#because of COURSE some saints had freckles!!

[kivaember]

me succumbing to the desire to write some kid tao and koshimizu stuff and ofc since this is gonna be set in mortal gods, that means shun'ya's there... it'll give good context to their relationship at least...

me sitting here like god i kinda wish we had more reaction from koshimizu in vanilla smtv about tao dying bt hey that's why fic exists i guess. anyway. i love my raidou oc shun'ya.

teaser under the cut as per usual uwu

-

“You want me to babysit?”

“Bodyguard,” Tsukuyomi corrected mildly. “It’s a great honour.”

Shun’ya, Raidou’s apprentice, clearly didn’t seem to think so. His blue eyes were narrowed into a petulant glare, and his bottom lip was threatening to push out into a pout, rather than the very stern frown he was valiantly clinging onto. Well, not that his frown was all that intimidating to begin with. Just shy of eighteen, Shun’ya’s face was still cursed with lingering puppy fat, and combined with the smattering of freckles over his cheeks, and his dark, fluffy hair, he looked a few years younger than he actually was.

It meant his petulant sulk was more endearing than insulting. Probably why Raidou let him get away with far more than he should (not that Tsukuyomi wasn’t any less guilty of caving to Shun’ya’s wide blue eyes and fat-lipped pouts)…

“You want me to take Tao to the park and walk her to school,” Shun’ya accused. “I’m not sure what’s so honourably great about that.”

“Her status as ‘Saint’ means she is always a target for those who crave power.” Tsukuyomi clasped his hands together and let them rest atop of his desk as he leaned forwards in his seat. “You should know better than most, how vulnerable children with vast amounts of spiritual power are…”

It was a low blow. Shun’ya’s sulkiness instantly evaporated, his expression pained as his gaze lowered.

Tsukuyomi pressed the point. “I’ll remind you that it’s only been a few months since her rescue-”

“Kidnapping,” Shun’ya mumbled under his breath, too low for a human to hear. Tsukuyomi ignored it because, well, he was right. Technically.

“-and she isn’t acclimatising well to her new surroundings. Likely because she has nothing but angels and technicians to speak to.” Tsukuyomi’s tone turned a bit dry at the end. He knew first hand that they were not the most riveting or pleasant conversationalists. “It’s vital to a human’s development for them to socialise and go outside… and this arrangement is the compromise myself and Abdiel have reached.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Shun’ya sighed. “I guess it’s something no one else can do around here.”

“Exactly.” Tsukuyomi punctuated the point with an encouraging nod. As a reward, he obligingly fluffed Shun’ya’s ego a little: “I would trust no other devil summoner - aside from Raidou himself, of course - to protect Tao from the dangers outside. You’re talented and capable for your age, bear enough similarity to her for the average human to assume familial links, and you’re uniquely equipped to understand the turmoil Tao is going through. You’ll not only safeguard her physically, but may be able to offer her emotional and mental support as well, which is important if she is to become well-adjusted.”

“I don’t think anyone will grow up well-adjusted in Bethel of all places,” Shun’ya deadpanned. “You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t grow up to be a freak.”

“She won’t grow up to be a freak,” Tsukuyomi said, though she was Amaterasu’s Knowledge, and his sister had her… quirks, that he politely turned a blind eye to. “You managed to grow up… mostly fine, didn’t you?”

Shun’ya scowled but didn’t rise to the low-hanging bait.

“I guess you already passed this by Raidou,” Shun’ya said rather than asked. The sulkiness was beginning to creep back in, but Tsukuyomi overlooked it. For all of his talent and training, Shun’ya was still a juvenile - albeit a lethally trained one. Some immaturity was to be expected.

And, more importantly, Tsukuyomi knew that while Shun’ya may view this ‘great honour’ beneath him, he’d give an exemplary performance as always. He was predictable in that he refused to embarrass Raidou in any way, and so long as that stick was hovering in his periphery he’ll do as he was told without fail.

Well, he’ll bark a bit before obeying, but Tsukuyomi didn’t mind it. Humans were a wilful species. It was a charm point.

[roegadynroost]

FFXIVwrite 2023 - 03 Familiarity

The muggy climes of summer were finally giving way to cooler autumn air, but has always Gridania stayed green and verdant despite the shifting seasons. This early in the morning, before the sun peeked over the great boughs of the Shroud, the chill was enough to make anyone want to retreat back inside and return to the warmth of their waiting beds.

Alas, All Saints' Wake was less than half a moon away and it would be a busy time for the botanists' guild, thus it was that instead of doing her usual tasks for the day Crystal Ash was finishing up a bit of meditation early this morning. She was dressed in a ratty old dalmatica and a pair of her most worn tights, layered so that she would be warm enough to deal with the morning, but in nothing so cumbersome that she could not shed it when the sun rose into the sky.

Stillglade Fane was only a short walk from the Greatloam Growery, and with a warm smile on her face, she made her way to answer the call for help with the harvest. Crystal was far from the only early riser, there were already half a dozen others doing their best to make quick work of the waiting plants. Gourds of all color and shape, including her favorites, pumpkins. Currants, acorns and all manner of delicious treats waiting to be picked. 

Fufucha, the guild master was one of the early risers, already in the field doling out instructions and helping to pick the product. Crystal got out her heavy gathering gloves and waited her turn for the Lalafellin woman's attention.

"G'morning Ma'am! I'm hear to help! What did you want me on?" Crystal interjected when she saw her chance.

Fufucha's wide pretty eyes looked up from the squash she was examining, a bright smile finding her lips as she recognized the rabbit-earred girl. "Oh Crystal! I'm so glad you're here." Fufucha exclaimed, stepping past the plot to greet her. "I know you're busy with your other guilds so I'm happy you could still spare us some time."

"Of course, I wouldn't miss autumn harvest for anything." Crystal nodded, returning the smile before adding. "And I won't lie, I was hoping to get first pick of the pumpkins, there is one I have been eyeing every time I come with the fertilizer."

Fufucha chuckled, but left it at that before assigning Crystal her area, unsurprisingly the pumpkins. 

Crystal loved getting to harvest the gourds, she loved their different hues, she loved the delicate curl of their vines and she above all else loved their flavour. She could spend the whole day tending them, and she did so very often. It was past noon before she realized the time, and only then did she notice because Fufucha scolded her for not stopping for lunch like everyone else.

By now a dozen more had joined in and the harvesting was in full swing. Crystal stretched and shed her gloves. She tucked them in at her waist where she had tied her top by its sleeves, her eyes slowly scanning the field as she made her way back up to the hovel. There were all sorts helping today, Elezen, Lalafell, Hyur, Miqo'te, even a couple other Roegadyn to her surprise. She was all the more astonished when coming down the way from the hut she spied a pair of rabbits ears in the crowd atop the head of a young man. 

Crystal blinked, her footfalls stopping altogether. She was not in the slightest worried about how it would look as she was all but ogling this stranger. She simply could not believe her eyes. At a quick glance he might have been mistaken for a Miqo'te if not for the lack of a tail, but when one really took the time to take in his visage there was no mistaking the tall elegant ears spouting from his crown.

The man himself was much shorter than Crystal, by a head or so from what she could tell from her spot. His pale skin was kissed by Nophica, freckles dotting the bridge of his nose. His hair covered one eye, and she could not see the color of it. The other eye was a brilliant amber, and his hair itself was a vibrant auburn, nearly the same familiar color that she saw whenever she looked into a mirror. 

Crystal would have kept gawking if not for the strangers eyes meeting her own and snapping her from her stupor. She quickly closed her mouth. Had she had it open? She must have looked incredibly strange there, and surely he would say something about her curious staring. She readied herself but the awkward confrontation.

"Oh hey, you're here for the harvest too?" His chipper and familiar tone was so unexpected that Crystal almost looked around to see if he was talking to someone else, but as he came closer staring up into her bewildered face she knew he addressing her. 

"Ah, yes. Yes I am." Crystal replied, brows nit in confusion as she wracked her brain to figure out if she'd spoken with him before. She had not. There was no way that she would have met him and not remembered. If the look on her face bothered him, he didn't show it. His handsome face was bright and excited, the suns rays causing him to shimmer in the days light. He looked so genuinely excited to see her she couldn't help but keep up the facade of familiarity. "Are you enjoying harvest?"

He quickly nodded, a small hum in confirmation his reply before he spoke. "Yes, I am. Though it's much harder work than I expect. It's great to have so many in the guild around at the same time. I'm learning a lot in a short amount of time."

Crystal couldn't help but smile and nod back. She wanted badly to know more about this stranger and was about to form a reply when a shout from behind her interrupted and she looked over to the source.

"Honeyrust I could use your help over here!" It was Sandre, struggling to get a particularly large gourd into a wagon.

"I'm coming boss!" Honeyrust shouted back in alarm, moving forward to close the distance before stopping to give Crystal his attention once more. "Sorry, I gotta get back to work! We'll catch up later yeah?"

"Yeah, of course. Talk to you later Honeyrust." Crystal smiled down gently, the test of his name on her tongue came out in a very amused tone, as if she knew a secret he did not. If he noticed it he did not speak on it, he was already on the move again.

"See you later Thyn'a!" He called over his shoulder, jogging away to where he was called.

Authors note: I wasn't going to do the extra credit days, but seeing as the 24 hour deadline is not in effect yet and I had a spark, I figured I should take advantage of it!!

[unknownjpegs]

uniform

“Huh?”

Xavier stares up from his seated position on the edge of the bed. It’s bare, because they’d been in the midst of Saturday morning chores when the thought had struck him. The sheets were a tossed mess in the corner of the room, draped half over their (or Benji’s, at least) “random shit” chair. He’d grown up with one of those in nearly every room of their house: a place to throw the daily useful stuff when it made no sense to put it away, or an orphanage for the get-to-later bits. 

Xavier hadn’t grown up that way. Xavier had grown up in a Saint Zita type of household, he’d said once. Whatever the fuck that meant.

It says quite a lot that Xavier’s eyes don’t stray over towards the mess — compliments, all of it. At least Benji takes them that way. Might have a bit to do with the circumstances, if he’s honest. 

Good set of circumstances to be in, too. They’re close, touching in all of Benji’s favorite sort of ways to touch. Xavier’s hands make repeated passes over his hips, climb up his sides a bit. The motion bunches his old standard issue shirt, and while the glide of skin over skin seems to be intended to distract Benji, it reminds him way more of someone who launches a punch way too fucking hard at one of those arcade weights. The expression on his freckled face is slack shock — certainly reminiscent of a surprise blow. 

“Please don’t make me repeat myself,” Xavier pleads, tone whiny. “It’s embarrassing. And weird. Can you just — without —“

“No.” When Xavier doesn’t budge, just keeps his mouth twisted in an adorable, stubborn pout, Benji cracks. “Heh, okay. Fine. Fuckin’ sue me. It was cute n’I want to hear it again.”

“It was weird.”

Benji gathers his face up in his hands, squeezing his cheeks. “All right? You ask me ‘bout forty weird things a day. Gonna kill you to go —“

Xavier squirms away from his grasp, feet kicking a little as he shoves at Benji. “Fuck you, fuck you. Don’t tease me. Don’t, you asshole, you are being an asshole.”

The ensuing grapple brings them both to the floor in front of the bed, a mess of limbs and dirty tricks (a hand in Xavier’s hair, fingers dug into th soft spot above Benji’s hip that makes him laugh and squirm). 

“The boots?” Benji squeaks in an admittedly inaccurate falsetto between waves of his horrible, breathless fit. “B-Benji, haha, what about the boots? Boots too, please? Ha— ow! Pleaseee, Benji?”

Xavier still swears at him, punctuating by absolutely mad sounding giggles of his own. They end up in an uncomfortable pretzel, arms and legs wrapped around each other. And Xavier paws across the ground for one of the mentioned shoes (because of course Benji had gone to find them, he’d asked). He waves it threateningly in the air, eventually landing a heel to the back of his thigh.

“You’re always after it once you’ve lost, huh?”

“I’m always after it, period.” Xavier clarifies with a huffing chuckle, rubbing his face into the carpet. “And I didn’t lose. You cheated.”

His hair gets ruffled for the trouble, making him scowl and buck. Benji keeps him easily in place with a knee on the small of his back. And just like that, all the fight drains from the body beneath him, goes sweet and slack. There’s a soft relaxing of all the muscles, and then right as Benji suspects the noise will slip free: Xavier whimpers.

“See? After it. Just a piece of fucking meat to you, am I?”

“Fuck you.” Xavier says again, shuffling in place as much he can with the grip Benji’s got on him. “Put them on already.”

*

Benji does. Because Xavier asks. 

And the first time he’d done so, eyes big and excited yet hands wrung together, Benji had hesitated. Not for his own sake, but — 

Well, the spare uniform wasn’t a perfect copy of his old one. But it was close enough he figured there’d be some lingering memories there. The last time Xavier had seen it on him, after all, had been —

A warm hand cups around his rib, right over that injury. As if he knows. Probably does, at this rate. He’s always going on about Benji’s face, Benji’s eyes, Benji’s nose. He figures Xavier spends enough time staring to catch his tells.

Benji, too, does a bit of staring on occasion. He knows that particular slant to his brow means I’m worried and not I want it bad, but the latter will come out soon enough.

“M’okay.” He assures, flattening his own hand over Xavier’s. His knuckles aren’t as rough as they once had been, touching that same place. Keeping his insides as firmly inside as he could. “You?”

Xavier nods. The hand slides again, a quick pass over the curve of his lower back. 

“You look, like, stupid hot right now. Not right now only, but. I mean, you know. Especially right now.”

Benji snorts. “Boots complete it, yeah?”

The slow, appreciative drip of Xavier’s down his body makes that lick of heat return. It settles in the pit of his stomach, this internal twist and twitch that leaves a heavy weight in its absence. He likes that twist. Wants to feel it again.

“Do you know how many times I jacked off to like, this exact thing?”

“Can’t count that high.” Benji teases. “So I’m surprised it’s still attached.” His hand sweeps teasingly between Xavier’s thighs, making him gasp and part his knees. 

“It was a close call for awhile.” Xavier leans forward until his chin touches the center of Benji’s chest, right on that patch stitched to his vest. Gets a taste of his own medicine, like that. Big green eyes blink up at him, half-lidded and so intense he gets that itch to look away. 

“Yeah?” He has to kiss Xavier then, for the sweet, bobbing nod he gives in response.

“Yeah. Might, uh. Actually. Might have had like…lasting effects? All that cranking it. Might need it, like, looked at. Or whatever”

Benji rolls his eyes, cups Xavier’s face to shake him. “Uh-huh. By a medic, I’m guessin’. You ever gonna get new material?”

“When it stops working.”

Benji’s eyes narrow, brow dropping at the challenging little note to his voice. If it’s a reaction Xavier is after, and he figures it is with all this work gone into getting Benji wrapped like this again, he’s more than happy to give one. 

“Take those off, then.”

Xavier’s smile curls nasty, a soft glint in his eye that indicates he’s gotten exactly what he wants. His fingers walk dramatically up Benji’s chest, tuck into the edge of his vest like they had a dozen times, a hundred times, before this. He pulls a little, no real power behind it, but Benji holds fast. Chin tilted, Xavier bats his eyes. 

“Actually can you repeat that? It sounded cute and—”

Benji snatches his chin up in rough fingers. Not a cruel grip, anyway. Just the gloves. Xavier had also asked for those. And, well — he’d asked. 

Now he cuts off, though, with a slippery whine that drops right into Benji’s stomach along with the tight, heavy knot of want. Benji squeezes his face until pink lips pucker. The smile drops off them entirely, replaced with something much needier.

“You pullin’ rank on me?” Benji shakes him again, just a little. His other hand smooths Xavier’s hair back from his face, but the pet doesn’t stay soft. His fingers go tight and mean right at at spot on his skull where the hair’s thickest, where it feels the best to grip, where there’s a sweet cowlick every fucking morning Benji turns and puts his face there—

“Nope.” Xavier breathes. His eyes flutter rapidly, because he hasn’t been blinking much. Just that staring that proper fucking gets to him. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“Good boy, then.” He knocks his knee to the side, brushing Xavier’s thigh. “Get on with it.” 

Xavier sets record time on that, to offer him credit where it’s due.

*

Things, as they tend to when both of them have worked the other up enough, progress. Xavier kneels in front of him submissively, head tilted back and cheeks as red and slick as his mouth. Another thing he’d asked for that Benji would be fucking mental to deny. 

“Yeah?” 

Xavier takes a second to catch his breath, throat bobbing. Benji loves this part the best, he thinks — not the hot, focused look at him when he’s sweet enough to get on his knees like that, tries his best to unravel him from the fucking seams. Nah, the part after. When he slips back into the moment a bit more, breaks the shivery surface with a toothy grin.

“You didn’t let me finish.” 

“Mate, come on — ‘cuz I’m not trying to fucking end it here. Sweated my arse off getting back into all this shit, and you want it over that fast?”

“Yep. Want it in my mouth,” Xavier chirps back, dropping his mouth open and tongue out invitingly. “Listen, hah, I accomplished what I set out to, y’know. Got you back in that disgusting fucking uniform and more importantly —“ he gives Benji a telling squeeze. “I’ll die happy right here, right now.”

Benji’s only aware of how sharp and dangerous his expression goes thanks to the oh fuck, danger look that Xavier tries to stifle.

“I mean, if you insist.” 

“Nah.” Benji tilts his head back, fingers under his chin. “You gotta insist.”

Xavier swallows audibly. “Sorry?”

Their faces come together again. Benji holds his gaze the whole time he bends forward at the waist. He hasn’t felt the heavy slip of cold chain around his neck in a long time. Hasn’t heard the clink of the tags together. And if it were someone else, a different place, just a few years earlier…he’d maybe be a bit concerned about how accessible that headspace remains. Maybe later, afterwards, they’ll talk about it. He hasn’t got a doubt that Xavier will know exactly what he means. That he’ll patiently listen if Benji decides his thoughts on the matter are as accessible, fumbling through those complicated, guilty emotions.

Maybe they’ll be too much. So maybe Benji will order take out and Xavier will put on something real shit and they won’t crash into bed until late, late.

Maybe Benji will have trouble sleeping, will end up on one of his now-rare late night excursions to the back porch where he’ll chain through three cigarettes and be red-eyed awake at sun up. 

But either way, tucked close to him in bed or coming to find him in that chair that rusts for all its use, hands gentled and concerned on his shoulders, Xavier will be there. That’s what matters. It’s safe, now. They can do this. The weird stuff, the fun stuff, the 'maybe this will make me think of that time…' sort of bad stuff. They’re together.

