#chilly ceremony

[johnbly]

i am doing a sketch for my embroidery hoop felt art thingy of the interceptor and i look forward to knowing her by heart after this

[barrel-crow-n]

Kaz and Matthias being mean to each other in chapter 29 my beloveds.

Kaz: How do we cross? I don't see anything.

Matthias: Because you are not worthy.

Kaz: I'm also not near sighted. There's nothing there.

Matthias: We go from aspirant to novice drüskelle in the ceremony at the sacred ash.

Kaz: Where the tree talks to you.

Matthias: (resisting the urge to shove Kaz into the ice moat) Where we hope to hear the voice of Djel.

Kaz: All this to be a witch hunter? The Dregs need a better initiation.

Matthias: This is only one part of Hringkälla.

Kaz: Yes, I know, then a tree tells you the secret handshake.

Matthias: Chilly, Brekker?

Kaz: If only we had time for a swim. Get moving.

Matthias: I feel sorry for you, Brekker. There is nothing sacred in your life.

Matthias: And the magic tricks?

Kaz: (snorts) So you don't think I'm a demon anymore?

Matthias: I know you're a demon, but your tricks are human.

[grugruel]

Let the Light in

Pairing: priest!Bucky x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: On the day of your wedding, you excpect to love your husband, not fall for the priest.

You'd never been a believer. But when your marrige spiraled into darkness, you had to find light elsewere. So you asked the Lord for help, and He answered.

Ironically enough, He gave you a most devout follower, the priest.

Word count: ca 4k

Warnings: fluff, angst, blasphemy, soft!priest!bucky, pinv sex, oral sex (f receiving), passionate sex, fingering, thigh-riding, adultry, praise (m receiving), priest kink.

AN: its been proof read! I dont understand how yall read it before the fact, my misspellings were crazy. I also edited it a bit, gave yall about 200-300 words more.

I stod silently on the sidewalk, with my back to the road. Numbly observing the scene in front of me as I waited. Cars were rushing past behind me, slowing as they noticed the crowd.

The chilly autumn winds blew my coat off of my stocking clad legs, revealing them to the elements. I couldnt be bothered to care.

The cold did not affect me anymore, I was strung out on feeling.

I watched my husband struggle, and the guests scramble to help him. They got him on his feet, and his best man slung an arm around him to keep him from falling again. My eyes brimmed with tears, ready to fall any second now.

I felt a hand touch the small of my back in silent support. A palm pressed firmly into the arch below, fingertips curling, rouching the fabric of my dress. I closed my eyes and all my troubles were wisked away for but a second, until I heard the guests approach and the hand left me. I opened my eyes to a grim sight.

We met in college, my husband and I. He'd been lovely and attentive when we first met, he made me fall in love with him. He proposed to me on our graduation, and i'd never been happier.

Unfortunately though, it didnt last that long.

As we were fresh out of school, both with stellar scores and brand new degrees. We got our dream jobs, and bought ourselves our dream home.

Everything was perfect, until he got fired. Why? He wouldnt tell me, he left me in the dark, refusing to tell me himself.

Naturally, I grew suspicious.

So I called his former boss, who told me that they'd caught him with his secretary bent over his desk. They said he'd gotten a reputation within his business and would be experiencing difficulties in finding a new job for himself. My crying increased gradually through out the call, this was the first time hed let me down after all. His boss was very apologetic and so was my fiancé.

He found me sat on the floor with phone in hand, a complete mess of tears and running mascara. Immedietly showing worry, 'Whats going on, whats happened?' He asked, thinking somebody died. But when I glared at him, repaying his silence with my own, he understood. He stuttered an apology, his words a flurry of explanations and sorrys, sounding truly regretful.

So I forgave him, silly me.

With time, bitterness manifested within him. Resentment over the fact that I was well liked and did good work at my own job. It led him down a pityfull path, finding solace in alcohol, resentment turning into lousey drunkeness. I should've left him, but chose to forgive him. I loved him, despite all.

Eventually he found a new job, nowehere near the prestige of his old one. But it calmed his drinking.

