

Marius didn’t want to so much as move despite knowing he had to. It took him a hot minute to realize the reason he felt like he’d been hit by a truck was because he was hungover to high heaven and back. He cursed himself. Normally, he was far better at pacing himself so he doesn’t get trashed like this, and yet, here he was. Must have made a drinking exception last night for his graduation party.

When the bright idea lingered in his head that maybe he should go grab some aspirin, he took hold of it. Though, it did take him another minute to get up.

And when he did, he realized he wasn’t the only person in bed. His heart stopped.

What did he dooooo?

He didn’t want to look. He so did not want to look at the woman he brought home with him. What in the hell was he thinking?

Had he been thinking?

Probably not.

But still, he wouldn’t do that! At least, he thought he would never stoop that low. Besides he was in love with Rosa. He wouldn’t chose any other girl beside her.

Right?

With a groan, he fell back on his pillow, shutting his eyes and cursing himself for the second time this morning. He was a total piece of trash. Either that, or he was drunk enough to be swayed by some girl who took advantage of his inebriated state to get with him. There were a lot of those types of girls; another reason he tried to limit his drinks.

He rubbed his eyes, only to feel something metallic slide across his face. He barely registered it, but it was enough to make him look at his hands. When he caught sight of a ring on his left hand, he narrowed his eyes down at the unfamiliar band. He didn’t recall wearing any last night. So why…

Oh.

Oh…

Um… does the wedding ring go on the left hand? It was the left, right? Or was it the right?

He couldn’t think straight.

Steeling himself, he decided that he not only had to see just who was beside him in bed, but whether she was wearing a ring or not. Because if she was…

He didn’t want to think about it.

He turned his head, looking at the girl. Her back was to him; her nearly bare back, he realized. The covers had sunk down her shoulders to reveal the fact he could only see her in her underwear. Which started up a whole new round of blushing for Marius. How far did they go last night? Because for the life of him, he honestly could not remember.

After taking a breath, he forced himself up on his elbow so as to get a better look at the petite brunette beside him. As he pulled the sheet back up over her shoulders to preserve her modesty, he took a look at her face—

And dropped the sheet.

That was his beloved Rosa…

Oh, shhhh—

Frozen in place, his mind had come to a screeching halt. Rosa was in bed with him, they were both nearly naked, and yes, they both had rings. Plain gold bands, but there was no denying that they weren’t matching wedding rings.

Meaning they got married last night?

How could that have even happened? While Marius may have called it a graduation party, it was hardly anything of the sort: a couple of his college friends, their girlfriends, and Rosa, who he’d begged to come with him. They were all being responsible, right?

Right?

For the life of him he could not remember.

With a sigh, he rolled back onto his back and stared blankly up at the ceiling. Lifting up his hand, he stared at the ring, and a wave of disappointment hit him like a truck. He’d wanted this. He’d really wanted this, being married to Rosa. But not like this. He had been still trying to convince her to go out with him in the first place. Whether or not last night could be classified as their “first date” when it was really just a “fake date to dissuade any ribbing from his not-single friends” was still up for debate. He had been so close to asking her out for real, but just as he always did, he somehow chickened out and put up that too-flirty persona before cursing himself for it.

He let his hand drop, his arm now covering his face as he let loose a tired groan. Geez, he was an idiot.

“Marius?”

The sweet voice rang from beside him had him tensing up again. He lifted his arm from his head, squinting at the sudden reintroduction of light to his eyes as he looked over at Rosa who was now looking over at him with wide eyes.

He wanted to flirt, to do something, anything, to loosen the intense tension between them. But this was the one time he really couldn’t string anything together. He blamed it on the hangover. “Er… hi?”

Was she blushing? He was pretty sure she was blushing as she clutched the sheets against her chest and turned over to face him. “H-hey.”

Wow, this was so awkward. “Umm…” he started stupidly. “Uh… I think… did we get married last night?”

Rosa’s eyes could rival saucers with how wide they got. “What?”

This time, Marius forced a smile while he raised his left hand and pointed to the ring on it. “You’re in one, too.”

Her wide eyes shot down to her left hand. She blinked once. Twice.

“Holy cats, I’m Mrs. Von Hagen!”

…

Fifteen minutes later, they had gotten dressed and were now in the kitchen, staring at the marriage certificate Marius had found crumpled in the back of his discarded pants pocket. The smell of coffee that Rosa had started permeated the kitchen, and frankly, Marius was dying for a cup. Between the hangover and the headache from his drunk marriage, he really needed the caffeine. And maybe an aspirin.