Benji pulls them closer still, palms cradling Xavier’s jaw. 

“Insist, then.” He repeats, smile definitely going devilish now. His thumbs press in towards the soft give of flesh at the top of that pale neck. “Ask for it.”

“Hn, fuck. Benji, but I —” 

Benji’s eyes narrow a bit more. Now he pulls them close enough their lips brush. Xavier’s pupils cross trying to maintain the eye contact, and that’s such a cute fucking thing to do he can’t even spare the thought toward it, he really will lose his mind this time.

“Ask me.” His fingers brush circles into Xavier’s cheeks. “Ask me t’fuck you, too, ‘cuz you want it so bad. Ask me, Xavier. C’mon. No? Nothin’? You don’t wanna convince me you deserve it, that you’ll look real cute takin’ it, make sweet little noises for me?”

Xavier paws uselessly at his vest, mouth dropped open. “Holy shit, this was like…a switch or something.”

“Little bit,” Benji admits with a grin, and drags him off his knees to face the end of the bed, get bent over it, have his arms tucked neatly to the small of his back. “Don’t move.”

“Aye aye!” Xavier whines, shuddering laugh bringing his voice so rough he sounds almost sick.

*

Benji would like to say that it’s normal, after that. They fuck like a regular couple most of the time, and he’ll swear that up and down whether Xavier has one of his annoyingly satisfied fucking grins on or not. But that would be a lie, and maybe a bit of a disservice to the whole point of it. 

Reality is, Benji drags the foreplay out until Xavier is slick with sweat and writhing, face buried in the bed and barely muffling the loud moans he lets loose as Benji’s fingers work him. He’s not normal about it, certainly not normal when Xavier begs for more, harder. When he gets dragged to the ground, shoved roughly to his hands and knees, Benji gets the feeling he doesn’t mind much that they’re not being normal.

That’s okay though. They’re doing it together. Even if its —

Rough, actually. More than a little mean. He’s curved his spine enough to get a tight fist in Xavier’s hair as he alternates between slow, agonizing rocks of his hips and properly hard fucking thrusts. He’s never done anybody this way before, knelt behind them on one knee. His other boot is firm near Xavier’s shoulders, which jerk back and forth while he keeps at it. Xavier had dragged a blanket from the corner to shove his face in, muffling the loud, sharp noise of his moaning somewhat.

Somewhat.

“Fuckin’ hell. Rattled the windows, that.” Benji laughs after a particularly soulful one. Sweat drips from every bit of skin, has his shirt clinging to his chest in a way he’d usually find uncomfortable. Now, though, it’s just obscene. Hot, because it was nasty. 

“Good? You want it like that?”

He punctuates the question with a particularly hard smack of his hips, that forces Xavier to jolt forward. Benji’s next chuckle is more a satisfied hum; it’s good for him too, and he’s closer than he’d care to admit. It’s good. Xavier splayed out with his chest touching the ground, his long legs keeping his ass in the air. His head tilts to the side suddenly, and Benji sees the deliberative, far-off shine to his gaze before his jaw cracks open. Xavier’s long, sighing moan is barely audible over the sound of their thighs coming together. 

That sound isn’t quite the focus of the next few seconds, though, because a pink tongue suddenly swipes a shiny trail over the toe of his boot.

They both pause. Everything quiets, freezes for a moment; Benji feels them stride up to one of those lines they tend to find, contemplate it together. His hand softens a bit in sweaty red hair. 

“Man. I’ve been wanting to do that forever.” Xavier arches his back and then settles back into position. “God, you’re fucking evil. Harder. Harder, please.”

Benji groans long and low, slumps forward to set his teeth into Xavier’s shoulder. Then he laughs and tightens his fist, uses that grip to push Xavier’s head back down. Puts his freckled cheek to the ground, watch pretty green eyes roll, that rosy flush bleed down to the dip of his spine. It begs for a tongue to follow, so Benji does. Xavier doesn’t ask for that. He does it because he wants to, because it feels good, because it’s weird and fun and —

He realizes that’s all it is, in that moment. Not a costume; has too much attached to it to be all trivialized. He wouldn’t want it to lose that meaning anyway. In a way, it feels worse to imagine forgetting. He’d rather remember the good things, make them better, and in just then it’s that — better.

Them. 

Benji’s smile buries into the blush-warmed flesh of Xavier’s shoulder, and he gets back to it with renewed vigor that brings them both to a loud, weird, good end. 

*

His belt digs into a spot on his lower back, even with the soft give of the mattress. All at once in the quiet retreat of adrenaline, when it’s stopped pumping like a mad beat at his temple, Benji realizes how uncomfortable he feels. And it’s a relief, that. That the ache in this fabric isn’t mental, but physical. He (when exhausted enough) used to be able to fall asleep like this. Full geared out, gun at his side or strapped between his shoulders. That feels as distant as it feels a part of him, now. Benji won’t be able to sleep, because he’s uncomfortable. And yet…

Catching his breath, Benji smiles and allow his eyes to slip shut. 

Only reason he won’t be able to sleep now is because of a hand glancing over his hip. The touch is light but insistent at his loosened belt. His smile widens because he wants them there. Wants deft fingers to slide beneath his shirt, under the tasteless green-brown camo. Wants them to touch and explore, appreciate. It isn’t that ugly, secretive touch. The kind that found places on his body crammed behind barracks, in an alley, accompanied a haunting little ‘be quiet, trooper’, after training, desire but no comfort. Even though he’s in this fabric, the touch doesn’t feel nameless. It isn’t faceless. 

Benji opens his eyes and tilts his chin to the side, meeting lidded green ones. “Can’t be serious.” 

“I want it again,” is all Xavier whines, squirming closer across their bed. He tucks a long leg over Benji’s hip, rocks until his lip catches his teeth. They kiss for a moment, mostly off-target and messy, until Benji yanks him away with a fistful of hair.

“Got an estimate, sir?” 

That startles a laugh out of him. The quip, the title — and mostly his lack of reaction to it. Nothing nasty or strange curling in his stomach. He huffs into a proper chest-heaving laugh that threatens to get him wheezing. Already breathless, anyway. He’s yet to catch it after the last round. 

“One of these days I’m going to fall over dead, y’know that? Fuckin’ insatiable, you dickhead. My blood pressure.” Benji says once he’s calmed down enough to speak. He reaches up and tucks hair behind Xavier’s ear, gloved fingertips lingering over his red, sweat-slicked cheek. He looks like he’s fucking glowin. Benji's heart squeezes. 

Second round isn’t so out of reach, suddenly.

After, his head hangs suddenly loose on his neck, a rough groan stuttering out as Xavier starts to laugh.

“Fuck, shut up. Sound too cute.” He growls, squeezing Xavier’s hip blindly. He finally stops thrusting, chin tilting back towards the ceiling instead of his chest. “Gotta stop that, m’fuckin’ —” his brows furrows, eyes slipping open as a little brush of anxiety tingles over the nape of his neck. “What’s funny?”

Xavier shakes his head, throat bobbing. His hazy eyes slide back, find Benji before pointing to the side. Benji looks. Long, trembling fingers curl and twist, fiddle with the loose black laces of Benji’s left boot. They’re pristine, because he’s never worn them before this. Never had reason to pull these standard issue back out, not the uniform either. Not until now. Not until this, together. It feels good not to have any other reason.

“Didn’t tie it,” Xavier whispers finally. His voice sounds hoarse, rough. Not from all the loud things Benji has pulled from the recesses of him. From something else, something softer, something more emotional and before. Benji cradles his cheek. 

“I can see your stupid socks.”

Benji looks down. Xavier is right: the tiny threaded face of a pastel cat peeks from the top of his left boot. He smiles, and Xavier reaches back with a trembling hand to wrap fingers around it, anchoring them both.

[ah-bright-wings]

St Dymphna, patron of those suffering from mental illness, pray for us!

[writerofblocks]

*sneaks this in* Bridget/Troy - things you said with no space between us (or) things you didn’t say at all

This was. From a long ass time ago. BUT ITS FINISHED NOW SO IM POSTING IT.

Sleepless in Stilwater

“Three.”

“Hmm?”

Troy held up three fingers. “That’s the third time you’ve yawned in as many minutes. And I’d be okay with that if you weren’t, you know, doin’ seventy on a forty-five mile an hour highway.”

Bridget broke eye contact with the road long enough to give him a sidelong glare that would wither a lesser man. “I’m not the only one doing their best Fast and the Furious impression out there,” she irritably shot back. A sports car rushed past them with an ear splitting squeal that made Troy jump, and she gestured at it. “See?”

Troy sunk back into the leather seat of the [insert car model here], returning her glare with one of his own. “That’s not the point and you know it. The point is I’d rather not end up a red smear on the pavement because my wheel man fell asleep at the goddamn wheel.”

“Oh, is that all I-” Her mouth cracked open into another face-splitting yawn; she barely managed to hide it behind her hand. “-all I am to you? Your wheel man?”

“Four. And don’t give me that crap, you’re the one that called dibs on driving.”

“I only called dibs cause you drive like a grandma on a broken scooter.”

“You mean I drive the speed limit.”

Bridget ignored him. “Besides,” she said, swerving around a semi-truck sharp enough to make him grab at the handle above the passenger window, “I’ve got places to be after this. Julius called me about a-” she let out another yawn. “-about a storage place, said the Rollerz keep their best wheels there.”

A smirk crossed Troy’s face. He waited until Bridget’s attention was on him before he held up five fingers and wiggled them. It was worth it to see the way her eyebrows dropped into a sharp V before she jabbed a finger in his direction. “Don’t you fucking say it.”

“Don’t need to say anything.”

The one finger swiftly flipped upward into giving him the bird as she returned her attention to the highway. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you out on the highway this second,” she growled, though a smile playing at the corners of her lips undercut the hostile tone.

Troy chuckled, then settled back in his seat enough to look out the car window. Stilwater was a shithole on a good day, but the oranges, purples, and blues of sunset colored the world into something more palpable to take in. Light bounced off the towering buildings of Downtown, harsh edges and cold, reflective glass softening under the gentle touch of twilight. But you could only watch buildings whiz by for so long. His gaze, as it so often did in these rare quiet moments, returned to her.

As much as he bitched about it, there was one thing he didn’t mind about Bridget being the go-to driver. It allowed him time to just… take her in. Look openly, without other people seeing and giving him crap for being lovestruck. Without her giving him crap for being lovestruck, because even after the months they’ve been together she still shied away from open affection more often than not. She cuts the sentiment with a joke, or by teasing him, or some combination of both. He doesn’t mind it- he wonders sometimes if he’s a glutton for punishment, given his career path and choice of romantic partner, but he doesn’t mind being so. Not with her around.

So he looks at her. The way her eyelids keep fluttering slightly, only for her to stubbornly hold them back open. The dark circles he’d think were black eyes if they weren’t only on her lower eyelids. She’s tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, jiggling the leg not in charge of the pedals. Any motion to tell her body it isn’t time to sleep yet. He’d make a joke about looking in a mirror if seeing it didn’t bother him so much.

That was the downside of being undercover. You got real good at seeing things people tried to hide. He had to say something. He opened his mouth, and...

“For real, though. You look like shit. Have you slept at all?”

And of course something stupid came out. Miracle of miracles, she scoffed instead of chucking him onto the highway. “Bold move to question my sleeping habits. How many used coffee mugs are on your desk again?”

Troy chose to ignore her words. “Look man, just-” He sighed, running a hand down his face. “-go home. Take a shower or something. Get some food. You need a break, Bridge.”

Bridget’s face was impassive, staring straight forward as she shifted the car into the express lane. “Can’t. Julius-”

Enough of this. “Did he tell you to do it tonight?” he asked, cutting her off before she could restate whatever bullshit task Julius had given her to do on top of everything else he’d piled on her. For fuck’s sake, sometimes it felt like she was carrying the whole gang by herself in between the tasks Julius sent down the pipeline and the duties she’d taken on herself to perform.

The glare she gave him could melt permafrost. “No.”

“Then do it tomorrow when you’re fresh.”

“I’m fresh enough,” she bit out. “You’re worrying way too much-”

The words burst from his chest before he could vet them. “I’m worrying the right goddamned amount for someone watching a person he cares about take way more shit on than she needs to.”

Bridget’s eyes went wide, whatever she’d been about to say dying in her open mouth.

Troy ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if this is some macho attempt to prove yourself or some shit, but you don’t have to do this. Slow down. Take care of yourself. Just- please.”

She was quiet for several minutes, eyes locked on the road as she slowed to match the speed of traffic. He’d almost given up on getting a response before she spoke again. “I won’t go to the storage place tonight. It’s-” She swallowed. “It’s late. Rollerz’ll be getting the cars out for races by now, there’s bound to be way more hanging around than during the day.”

He knows those justifications. Her saying he’s right without saying it directly. When she spoke again, her voice was careful. “Got anything else going on later?”

Manila folders scattered across a coffee table, a rapidly growing pile of cigarette stubs as he figures out the best way to ruin his friend’s lives-

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

When Bridget had first joined the Saints, Troy had thought her unreadable. It was easier now to read her once he knew what to look for. Her rubbing her thumb against the side of her index finger- something self soothing. Bouncing her leg- buying time to think. The lift of her head to look at him directly- she was searching him, weighing his reaction. “Feel like staying over?”

Always. “If you want me to.”

The tension in Bridget’s shoulders dissipated, and she gave him a small smile. “Of course I do, that’s why I asked,” she replied, punching him in the arm. “Dumbass.”

===

Rain tapped an improv jazz rhythm on the glass of Bridget’s bedroom window, and Troy couldn’t sleep. Blame the cigarettes, the coffee, the crippling anxiety and paranoia. The cause ultimately didn’t matter, the effect was the digital clock on Bridget’s bedside table hit 2AM and he was no closer to falling asleep than he was when he originally lay down. Bridget, though. Bridget had been asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a moment of satisfying vindication.

He rolled over, resting a hand on her arm.

It was strange to see Bridget asleep. If Bridget was awake, she was moving- tapping her foot, shifting from side to side. She bounced her heels if a meeting went too long, rattling the table until he placed a hand on her thigh to get her to stop (among… other reasons). If she chose to talk, she talked with her whole body, her hands dancing in the air. Even when she was seated and still, a part of her still seemed to tremble with energy, anticipation and eagerness. Not now, though. Now she laid there, the rise and fall of her chest the only motion. Light drifted through the cracks in the blinds from the streetlight outside her window, resting softly on the freckles on her cheeks.

His hand traveled down her arm, into the dip of her waist, over the swell of her hip bone. Bridget wasn’t a paper-thin waif by any stretch of the imagination, but without the bulk of her sweatshirt to fill out her usual silhouette, she looked… smaller. More vulnerable. Which was ridiculous, he’d seen what she could do with a gun- hell, forget a gun, he’d seen the havoc she created with her fists alone- but somehow. Somehow that veneer was stripped away in the hazy orange light of a half-dead lamppost bulb, and the only thing left was a tired twenty-one year old who needed a hell of a lot more sleep than she was getting.

Christ. She really was twenty-one, wasn’t she? The face she wore around the other Saints made her seem older than that. It was all harsh angles and stony silences, only a twitch of a smile or a slight furrow in her brow betraying the emotions running electric through her veins. The uncertainty there at the beginning had long since suffocated under a rap sheet he hated to tally up in his head. It was a thing with no remorse, and little room for mercy.

And yet that face was forgotten in her sleep. The ever present tension slackened, releasing that hardened shell and letting it fall away in favor of something softer. She denied the existence of that softness, but he knew. He was allowed to know, he realized, warmth settling in his chest at the thought. Of all people, she’d offered that gift to him.

And it’s a gift you’ll lose soon.

The thought cut a sharp line through the haze, frozen against the warmth of the moment. Troy stilled, his hand resting on her waist. Somewhere in between the light on her cheeks and the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, he’d forgotten what would be waiting for them. That as much as he tried to dodge and delay, the day Chief Monroe decided it was time to pull the plug on the Saints was coming sooner than later- and Bridget, ambitious and unknowing, was only hastening that end.

His sigh was frayed, thin and trailing off into nothing. This relationship was never going to last forever. He’d known that going in, had willingly condemned them both to heartbreak, but it hadn’t mattered then. That future had drowned in the affection in her gaze. The warmth of her laughter. The spark of her lips on his. But now…

Troy cupped Bridget’s cheek, pressing his forehead gently against hers as he closed his eyes. “I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered. He had to say it, just once. Even if she didn’t hear it- since she would never hear it- it needed to escape before it withered under his held tongue. It needed to exist, just for a moment, all his regrets pouring into that simple, weighted phrase.

At some point she’d wake up, either through him gently shaking her or her own merit. Either way she’d grouch at him for not waking her up sooner, blinking blearily at him in a hopelessly endearing way she’d punch him for if he ever mentioned it. She’d whip the covers off of both of them, laughing when he protests. Showers would follow, breakfast of some sort, and time would continue to march forward to that inevitable, heartbreaking point.

But that was a future they didn’t have to face yet. For now, they could stay like this- curling into each other, breath to breath and at peace.

For now, he’d save her a rude awakening.

[foodieforthoughts]

Sand and Stars - Chapter Five

Series Summary: After the water pump being blown up, the insurgents in Baqubah are taking a hold of the food supply to the village. Camp Warhorse is in dire need of reinforcements. It has been eight months of submitting countless requests when the High Command commissions Sergeant Olivia Ross to take her group of men and women and help Captain Syverson and his team to restore a semblance of normalcy. But with the war raging, does it get two hearts closer too?

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC x OMC

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: 18+, Mentions of war, military technicalities, slight angst, fluff, implied smut

A/N: Well Hello! Our dear Captain Alex has finally made an appearance! A big thank you to @thelastsock​ who is patiently beta-reading this, I love you woman with my whole heart.

<Chapter Four

Title: Chapter Five

The sun felt scorching hot on her skin as Olivia loaded her gun near the parked Humvees. A mild throbbing at the base of her skull added to the uncomfortable sensations each time she moved. She hadn’t planned to drink almost half a bottle of whiskey last night, but it was cold, and she needed the warmth.

Also, the drink had sort of been a gift from Sy.

Olivia groaned as the memories from last night flashed through her mind. She had literally invited him for a kiss, throwing herself on her Captain like a wanton whore. She felt embarrassed even thinking about it. Thankfully for her, Sy had a better judgement about entertaining drunk women and had resorted to just giving her a tight hug.

Her stomach felt queasy as a sour taste filled her mouth. She swallowed as the uncomfortable feeling set at the pit of her stomach. Running a hand over her sweat covered forehead, Olivia rested against the vehicle.