When he sobered slightly, he apologized continously. Telling me he promised to get better and told me he wanted to have our ceremony, because I deserved it. Foolishly, I belived him. He stayed sober several weeks before the wedding, and I thought it could be a new start.

But here we are now.

I stood behind the doors of the nave, inhaling and exhaling big shaky breaths, trying to gather strength for what I was about to throw myself into.

The priest, father Barnes. The one who would be marrying us, came to me before I walked down the aisle.

'Miss.' He began, his eyes pleading as he took my hands into his, 'Its now my place, I know. But your betrothed-'

'Youre right, its not.' I cut him off, the idea of discussing my fiancés indiscretions with the priest was not appealing. 'I apologize father.' I sighed and met his eyes, 'Hes drunk isnt he?'

The priest tilted his head to the side, realising I was already well aquainted with the vice, 'Well, yes. . .' He said, sounding apologetic.

I nodded my head, deep in thought, 'Alright, lets not waste anymore time then.'

'You're still going ahead with the wedding?' He asked me, an incredulous expression shaping his face.

I looked down, studying the intricate details of my wedding dress. Id picked it myself, my favourite flowers covered it. That man of mine doesnt know my favourite in anything, nor would he notice them on my dress.

A melancholic smile covered my lips, 'You must think me foolish father.' I whispered under my breath, chuckling quietly.

He shook his head and moved one of his hands to my chin, tilting my face to meet his. The other grabbed my hands, and squeezed them, 'I think youre strong.' He told me, a reassuring smile on his lips.

'He promised me he would get better.' My voice was meak, a tear streaking my face.

'You're a good woman.' He breathed, letting go of my hands to cup my face. He leveled his head with mine, his tall stature forcing him to hunch as his eyes locked with mine, 'Too, good.' He whispered, 'And, Its not my business, thats true. . .' Another tear fell, and he gently stroked it away with his thumb, 'But he does not deserve your kindness.'

My cheeks burned hot, a blush crept up my face. I had not heard such kind words in a long time. I could not controll my crying any longer, unstoppable tears came rolling down my cheeks, 'I have to believe him, father, I have to try.' I told him quietly, hating how desperate my voice sounded.

'I love him.'

He cringed at the words, furrowing his brows 'I admire your devotion.' He said gently, 'Do you want more time? Im sure we can wait a little longer.' He tried, but I shook my head.

'No, I dont want to keep the guests waiting.' I took a deep breath, 'Do I look ok?' I asked him.

He nodded, but pulled the cuff over his hand and dabbed my cheeks dry.

His eyes flickered over my face, studying my features, my wet eyes and rosy cheeks. He leaned in, kissed my cheek and whispered 'Angelic.' His hands fell to my bare shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

He turned around and as he was about the leave I grabbed hold of his wrist, carefully tugging him back. He faced me and I let go of him realising that perhaps it wasnt appropriate of me. 'I just-' I began, but my voice broke. He met my eyes and pulled me into his embrace, 'Thank you, father.' I whispered against his chest.

He rested his head on your shoulder and rubbed your back gently, holding onto the fabric of your dress, rubbing it between his fingers. Studying the beautiful pattern. He slid his hands up your arms, feeling a sudden urge to kiss the bare skin beneath him. He pulled back hastily, clearing his throat as he silently rebuked himself.

'I must take my place dear.' He said, stroking a piece of hair behind my ear. He gave me a last smile, then left, taking his place by the altar.

I heard the music starting and the muffled sound of the crowd standing up. I sighed, steadied my breathing, and opened the doors to the nave. Everyone turned around, looking at me. Whispers rumbled through the crowd as I began walking, their stares were making me nervous.

Through the gloom of the church, light shone through the windows at the altar. I looked at him for comfort, handsome as he was, I met his eyes and found it within them.

He could not tear his eyes from you, you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, courageous and proud, you walked down the aisle. When your eyes met his, he smiled proudly. Hoping you would find some comfort in it, and you found it.

As I approached the altar, I tore my eyes from his and looked at my fiancé. His best man holding him upright, otherwise slumping over. He smiled sloppily at me, I gave him a strained smile back.