Beside him, also staring at the offending document, Rosa was standing in clothes she’d stolen from his closet and somehow looked better in than he ever could. Marius, on the other hand, had barely enough wits about him to throw on a pair of comfortable pants and plain tee shirt.

“This… it’s legal, isn’t it?” Marius asked despite all ready knowing the answer.

She nodded. “Yeah. It means we’re legally married.”

Guilt wracked him even more. This wasn’t how he wanted to go about things. At the very least, he actually wanted to remember getting married. Best he could recall was his graduation party had gotten very out of hand and he’d allowed himself far too many drinks. Rosa then recalled leaving with him in a taxi, and she was pretty sure she remembered kissing him—which had sent Marius into a blushing panic because why couldn’t he remember THAT sweet memory?—but that was the extent of it. What had happened after that was something neither Rosa nor Marius could recall.

“I’m shocked at you.”

Marius glanced over to the girl giving him a confused look. “What?”

“You haven’t cracked one inappropriate joke yet.”

Though stunned for a second, he let out a self-depreciating chuckle before shooting her a forced smile. “Sorry, Miss Attorney. Or should I say Mrs. Attorney. Guess the shock of being married to you has really gotten to my head.”

“There we go,” she said with a wink.

She was going to kill him, but he would at least go down smiling albeit hopelessly embarrassed. “I’m more concerned for what we’re going to do about… this.” He pushed the paper over to her.

She giggled as she straightened the paper out in front of her. “I’m surprised you didn’t even suggest ‘hey, let’s just stay married’.”

He huffed, running a hand through is messy hair. “Like you’d go for that.”

“I totally would.”

He froze. Wait… what?

Looking over at Rosa, who was smiling at him with a feisty twinkle in her eye that he loved more than anything, Marius’ heart began to beat wildly. “You serious?”

“What do you think?”

He thought that if she was serious, he would die of happiness. He’d been trying to figure out how to best ask her out, seeing as all his previous attempts had been thwarted. There may or may not have been a painting he’d been working on as a gift to present to her that may or may not have just been an excuse to avoid figuring out just how to sincerely ask her out. Because he really didn’t want to mess it up.

But now… Now it felt like all that work flew straight out the window because…

“Earth to Marius.”

He blinked a couple times. “Huh?”

“I asked you a question.”

He gaped like a fish as his mind scrambled back to what she’d asked. “Do… you mean it?”

She grinned. “Geez, normally you’re the one who’s all cocky, but look at you now. Apparently, I just have to suggest I might want to stay married to—whaaa!!”

He didn’t let her finish. He swooped her up and set her back on the kitchen counter, trapping her in with his arms. “No, really. Do you mean it?”

“Do I mean what?” she asked, clearly a little dazed at their position.

But he didn’t really care, for once. Instead, he was inwardly freaking out over the possibility that she actually did care for him as much as he did her. “That you’d want to stay married?”

She blinked up at him a couple times before a smile crossed her face. “I do.”

That was all he needed to hear. In a second, he wrapped her up in a hug, garnering a squeak from her as he pushed her back and pinned her fully against the kitchen counter. “You really mean it?” he asked again, desperate to make sure. Because if she really did, he was never going to let her go.

His racing heart somehow settled when she wrapped her arms over his shoulders. “Yeah,” she said, voice sweeter than any dessert he’d ever eaten in his life. “I do. I mean, I didn’t think it would go like this, but—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he cut in, squeezing her tighter. “That’s all I needed to know.”

She giggled, saying nothing and just holding him tighter.

“Wait!” he realized, his foggy mind making it extremely difficult to string his thoughts together. “This means I can kiss you now!”

She blinked up at him before bursting into laughter. “Yes, it does, Mr. Von Ha—mphfff!”

He didn’t give her a chance to finish. He wanted to kiss her, and seeing as she was his wife—his wife!—now, he could do that.

This was really exciting. So exciting that not even the beep of the coffee machine announcing the coffee was finished could pull him away. He had a better drug now than caffeine, anyway.

She pulled away first, and he pouted at the loss.

“Much as I’d love to continue,” she said. “Can it be somewhere more comfortable than the granite countertop?”

Oh… “Sorry,” he said, a bit of guilt slipping in as he picked her up and set her back down on the floor. Or, tried to, anyway. She seemed more than happy to wrap her legs around his waist and cling to him for dear life.

“This is okay,” she murmured into his shoulder.