She felt worthless. Olivia couldn't shake the feeling of repeating history, despite the extreme effort of will she put her hungover mind to this time. She slung her gun over her shoulder as a distant memory of her time with Alex began flashing before her eyes.

The sound of their hurried footsteps on the marble floor echoed through the empty hall. It was almost noon, the temperature soaring high and drinks becoming difficult to keep down. Alex chuckled as Olivia pulled him towards a bathroom door, not caring whether it was for the ladies or the gents. She had been begging for Alex’s attention ever since they got to the wedding party for a fellow soldier, downing an unusual amount of alcohol before finally gathering up the courage to whisper naughty things in his ear. She had been hung over her Captain for far too long, it was time for her to finally taste him.

Olivia massaged her temple with her fingers. She had been so stupid and naïve to start something with Alex. Her Captain. She regretted it now more than ever, 3 years of hookups later. Alex had been her friend since she re-enlisted again after completing her Aviation course. Though to tell the truth she'd been crushing on him since she first laid eyes on his beautiful face. His unbridled confidence, panty-melting smile and boyish charm had worked its magic on Olivia’s mind. It wasn’t something she thought of pursuing on a long-term basis, but his sweet nature only kept driving her closer to him. She liked that he showered her with affection all the time, something her attention-starved mind craved desperately. Only she had mistaken her lust for love.

“Really? Here? You know our seniors are present out on the lawn.” Alex snickered as Olivia began undoing his belt. His blazing eyes sparkled with what was to come next, the anticipation dancing in his beautiful orbs. Dinners together had turned into overnight stays and eventually Olivia had kissed Alex one night, crossing the line of friendship with no turning back.

“We are on leave, aren’t we?” She had suggestively smiled at him, palming his bulge through his pants. She leaned in to kiss Alex, feeling the softness of his lips brushing against hers. She felt her arousal beginning to wet through the thin fabric of her panties as Alex plunged his tongue into the warm cavern of her mouth.

Olivia grinned mischievously as she hopped on the sink counter pulling Alex by his tie to stand between her legs. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he pulled her in to steal another kiss. She unzipped his pants as Alex began trailing down her neck, planting soft kisses over her warm skin and cupping her breast through her dress.

“I don’t have a condom,” Alex said against the skin peeking just above her breast.

“I’m on the pill,” she shrugged and pulled his hardening cock out of its constraints. It pulsated in her hand as she pumped him. Alex groaned into her soft skin and nipped at her in retaliation, making her hiss with pleasure. She bit her lip as she watched him take over his cock and enter her aching folds. Alex let out an unrestrained moan as her warmth enveloped his throbbing member.

“Happy birthday, little birdie.” Olivia blinked as Sy appeared in front of her, smiling from under his cap. He was dressed in his combat fatigues, the vest making him look bigger than he already was. “Hangover?”

Olivia shook her head, warmth spreading over her chest as the vivid memories registered in her mind. “Just…uh, regular headache.” She smiled at her Captain. Her eyes lingered on his, mesmerized yet again by the intensely blue orbs looking back at her. She noticed the freckles on his nose and his lip and the changing shade of brown of his beard as it travelled down his neck.

“Maybe later we can have some chai while we watch the sunset?” Sy leaned against the metal body of the Humvee, one hand resting low on his hip.

Olivia tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrow. “Sunset? You do realize I fly a chopper for a living? I’ve seen my fair share of sunsets and sunrises by now.”

“But you haven’t seen a sunset with me.” A smirk formed on Sy’s lips, challenging her for another excuse.

Olivia felt a flutter in the pit of her belly and her mouth opened as she was rendered speechless. She felt herself balancing over the same dangerously thin line again. In a weird sense, this didn’t feel the same for her like it was with Alex. With him she had felt a rush of becoming reckless, but with Sy she wanted to be cautious, mindful. When he had kissed her forehead last night and embraced her, she had never felt more safe in the world like she did in that moment.

“Okay.” She nodded, “Rooftop like last night?” Olivia suggested as her unit members began getting into the Humvees, ready to head out. Sy tipped his cap in confirmation before walking towards his own team and barking orders to mount up.

Out in the desert, Olivia spent the rest of her day interacting with the locals and listening to their problems. She was following Lieutenant Pepps's orders about sympathizing with the public, to ensure they get local support in the future. As she listened to a weeping woman complain about the scarcity of food, her mind drifted back to a memory with Alex.

“What changed, Liv?” Alex pulled at her wrist, turning her around to face him. Olivia yanked at his hold, trying to free herself from his grasp. “Don’t you love me anymore?”

“Alex,” She pleaded, closing her eyes to escape this conversation. She had spent time in Afghanistan and the things she’d seen had changed her. She had seen the fragile nature of life and understood it was useless to be wasting her precious years on someone she only cared about as a friend.

“Tell me, Liv.” His voice was laced with anger, his eyes burning with hatred. “Tell me you don’t love me so that I can remove myself from your life. Because I can’t be your friend, not after all this.” He let go of her hand, slumping his shoulders as his eyes misted with tears and he fell on his knees.

Liv felt the weight of her actions crumbling her down in front of him. She never intended to hurt him, but she couldn’t love him, at least not the way he wanted her to. The possibility of losing her friend forever made her emotions win over her determination to end things with him. “I’m sorry, Alex. I’ll do better. I’m so sorry.”

Olivia sighed as she watched the sun slowly drift towards the horizon casting an orange hue over the sky. She had never gathered the courage to break things with Alex again. He had tried labelling them in a relationship, but she had avoided the topic like the plague. Their arrangement worked as they were deployed to different locations which gave her time away from him, only forcing her to pretend when they were on leave together. She grasped the Saint Christopher medal lying against her chest in her hand and felt the consequences of her actions pricking at her heart.

“Hey,” Sy called out from the doorstep leading out on the roof. He had a canteen in one hand and two cups in another. Liv had walked up to the roof as soon as they had returned to base. The parked white truck had indicated that Sy was back too but since there still had been time until sunset, she had decided to wait out alone on the roof.

“Hey,” she cleared her throat, shaking her head to ward away thoughts about Alex. She smiled weakly at Sy and walked towards him.

Sy frowned with his eyebrows scrunching together. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Did Mahmoud make the chai for us?” She changed the subject, sitting on the pile of sandbags against a wall.

“No, I did.” Sy proudly informed as he took a seat beside her.

Olivia watched as Sy poured the steaming cardamom tea in the cups and handed one to her. She breathed in the aroma before taking a sip of the hot liquid. “Incredible. When did you learn to make chai?”

“Picked up the recipe over the years.” He shrugged his shoulders, but Olivia noticed his chest puff up with pride on getting complimented on his acquired skill. Sy turned to face towards the expanse of the desert beyond the compound, silently sipping his tea.

“Captain Syverson, man of many talents.” She said in a sing-song voice and leaned back against the wall, bringing her knees up to her chest and holding her cup with both her hands.

Liv watched as Sy chuckled, his shoulders shaking with his laughter. The hair of his beard over his upper lip glistened with steam caught in it, almost urging her to wipe her hand over his mouth.

“You are staring, little birdie.” He looked at her sideways, his lips curling at the corners.

Liv rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched with a smile forming on them. “What’s with the nickname?”

“Well you fly the Little Bird, so that makes you little Birdie.”

She laughed as he finished his sentence, looking at him to see if he was joking. “How original, Sy.” She shook her head dismissively, but a fluttery feeling settled in her heart.

“Hey, I didn’t want to call you by the names everyone used.” He defended himself, feigning hurt dramatically by clutching his left pec over his heart.

Liv continued to laugh thinking about the silly reason behind the nickname, but adding it to the list of names she already had. They sat in silence, enjoying their tea as they watched the sun dipping down the horizon with every passing minute. The sky burst into a mixed palette of orange and purple, the clouds drifting away with the wind.

She felt Sy’s eyes on her as she sipped the remnants of tea from her cup. She bit her lip feeling mischievous and commented, “You’re staring, Captain.” She tilted her head to look at him, only to feel her breath hitch as she stared into his cerulean eyes. Sy had the softest look on his face, his smile barely visible from under the bush of his beard.

“What?” She asked, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Who’s Captain Coop?”

His question caught Olivia off-guard and she blinked several times to understand that Sy had indeed asked about Alex. “Wh-what?” She tried to not stumble over her words but Sy had left her stunned.

“Yesterday, they were teasing you with his name. I just thought I should ask.” Sy’s gaze never left her face, even when he placed his cup to the side along with hers and the empty canteen.

Liv let out a slow, ragged breath. The mention of Alex’s nickname had her heart racing, her mind going through a carousel of his memories. “He was our captain, before you. My men...they were just… fooling around.” She plucked a jute strand from the sandbag she was sitting on, avoiding Sy’s stare.

She felt him shift on the bag and when she peered, she noticed him coming to stand in front of her. Liv looked up at him as his body loomed over hers. He bent down so as his face was right in front of her.

“So, you’re saying, I don’t have to worry about another man in your life?” His voice was low, and his breath felt warm against her skin.

“N-no. Why?” She gulped as her throat became dry. She watched as Sy licked his lips wet and smiled at her.

“Because I am going to kiss you and I ain’t gonna kiss some other man’s girl.” Sy whispered and waited for her to answer. A slight nod of her head was all he needed as he brought his lips down on hers, placing a soft and gentle kiss over her desirous lips.

Liv closed her eyes as the feeling of his lips sent sparks down her spine. The coarse hairs of his beard grazed against her face as she moved her lips against his. Sy placed his hand over her cheeks as he moved his lips with hers, darting his tongue out seeking permission to enter. She grabbed a hold of his t-shirt and another at the nape of his neck and pulled him closer to her and opened her mouth slightly to grant him access.

The minutes felt like they stretched into hours as Sy’s tongue danced against hers. She could taste the faint taste of cardamom on his tongue and breathe in his musky scent as she willingly deprived herself of oxygen. Panting as their lungs struggled to take in air, Sy let go of her with a last pull on her bottom lip.

When Olivia opened her eyes, the sun had set beyond the horizon and darkness was falling over the desert. Sy let out a slow breath as he grazed his knuckles over her cheek. She felt herself leaning in his touch as her breathing came back to normal.

“Sunsets and kisses, aren’t you a romantic Syverson?” She teased, biting her lower lip between her teeth.

Sy chuckled. “Told you our first kiss would be memorable.” Sy shrugged his shoulders with a cheeky smile, before pulling Liv up for another breathtaking kiss.

Chapter Six>

🌟 Series Masterlist 🌟

[hazbbyhaz]

sleepless || harry styles

twenty four

pairing: Harry Styles x OC

synopsis: the party cleanup

disclaimer: mentions of selfharm, mentions of scars

just remember that sometimes, the way you think about a person isn’t the way they actually are - John Green

At 3am the party had finally started to die down, people slowly funneling their way out. And by 3:30, All the guests were gone, leaving Avery, Harry, and Francis. Avery was on her fourth cup of coffee, the caffeine keeping her awake enough to not pass out on the couch. Everyone was sitting in the living room, strewn around the space. All of them winding down from the energy that the party created. It was silent. Serene. Comforting, in a way.

Harry was the first to move, starting to pick up the mess that swept the entire flat. Avery and Francis joined him soon after. They collected all the cups and plates that were scattered about, bringing all of them to the kitchen. Francis washed the dishes, Avery dried and put them away, and Harry made several trips around the apartment to collect all the trash.

Avery was lost in her own world, taking her time in drying the dishes and figuring out where they were kept. A tap on her shoulder had broken her from her trance. When she looked back, she saw Francis with a big soapy beard on his face. His jaw was completely covered in bubbles.

“How do I look, Avery?”

“Absolutely fabulous, if I do say so myself.” They were giggling like children, the sound echoing through the kitchen.

The laughter had Harry making his way to the source, and the sight in front of him had him laughing too. It was nice seeing Avery and Francis smiling and laughing. It was something that he hadn’t seen in a while, mainly from his friend. Maybe this party really was what he needed. Maybe this was a fresh start.

“Alright Old Saint Nick, let's get the kitchen cleaned up, after that we are finished till the morning.”

Harry chuckled, throwing a towel to Francis, and after he wiped his face clean, they continued. The rest of the dishes were washed and put away, the counters were wiped down, and the floors were swept. Avery had the cake she made in her hands, about to put it in the fridge, before she heard someone protest.

“Nope. You're not putting that masterpiece away until you try a piece.”

Francis hastily took it out of her hands, grabbed a paper plate, and cut a small slice out of the cake. He just about shoved it into her hands, not taking his eyes off of her until she took a bite. "It's very sugary," She said, grimacing as she swallows her first bite. "I think I need to cut down on that the next time"

"I think it’s great," Francis shrugs, getting a new fork to take a bite from her piece. "I mean, considering this is one of your first cakes, this is amazing."

"Thank you." After tasting the cake herself, Avery doubted that he was telling the truth. It was awful. "Harry, you try a bite" She holds the fork out to Harry and he doesn't even take the utensil from her, but eats it straight from the fork. The silly action instantly made her blush, All the heat rushing to her face and making it beet red. But the redness of her cheeks quickly vanishes as Harry loudly coughs, and nearly downs a whole glass of water after swallowing the small bite of cake.

"I'm sorry, Ave, but..." He takes a breath. "that is revolting. Francis, how are you just eating that?" Avery giggles, looking over at Francis, who has almost finished her piece.

"I can feel the cavities forming in my teeth..." He takes another sip off his water.

"I like it." Francis concludes with a shrug. "Anyways, Avery, are you staying here or should we take you home? I can play my charm and convince Mrs Sheffield to give us her car keys."

"It's 4am," Harry frowns.

“Trust me, she loves me!"

They keep bantering back and forth while Avery contemplates if she should stay or go. She had been with Harry for a majority of the weekend, rarely leaving his side. She didn’t want to overwhelm him. Didn’t want him to get tired of her presence or feel like she was clinging to him. "You can stay, Ave. It's no problem." Harry says, bringing her back into reality with his green eyes looking into her own.

"I don't want to bother you guys"

"You're not bothering anyone. Stay. I can walk you home after breakfast"

Her gaze moves over to Francis, who was putting the cake back into its container. She was looking for him to protest, for him to say that he didn’t want her there. But he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, so she nods. "Alright, just til after breakfast."

Harry breaks into a smile and Francis puts the dessert in the fridge, slowly closing the door. "Great, now that this has been discussed, I am going to bed." Francis said goodnight to the two before vanishing in his bedroom. Avery noticed how Harry's eyes stayed fixed on his friends door for a moment.

"He likes you." Harry then says, turning back to her with a gleaming smile.

"I'm glad"

He walks over to her, leaning against the kitchen counter. "When do you go back to work?"

"Tomorrow."

"You're going to be tired."

"I'll be fine." She murmurs. In the dim kitchen light, Harry can see the three freckles on her nose, and the different shades of blue in her eyes. There had been numerous times where he’d thought about kissing Avery. More than he would like to admit. So many times where he wanted to sweep the loose strand of hair behind her ear, cup her cheek, and put his lips onto her own. He believed that, maybe, her pain would leave after he kissed her. He knew that it was stupid. That it was impossible. That something that mundane could ever fix the pain that she had felt.

So, out of all these times, he picked this one. He picked this time because he was tired. He picked this time because he still had some liquid courage coursing through his veins. He picked this time because she looked just… so unbearably sad. Even though he knew she had a great time that night, there was this underlying look to her. Even at her happiest, she always looked to be sad. Like she was in a great world of pain. Always.

He slowly leaned closer, his gaze fixed on hers. She didn't move away from him as their eyes met. "I don't think we should do that," Her breath is warm against his lips. "You'd regret it."

"I doubt that." His words are hushed, and if he leaned a bit closer, just the smallest bit, their lips would touch. Averys gaze switched between his eyes and his lips. She wants to be brave enough to close the gap. She does. But there is a small voice in her head telling her that it's wrong. That she will destroy everything that she has created if she moves forward with what's happening.

"You're so soft nobody knows how to take care of you".. "You know what you are? An ungrateful brat. That's all that you are, and that’s all you’ll ever be".

"You're pathetic, I can't deal with you anymore. No one can."

"I'm sorry but... I can't." She whispers and she doesn't have to tell him that's it because of her mind, her past, and everything that she continues to hide from him. He knows.

"I get it." Harry reassures her and instead of kissing her lips, he kisses her forehead.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” He leaned in again, pressing his lips to her forehead once more. This time letting them linger.

“It’s okay, Ave. It’s alright. You don't need to be sorry.”

So, instead of kissing, they watch Lost In Translation. Harry had fallen asleep shortly after, his head resting on her thigh, and Avery’s fingers gently carted through his soft, honey brown curls. Somewhen, the morning sun illuminated the living room. The early morning rays casting a golden shadow over the room. Bathing everything in what could only be described as eternal light.

Francis emerged from his bedroom soon after the sun rose, stopping for a short second to look at his friend. Harry was asleep on Avery's lap, his face cuddled into her stomach with her hand resting on his head. He looked so at peace, even youthful in his sleep. He was getting the rest that Francis knew he deserved. That he needed.

Seeing him and Avery together made Francis happy. He saw the way that they had interacted during the party. They were always together, never spending much time apart.

Francis made his way to the kitchen, getting himself a glass of water. He got a cup out of a cabinet, one that had been washed only hours ago, and filled it at the kitchen sink. not bothering with ice, it was too early for ice cold water. Once the cup was full, he turned off the tap and turned around. He jumped and nearly dropped his cup, startled to see Avery stood at the entrance of the small space.

“Jesus! You scared me.” Francis leaned against the counter, holding a hand up to his chest in an effort to slow his racing heart.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

They stood there in silence for a while. Avery eventually made her way into the kitchen, sitting atop of the counter closest to the entrance. Francis was looking out the small window they had in the kitchen, and Avery watched. He didn’t seem to be actively in the room. His mind was elsewhere. This was a different kind of silence. Not like the atmosphere that they had experienced after everyone had left hours ago. This one was darker, in a way.

Somehow, Avery knew. She just knew. She knew that he was troubled. Maybe it was the worry that Harry always had in his eyes when looking at his friend. Maybe it was the dread that showed in Harry’s face whenever he called. Or maybe it was her own personal experience. But, either way, she knew. She could see the scars that littered his arms, the ones he had tried so desperately to cover, and it made her angry. Did she have a real right to be angry? No. She didn’t truly know the boy that was standing in front of her, but she knew enough. She knew enough to know that he shouldn’t feel that kind of pain. From what she had seen, he was funny, caring, and he stood by his friends. He cared for his friends. She didn’t want anyone to know half of what she had been through, what she had felt. And she knew that he had.