The ceremony was over quickly, my husband stumbled through his vows and his kiss tasted of smoke and whiskey. In fact, the entirety of him was drenched in the odor.

I smiled and thanked everyone as they congratulted us, and carefully, tiptoed around the subject of my husband.

I hurried to change into my reception dress, it was all black. Black coat, dress, heels and stockings. Fitting, I thought. As this felt more like a funeral than a wedding, burrying the woman I once was.

People were drinking, laughing and dancing. The reception was doing a wonderful job of keeping everyone cheery, everyone except me. I sat silently by our table, watching my husband as he kept drinking and his men trying to calm him down. He had barely spoken a word to me, he was to drunk to stand, to drunk to have our first dance. I felt myself sinking into oblivion as my polite smiles and thank yous were running out.

But someone approched me, snapping me out of the darkness. I looked up, and the light returned.

He reached his hand out to me, 'May I have this dance?' He asked, his white collar stark against his black shirt.

'You may.' I smiled, the first genuine smile I'd given anyone since the night begun.

I laid my hand in his and he led me to the edge of the dance floor, somewhere we could be at peace. In our dark colors we went unseen, tucked away from prying eyes.

I snaked my arms around his neck and his arms circled my waist, pulling me tightly against him. A bit unorthodox perhaps. But I didnt mind and neither did he, it seemed. I leaned my head against him as we swayed to the music, basking in eachothers prescence.

He sensed that you werent interested in talking, but rather needed a shoulder to lean on. Someone to hold you up, as your ungrateful husband couldnt even do that for himself.

For several songs, we just held eachother. Until the evening began winding down and we had to depart.

'I think this was a mistake.' He whispered.

'Which part?' I asked, and he sighed.

'Dont hesitate to come to me if you need anyhting.' He said quietly, 'Please.' he pleaded. I nodded, thinking id never take him up on his offer.

Now, I stood on the street. Still feeling the priests hand on my back although he'd already taken a few secure steps back.

I watched as my husband being carried to our car, as we were headed for our honeymoon. Two weeks in rome, I wish I could truthfully say I was excited. They shoved him into the back, and once again congratulated us with cheapish smiles. I walked around the car and opened the door, about to sit down when a hand slid into mine. I looked up and my eyes met his beautiful blues once again. He assisted me into the car, lending me his strong arm for support as I sat down. His hand slid out of mine, and a note was left in my palm, reflexicely I closed my hand around it. 'Anything.' He whispered and backed away, closing the door gently.

Our car drove off as the guests were waving us of, but all I could think about was the priest disappearing in the distance.

I opened the note, written down was his number and adress along with a few intricately drawn flowers.

I smiled to myself, quickly stashing it away in my pocket, afraid my husband would see. But as I looked at him, I realised. He was dead asleep, snoring even.

I opened my hand, tracing my fingertips along my palm. Trying to recreate the feeling of his hand in mine, his gentle, yet firm touch on my skin. I sighed, feeling my tears returning.

I cried silently, afraid to wake him. The driver looked at me through his rearview mirror, I met his eyes and quickly averted my gaze, crying even harder, but I couldnt even do that in peace. God, what had I done. I leaned my head against the seat, closing my eyes. When suddenly, I felt fingers on my knee. I shut my eyes harder, begging for it to be my imagination. But it wasnt.

'My, beautiful wife.' He drawled, tracing a finger along my jaw as his hand slid up my thigh. He sat forward, leaning towrd the drivers compartment and shut the hatch.

I opened my eyes and faced him, 'Aw, crying of joy sweetheart?' He asked, he was so delusional it was scary. I nodded, and feigned a smile which he returned lazily, then leaned in to kissed me.

I closed my eyes again, canceling out the taste and smell of liqour, shutting my ears to his voice.

And when his finger reached under my dress, It no longer felt like him. My husbands face was no longer my husbands, his voice and touch was someone elses.

All of a sudden my core was aching for more.

His kisses on my skin felt like heaven, his touch like fire and when he pulled me on top of him. I opened my eyes, and was met with blue, black and white.

Weeks went by and my thoughts never left father Barnes, whenever my husband made love to me, I made love to a priest.