Yes, he thought, happily tightening his hold on her as he made his way to the couch. Yes, it was.

…

By noon, Marius was freaking out again. For totally valid reasons, he believed, so he really hoped Rosa would stop laughing at him.

“I’m serious!” he cried, pouting. “Do you want a real wedding or not?”

“Marius, calm down, will you? You just spent the last ten minutes obsessing over getting me a new ring—”

“Because you deserve it! I don’t even remember buying you that one, and I didn’t even get you an engagement ring, so can’t I do that?”

“I’ll let you, but not today,” she said, grabbing his phone from him.

“Hey!”

“Mr. Von Hagan,” she said, shooting him a stern look. “As your wife, it is my job to—”

“Wait! You’re my wife now!”

She leveled him with a tired look.

“Do you want to take my last name! Because then we have to get the paperwork for that. And we’ll also have to turn in the certificate, right? And wait a minute! You’ll have to move in! We’ll have to get movers and pack all your stuff and—”

“Marius!”

She slammed her hands down on the armrests of the chair he was sitting in, glaring at him with a look he knew full well meant “stop it.” “Calm down,” she said. “One step at a time, right? You don’t have to fix everything now, okay?”

He wasn’t convinced.

She sighed, hanging her head in exhaustion. “Ugh, I liked it better when you were annoyingly flirty,” she grumbled. When she lifted her head, her stern expression had faded into something softer. “Can’t we just enjoy today and figure things out as we go?”

He supposed they could, but he also didn’t want things to take forever. If she was going to be his wife, he wanted her here with him. Furthermore, he wanted everyone to know she was his…

Wait.

He shot into a panic for the umpteenth time that morning. “The media! I’ll have to call Vincent right now and tell him to pressure the news to tamp this down!”

“Unless they caught wind of it already,” Rosa grumbled.

But clearly she hadn’t even been aware of what came out of her own mouth because it took both of them approximately ten seconds to realize just what had been said.

And how likely it was.

With a new weight on his shoulders, Marius sank back into his chair with a groan. His first day of being married, and he couldn’t even enjoy it.

[jugandbettsdetectiveagency]

Tacos and Tequila - Ch.7

Thank you so much for all your support, especially today. Here is the anticipated fort building...

Ch.1 / Ch.2 / Ch.3 / Ch.4 / Ch.5 / Ch.6 / Read on AO3

Hour 20

Betty had been tasked with rearranging the furniture while Jughead rounded up every sheet, blanket, and cushion he could find to build their fort. She had carefully manoeuvred the free-standing lamps into the centre of the room to act as the main pillars of the structure, shoving the couch away from the wall with a string of undainty grunts, before tackling the TV stand, pushing it closer and moving the coffee table out of the way.

Jughead stumbles in, nearly invisible behind the mound of downy pillows and duvets he’s attempting to carry in all at once. Betty rushes to help him.

“You could have made two trips!” she chastises, buckling under the surprisingly heavy mountain of feathers and fleece. Jughead dips to take some of the load back, stopping her from falling.

“What can I say, I can’t resist a challenge,” he retorts, smiling eyes catching hers over the top of the bundle. Betty rolls her eyes at his boyish behaviour, but is immediately excited again when the fort starts to take shape.

“I took the sheets off your bed again, I’ll put them back later, they were just the cleanest ones around,” Jughead tells her sheepishly, dropping the pile of grey cotton onto the couch. Betty just smiles, struck once again by how simply thoughtful he is. She stands amid the mess they’ve made, hands on her hips as she looks at him for direction.

“Alright, boss. How are we doing this?” she grins, enjoying the moment of childish freedom. Jughead sends her a mock salute before offering her his hand to pull her out of the mess so they can get to building. Betty feels a swoop in her stomach at the feeling of his fingers wrapped around hers, trying to keep the irrational disappointment at bay when he lets go again. This is crazy, Betty thinks, pull yourself together.

“Duvets on the ground, cushions and pillows against the back like this…” Jughead sets to work with a serious focus that borders on comical. Betty does as she’s told, enjoying seeing this lanky, teenaged boy get so invested in building a blanket fort.

“You really know what you’re doing,” she teases as they’re holding either side of the sheet, getting ready to throw it over the lamps. Jughead shrugs, a look of false modesty on his face.

“I’m just a pro, Betts. Don’t worry, with my teaching we can maybe get you to junior apprentice level by weeks end,” he jokes, lifting his chin proudly. Betty pretends to be offended.