“Francis?”

“Yes?”

“Just… thank you.”

He looked bewildered by her words, not knowing what they were for. “For what, Avery?”

“For earlier. Eric. You saw that he was bothering me and you told him off. I never got to thank you for it.”

“Oh… it was no problem. He was being a prick. He kept on advancing towards you when you told him no, and I won't stand by to see that.” He made his way to the kitchen sink, Avery not too far from him, and started to rinse out his empty glass. Avery watched as he did so, closing her eyes shortly after to let them rest for a minute.

“Avery?”

“Yes, Francis?”

“Can you promise me something?” He looked into her eyes, a serious glint inside of them.

“I guess so… what is it?”

“This probably isn’t my place, and I apologize if I offend you in any way. But, just… please stand up for yourself. Okay? There are loads of blokes like Eric, people who will take advantage of you because you are too nice, people who will disregard your rejection of their actions. You have to stand up for yourself. I would hate to see you get hurt because of something like that.”

She was taken aback by what he was saying. She didn’t know how to respond, at least not right now. So she simply nodded her head, casting her eyes downward.

“And thank you for the cake, I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. I'm glad.”

Avery’s apartment was a wreck. Various papers and notebooks littered every surface as she tried to find a good sample she could send over to Hughes Magazine. This was a real opportunity, one that needed to be taken seriously. She has the chance to be a published writer, to have something that she had written somewhere in the world for people to see. To say that this was nerve wracking was a major understatement. Avery was sitting in the middle of her living room looking like a mad woman, frantically flipping through notebooks in hopes of finding something that she deemed good enough.

After going through every piece of writing she had, she decided to submit two short stories and a handful of poems. She chose pieces that, she hopes, shows her diversity as a writer. Avery wanted this to be something, just once. She added her CV and all the other required information before attaching the poems and stories at the end of the e-mail, sending it off to their office in London before closing her laptop, pushing every bad thought aside.

As she began to pick up the mess she had made in the process, Avery's phone lit up showing her a message from Tom.

Tom: Hey, is there any chance you could come in early tomorrow? I've found a potential new employee and I would like you to show her around a bit.

Avery: Sure. How much earlier?

Tom: Thirty minutes early will be fine, just need a second opinion on her. She would be starting work soon, if she is decent at everything.

Avery: I'll be there.

Tom: Thank you, Avery :)

"What do you think about the editing?" Harry questions Francis, showing his laptop with the edited photo on the screen. He spent the whole Sunday in front of the computer, trying to finish editing the set his boss needed for an upcoming ad. His eyes were exhausted and his head ached from the hours he spent looking at the monitor screen.

"I like it," Francis says with a shrug, continuing to eat his Ben and Jerry's out of the paper container.

"I need constructive criticism, Frany. Saying you like it is not cutting it anymore." Harry groans, putting his head back to regain composure and stretch his sore neck.

"You know I'm devoted to the numbers.'" Francis replies with a sigh. "I can't give you constructive criticism when I don't understand it."

"It's art. Most of the time you don't have to understand it."

"Why are you not doing your black and white photography? I love it and I know you do too, I'm sure there are some people who would buy it."

"Those “some people” aren't going to pay rent," Harry closes the laptop, realizing Francis really wouldn't be much help here, and layed down on the sofa, his head atop the arm rest. "I wish I could just do that."

"I’d say do it. Do what makes you happy. That's what you always tell me, anyway."

"Yes, but you're different," Harry murmurs, his eyes closed and his forearm shielding them from the sunlight. "And what would I photograph? I don't go out anymore, I barely see James or Emily or Anais anymore. And God, I have a million photographs of you already."

"First of all, you make that sound like a bad thing." Francis replies, before eating another spoon of his ice cream. "Why don't you do a series on Avery?"

"She doesn't like being photographed."

“May I remind you that that's what you do? Take photographs without people noticing, so it's not staged."

"Yes I know, but-" Before Harry can finish his sentence Francis makes his way to Harry's room only to come out a minute later with a large black and white print. Harry remembered that day as if it were yesterday. It was Anais’s birthday party. Francis wasn't well that day so Harry had to take him to the party, he didn’t trust him enough to leave him home alone. He had spent the whole evening making rounds around the house, camera in tow, capturing every guest he could.

The photo in front of him showed Francis in an armchair in Anais’s living room. There was a half empty glass of champagne in his hand and a red balloon tied to his pinky, and at the first glance it almost looked comical. This sad boy with all the balloons, presents, and dancing people around him.

That same night, Harry had gotten absolutely wasted. So, when Francis told him that he wanted to go home, he didn't hold him back. He didn't look at him, not really, not like he should have. Once he had finally made his way back to their flat, he found Francis cutting himself on the bathroom floor and immediately sobered up. They didn't talk while Harry gently patched his friend up, doing so with so much care that it made Francis cry. And they didn't talk while Harry sent Francis to bed before he cleaned the bathroom, blaming himself for everything that had happened in the process.

Despite everything that came after, this was still one of his favorite photographs he had ever taken. The black and white didn't seem dramatic, but natural. He caught Francis without a mask, just Francis. It was safe to say that his best friend despised the whole thing, he didn't like it one bit and Harry was sure that if he hadn't stopped him, Francis would have ripped the print to shreds immediately.

"I really like that print..." Harry mumbles, eyeing the photograph that feels like it was taken so long ago. When he was still so naive and inexperienced, thinking he could just do this his whole life. "But I can't do it. I have to think about earning money, this dream won't take me anywhere."

✨ next

✨ previous

✨ masterlist

✨ wattpad

Taglist: if you would like to be added, interact with this post

@serenametanoia @magicalmongerherringfan @caliqueenbed @thebestthingyouneverhad @ramstermind

[dayurno]

@andrewsrabies and i had a very productive conversation on the kandreil server about catholic au kandreil so here it is the result of my moral obligation to write it as an ex catholic school student

no tws this is just gay as hell. i also might crosspost it on ao3 at some point. so who knows. please be aware this is definitely a little bit blasphemic

the father.

“You will never have him.”

Neil smirks. “Are you talking from your own experience?”

The roof is too windy, too dark —  Neil, with his back to Andrew and draped over the ledge, knows just one push would be enough. He doubts he’d ever resist the fall: Palmetto Academy is too lofty of a building to match its even loftier saints. 

Yet Andrew does not dare to approach the ledge, and Neil does not turn around to see him. There is no reason to, when both know what they are here for — “He is better than you,” Andrew tonelessly points out, the edge of irritation making something red and ripe unfurl inside Neil, “in every conceivable way.”

“One thing we have in common,” Neil observes, crushing his cigarette against the ledge. “You do not strike me as worthy of Kevin Day, either.” He pauses, then lets his smirk widen. “Not that it stops you, of course. He is the best thing you want. The only, too.”

A heartbeat. Two. Neil would never survive the fall —  as he would never survive Kevin. Some choices are easy to make with your head on the line. 

“Are you a believer?” Andrew asks, at last, his voice ghosting over Neil’s back. It drips and overflows, patiently waiting to sink Neil beneath the waves, every turn of his tongue vicious. 

How can a tongue so cruel be used to kiss someone so good, Neil wonders. Surely Kevin had a taste for poison. 

“Oh, am I?” Neil muses, turning ever so slightly. He does not find Andrew —  doubted that he would. Andrew is as much of a nothing as Neil is. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

“You will not have him.”

“Why?” he hums. “You won’t let me?”

“I find it useless to repeat myself.”

Neil taps against his wrist watch. “You should know better than to think that that has ever stopped Kevin before.”

“Define that,” Andrew lazily prompts. A challenge.

“Me, being worthless. Another thing the two of us have in common.”

“We,” he viciously hums, “are nothing alike.”

“No,” Neil agrees. A lie, not his first and definitely not his last. “You hate me and I hate you. Let’s see who hates best.”

Andrew’s gaze burns against Neil’s nape. “I do not hate you more than I want Kevin.”

“How sweet of you.”

For one, Neil wants Andrew to be proved wrong: in some twisted way of his, he wants Andrew to hate him as much —  or perhaps even more —  than he wants Kevin, if only to solidify Neil as a permanent presence in their not-relationship. Hatred, he thinks, is just another form of obsession; almost as intense as desire, but not as contagious. 

One thing was true, though: Neil would not leave Palmetto without having felt Kevin Day’s mouth pressing against his, sweet and young and oh so ill-advised. If that meant having to push through the taste of Andrew’s sour tongue, so be it. The sweetness of Kevin was worth it. 

Neil taps against his wrist watch again, not bothering to look back at Andrew as he says, “Tick tock, your detention is about to start. I believe you have some daily worshipping to do.”

“Daily worshipping,” Andrew scoffs, but, Neil notices, does not disagree. “Is that what you call it when you imagine it in your head?”

“Oh?” Neil drags out. “How Christian of you to think I have to imagine.”

He cannot see Andrew through the ever-thickening fog of tension surrounding them, but Neil knows the twitch of his eyebrow well enough to build a picture in his head. “You will not have him,” he repeats. His voice is far away now — so ready to leave, Neil muses. For all of Andrew’s so called toughness, Kevin’s mouth must keep him on a tight leash. “Even you, stupid as you are, would know not to touch what is mine.”

Neil turns to look at him, catching only a glimpse of Andrew’s pale hair under the dim lighting of the staircase that leads to the rooftop. He hovers by the doorway — waiting for Neil’s next move. Calculating, even; math Neil barely knows the numbers to. “I will make you no promises we both know I will not keep,” is what Neil hums back, dragging out his words like cheap perfume across a hotel room. “I can touch anything, and Kevin doesn’t seem too opposed to it. Kind God of yours, right? Always thinking of those who have less.”

Andrew does not reply. He slams the door behind him, and Neil is once again alone on the roof. 

He lights another cigarette.

Smiles.

Lets it burn.

Rinse and repeat.

the son. 

“And then you— Andrew, you’re not listening to me,” Kevin sighs, his upper lip curling into a soft frown under the egg-yellow lights of the detention office.  

I believe you have some daily worshipping to do. Andrew Minyard hates everything about Neil Josten, from the sharp tip of his tongue to the dim freckles on his cheeks, but for once he is right —  when was the last time Andrew had fulfilled his worshipping duties? Was it last night’s mass, or this morning’s confession? 

Either way: it has been too long. A good Christian is always ready to do better, and Andrew has never been one to slack off on divine duty. 

“No,” Andrew agrees, because he does not lie to Kevin. Leaning against the edge of the teacher’s table and looking all high and mighty with his primly tucked dress shirt, Kevin looks as if he knows he’s worth gold, or at least as if he needs a reminder. “I am not.”

Kevin’s dark eyebrows furrow. “What has gotten you so distracted that you can’t even listen to me?”

Foolish, foolish man that Kevin is, to think that Andrew has ever thought of anything but him. “You,” he replies, blunt and toneless. “Pretty mouth of yours. I couldn’t hear a thing.”

 “Andrew,” Kevin warns, dropping the hands he had just been using to gesticulate. 

“Yes?”

“What are you trying to do?”

Andrew feels the corners of his mouth twitching. “Why, complimenting what is mine. I do it all the time.”

Kevin’s mouth closes, cheeks blushing a ripe red. He is too far away for Andrew’s liking, but preamble is Andrew’s only game, and the view is rather pleasant from his spot at the second row of seats. “You,” he slowly says, raking a hand through his hair, “are too much.”

Andrew motions dismissively, leaning back on his chair to take in all of Kevin’s image. “Kevin and his unwavering self-restraint. So good, hm? I like you best when you give up control.”

“You do not like me.”

“Oh,” Andrew muses, smile sharpening, “I like you.”

It makes Kevin roll his eyes, the reply, but it’s quite fond. “I told you that if you want a kiss, you just have to ask for it.”

He hums in acknowledgement, but changes the subject, “Does your God forgive you for what we do?”

“She knows I’m good,” Kevin replies, all warm smiles and deep dimples. “She’ll forgive me.”

Too good, Andrew thinks —  too good to have anything to do with someone like him. And yet. “Come here, then,” Andrew beckons, motioning him forward. “Give Her something to forgive you for.”

Kevin’s answer is a huffed out laugh, but he complies: Andrew watches in barely-concealed anticipation as he slides through the first row easily, stopping near Andrew’s seat and gracefully leaning against his desk, keeping some respectful distance between them. “I thought I said come here,” Andrew remarks, resting both of his hands on Kevin’s knees. 

Mine, he thinks. And fuck Neil Josten for expecting anything else.

“Lead the way,” is what Kevin says, offering his hands for Andrew to do with them what he wills. 

He does. He tugs on Kevin’s hands to bring him into his lap, to which Kevin easily complies, crossing his hands behind Andrew’s nape and offering him a curious look. “You’re angry about something,” Kevin quietly points out, tipping his head to the side.

Andrew’s hands fly to rest over his thighs. “Ran into your friend at the roof just now.”

Kevin mulls that over on his head for a little before guessing, “Neil?”

“Mhm,” Andrew replies, “the very one.”

It doesn’t fluster Kevin —  Andrew hadn’t it expected it to —, but it does prompt a pensive look in his eyes. “I suppose it makes sense that you don’t get along. You’re too alike.”  

Andrew brushes his lips against Kevin’s, reaching a hand to lightly tug against his tie. “The only thing we have in common,” he says, “is that we both want you.”

Kevin doesn’t look surprised by the new piece of information, but leans in to thoughtfully nibble on Andrew’s lower lip. “Yes,” Kevin agrees, as if he knows the extent of both their devotions —  as if he’s not surprised at all by the enormity of their desire. “You do.”

“And you like it,” Andrew points out.

He is silent for a small while, a warm weight on Andrew’s lap. “He asked me for one kiss,” is what Kevin chooses to eventually say, “and one kiss only. Before he gets expelled.”

“And you love a lost cause.” Andrew tucks a strand of hair behind Kevin’s ear. “Will he get his kiss?”

“I won’t let him get expelled,” Kevin answers, nuzzling against Andrew’s palm as painstakingly eager as always. “I’ll strike a deal if needed. He has potential.”

“To what?” he wondered aloud. “He is nothing.”

Kevin frowns. “No one is nothing. Everyone is worth something.”

“Savior complex,” Andrew teases, fitting his palm against Kevin’s jaw and bringing him down. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“One kiss can’t hurt,” he says. Not an answer as much as it is a thought. 

Andrew hums, fitting their noses together. “But do you want him?” he asks, brushing his mouth against Kevin’s. “Or do you just like that he wants you?”

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“No.”

“Hm,” Kevin says, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

Then leans in. 

Andrew forgets what he was talking about. 

the holy ghost. 

“Have you thought about my offer yet?” Neil asks, perched on top of a bench as he stares over at Kevin, the early morning light brushing through his auburn hair. Palmetto’s garden is paler than it has ever been at Autumn’s peak, but Kevin loves the season —  finding Neil on his morning was just a bonus. 

Kevin stretches his arms out lazily, feeling Neil’s eyes follow his every movement, before replying, “What can I give you to make you stay?” 

Neil smiles, tight-lipped. “I don’t stay, Kevin.”

“Well,” Kevin draws out, supporting himself against the bench Neil is perched on to stretch his right leg. “Then I suppose you don’t want that kiss like you say you do.”

“Oh,” Neil’s smile melts into a lazy smirk, the dark bags under his eyes competing against the brightly lit end of his cigarette. “Oh, you don’t know how bad I want it.”

“Prove it,” is Kevin’s easy reply, his rosary dripping down his chest as he moves to stretch his other leg, Neil’s eyes boring holes through the exposed skin. “Put some effort into staying. Don’t let yourself get expelled.”

Neil mulls it over in his head for a moment, but Kevin is in no rush —  this early in the morning they are the only people awake on campus, which means there is no danger of interruption that is not divine. 

Good Lord, Kevin quietly thinks to himself, all of my life I have been good. Let me have this. 

At last, Neil prompts, “You sure think highly of yourself to believe that one kiss is enough to make a man stay. Aren’t your people supposed to be humble?”

“I’m God-fearing,” Kevin corrects, “not stupid. I see how you look at me.”

“We all have our gods,” Neil hums, turning around to straddle the back of the bench and stare straight into Kevin’s front. “I’m just wondering what I have to do to keep the Goddess on my side.”

“Which Goddess?”

Neil smiles. “You.”

“Stay,” Kevin replies, “and I will be close enough for you to get tired of me.”

“Oh, I don’t reckon I will.”

“Can’t know if you never try.” Kevin bends to stretch his left leg one more time before pulling himself up, now face to face with Neil. “And you still haven’t disagreed with me, so I’m guessing a kiss is enough to make you stay, after all.”

“Hm,” Neil hums, thoughtful, without ever taking his eyes off of Kevin’s face. “It might just be circumstance. You should burn those shorts of yours before the fire of Hell does.”

Kevin tips his head to the side in challenge. “But Andrew likes them so much.”

“I’m sure that he does.” He breathes into the smoke of his cigarette one last time before killing the flame against the bench. At last, Neil concedes, “Keep my interest, Kevin Day, and I’ll stay.”

“You’re interested aplenty already,” Kevin observes as Neil’s eyes dart downwards. “So much so I might have to schedule a session at the confessionary for you.”

Neil swipes his tongue over his teeth like a snake licking venom out of its own fangs. “Why wait? I’ll confess to you now all of my thoughts.”

“I recognize I’m a creature of the divine, Neil, but I’m not fit to be a priest.”

“Of course not,” Neil solemnly agrees. “What would be of that Andrew of yours, if you were?”

Kevin presses his lips together, the memory of Andrew’s bed still fresh against his skin. “He’d be just like you,” is what Kevin limits himself to replying. “Just waiting to get expelled.”

Neil’s mouth spreads in a smile that’s a bit more genuine, not snarky or coy as it usually is, and Kevin offers him a curious glance. “Ah, so the rumors are true: you did straighten him up. Was one kiss enough, I wonder, or was Andrew more expensive to keep?”

“He knew what he would lose if he got expelled,” Kevin replies, “and he made his choice.”

“So you say,” Neil hums. He pushes himself closer to Kevin almost lazily, using his hands to keep himself up at the same time as Kevin leans an elbow against the back of the bench to stare up at Neil, meeting him halfway. “The Catholic church owes you so many converts. You are a Saint among men.”

“It is the men that I often convert,” he chooses to say. “They are easier to lure in.”