Eventually his drinking subdued and he started taking care of himself, but grew more distant by the day.

It did actually make my existence bareable.

But there came a day, when I got home from work early and things were not as they should. The were heels in the doorway and clothes strewn on the floor. As I followed their trail, I found my husband and his secretary at the end of them. Naked, sweaty and monaing, in our bed, in our home. I was quiet, lost for words, but they mustve noticed my presence.

Because they stopped and threw the sheets over themselves, covering up. 'Sweetheart, its not what it seems.' He managed, struggling to clme up with an excuse. God, the stumache on that man. I felt like screaming, like cursing him and his entire bloodline. But he wasnt worth it.

I turned on my heel and he scrambled out of bed, dragging the sheet with him as he followed me out of the house, apologizing prefusely.

I shut him out, rage filling me as I got in my car and drove away. I drove to the only adress that came to mind.

I walked up to his house and knocked on the door, a few moments passed and he opened.

With wide eyes he looked at me, unable to hide his surpise. 'I uhm, I-' I stammered, my own surpise catching up to me. I hadnt had time to think this through, I acted on pure instinct. 'He cheated on me.' I got the words out, finally taking a breath as I finally understood their meaning. Misery overtook my rage, and my eyes welled as I tried to explain myself. 'I apologize for barging in on you father.' I started, 'Ive been thinking about you and I-' rambling, all my thoughts and feelings poured out of me. In the doorway of this poor mans home.

He reached out to me and pulled me into a hug, backing away from the door and let it fall shut behind me. He rested his head on top of mine as one of his hands held my head against his chest, stroking my hair. The warmth of his home embracing me.

'Can I confess something father?' I asked him as I laid my arms around him, much like our dance a few weeks ago.

'Anything.' He answered, kissing the top of my head.

'Ive sinned.'

He pulled back with a confused look on his face, but didnt let go. 'Lets hear it.' He ordered patiently.

'Ive. . . Been thinking of another man.' I whispered, looking deep into his eyes. 'During actions that should only take place between husband and wife.' I told him quietly, and his face grew pale. 'Ive had an emotional affair with this man, unbeknownst to him.' My breathing turned heavy, as my gaze switched to his lips, 'But, me and this man. Were both bound by vows you see.' I said and let go of him, understanding my words as I said them, and stepped back. Suddenly regretting coming here, as I felt rejection was imminent. 'Mine are already broken, but his are not and he cannot break them. He would not.'

'You should let the man speak for himself.' He said, serious in tone. His gaze locked in on me, as he stepped closer. 'I havent been able to stop thinking about you, no matter how hard I've tried.' He whispered, laying his hands on my hips. 'Ive never seen a woman so beautiful walking down the aisle, god himself mustve blessed you.' I snaked my hands around his shoulders, burrying them in his hair. 'Im hoping he would bless us, too.' Leaning in, his lips were a ghost over mine. 'I would care for you, in a way your husband never could. He does not deserve you.' He leaned his forehead agagaist mine, 'I'd work everyday to deserve your love, your kindness, your presence.' He said quietly against my lips, planting a gentle kiss on them and pulling back slightly to give me room. But I chased his lips, returning the kiss feverishly. Grabbing a fistful of his hair as I pulled him impossibly closer. His hands roamed my back, reaching under my shirt to undo my bra. It fell to the floor and he pulled my shirt over my head in one quick motion, making me gasp.

I removed the collar of his shirt with my teeth and ripped his black shirt open, burrying my head in the crook of his neck, 'Youre not a beginner, are you father? I asked, between kisses. Breathing heavily as I latched onto his skin, sucking at the sweet spot between his neck and collarbone.

He moaned, a smirk shaping his lips, 'Saints also sin from time to time.' he breathed, his hands falling to my ass and lifted me into his arms. I chuckled, letting go of his neck and circled my legs around his hips. I pushed my bare breasts against him and he burried his face in them, in turns taking them into his mouth. 'Where?' His voice came muffled by my skin.

'Everywhere.' I answered.