“Hey, I’ll have you know that the forts Polly and I used to build were unparalleled!” she throws back, a sudden unexpected pang hitting her chest. Whenever there was a thunderstorm outside, or her mom and dad got into some of their worse arguments and brought the storm inside, Polly would be by her side in minutes, stringing up soft lights beneath their tied up blankets until the world around them finally calmed. Betty tries not to let her longing show on her face but she’s not always good at hiding her emotions. Jughead notices, eyes softening.

“JB always loved it when we’d build forts, too. Like the kids did in the movies she watched,” Jughead says with a fond smile, eyes distancing briefly before returning to the moment again. Betty’s overcome with affection – he’s always balancing her out, she thinks as they continue to build their camp for the afternoon, always validating whatever tilt her emotions decide to take by showing her that she’s not the only one.

There’s the bright white backlight of the TV illuminating their little cave once they finally crawl inside, Jughead bringing an array of his snacks with them to fuel their evening. He disappears quickly to fetch his bedside lamp, the warm yellow of the bulb lighting the fort up with a cosy glow. Betty sighs as she leans back into the mound of pillows behind them, Jughead stretching out with his arms behind his head.

“Not bad, Jones,” she smiles, peeking at him from the corner of her eye. He’s a lot closer than she expected. He sends her a sly glance in return, his breath mixing with hers across the expanse between them.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Cooper.”

 Hour 21

“Isn’t it still a little early for a Christmas movie?” Betty asks, quirking her eyebrow. Jughead sends her a dry look.

“Betts, we’re under a blanket fort that we built because we’ve been snowed in. If there was any time to watch a Christmas movie it’s now,” he says as if it’s obvious. Betty snatches the remote out of his hand.

“We are not watching Die Hard,” she says firmly, turning to scroll through the options on screen again. She dodges his hands as he flails for the device, holding him off with an elbow.

“But it’s a Christmas classic!” he complains.

“It’s over-watched! People wouldn’t put it on nearly as much if it weren’t set on Christmas Eve,” she deadpans, thinking about how her Dad had always insisted they watch it multiple times during the festive season.

“You could say that about any Christmas film,” Jughead defends. He’s smiling though, eyes unwavering as he looks at her for a moment.

“What?” she asks self-consciously, tucking some hair behind her ear.

“Nothing. I just like it when you disagree with me,” he replies softly, smile turning into his classically handsome grin. Betty rolls her eyes, hoping her blush isn’t too noticeable as she turns her attention back to the screen.

He’s swiping at her hands again but instead falls ungracefully into her shoulder, hand landing squarely on her upper thigh to steady himself. Betty’s breath hitches as he sits back quickly, jerking away from her as if he’d been burned. Jughead suddenly doesn’t seem in the mood to put up a fight about film choice anymore. That is, until Betty makes her selection, settling down with a triumphant smile, trying to distract herself from the uneven thrumming in her chest.

“Home Alone? Are you serious? After the crap you just gave me about Die Hard?” Jughead whines, throwing himself dramatically into the cloud of cushions.

“If anything is appropriate ‘fort viewing’ it’s this,” Betty tells him, leaving no room for argument as the open scene begins. “I think Macaulay Culkin was my first crush,” Betty muses as they watch.

“Child actors are so overrated,” Jughead mumbles as he sulks, folding his arms over his chest. Betty presses her lips together, trying to resist the urge to pinch his cheek and tell him to stop being such a grump. She sits up suddenly, eyes wide as she turns to Jughead.

“Wait!” Jughead bolts up, taking in the panic on her face.

“What? What is it?”

“We need to make cookies. I can’t watch this film without cookies,” Betty informs him seriously. Jughead lets out a huff.

“Well, if you’d told me that there’d be mandatory cookies involved I wouldn’t have put up such a fight,” Jughead says, amusement shining in his eyes. Betty is already scrambling towards the kitchen. Jughead walks up behind her slowly, watching as she pulls the box out she’d bought at the market the previous night.

“Hang on.” Betty pauses, eyes questioning. “These cookies… are they chocolate chip or are you gonna put fruit in them? Because you can’t pull that on a guy twice in one day,” Jughead says, lifting a shoulder. Betty holds up the box as evidence.

“All chocolate. Promise,” she grins. Jughead returns it with equal brightness.

 Hour 22

Baking with Jughead was not an activity Betty was willing to repeat any time soon.

“Jughead, this is so simple, why are you having such trouble!” Betty found herself telling her temporary roommate yet again. “You’re doing this on purpose,” she chastised as more of the mix managed to fly from the bowl, making its way onto her face; which was already sporting the powdered remnants of cocoa and flour, she might add.