Neil chuckles under his breath. “I think Andrew and I are just weaker than the majority,” he observes, then pulls away to light another cigarette. “Go have your run. Burn those shorts when you’re done with it.”

Kevin rolls his eyes, but does what he’s told.

Not the shorts, though —  those stayed in his closet.

[docholligay]

Day 3: I’m Sorry. I do love you, you know.

All of HON HON HON is here. 2,300 words no one asked for!

Forgive and Remember

There was a knock at the door, and Athena’s announcement, and even when he heard it, it felt like it couldn’t be true. It was the worst fight he and Tracer had ever had. Come to think of it, it was the worst fight he had with anyone. He felt maybe for one moment what it was to hate someone you loved so intensely, that what he’d heard about the line between love and hate being so slim was far truer than he ever had believed. It was the first time he’d ever said he didn’t want her around. It was the first time it could ever have been true. 

Emily had been by that morning. Winston had started off arguing before she’d even said something, and Emily, in her quiet, good way, had simply listened to him rant and rae and rage before nodding and telling him he was right. Tracer was wrong. Cruelly so. But she would be by later, and Emily didn’t want that sprung on him. 

“Winston,” she said, “I didn’t come to tell you to forgive her. I only came to say she’s scared like I’ve never seen her. So if you turn her away, be kind at it.” She shook her head, “But you won’t.” 

“I might.” He’d grumbled. 

“No,” she’d stood then, putting her jacket, ‘You won’t.” 

He wanted to argue with her, holler and stamp his foot, but there was something in Emily that didn’t allow for that, something that surrounded her and forced you onto an even keel. She never rose her voice, and could even be described as mousy, sometimes, but when she said things with that perfect, quiet conviction, you knew they were true, however much a lie they sounded. 

“She’s scared?” it echoed in his head as he heard Tracer’s insistent knocking. 

“I think,” Emily headed for the door then that Winston was headed for now, “Telling us has made it a true thing.” 

WInston opened the door. There she was, as Athena had said. He stared at her a moment before reacting, a picture locked into his mind. It was strange, how he could know that there was so much different about her now, and yet she looked the same as he always remembered. Chestnut hair up at all angles from running her hand through it, freckles dotted across her nose like stars, her dark eyes bright and attentive, flitting about the entryway. Her smile did not quite have its normal boldness, but her chest was puffed out in a show of courage, that beat leather jacket furrowed and creased against the purple of her sweater. She held a box of Chinese takeout in her hands, and he could smell the shrimp. 

How he loved her. How he hated her. 

“Win?” She brightened her smile, “Can I--this isn’t even for me, just for you, thought I might buy me way in, right love? For old time’s sake?” 

He went to turn her away. “Of course you can come in.” Was what came out of his mouth. 

Tracer walked in the door, her usual bounce considerably smaller, and she put the takeout on the coffee table by the couch. She headed toward the kitchen and began to take down the plates, fishing the chopsticks out of the little cup where they lived by the sink. 

“Lena, forget the food.” 

Tracer turned, her hands full of soy sauce and serving devices. “It’s your favorite place. Even got those little doughnuts.” 

“You can’t buy me off, so don’t try.” 

“I’m not!” Tears sprung to her eyes, and she blinked them back. 

He had wanted to hurt her, and he had done it, and it didn’t feel nearly as wonderful as he thought it might. He had thought it would make everything feel more fair. It just made him feel mean, and ugly, and small. It made him feel like he was hurting his best friend, who was dying.

“I--”He tossed a hand in the air, ‘I know you aren’t. Emily told me you were upset.” 

“Em came by?” she slowly walked to the living room and set down the dishes, but did not wait for any answer, “I was. I am, really. Was trying to avoid this--It doesn’t matter, really.” She looked up at him and set her jaw fiercely, strengthening her voice, “I did it, and you ‘ave to decide if you can forgive me.” 

Winston shuffled into the living room and sat down on the couch, looking at her from across the coffee table. 

“Lena.”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to ask you some questions.”

“Right.”

“I need you to be honest with me. Not ‘don’t lie’,” he focused seriously on her, locking eyes, “Be as honest with me as you can possibly be.” 

Tracer nodded slowly. “All right, then.” 

Winston sat back. “How much longer do you have?” 

“I don’t know,” she gave a slight shake of her head, “Honest I don’t. Not sure Ang does. And I haven’t--we haven’t--properly given up, it’s only Ang--well her friend, really, ‘e’s rather running things, a neurologist, you see, more than Ang ever ‘as been--well, ‘e doesnt think it likely we’ll set it right in time. But who bloody knows what in time is? So I don’t know. Is the truth.” she shrugged and gave a small smile, ‘So honestly, if you look at it that way…”

“Lena,” he looked at her flatly, “Whatever you’re about to say, stop.” 

“Right.” She perched herself on the edge of the couch and rocked a little, staring at the ceiling as if she could fly right into it.  

“Who knows?”

“You, Emily, and Angela. That’s all.” 

“Okay,” he took a breath and pushed up his glasses, “Now, why did you lie--No, I’m not getting into that--why did you hide it from me?” 

Trracer gave a huff. “You’re always worrying over me, Win, why in the bloody name of England, Saint George, and the Angel and Crown would I possibly give you more of a reason to do that? Honestly though! 

Besides,” she stole a glance at him, “I’d been keeping that I was a bit off from you, since Fareeha and I was--you know--and I’d ‘ave ad to jump right to, ‘Leading professionals think I’m done for’ when I didn’t think it was that serious.” She stopped, ruffing her hand through her hair, “Or maybe I did think it was that serious. I feel like I knew the moment Moira did it, but I...this is hard to explain,” she leaned forward with a pitch and shook her finger at Winston, “and it genuinely is, I’m not putting you on. I’m not.” 

The silence hung as she tried to rearrange her thoughts. “It was like..do you remember when we was in Alberta? ‘Ow the storms would come in from far off, like a wall, almost? It was like that. I could see it, but it still felt like it might just...go round. I knew it was going to rain, but I didn’t know it would be like this. I don’t know. I’m trying, Win, really I am.” 

“You didn’t want me to worry. You kept this from me,” his voice took an edge, “all for my sake?” 

“No, didn’t say that,” she shook her head fiercely, “Want to ‘ear the selfish truth of it? You worry, yeah, and it can be just smothering. You were inspecting me like Fareeha does a pressed suit, after Moira, and I got tired of being treated like I’s made of china. So as soon as I got well enough to ‘ide it, I did.” She leaned forward, “I ‘ave always lived me life to the bloody ‘ilt. So when things started to crumble a bit, I kept it ‘idden, because I didn’t want to spend me life being asked if I was up for something, or didn’t I need to go to bed, telling people not to tire me. I like the way I live, is the truth, and I didn’t want to be responsible for ‘ow you felt about it.” 

“Sorry that I care about you.”

“Oh, get off the bloody cross, Win.” She scowled. “You asked me, and that isn’t fair.” 

Winston considered a moment. “No. It wasn’t. But neither were you.” 

“Not defending meself just now. Only asking you to listen.” 

They sat for a few moments, Tracer at her end of the couch, fidgeting quietly and looking around the room, Winston sitting in the corner of it where they so often sat together and watched movies, the Chinese food growing cold on the table in front of them. He watched her for a few seconds, until her eyes met his, and his voice choked a little. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“Not at all,” Tracer rushed off her edge of the couch and took him by the shoulder, shaking her head, “I’d ‘ardly notice, really, most of the time. Now,” she looked at him seriously, ‘In the name of honesty, I ‘ave no earthly idea what will ‘appen. But,” she perked back up, “I mean, it could just be that I’ll drop dead one day, and that wouldn’t be so bad, right? As endings go? So don’t lose too much sleep over me, love, because it’s really nothing, in the day to day.” 

“Yet.” He reached up and put his hand on her, letting his thumb rub across her cheek. “I wish you would have told me.”

“I tried. So many times. Honest I did.” 

He sighed heavily, and shook his head, withdrawing his hand and adjusting his glasses. 

“I have to move on from this, because I don’t want to waste what time you have left being angry with you. I love you too much for that. I would regret it forever. But, Lena, I am having a hard time forgiving you. You have put me in a terrible position. You,” he sighed, “You stole my right--no, my time, you stole my time to be mad at you. I don’t have it anymore.”

“Well, if I’d told you straight off, you wouldn’t be cross with me. So you wouldn’t need any.” 

“I’m trying--”

“Joking! Joking. RIght, maybe not the best time for it.” She snuggled up under his arm and lay against him. “I am sorry, really I am. I’ve been miserable the last few months, if that ‘elps.. I do love you, you know.” 

“I know you do.”

“Can you forgive me?”

“Maybe. But,” he set his cheek on the top fo her head, “I’m letting it go for now, is all I promise. Just, I know I make you crazy sometimes, but, Lena you have to promise me you won’t hide things from me anymore. Not about this. It’s not fair.”

“RIght, right, I know you’re right. It’s only--let me set me own limits. I’ll say when I’ve ‘ad enough, or I need you, but you must let me be the one to decide.”

A long sigh. “Okay.”

“And--” She scooted away a little bit, and turned to look up at him. “Please don’t tell anyone else.” 

The hair on the back of his neck bristled. “Are you kidding me right now? Do you learn anything?” 

“Please, Win.” she clasped her hands in front of her chest, “ It’s enough I ‘ave to deal with ‘ow I feel about it, I can’t deal with everyone else, as well, promise I’ll tell them just not--not yet. Please.” 

Winston stared at her. “When?”

“At some point,” she said softly, giving a weak smile, ‘in the future.” 

“You are,” he closed his eyes, “so infuriating. Are you determined to get into a fight with everyone who’s ever loved you? And Pharah needs to--well--in time you’ll--”

“Oh,” Tracer grabbed a box from the table, “I’ll be turning it over to ‘ana. I’ve decided it, Fareeha doesn’t ‘ave to. Considerate, me. Rangoon?” 

“Lena, I love you. I need you to stop being flippant about this.” 

Tracer set down the box. “Win, let me tell you something,” she rubbed her hands together thoughtfully, “me whole life, I’ve whistled in the dark. It’s not as I don’t know what’s ‘appening. I do live in me body, and I notice more than anyone. But I can’t linger on the shadow of it. That isn’t me. I must, if nothing else, be meself to the end of it.” She looked up at Win, “I’ve told Ang you can ask ‘er anything, and she ‘as me permission to tell you. But--it’ll be me wedding in a fortnight-- I need think more about ‘ow to live the rest of me life, than ‘ow to die, just now.”

It was then that Winston saw what Emily had seen. That slim, cold line of fear at the edge of her, that little hummingbird beat of wings against a glass pane, the slight panic in her voice, even her laugh like light through a window on a winter’s night. He had spent so long thinking of her as the brave one, of the two of them, that he had forgotten she could be shaken. He had forgotten she had plenty of her own monsters lurking in the dark. 

How he loved her. How hard it was to hate her for long. How strangely easy it was to remain so furious with her, and want so deeply to hold her tight against that encroaching darkness.

“I won’t tell anyone,” He took a crab rangoon off the table, “But you should. If you want me to help you tell--”

“I know.” 

He touched her shoulder. “If Pharah finds out on her own, she’ll kill you.” He smiled. “She hates surprises.” 

“Yeah,” Tracer let out a laugh, “bet that isn’t in ‘er little binder of plans, is it? Can’t wait to see the bloody look on ‘er face when she realizes ‘er desire to captain the ship alone ‘as finally come to. Bit of a cat’s pa--.” 

Winston wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against him, closing his eyes, the truth of it all hitting him so deeply in the moment he thought, for once, he might be granted the humanity of actual tears. Tracer hugged him back, softly whispering reassurances that barely came through the cloudiness of his mind. 

It didn’t matter how much time he’d been given. 

It would never be enough.

[littlefreya]

Bad Reputation

Synopsis: Henry and his girl can’t get enough from one another. They keep finding themselves in rather sticky and lusty situations while other actors are present around them. 🤭

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: Smut, thigh riding, exhibition kink, public display of affection, dirty language, slight fingering, daddy kink.

A/N: This is by request made for thigh riding! I see this as a slight sequel to  Putting up a Show and Good Girl just because in my mind they are the same couple. Many thanks again to the marvellous @agniavateira​ for doing the beta! Masterlist is here.

Let me know if you want to be added/removed! Thank you for reading as always :)

PR fucking nightmare - that’s what our managers call us. 

They thought it would go away after our first year of dating. But the sad truth is, Henry just loves to touch, and I’m a hot-blooded woman who loves to fuck shit up. Three years in being married and the line is so goddamn blurry by now; I am never quite certain which one of us initiates it, nor do I even care. 

I see my bear sitting sprawled across the red leather sofas, legs spread open as he can never keep them shut. I know I’m terribly biased but that black tuxedo suit sure as hell looks great on his strong figure, especially with the crooked bowtie and the beard he’s been growing for his new movie role. 

And as if the bad boy vibes and big dick energy he sends everywhere wasn’t enough, the half-empty Grey Goose bottle on the round golden table next to him and the slight sweat that covers his forehead is a red flag that we are definitely getting into trouble tonight. 

Bring it on. 

Armie is sitting right next to him, telling him about some scheme by the gesture he is making with his hands. But I can tell Henry has other things on his mind. I can feel his eyes looking at me even when I am standing far away. Our gazes meet, he offers me a mischievous smile, showing off the large dimples of his cheeks. This is what I call a wet, slippery invention. 

I blush and look away. I mean, I have Rebecca Ferguson holding my forearms. That woman makes me want to invite her into our bedroom, but Henry doesn’t like sharing, not even with women. It doesn’t matter how much I’d pout and beg, he likes me all to himself, and he loves it when others can see that I am his. 

It’s always his hand between my thighs, riding up higher, thumb tickling at my clit teasingly. We sat through an entire acceptance speech with him working me hard. If anyone looks closely at that video on Youtube, you can see the exact moment when he hits the spot.

Sorry, Leo, I wasn’t smiling because you won. 

This is us being subtle. Hotels and parties, however, are a different story. We already had a manager quit on us because we made sure the entire floor hears what we are doing through the night. 

Rebecca kisses me on the cheek, the gorgeous Swedish redhead is already tipsy, and I’ve had my second glass of wine. She’s in a red satin dress, her impressive breasts showing through her cleavage. I also spot a few freckles on her chest. It makes me pout and look at Henry, who shakes his head in refusal. 

“Where is your hubby anyway?” she asks playfully, and I point in the direction of where he is sitting. Armie is just getting up, leaving Henry alone. He pours himself some more vodka, fills the glass with ice and then takes a sip with a lustful gaze. That’s probably my cue to keep him company and take that glass away.  

That video when he told everyone to get naked will forever be online. He also has a tendency to start making impressions of others when he is flustered, and I can’t contain my laughter when that happens.

“He’s too drunk to get up.” I sigh, shaking my head while he makes playful, sad faces at me. I shrug and take my phone out my purse, seeing two text messages from him.

Henry: “Where are you, babygirl?” Henry: “I want to squeeze that ass.” 

I text him back “Armie’s? Go for it. Can we have Rebecca, pleaaaaase?” 

He reads my reply, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in complete refusal. 

“Not. sharing. you. Do you want me to spank you in front of all these people?” 

Rebecca is oddly enough very touchy-feely, her hand sliding down my forearms while she speaks about how wonderful Henry is, and how fun it was to work with him on MI6.

“He’s not like all the other ones, he is an actual friend,” she explains to me, her beautiful green eyes lighting up. 

“I know, that’s how he got me, pretended to be my friend for years.” I chuckle, remembering the times we were still just friends. If you look at videos of us from interviews and photos from events from the time we worked together, you’d think we’ve been dating already. He always touched me subtly, his eyes staring at me intently when I speak. And of course, no one cracks him up the way I do.

But Henry waited 5 years for both of us to be single at the same time to “kidnap” me during a walk with our dogs at the forest, where I’d literally be unable to run away. He did that so he can tell me he’s been in love and growing in love with me ever since we met.

I smile at the sweet memory. I held my tears when that word left his lips.

“I’ll come to say hello later, I’m starving,” she says and rubs her belly gently. I nod and lean forward to kiss her, deliberately kissing her soft, red-painted lips for Henry to see. Us girls, we really don’t mind.

As I turn to face him, he is already frowning. He’s not amused by my vexing behaviour. I give him my best angelic posture, batting my lashes and holding my hands together while my head is tilted to the side. In that pale blue and silver dress, I might look like some saint right now, but my darling knows I’ve come from south to heaven.

I make my way to him, walking slowly, a smile both in my eyes and between my cheeks. I can feel the fire burning in my chest, the sight of him is dashing, those thick thighs ever so inviting. He spreads his legs even wider, the bulge in his groin made only for me. He has his pinky finger pressed between his teeth while checking me out.

My body heeds his calling, I’m tingling wet. 

I stand in front of him, my cheeks warm as if this is a first hook up of some sort. Henry rises his beautiful blues to stare straight into my eyes. The beaming lights in the hall make his sweaty skin glow in neon pink and gold, his eyes flashing bright as the different colours dance across his face.

“How many of those have you had?” I ask, gesturing at the glass, noticing the half-empty bottle. I hope not too much, I expect to be rammed tonight when we return to the hotel. 

He shrugs, putting the glass away without bothering to finish it. He is British, and boy, he can drink a lot. He is not as half as flustered as a different guy would be, but yes, he is certainly quite drunk. Enough to give me that look of his-one eyebrow rising up-while his eyes drink in my dress, cleavage, ass, and that slit that runs from my legs to my thighs.

My friends asked me if Henry is an ass or tits man, to which my answer was “he is ‘all of me’ man.” 

“Gotta love women's liberation.” He speaks in a deep, low voice, gesturing at my provocative dress. 

“Come to daddy.” He demands, holding out his hand for me to come and sit on his thigh. To which I am more than happy to comply.

I spread my legs, moving to straddle his muscular thigh. There is a burning sensation at my core as my pelvis meets his taut muscle. My body always reacts to his touch. Henry’s hands immediately take my face, thumbs stroking at my cheeks.

“Why do you tease me, beautiful?” he murmurs, his fierce gaze tracing my face, always taken by me, memorizing every freckle and flaw as if it’s the first time we ever sit so close. God, he makes me feel so beautiful even in my ugliest of ugly days.

I lean forward to get even closer, my ass riding up his leg and my hands reach out to tug at his white buttoned shirt. “Oh, Henry-Bear, it’s. So. much. fun.”

Someone sits right next to us on the big red sofa, saying a friendly hello. We answer at the same time, without breaking eye contact. We never bother looking who is the actor, producer, or whatever who moved to bug us. Too lost in our own little mist of admiration. Henry’s fingers descend from my face to my neck, fingers skirting down my neck sensually. 

“You know what I love about these ceremonies and parties?” he asks as he leans closer to whisper in my ear and then places a wet, lingering kiss on my shoulder. His chin pushes the straps of my dress away, letting it fall on my forearm as if by accident. I let it glide, shivering as the coarse hair of his beard marks my flesh.

“I get to show you off while you’re wearing these outrageous dresses and everyone knows I am taking you home to fuck you until sunrise.”

I chuckle lustfully, my tongue pressed between my teeth. “Last time we didn’t even make it home remember?” I hum gently, feeling his rough touch on my breasts. The tip of his thumbs circles my nipples, teasing them to harden through the thin fabric of my dress. I wouldn’t give a fuck if Henry had me topless right now and sink his fangs in my tits for everyone to see. But he is far too selfish, I was made for his eyes and his eyes only.

He settles for a “chaste” show, laying a kiss beneath my chin and then pressing his face at my cleavage, inhaling the scent of my body lotion before nibbling at my breast through my dress. His breath smells like vodka-sweet and spicy at once.

“I remember, Cumberbatch saw the whole thing,” he answers, his hands holding my ribs, slightly guiding me to move my body on top of his thigh in ghostlike movements. I am searing hot, my mound feels as if it’s seconds from catching fire. I am certain he can feel it, his blue eyes now hazy and dreamlike as they watch the pink tint that runs through my neck to my cheeks. 

“Fuck me, daddy, I am so horny!”

My whisper comes out as half a cry, weak and desperate. My body is a void, it suffers without his touch, it aches when we’re disjointed. I hope we’ll never stop feeling this way toward one another. 

“Ride me, babygirl.” he urges me, raising his thigh up higher, so I’ll slide down closer. The friction makes me lose sight for a moment. My vision blurs as I throb wet and hot onto him. Good thing his trousers are black, otherwise, everyone would be able to detect the wetness I am leaving on his pants. 

I can’t reject his decree, my body needs him. 

“You like it when they watch, don’t you?” he asks me with a slightly slurred voice. His hands glide down to squeeze my ass, assisting me in dancing on the rock-hard muscle of his leg. I am grinding slow and rough, shifting my weight forward, my right hand reaching his other thigh, clawing at him with growing pleasure.

Everyone is looking at us, I am sure, some embarrassed and perhaps even appalled. How puritan of you Hollywood. These people formed their own religion and hidden sex clubs. But I am convinced many enjoy this facade and discreetly salute us, some probably holding out their cameras.  

I roll my hips up and clench my inner thighs, whimpering as my body begins to tremble.  

It doesn’t matter who is staring while I ride him so passionately, seeking my pleasure with urgency while Henry’s hands support me, saddling my hips and pulling me toward him. We don’t see anyone else. We’re locked into one another, the way we always did, just like when Henry had a girlfriend, when we were “just friends” when I dated that asshole. We’d walk into a room, and it was just me and him, hearts and chest bursting with love.

Every moment we couldn’t have one another was stolen from us, we now fight to own it back.  

“I’d sit you on my face in front of everyone, but I think Gretchen would kill us.” Henry half whispers against my throat and then licks up my neck as I lift my chin to the ceiling with gaping lips. He has his hand between my legs, drawing at my centre and sneaking between the slit of my dress to finish the job. 

“Fuck!” he teases my clit, his middle finger travelling at my seams. My entire existence shudders. The bass of the music blasts through my chest, my eardrums throb, and my eyes see all the colours of the neon at once as my cunt implodes with orgasmic bliss. Henry steals my gasp into his mouth, his hand pressing my cheeks, crushing my mouth with hunger. 

Who could ever hate us for our expression of true love?

I gasp feverishly, holding onto him as if I’m about to fall. Henry’s lips are on my temple and then my cheek. Pressing against me and not moving away. He envelops me in his big arms, a clear statement to all our viewers that I am his and he is mine.  We both move our heads to see who's been sitting next to us this entire time.

Alec Baldwin and Jake Gyllenhaal. They pretend not to stare, at least Alec does. Jake gives us a wide, knowing smile. Everyone else has also been staring as I hear the whispers and gasps. 

“Really? They did that again!?”

We bump our foreheads together and snicker with delight. Like we ever gave a fuck about being caught. It’s not the first time, won’t be the last. We just can’t get our hands off of each other. 

“Better call Gretchen now.” I tell Henry, hanging my arm around his thick neck. 

“Before or after I fuck you in one of the back rooms here?”

[ladykissingfish]

the Akatsuki's reaction to giving/receiving gifts on Valentine's Day (w romantic partner)

Deidara Is beyond flabbergasted to get a present. Never expected anything, didn’t even expect partner to know what this day WAS. If it’s candy or something edible, will open package and scarf down entire thing in one go, smiling proudly when finished. If non-edible, will wear or display or brag about so obnoxiously that the other Akatsuki vow to strangle him (and the person who gave it to him) if they have to hear about it one more damn time. Will also “remember” much later in the day that THEY have a gift for partner, as well. Partner will brace themselves for something explosive, but will instead be pleasantly surprised with a bouquet of rare and beautiful flowers, ones that Deidara would have had to go pretty far out of his way to find. Also attempts to make dinner for partner, which turns out in a fiery, explosive horror (and makes partner question whether Deidara did this on purpose). Obito Serial hugger. Will hug partner before they give the gift, as they’re explaining what the gift is, and long after they eat/put on/whatever- the gift. If none of the others are around, will remove mask and treat partner to seeing his beautiful face for much of the day. Had struggled for a long time on what to get as a gift for partner; didn’t want to do the cliche of flowers or candy. Eventually settled on an absolutely lovely hand-crafted necklace, with lots of different-colored stones, all of which with the Uchiha symbol carved into them. Partner will be awed and honored by Obito giving this to them, and will wear it secretly underneath clothes every single day. Hidan Very loud and entirely graceless. “What the fuck is this shit?!” Won’t accept the gift because “Lord Jashin doesn’t celebrate fucking Valentine’s Day! Are you trying to get me damned to hell?!” Also, upon hearing that the day is named after a Saint, Hidan’s rage will increase tenfold. “Saint?! Saint of what; ass-grabbing?? You want me to celebrate a fake Saint from a fake religion?? Here; I want you to read these Jashinist scrolls and then tell me you still believe in this bullshit.” However, partner is used to this kind of reaction from Hidan, and therefore doesn’t take too much offense to it; will eat or use gift themselves. Later that night Hidan, feeling guilty about earlier, will come up to partner and inform them that they sacrificed “(Whatever partner’s favorite number is)-people to Jashin today, in your honor.” Partner will sigh and nod. Holidays with Hidan are never easy, but they’re certainly interesting. Zetsu The plant-man isn’t really one for giving, receiving, or even understanding romantic gestures or holidays. His partner will be somebody who understands and accepts this about him, therefore the day won’t even be brought up. At the very most, he will observe other Akatsuki members giving their partners gifts or affection, and defuse that the day is special, somehow; might decide to “gift” partner some fresh entrails from their latest victim. Partner tells Zetsu they appreciate the thought, but, no thanks. Itachi Itachi will start off the day feeling a bit morose. Valentine’s Day puts his mind back at the Academy in the Hidden Leaf, and how, every Valentine’s day, his desk would be covered with boxes of homemade chocolates from all the girls. He doesn’t miss the sweets themselves, or even the attention, so much as the feeling; the feeling of being a normal kid in a normal world. A simpler time, a happier time. Before all of this pain and heartache that led him to where he is today. Partner knows that Itachi has days where his mood can’t be salvaged, and will leave Itachi alone on Valentine’s. Will come up to him the next day with a box of dango and some new flavors of tea for him to try. Itachi will put his arms around partner for a long time, ending with a soft kiss on the cheek. Then he’ll make himself and partner a pot of the tea, and the two will eat the dango together and tell each other about their days. It’s the kind of domestic atmosphere that his mother and father shared with one another, and knowing this keeps a smile on Itachi’s

face.

Konan

Konan isn’t one for gift-giving, and neither is her partner. However the two will recognize the sentimentality of the day, as well as the importance of making time for one another (Konan’s Akatsuki missions and partners own busy life don’t leave them a lot of time to spend together) so they both take a day off from their respective missions to be with each other. Nothing very fancy; likely just a low-key day of relaxing, napping, maybe taking a nice walk or having a swim together.

Sasori

Sasori thinks Valentine’s Day, as well as all holidays, are a pointless waste of time. His partner knows this, but will still feel bad if they didn’t get him anything. So they casually walk into Sasori’s workshop while he’s putting together a new puppet, and leave a container of rare oil, one that Sasori has been trying to find for months, at the puppet master’s elbow. Sasori doesn’t respond to or acknowledge this, which partner had expected. What they DON’T expect is, later in the day, they walk into their room and find a small box on their pillow. They open it, and inside is a miniature puppet, small enough to fit in their hand, that is a near-perfect replica of themselves. Eyes, nose, lips; even the light scatter of freckles across the cheeks. A tiny card is also in the box; no words, just a neatly-drawn heart with an S in the middle. Partner will see Sasori later in the day, but, knowing Sasori isn’t one for physical affection, will simply nod at them and smile. Sasori will reward partner with one of their rare tooth-bearing smiles, and the two will spend the rest of the day in sweet contentment.

Kakuzu

If Kakuzu’s partner is waiting on the cantankerous old grump to buy THEM a gift, then they’re out of luck. This is the same guy who once cut off his own frost-bitten toe with a dull kitchen knife rather than spend money on going to the hospital and getting a proper amputation; so partner sure isn’t waiting on flowers or candy. However, Kakuzu is not as mean as he presents himself; at least not to his partner. Partner will remember all of the nice things Kakuzu has done for them in their relationship, and, even though the probability of them receiving a return gift is very slim, will still give him something. Nothing flashy or fancy; they will most likely knit Kakuzu a new sweater or a warm pair of socks, something practical that didn’t cost much to prepare. Kakuzu will act gruff at first ... but it’s guaranteed he will wear that sweater or those socks until they fall off his body. In return, Kakuzu will prepare a meal for his partner (with food that was already in the house, of course) and the two will have a quiet, pleasant evening with one another.

Kisame

Never expected to even HAVE a partner, let alone have the need to remember what he’s told is a romantic holiday. Would have just let the day go by if not for Itachi repeatedly reminding him about it. Knows that partner has a fondness for cats, so, even though Kisame is somewhat afraid of felines himself ((he IS a fish, after all) will procure a cute little kitten for his partner, as well as (again thanks to Itachi’s practical reminders) food and toys for it. Partner is overjoyed and spends much of the day hugging and kissing Kisame, as well as coaxing him to make friends with the animal (who partner names Kisame Jr.) Will make Kisame a delicious shrimp and crab gumbo, which he (and Kisame Jr) will chow down on together.

Pein (Nagato)

Valentine’s Day? Ah, another trivial mortal holiday. No time to waste on — but wait. Nagato’s partner is a mortal, and as silly as the day is, their partner has sacrificed a lot for them, so they deserve something. Gift exchange will likely come on the form of rare-gem jewelry, with Pein gifting a bracelet, and partner, a new necklace. Partner will travel to see the actual Nagato, something which is a very rare event, and the two will spend an afternoon with each other.

[amlovelies]

17. a teasing / sensual kiss for Serena! (or any pairing you might prefer!) :3

random kiss prompts

okay I know you sent this to me months ago, and I’m sorry it took me so long. Writing has been rough in 2021, but hopefully I’ll get it together soon!

This is the first thing I’ve been able to write in weeks, and it’s a bit jumbled and I’m not even sure if it makes sense, but I’m posting it anyway because progress!

This would take place after chapter 5 of Just another liability

Tempered

pairing: Mason/f!oc (Serena Willis)

warnings: lightly nsft and vague mention of past abuse and cursing

words: 1.5k

              I always liked sitting by water. Even when I was young, I’d often wander out to the nearest creek or stream and just let the melody of the water sooth me.  It had been one of the hardest adjustments when I’d moved away. I couldn’t find the solitude I was used to. There were always barking dogs and screaming children. I couldn’t hear the music of the water.

               I’d missed it. A fucking lot. There were recordings and shit I could listen to, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t same when I couldn’t dip my fingers in the water and feel the pull of the current. It wasn’t the same when I couldn’t throw in a leaf or a twig and watch it disappear, and pretend I could go with it.

               Wayhaven is more like home. It’s not hard to find a spot around its banks where I can pretend, I’m the only person for miles. I might actually be.

               It’s a good place to watch the sunset; the colors reflecting off the waters and painting the whole horizon in watercolors. It’s a good place to just be. To let the lap of the lake on its banks and the chorus of birds quiet all the swirling thoughts in my mind.

               It’s his cigarette that gives him away. The acrid smell of smoke interrupting my otherwise idyllic afternoon. I turn to the source and see Mason stepping out from the dim underbrush. He tosses his cigarette to the ground and grinds it under his boot.

               “You better pick that up.” I tell him before turning back to the vista.

               “Or what?” he asks with a smirk in his voice.

               I tap my finger against my bottom lip as I try and think of a fitting punishment. From his tone I can tell what type of answer he wants. At this point it doesn’t take much for Mason to get what he wants from me. Mostly because it’s what I want to. I would have thought the sexual tension would fizzle and die once we actually started to mess around, but if anything, it feels stronger than before.

               I’m sure our conversation will descend into innuendo soon enough, but I’ll try to keep it PG at least at little longer. It may feel like no one is around for miles, but we are still in a public place; a fact I’m sure I will conveniently forget the second Mason touches me. It is also fun just to mess with him, “I can think of a few new artists Farah might like. Really intense stuff, lots of bass.”

               He only grumbles in response, but from the corner of my eye I see him bend down to pick the butt our of the dirt.

               The log rocks a little as he sits next to me. I glance over as he settles into place, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his shoulder brushing against mine. Golden light bathes his features and I can’t look away. I should be used to it by now, but I’m not. A light breeze rustles his hair. I have to suppress the urge to reach out and tuck the strands back into place. Sure, I’d seen him naked and undone, but this feels too intimate, a tenderness that hasn’t been present in our exchanges before. I don’t know what would be the worse outcome, if he would stop me and pull away or if he would let me.

               “I thought you came out here to watch the sunset, sweetheart. If you wanted to stare at me, we could go back to the warehouse and I’ll give you the full view.”

               Warmth blooms in my cheeks at being caught staring. “I’m not actually here for the sunset,” I say as if that is some sort of defense.

               “Its about the water and the quiet more than it’s about the sunset.” I begin to explain. “It’s something I used to do when I was younger. Everything felt a little easier after I’d sat by the water for a while.”

               He nods, “I get it.”

               I thought he might. I figure he goes out to sit on the roof for much the same reason I got to sit by the water.

               “Though maybe I should stop. It’s actually how I got stuck here. I was hiking out to sit by the river, and then there was a light, and everything went diagonal.”

               “So, are you out here hoping to find a way home?” he asks his voice soft. Softer than I’m used to and it causes a twinge in my chest, the same one that’s been happening more and more. The same one I’ve been trying to ignore.

               “Oh, I couldn’t do that. Adam would miss me too much.” I make a joke because of course I do. It’s better to make a joke about it that to let myself wonder if he would miss me.

               He doesn’t laugh. Not that I really expected him to. Only a tiny sliver of sun still hangs over the horizon. I should probably head back to the Warehouse if I don’t want to be stumbling in the dark. I shift my weight as a I get ready to stand.

               “Do you miss it?” Mason asks and I know he means home.

               “Less than I thought I would.” I saw with a shrug as I rise from the log. The things I miss I lost long before I passed through the portal, or they never really existed at all.

               I can feel his eyes on me, studying me, and I wonder if he is putting his interrogation skills to use. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the full truth either. It’s hard to miss a place where I always felt alone and unwanted. Being here, being in Wayhaven is the happiest I can remember being in a long time. And that terrifies me.

          ��    Whatever he sees he seems to be satisfied, or at least he doesn’t push the issue. If it was a few months ago I would say it was just indifference, that he doesn’t care about anything but his smokes and chasing tail, but I’m not so sure anymore. It would be easier to put him in that box. Yet, his silence never feels dismissive, but rather accepting. I guess that must be easier when you effectively a walking lie detector.

               “I should head back to the warehouse before it gets too dark,” I say as I rise from the log.

               “Don’t worry I won’t let any monsters get you,” Mason says with a toothy smirk.

               I just roll my eyes. I half want to make a joke about the irony of a vampire saying that, but the vamp jokes got old a month ago.   Little pieces of bark have dislodged from the log and now cover my backside, and I begin to brush it away.

               “You missed a spot,” Mason has his hand outstretched but waiting.

               I’m sure it’s just an excuse to grab my ass, so I slap his hand away. “I’m not going to fall for that.”

               “You’ve fallen for less,” he says with a shrug.

               “Don’t remind me.”

               Then he is standing, so close that only a breath separates us and I can feel the heat rolling of his body. Between that and the scent of smoke I feel like I’m standing too close to a bonfire, and if I don’t move back soon it’ll consume me. I don’t care.

               “Oh?” he asks, his voice gruff and sending a shiver down my spine. “Are you sure you don’t want me to remind you?”

               There is a part of me that wants to be petulant, to tease and coax, but then his hand is on my lower back, and our bodies are pressed together. It’s still not close enough.

               “Well, a refresher wouldn’t hurt.”

               The words are hardly out of my mouth before his lips are on mine. Kissing Mason is always an all-consuming experience. I am used to how quickly my body responds to his attentions, like a spark to tinder.

               But today he holds back, never quiet breaking the kiss he pulls back. His lips move over mine slower and more deliberately than I can remember. This is no flash bang, no explosion of leaping flames, but rather a slow stoking. A building heat until I feel like I have been placed in a furnace, and I am melting.

               When he pulls back, I can still feel the ghost of the kiss dancing over my nerves.

               “Should I continue? Or was that enough of a reminder?”

               “We both already know the answer.”

               “Still like to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

               And I do.

tagging (let me know if you would like to be added or removed 💜): @lord-king-saint, @lilyoffandoms, @tracing-freckled-constellations, @vienocalledmebuddy, @whippedforethanfreakingramsey, @utterlyinevitable

[anonniemousefics]

WIP Wednesday

I’m not going to be sharing my fanfic WIPs at the moment, for fear of scaring off my newfound and terribly skittish motivation. But if you’d like a totally out of context bit of my original WIP featuring two of my favorite little brain babies, enjoy :)

Sneak peak at the prologue

Get to know my brain children: OC moodboards

Dominic

Why hadn’t I eaten anything first?