“I’m much better at eating them,” he laughs, earning a swat on his shoulder.

“Just give it here,” she sighs, taking the bowl from his willing hands as he leans against the fridge to watch her instead.

Back beneath the blankets, the aroma of warm cookies fills up the small space, and it is mouth-wateringly good.

“You’re right, this film is so much better with cookies,” Jughead praises around a mouthful, and Betty giggles while taking small nibbles of her own.

She’s seen the movie so many times before, it being one of her favourites, that her attention drifts leisurely, filling with all the mundane questions she wants to ask the man beside her, wanting to find out more about him.

“What’s your favourite movie?” she asks, earning herself an incredulous look.

“Who has one favourite movie?” he asks, furrowing his brow. Betty glances down at her shirt, gesturing to the logo still displayed there, raising her brows as she meets his gaze again. His eyes linger a little longer than necessary on her chest and Betty feels an appreciative tingle work its way down her spine, all the way to her toes as his tongue comes out to wet his chapped lips.

“Err… fine,” he finally stutters. “But I don’t, there’s just too many good ones – one for every mood,” he says conclusively. There’s a pause.

“How about a favourite song?” she tries instead.

“You have one favourite song, too?” he asks disbelievingly, propping himself up on an elbow, angling his body towards hers. Betty chuckles, biting her lip at the intense look on his face at her apparently unreasonable question.

“Okay, favourite genre of music?” She’s enjoying getting him worked up over the triviality of ‘favourites’. Jughead looks conflicted, knowing his answer won’t appease her.

“I like a bit of everything.”

“You’re not answering any of my questions!” she exclaims through a laugh, eyes glowing in the lamplight.

“It’s not my fault if you don’t like my answers,” he tells her with a smirk. “I’ll play you one of my playlists later, okay?” he offers in an attempt to satisfy her. Betty nods, looking forward to getting a look inside the mind of Jughead Jones.  

 Hour 24

Jughead decided they needed a break from films before their next choice, the heavy air collecting beneath the blankets making them both sleepy.

“We could play Archie’s Xbox?” he suggests hesitantly, not sure if bringing up the previously unmentioned Archie again is a good idea. Betty only nods, unfazed by the idea. Jughead fires up the console, loading up Rocket League on the screen. “It’s just like football but with cars,” Jughead tells her, handing her a controller.

“I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it,” Betty laughs, crossing her legs and shifting in her seat as the match begins.

Jughead soon finds out that Betty has a mean competitive streak.

“Hey, what the hell?!” he shouts as she causes his front player to flip over and crash into the railings, bypassing the rest to hit the ball into his unguarded goal. She sends him an angelic look, like she didn’t just try and blow up half his team.

“I’m a fast learner,” she says with a shrug. Jughead narrows his eyes, prepared to play a little dirty to get her back for such a deception.

Betty is weaving around his defences, heading for another goal when she’s suddenly toppled off balance, a hand shoving at her upper arm.

“What, that’s so not allowed!” she cries as her stumble allows him to snake the ball out from under her. Jughead just smiles tongue coming out in concentration as he bounces the ball back up the field. Betty shoves him back with as much force as she can muster, satisfied when he has to let go of his controller to stop his face connecting with the floor.

“Ha!” she chirps triumphantly, preparing to go back to the game. Jughead has other ideas, though.

“Not so fast,” he murmurs menacingly, throwing his weight onto her side as he attempts to wrestle the controller out of her hands. They tousle briefly before Betty’s frame gives way beneath him, Jughead landing on top of her body with a huff. He catches himself on his elbows, pulling back to look at her face.

Her golden hair is splayed out on the duvet beneath her, glowing in the soft lamplight. He hadn’t noticed that her green eyes had flecks of gold in them too until he got this close, her pupils dilating slightly and swallowing the colour. Her breathing has shallowed out as he doesn’t move, and he can feel her heart hammering beneath his chest. Her every soft inch is pressed against his own and when he catches her eyes darting to his lips his can’t stop himself any longer.

He swoops down, catching her plush lips with his own, unable to hold back a low moan as she gasps into his mouth with the action. She tastes of strawberries and chocolate chip cookies, and he doesn’t realise how long he’s been wondering about this until he has his answer. Betty stills and he pulls back, looking at her with panic.

“I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to…” Her hands on his cheeks halt his worrying.

“Shut up,” she whispers, pulling him down to her once more.