The ground beneath my shoes bent and warped as I caught myself against the bar again, desperate to wave down what’s-his-name before Rayna Greenbarrow had a stroke. This evening was only supposed to end in some light rebuking and maybe a scandalous rumor for the newspapers, not with a dead Saint’s daughter and actual jail time. A cold sweat started to break out across my forehead. 

“Alan,” I heard a man’s voice say next to me, where Rayna stood. 

But when I looked back, there was no man. Only Rayna, standing from her seat, straight as an arrow, her little gloved hands on the bar. The sea spray had tousled her red hair out of its bindings, so that thick, soft locks of it trailed down the back of slender neck. Wisps framed her freckled cheeks, which had been blushed and rosy all evening but now looked pale and drained.

And her enormous eyes, bright and fiery just moments before, were now completely milk white.

“Alan,” her lips moved, but it wasn’t her voice at all. 

What had been in my drink?!

My knees were buckling, my feet stumbling, my hands grasping at air as I tripped backwards, the world completely on end now. The bar stools toppled to the floor with a crash around me, but even in the chaos, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Rayna. 

What I was seeing made absolutely no sense. 

At the sound of the crash, Alan came running from the opposite end of the bar, and, when he locked eyes with Rayna’s dead-eyed stare, he looked startled, though nowhere near as horrified and mystified as I felt, cowering from the floor. They stared at each other a moment, Alan cocking his head, beneath the flickering glow of the lamps, twinkling against the rows of liquor bottles shelved across the back wall.

“Pop, is that you?” he asked, leaning out across the bar as he took in Rayna’s milky gaze. His dark eyes were gleaming.

A sweet smile spread across Rayna’s lips, full of an unexpected tenderness, and she reached up across the bar with one of her gloved hands to gently cup Alan’s rough, bearded face. 

“My boy,” said the gruff voice that moved her mouth. 

At the sound of the voice, Alan’s expression seemed to melt, his eyes closing while old memories washed over him.

“I knew you were hanging around,” he sighed. “You never let me change anything around here.” 

“No, son,” said the voice behind Rayna’s tender smile, “you’re just afraid to change anything. I’m proud of what you’ve built. You should never let my memory hold you back.” 

“We just miss you—” Alan could barely whisper.

“We will all be together again in the end,” the voice assured him. “I am going now. I love you, then and always.” 

Rayna’s hands moved back to the bar as her head tipped down, her eyes closing shut. For a brief moment, there was an icy cold rush of air that rippled around her, catching the lace of her gown and ruffling the tousled, loose waves of red hair around her soft cheeks. I felt a shiver of gooseflesh break out across my arms, like every hair was standing on end.

When she opened her eyes again, they were normal and soft brown, her eyelashes fluttering as she raised her gaze with a gasp. 

“Thank you,” Alan murmured to her, his eyes still glassy. “I didn’t know you were a vessel. Now I’m certain you deserve a more decent man.” 

If I was supposed to take offense to that, it wasn’t registering. I could feel my hands starting to shake against wood floor, a tremble that reverberated up through my elbows, and my stomach pitched while my mouth went dry. 

Too much to drink too fast. Not enough food. Here it comes.

I scrambled to my feet, pushing my way through the pressed in crowd as I lurched for the door. 

“Dominic, wait!” I heard Rayna cry after me, but the air of the room pressed in around my head and my ears and I could think of nothing else but getting outside before all of my insides exploded out of me.

I rode a fierce wave of nausea right out the door into the cool night air in the alleyway, but as soon as the fresh air hit my lungs, it began to subside. I couldn’t seem to get air in fast enough; my head was spinning as I tried to gulp in quick gasps. I hadn’t been too drunk after all, but I was in a complete panic.

“Dominic—” I heard her voice behind me as the silver bell jingled over the door. 

“Broken glass!” I reminded her, and when I turned back from the brick wall opposite the green door, she hadn’t budged from The Black Rose’s threshold. That was good. We needed some distance between us for the moment.

I began pacing back and forth in the alley while Rayna wrapped her arms around the bodice of her lacy gown, her exposed shoulders shivering even though the summer night air was comfortable. 

Goddamn that gown of hers. If it wasn’t for that gown, she would probably still be at Westlea and my world wouldn’t have been fracturing.

“Say something,” she pleaded. I glanced at her face, and she looked as terrified as I was. 

“What the hell was that?” I shouted, pointing at the tavern door. 

“I don’t know,” she shouted back. “I’ve never done that before.” 

“That was — that was — ” I had to stop pacing, doubling over as I sucked in air. Stars were exploding in my vision. “I can’t breathe.” 

“Let’s just take a moment,” said Rayna. 

Running my hands through my hair, I stalked across the alleyway and turned to lean against the brick wall. Each breath felt like my chest was being crushed. I leaned my head back against the ridged bricks behind me and focused on the stars above us, breathing through my nose while my mind played the images in a loop. The milky eyes. The man’s voice. The cold rush of icy wind. The weight of memory.

The magic.

“You think I’m evil.” I heard Rayna’s voice, small and frightened, across the expanse of cobblestones between us. I looked down at her, and her quivering face looked crushed while she held herself, trembling on the doorstep in her stocking feet. It pulled at something in me, and I felt the panic begin to unwind itself.

“No.” I shook my head, still breathing heavily. 

“Yes, you do,” Rayna insisted, looking miserable. She was shaking so hard that her hair trembled against her skin. “You’re thinking you should report this.” 

I sighed, still shaking my head, and looked at my black shoes against the cobblestones until I could get a handle on breathing properly. When I’d gathered myself, I took a tentative, gentle step toward her.

“I have very little conviction on much of anything,” I told her, and then the alcohol finally pulled the lever on the dam that held back all the words that had been building since the entire experience at the bar. “In fact, I can think of really only two convictions that I’ve held onto in my life, both from my father. He would always say that a man is only as good as his word, and while I may be a disappointment to his memory in every other possible way, that much stuck with me, and I swear to you, I will not lie to you — at least, not well. I do not think you’re evil or cursed, and I would never discourage or report anyone for doing what you just did for that man. That was—”

And then the words failed, and I could do nothing else but clutch at my chest, somewhere over the gaping unseen hole I would always carry. To be given the chance to hear my mother’s voice, one last time. To finally say the good-bye I never got to say to my father. Who could put that feeling into words? 

“Then why are you panicking?” Rayna interrupted, still shivering.

“Because this was all supposed to be bullshit!” I exclaimed, and I started to laugh in spite of myself. What was happening? What world was I in? “The Blessed Mission, the dinishee who brought the old magic from the fey realm, the nine fires of hell — these are fairy stories. But you — this shatters the only other conviction in my life! What am I supposed to do with you? And that?” I pointed to the green door behind her. “That was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen. What was it like? What happened?” 

“Can we go back inside and sit?” Rayna asked, swaying a little. “I don’t feel well.” 

“Of course.” I crossed the distance between us in two quick steps, grabbing the door for her as the silver bell jingled. We slipped back into the warm, raucous room, where no one seemed to have noticed or cared for the magical events that had transpired just steps away from their revelry. Like it had been happening all around them always, and I’d never been the wiser.

This changed everything. 

But first, I would usher Rayna back through the crowd, back to the bar and into the corner where she could sit on a stool and lean her head against the wall. I ordered us both coffees, since we both had gotten a little carried away. I let my mug sit on the bar while I leaned against an elbow facing Rayna, who nursed her coffee up in her black gloved hands. Her eyes were like slits as she rested her head back against the wall, the tousled wisps of her hair brushing against her neck and shoulders. I’d force myself to focus on her eyes and not the curve of her chest that swelled when she sighed. 

Fine, just the quickest of glances. I’m no Saint. 

“What happened was there was a ghost in this corner when we first got here—” she began as she exhaled.

“I’m sorry, what?” I interrupted, waving a hand at her. “Is this a normal occurrence for you?” 

She just nodded her head once, as if it was too heavy.

“You see ghosts,” I clarified.

“All the time,” she replied, looking weary. “Every day.” 

I couldn’t believe I had no choice but to believe her. That’s the kind of day this had turned into.

“So, there was a ghost here,” I said, slowly. 

“There was a ghost right here.” Rayna pointed at her lap, indicating her seat. “And he was being a little mouthy.” 

“Mouthy,” I echoed.

“He had opinions,” said Rayna. “He recognized you. Didn’t seem to like you very much. Can’t say that I blame him.” 

“You’re kind of a mean drunk,” I commented, frowning.

“So, anyway,” Rayna rolled her head back, ignoring my remark, “then I get all shouty and he noticed that I’m Blessed and he says — you don’t know what you can do, let me show you a thing.” 

“This ghost sounds like a dirty old man,” I pointed out. 

“I swear on all of the Saints this is what happened,” said Rayna, bringing her head up, eyes wide. “And then he did the thing.” 

“The thing.” I was on the edge of my seat, pushing for more. 

“The thing, the thing, the hedgewitchy thing.” Rayna leaned her head back again, closing her eyes.

“Drink some coffee,” I urged. 

“You drink some coffee,” she frowned at me, stubbornly. 

“But you’re not even a hedgewitch.” I was actually saying these words seriously. “How are you doing vessel magic?” 

“You all keep using that word.” Rayna squinted at me. “Vessel this, vessel that. I don’t even know what that is.” 

“It’s what you did, I’m assuming,” I said, “which you would know if the Blessed let anybody talk about the old traditions. Vessel magic was said to be how hedgewitches communicated for and with the spirits of the dead. I thought it was bullshit—”

“I know; you said that already,” Rayna interrupted, irritated. “Very loudly.” 

“Sorry about that,” I nodded. She’d reached at the stage of drunk where it was in everyone’s best interest to keep humoring her. “You’re killing me here, Rayna. What was it like?” 

“You’ve had more to drink than me,” Rayna pointed, wobbling. “Why are you so upright?” 

“Practice,” I told her. “Vessel magic, Rayna —”

“It’s like riding in a carriage,” said Rayna, as she straightened her spine against the wall, looking me dead in the eye. “It’s like one minute you’re driving the carriage and in control, and then someone else takes the reins, so you ride in it for awhile. You can see out the windows, and you know where you are and that you’re safe, but someone else is doing the work. And then when they’re done, it’s just—” She raised her fingers and tried to snap, but it made no sound against her gloves. She looked down at her fingers, confused and disappointed. “It doesn’t work with gloves on,” she slurred. “That really ruined the effect.” 

“It didn’t; I’m enraptured,” I insisted, but she’d set down her coffee cup and was wiggling off the glove. 

“I just— I just—” she was saying, and then when it was off, she looked back up at me, raising her hand victoriously. “And then when they’re done, it’s just—” She snapped her fingers, soundly. “And then you’re back at the reins.” 

“Brilliant,” I applauded. She grinned, visibly proud of herself. 

[inkrabbit]

Train Schedules - Abel “Himbo” Monroe x GN!Reader

Because I could and I had a cute pic of Himbo from last night

Summary: After spending the day in Saint Denis, you find yourself bumping into a handsome man that’s waiting for the train. After telling him the correct time, you offer him to accompany you to a late night dinner.

Word count: 1,791

 Saint Denis had never been your most favorite city. Sure, it was… lively and different from what you were used to, but the thick smog always gathered in your throat and made you gag. The scent of coal and gas was heavy, and you could smell it even when you were down in Lagras, that hint of air pollution always making you crinkle your nose.

 Today, however, you found yourself lingering around the city a bit longer than normal. Having let your horse have a nice little day to itself in the stable, making sure to tip the stable boy extra to ensure your horse was well taken care of, you decided to stroll around. See what all the hype was about the big city life. You had popped into the tailor shop, and the man had poured out all the compliments for you when you tried on a new shirt. You knew he was just up-selling, but dammit it had worked. Oh well, at least you looked nice.

 The next stop was the gun store, the old man behind the counter being nice enough to clean your gun and suggest any sort of modifications to add on to it. You had taken them, paying with a smile and almost giddy to test it out on your next mission. Leaving with a smile and a sweet goodbye, you started down the street, headed for the post office. You had some things you needed to pick up; more ammo for your guns, and you’re sure someone probably sent you some mail. And you were surprised when the man had behind the counter had been friendly and sent you on your way with a smile.

 It was nightfall by the time you were done with your trip, pleasantly surprised with the experience you had with all the workers. You were honestly worried you’d meet something but snobs, and while you did with the random passerby, it wasn’t as bad as you expected. Taking out your pocket watch, you check the time. Eleven o’clock. Should you risk riding through to Rhodes, or should you just rent a room for the night in the city? You had gotten used to the odd smell of Saint Denis, but you found yourself coughing more often than you would out in some other town.

 You keep walking, too lost in thought to realize you’re coming up on the train station. You only notice it when your peripheral picks up a man standing underneath one of the bright lights, shuffling almost uncomfortably. He’s scratching as his black beard, occasionally looking around. Furrowing your brows, you stop and slip your pocket watch back its place. He wasn’t too bad looking, and you watched as he would push his hair back, only to have those white locks fall back into his face and make him scrunch his nose. A rifle is slung over his shoulder, bandolier over a black vest with the sleeves ripped off. Wait… was he waiting for the train? You had memorized the times for each train, when they arrived and departed. Saint Denis’ train wouldn’t be here for the next twelve hours. So why was this man standing here?

“You waitin’ on the train?” you ask him. He’s almost surprised when you approach him, blue eyes wide as he takes a step back. He recovers quickly, however, sending you the warmest smile you had received in a long time.

“I am!” he tells you with an airy tone, “Say, ya don’t happen to have the time, do you?”

“Little past eleven,” He nods, once again looking around. You suppose it’s better to tell him now. “Ya know the train don’t come until mornin’, right?”

“What?” He’s looking at you like you’re crazy, but you watch in amusement as the realization finally hits. His shoulders slump and he sighs, bringing a hand up to once again brush it through his hair. “That would… explain a lot, actually…”

“Were ya really gonna wait all night?” you snicker, and you watch as his freckled face grows red from embarrassment.

“I got the times mixed up with Appleseed Timber,” he grumbles softly, though a sheepish smile pulls at his lips. “I live out by Strawberry, so I’m always takin’ that train. Confused the times for that station with this one.”

“You weren’t wonderin’ why you were the only one out here?” He shrugs, finally regaining your gaze.

“Didn’t consider that,” He finally turns his body to fully face you, hand outstretched. “Well, thank you for letting me know. Guess I’ll be finding a room somewhere.”

“’Course!” You give him a firm handshake, though you let your hold on him linger. Well, you supposed you were going to be spending the night in the city. “What’s your name? Maybe we could go get some dinner together?”

“Oh! I’d love that!” He’s standing up straighter now, and it’s clearly he’s become excited as he outstretches his arm to let you loop yours through. “I’m Abel Monroe.”

 He’s sweet as he walks you away from the train station, telling you how much he likes your name when you give it to him, the two of you starting for the saloon. He’s asking you about yourself, and chuckles when you bring up Cripps. Apparently he knew the man as well, and was working with his old friend, Maggie Fike. You had heard of the lady, even met her, but the moonshine business just wasn’t for you. Not yet, at least. Abel tells you of his bar out in Tall Trees, and even offers you to drop by. You supposed you could if you were in the area, and he seems excited when you tell him so.

 He opens the doors, letting you enter first. He lets you pick a seat as he goes to the front after asking what you had wanted. When you offered him money to pay for your dinner, he just laughs and shoos you away, telling you it was his treat for the night.

“Next time, then,” you tell him, and it looks like his face heats up again. You take your seat, watching as he talks to the man behind the counter. He’s leaning against the bar, though he does look back at you while he waits, sending you a smile. You watch him thank the worker and grab the plates, lining them on one arm as he holds the bottles in his other hand. Thanking him as he sets your items down, you grab your bottle. It’s a playful toast you propose, clinking the drinks together with him and toasting to meeting new friends. He gives you a soft laugh, nodding his head.

 Conversation is kept to a friendly chat. You asked him about himself, and he tells you his business in Saint Denis. He had been visiting his parents who resided somewhere in the city, and laughed when he recalled their bewildered faces when he told them he was headed home. Apparently he had left his horse back in Strawberry, having taken the train for the long journey. He thanks you once again for catching his mistake, and you just nod. He was a nice man, though you found him to be a bit dim. You had made the occasional flirtatious joke, but he didn’t seem to pick up on it. Instead, he would just give you a smile, but you could see the confused look in his eyes. He had said how nice you were when you told him his eyes were beautiful, and when you had said he was cute. Had he ever had anyone flirt him with him before? Sure, you hadn’t planned on saying these things, but you were curious to see how far you could push it. He wasn’t a bad looking man, and he was the nicest one you had met in a long time.

 The two of you finish dinner, and you thank him again for paying. Standing up, you decide it’s time to turn in for the night, and you can feel that smile creep onto your face.

“Let’s get a room,” you suggest, and he just gives you a nod. He seems oblivious to as he follows you up to the bar, and he’s almost pushing you out of the way to pay for the room. He laughs as he tells you you can pay for the outing next time, and you’re almost surprised to hear him practically suggest you two will be spending more time together. The bartender gives you a wink as you follow Abel up to the room, and you feel your face heat up.

 Just like when you entered the saloon, the man holds the door open for you with a smile, and gives you ample time to enter. You sit on the edge of the bed, unlacing your boots. You glance up, watching as Abel removes his rifle and bandolier, before shrugging himself out of his vest. His blue paddon shirt is open at the top, the golden laces long and hanging on the sides. He also removes his gun belt, setting it down on the dresser as he starts for his boots.

“Figured you would’ve wanted your privacy,” he speaks, blue eyes flickering up to look at you. “not to spend the night with some feller like me.”

“Figured you’d be good company,” you respond, and he actually lets out a little snort as he starts laughing.

“I ain’t too sure I’d call myself that,” he chuckles, but he walks over to the other side of the bed, taking a seat on the edge. “If I bother you throughout the night, feel free to wake me up.”

“You goin’ to bed already?” you ask. He nods, bringing his legs up to lay on his side. Well, that’s not exactly how you thought spending the night with him would’ve gone. But, nevertheless you wish him a goodnight, and he gives you a hum in response. You finish removing your boots and making yourself comfortable, laying in the bed under the covers with your back towards the man. You’re almost close to falling asleep, hearing Abel’s soft snoring coming from behind you, but his shuffling catches your attention. His movements are slow and almost heavy, an arm coming out to wrap itself around your middle and pulling you close to his chest. He buries his face in the back of your neck, his beard tickling your skin as he acts as though you’re some stuffed animal he wants to cuddle with. You allow him to, resting your arm on top of his as you try to get comfortable once more. You supposed this is how you were going to spend the rest of the night.

[2018shawn]

3 and 12 from fluff with Shawn!!!

“Have you seen my hoodie?” “Noo.” “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

“Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

a/n + warnings: hi hello I actually don't really know if I like this but hey HO. the part in italics are flashbacks!!! love u all!! request from here!!

It was a strange feeling for Shawn - you going away and him being the one at home, pining for you to return. It was usually him travelling the world and coming home to call you straight away, begging you to come over. You weren’t an official couple and hadn’t even had the conversation with each other yet, but other people knew you was his and he was yours; nothing more needed to be said. 

"Was your flight okay?” Shawn asked, holding the phone to his ear by pushing his shoulder up to his cheek. He carried his guitar in one hand and fiddled with his keys in the other, until he found the key to his condo.

You could hear him struggling over the phone, laughing to yourself as you flopped onto your hotel room, king sized bed. “It was okay. The most creepiest, sugar daddy kind of guy was sat next to me on the plane. He asked if I wanted to go out with him one night, seeing as we’re both staying in London.”

Shawn’s jaw tensed at your story as he placed his guitar bag down on the floor, kicking the door shut with his foot before disabling the alarm system. You could hear the secure beeps all the way from London. “I hope you told him...” Shawn had to stop himself, remembering that he officially couldn't really say anything, although that almost killed him. “That you’re a lesbian?”

You chuckled uncontrollably at his response, almost feeling giddy that he didn’t want you to go out with another guy. “Not quite, but I told him I’m a one man kinda girl...”

“Oh?” Shawn asked, taking his bottom lip in-between his teeth as he bounced up the stairs, heading straight to his office to load up his computer. He knew you were into him, that was obvious, but he’d never heard you turn anyone down for him before.

“Yep,” You started, popping the p, “so my boyfriend will happy that I shot him down.”

“Oh, your boyfriend?” He asked, raising his eyebrows, not that you could see him. 

“Yeah, you really think I'm here with work?” Shawn laughed down the phone, relieving you that he knew it was all a joke, “nah, I'm kidding no one wants to wife me up.���

“We’ll discuss that when you’re home.” He stated, with a hint of dominance lacing his words that only made you feel like a little girl with her first crush. You weren’t sure if the feelings he gave you would ever dissipate, but you hoped not. “Oh, also, question...” he started, slumping into his desk chair and spinning around as he waited for the computer to load up. “Have you seen my hoodie?” You pulled your lips together, keeping quiet as he continued, “you know the grey Saint Laurent one? I don't know if I left it at yours before you left?”

The strings of said hoodie were currently wrapped around your finger, being twirled as you wondered what you were going to tell him. You hadn’t exactly stolen it, he was the one that carelessly left it and surely boys should know, it is the ultimate mission for a girl to steal their (almost) boyfriend’s favourite jumper. “Noo.” you replied, holding out the last syllable.

“You’re wearing it, aren’t you?” He smiled to himself, not remotely annoyed but more warm and fuzzy. He fiddled with the computer, putting you on loudspeaker so he could multitask - which men couldn’t do very well at the best of times. 

“No? What would make you say that?” You knew you didn’t sound confident in your answer, but that’s because you were well and truly lying.

“Because you can’t lie for shit,” he laughed, “I’m hanging up now, FaceTiming you on the Mac because my phone’s gonna die.” Before you had chance to reply, the line went dead and your phone was ringing again, the FaceTime ringtone filling the echoing hotel room. 

“Okay fine, I'm wearing it.” You laughed as you answered, holding the phone above your face, instantly trying to fix you appearance. You looked like shit, really, you’d just been on an 7 hour flight and you were extremely exhausted, but he didn’t think you looked bad at all. He thought you looked incredible, actually. He loved the way your hair was still in their loose curls, contrasting against the white pillows of the hotel bed, and the way your freckles were on show due to being make up free. 

“I’ll let you off this once, but only because it looks better on you than it does me.” He said, raising his eyebrows and nodding at you through the camera. You admired him in all his beauty; leant back in the leather office chair, curls crazy from his long day but smile still as bright as ever. You made yourself feel sick at the thought of missing him already; you weren’t the type to pine after boys, especially when they’re not even classed as your boyfriend yet. But wherever Shawn was, home was. He took a moment to admire you too, and although you admittedly looked tired from the journey, he basically turned into the heart-eye emoji and wanted to put you on a flight back home already. 

Both of you, of course, were too stubborn to tell one another this. 

“What time is it there, like 11:30?” Shawn asked, looking at his watch for reference of his own time zone. 

You knew you should try sleep and wake up so you weren’t as tired in the morning, but when you worked out the time difference in your head, you’d only just be finishing work and getting ready for your evening routine back home. So instead, you readjusted yourself on the bed, laying on your stomach with your phone held up in front of your face. “Mmhmmm, so that means it’s 4:30 there?” 

Shawn’s face screwed up, looking at you like you’d just asked him to work out some algebra. “I thought you was supposed to be clever?”

“Hey! I am clever” You puffed, flipping him your middle finger. 

“Babe, it’s 6:30; you’re 5 hours ahead not 7.” He picked his phone up off the desk, the screen automatically illuminating as he raised it to the lens of the computer. He flashed you the screen, the image just clear enough for you to make out, no thanks to the hotel’s crappy wifi. “See, 6:30.” 

You went silent, for once in your life not bothering to argue or come back with some smart arse comment. You’d seen his lock screen, although the time covered a tiny area of it, the picture was familiar enough that you recognised it. 

Your feet padded across the carpeted floor of Shawn’s bedroom and although you tried your hardest to be quiet, you’d still manage to wake Shawn, who rolled over in bed and shot upright when he noticed you weren’t there. “Can I steal a t-shirt? I don't wanna make breakfast in last nights dress,” you laughed awkwardly. It was the fifth time you’d stayed over at Shawn’s, and you told yourself the night before you’d have enough willpower to not go home with him. You wanted to keep him on his toes and make sure he didn’t think you’d fall at his feet every time he flashed his stupidly handsome smile. Obviously, it didn’t work and you were now naked in his bedroom, nothing but your clubbing dress to cover your body. 

“Of course, take your pick.” He admired you from where he lay, phone in his hand as he silenced all the incoming texts and calls. You let your fingers drag across the material of his tee’s, sliding open a couple of drawers, expecting something to jump out at you. Knowing you, you’d end up picking his most expensive t-shirt and spilling coffee down it or something. Your eyes caught glimpse of a sports top, cobalt blue with some sporty logo’s on the front and you thought that would be ample. Anything was ample compared to your lingerie clad body, which you suddenly didn’t feel so confident in now the alcohol had worn off. 

As if Shawn wasn’t hard enough this morning, after sleeping with your ass pushing into him all night, his cock twitched when the t-shirt draped over your shoulders. And he thinks that’s when he knew he was falling deep. He swipped up on his phone, the camera app loading and focusing on the image in front of him. 

His personalised jersey, his last name printed above the numbers on the back, looked perfect on you, even more so when you reached up to hang the hanger back on the rail and your white lace panties peeked out from underneath, and he wanted to be reminded of it every time he picked up his phone. He was caught out when the flash went off, and your cheeks flushed a deep red, running over and trying to steal to phone off him. “No, let me keep it!” he whined, telling you it’s for his eyes only. “plus it suits you!” 

You hid your face in the crook of his neck, mumbling into his skin, “it’s a jersey, it suits everyone.”

“I meant the name.”

You were grinning to yourself, butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. “Am I your lockscreen?” 

His eyes widened, looking at his phone and then back up to the camera. He felt like an embarrassed teenager; like how you’d feel when your best friend would tell the person you like, that you like them and the rest of the class would tease you for it. Or when you had your first kiss and everyone wolf whistled and it became the talk of the school. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

-----

taglist: @imaginashawnns @fallinallincurls

[divinityoswin]

for the caged bird sings of freedom

➳ this work is a multichapter fic

summary: Dragons were the ones who ruled the heavens, who soared above all. It was unbecoming of one to desire to live down on earth.// Sabo knows nothing of his past. Im knows, though. Im always knows best. 

In which Im finds themselves in need of an heir, and the newest slave at Mariejois seems to be the perfect candidate.

characters: Sabo

words: 2221

content warning: angst, slavery, abuse.

»»————-　♔　————-««

A free bird leaps on the back of the wind  

It’s strange, he thinks, that there was an entire world out there to explore, yet the town seems insistent on caging its residents in.  

He can see it - the bars that lock them in houses, the corsets holding the women in place and the stiff suits that restrain the men from running out and living .  Their very hearts are locked and sealed away, to the point that they would turn their noses up at the screams of those begging for mercy.  Its a cage of their own creation, and he wants no part of it.

Why did he want no part of it?

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak.  All he could do was lay down and stare at the wooden ceiling, counting the planks as his body swayed gently back and forth.  A bandage is wrapped around one of his eyes, as well as most of his body - and something is strapping him down to a bed.  The last thing he remembers is an awful sensation encapsulating the left side of his body, and then nothing.  But that’s not the problem here.  It also happens to be the only thing he remembers.

Oh, he remembers feelings , information - he knows he detests nobles, and he knows that there are four seas - five, including the Grand Line.  But he doesn’t remember himself.  No name comes to the tip of his tongue, and any attempt to look back into his past is only met with an orange glow within his mind.  Fire, he presumes, which would explain the numb feeling in his body.

The boy would cry, if it did not hurt to do so.  Instead of weeping, he wonders.  Wonders of where he is, of what would happen to him.  He would welcome death, if a voice in the back of his mind did not scream at him for thinking so.

“You gave everyone a nasty shock out there.”

The voice is serene, and it sends shivers down his spine.  He cannot move his head, so it’s up to the stranger to come into his own view.  Just out of the corner of his eye, he spots a flash of orange - not the warm kind, like the fire that once engulfed him, but a harsh, sharp kind.  One that clashes with the black the stranger is wearing.

It’s a woman, he thinks to himself.  Danger.  Danger.

Get out.

“It is thanks to the kindness and generosity of our Saint that you were rescued,” she continues.  It’s almost as if she’s preaching, and he wishes desperately he could escape.  The last thing he wants is a lesson . “Tell me, do you know why you are here?”

He cannot move, nor open his mouth, so he merely stares at her general direction and waits.  Minutes pass by, and he can feel her gaze boring into the side of his skull, until finally she steps forward and comes into his field of vision.

She has a sharp nose, sharp eyes, sharp lips, sharp cheekbones - everything about her is sharp .  As if she were made of razor blades.  Yet freckles litter on her sun-kissed skin, and her curly bright orange hair is braided in a way that reminds him of a flower he had seen but could not remember, and she smiles with a grin that looks like honey.  None of this does anything to appease him, however, and he finds himself locked in a staring match with her.  It’s only when she sighs and looks away that he breaks eye contact.  The ceiling is much more interesting, anyway.

“As I suspected.  Your head trauma renders you unable to move or speak.”

A quill scratching on paper.  She’s writing something down.

“I suppose it would be useless to ask for your name,” she says.  She tuts, as if it’s somehow his fault that he’s incapable of moving. “Mine is Doctor Hymn.  A pleasure to meet you.”

Unfortunately, it isn’t much of a pleasure for him.  In fact, it’s rather unnerving, and a bit stressful.

“I will be your Doctor for this trip.  You should consider yourself lucky you survived the accident.”  He feels her hand - warm yet not in a comforting way - rest upon his forehead.  He winces. “I will begin to ask you some yes or no questions.  You will respond with blinking.  One long blink means yes, two means no.  Understand?”

He’s not exactly sure he’s in the right mindset to be answering questions.  After all, he’s still delirious from whatever ordeal he had been through, and everything happening now is driving him into a state of panic.  But Doctor Hymn’s grip on his forehead tightens, and he finds himself shutting his eyes before opening them again.

“Good, good.  Now. . .”

The floorboard creaks as her hand is removed from his forehead.  She’s stepping away, scribbling something more down, and humming to herself.

“Were you planning on assassinating our Saint?”

He blinks twice.  She’s talking absolute nonsense to him.  Even if he couldn’t remember a thing about his past, he got the sense he wasn’t the kind of person to kill others.

“Are you currently dissatisfied with the World Government and its system of governance?”

What a strange question, especially to one such as himself - a child.  He blinks twice, because he feels blinking once would be a mistake.  But in his heart, he feels something stir within him, and it takes him a moment to realise he’s lying to her.  

Why was he lying?

“That’s wonderful to hear.  Now, are you a strong young man?”

He can’t move a muscle, so he instead rolls his eyes and gazes at her general direction and waits.

“Not when you’re injured, of course,” Doctor Hymn clarifies.

He blinks once.  At least, he assumes so.

“Very well.”  She sets aside her notepad and quill, and takes a seat next to him. “You’ve passed the test.”

What test , he wants to ask, but of course nothing escapes his lips.  Doctor Hymn seems to understand his confusion, though, and continues.

“Discard your name.  It doesn’t exist anymore.”

A sentiment that would work if he could just remember his name.

“From now on, you will be called 0731.”

0731 shivers.

                                                    * * *

It takes 0731 only a day to understand the meaning behind her words, and to know exactly where he is.  Well, not exactly - but he senses something is important about where he is, and that it doesn’t bode well for him.  As far as he knows, he’s on a ship, he’s in some sort of medical area, and there are some very, very important passengers on board.

Doctor Hymn, the only person he has been allowed to see so far, refers to these passengers as ‘Saints’, speaking with such reverence as if they were holy creatures.  0731 can only assume that they’re either actual Gods, or they were simply nobles who had become so twisted in their self-worth and ego that they thought themselves to be so.

Something tells him it’s the latter.

Whatever the case may be, he isn’t allowed to see them.  Not yet, anyway.  Doctor Hymn tells him he’s too sickly to see anyone but her, and he knows for a fact it’s true.  Just the mere act of breathing, of his chest moving slowly up and down in ragged gasps, is painful.  Moving his body around - now that is physically impossible.

As for his company, she’s not bad company, but something about her sets alarm bells in his head.  From the way she dresses in a blinding white, to her vaguely familiar hair that he couldn’t quite place, to the freckles dotting her skin that looked so out of place with her cold eyes.  Every word that came from her tongue reeked of honey and venom, and now, as he lays down alone, he feels grateful she’s not there.  Probably off worshipping her saints, or something.

He would snort, if it weren’t agonizing to do so.

It just leaves the case of what exactly he is now.  And he has a inclination he knows what that is.

Slavery.

Despite his amnesia, he’s still very much aware of the term and concept.  The disgust runs down his spine and he shudders.  The very idea that one human being could be considered lesser than another, to the point that they’d be kept as pets , is sickening.  Yet here he is, a slave in all but his heart - his name already taken - travelling to who knows where and being stuck with who knows who .  He hears screams and cries from somewhere on the ship, and wrathful yells, and then silence.  His imagination goes wild, and 0731, for an instance, considers biting his own tongue off.

He doesn’t, of course.  Something in the back of his mind tells him not to.  But the instinct is still there.

The door creaks open, and the clack of high heels against wood resounds across the entire room.  0731 knows who it is, from the three times she’s been in already.  Doctor Hymn, here to check up on him no doubt.

As far as answers go, she’s told him nothing.  Not that he exactly asks many questions, considering the whole cannot move and talk situation, but that’s beside the point.  She keeps secrets close to her chest, and while he’s sure she’s never lied to him, she’s never told the full truth either.  Instead she gospels and speaks of her saints and expects him to know what she’s referring to.

“The blood samples have been completed,” she says.  She’s somewhere behind 0731, fiddling around on what he presumes to be a desk. “You have no illnesses, as far as I can tell.  As for your current condition. . .”

He feels her gaze bore into his skull.

“You’ll have to bear with it for a little while longer.  Once we get to Mariejois, you’ll be at the hands of the finest doctors in the world.”

The name Mariejois is unfamiliar to him, but it’s an indication of where he’s going, at least.  If only he knew where that is.

Something sharp pokes into the back of his spine, and suddenly it feels like knives are sticking into his back.  It takes him a moment to register that Doctor Hymn is lifting him up.  Not that it makes it any less painful.  He wants to scream, to cry, but any words hurt to say.  She seems to understand he’s in pain, however.

“This is only temporary.  We can’t have you drinking when you’re lying down, can we?” she says.

He wants to curse her, but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper.  

Doctor Hymn pours out a glass of water and brings it to his lips.  He’s parched, he realises, so he swallows it gladly.  Yet it stings and hurts down his throat.  Tears build up in the corner of his eyes, and he grimaces.  Doctor Hymn looks mildly concerned.  He wonders if she’ll be his solace during this time.

“We’ll have to fix that soon,” she says. “Our Saint would not want a product that cannot even drink.”

His heart breaks into pieces, and he loses whatever semblance of hope he has left.  As she straps him back into the bed, he’s dumbfounded.

“We’ll be arriving at Reverse Mountain soon.  Brace yourself.”

With that, she’s gone, and leaves him alone yet again.

0731 wants to scream and break free.  He wants to kick everyone’s ass and go someplace else and to be free .  Free of his shackles, free of this world, free of his fate.  Everything about now is choking him to death, it’s gripping his heart tightly and ripping it apart.  It’s not just about his injuries.  It’s not physical.

Not that they help much with that, either.  The injuries, that is.

So, instead, he stares at the ceiling, and begins counting in his head again.  He’s almost up to the final plank he can see when a sudden jolt breaks him out of his concentration, and the feeling of the straps scraping against his wounds sends him on fire.

Chaos is happening outside.  He can hear that, at least.  Screams, muffled yelling, rushing water .  It almost sounds like a waterfall.  Then, the entire ship rattles and shakes, and with it so does he.

To say that it is painful would be an understatement.  It is excruciatingly so.  His body is in no condition to move, let alone so violently, so being jerked around like that . . . it did not do him any favours.  It lasts for about two minutes before there’s a moment where he’s almost floating off his bed, kept down only by the straps, until he lands straight back down and the shaking begins again.

“Ah - Ah!”

His voice finally comes to him, in a hoarse whisper - but his voice nonetheless.  And at what a spectacular time, too!  For he was, as far as he was aware, about to die from the violent jerking and his injuries.  

Never again.  He never wants to go through that ordeal again.  Now the ship rocks gently, as if it’s on calm waters once again.  A clock ticks nearby, voice from above still muffled and still yelling, albeit quieter than before.

Staring at the ceiling, he begins to sob.  

It doesn’t take long for 0731 to scream.