I could feel his grin against my skin, as he nipped my nipple with his teeth, making me yelp. He walked us toward his bedroom, and laid me down on his bed. He stood back, studying me as he took his shirt and pants off. I unbuttoned my own pants and shimmied out of them, raising myself onto my elbows, watching him as he took me in. His eyes roamed my body, thighs, hips, stumache, breasts. He loved all of me, 'Youre perfect.' He said, lust in his eyes as he climbed on top of me. 'I need you.' He whispered.

'You'll have me.' I told him and flipped him over. Positioning him against the headboard as I stradled his thigh, grinning wickedly and leaned forward, kissing his jaw. 'But first-' I whispered against his ear, 'I want to test your self control.' He looked confused, and I began grinding my clit against his thigh, a whimper escaping me. His hands flew to my hips to help me along, but I grabbed them and led them up to the headboard. I leveled my face with his, ghosting my lips over his as I had him hold onto the board, 'No touching.' I whispered and pecked his lips. I leaned back and my grinding resumed, I grabbed his thighs for support as the heat from the friction was making me swoon. I leaned my head back, biting my lip from the pleasure and when I looked back at him, he was holding onto the board for dear life. The muscles in his arms and jaw clenching as he fought himself to stay still, his eyes were running up and down my body.

The way your hips swayed and breasts bounced, it was sucking all the restraint out of him. His hands were itching to touch you, to just feel your skin under his fingertips for a moment. It would keep him fed for the rest of his life.

I hummed, 'Im- im gonna-' I stammered, my breaths frenzied as I was closing in on my orgasm. The crazy in his eyes made me smile devilishly, I felt evil, in the best way. My hips stuttered against his thigh, my ruts becoming faster and shorter as I was approaching my release. When I looked at him, his eyes were pleading, begging for permission, but it was to late. I rushed over the edge in a second, collapsing onto him, panting hard as I was catching my breath.

'May I?' He asked, his voice strained.

I kissed his chest and answered, 'Yes, please. You did so good.' He grunted at the praise, surprising me. He grabbed my ribs and threw me under him, hurridly kissing his way down my body until he reached my thighs. Spreading them, he kissed his way up the inside until he reached my panties. Without a second thought he ripped them apart and burried his face in my cunt. Tasting me, licking my juices, sliding his tongue through my folds and kissing my clit. A string of curses fell from my lips, as he pushed a finger inside of me, carefully sliding it in and out. Then adding another, and eventually a third, he thrusted them into me, my moaning telling him he was on the right track. He curled them into my spot and I nearly screamed.

'Just like that, good job.' I breathed and he moaned against my clit. What fun. He reached into his boxers and stroked himself, the sight made me mad. And for the second time, I came tumbling over the edge. He was not far behind, coming into his own hand, drenching himself in his seed. I grabbed his arm and pulled his hand closer to me, licking a stripe of his hand. He grunted at the sight, spurring me on as I took his fingers into my mouth. Sucking him clean as he watched, furrowing his brows, he became plagued by lust.

I pulled him closer to me, meeting his lips in another kiss as he pulled off his boxers. I reached down, stroking him as I lined him up with my entrance, 'You did such a good job, father.' His head perked at the praise, like a puppy being told hes a good boy. Gratefully pecking my face, cheek, chin and jaw, below my ear and neck. He put his weight on me, we couldnt possibly get any closer to one another. 'I need you in me father.' I told him bluntly, and leveled his head with mine, sliding inside. Kissing me mean while and I moaned into his mouth, sharing my breath with him. I laid my hands on his hips, telling him to move by pulling and pushing. Helping him set a gentle but firm pace, he lowered his head to the crook of my neck, his breath hot against my skin. 'Let me hear you father, dont hold back.' I whispered and appreciatively he grunted against my skin, moaning in my ear. It was fiendish, it was fantastic. 'Deeper, please.' I asked, pulling on his hips to drive him deeper and using the weight of his entire body he thrusted into me, in rythm with his grunts as our bodiess moved together.

'Tell me im good, please.' He begged, nuzzling his face into my neck.

I smiled, 'Youre being so good for me father.' I whispered into his hair.

'Thank you.' He whimpered, putting even more force to his thrusts as he traced my collarbone with kisses, all the way to my shoulder, repeating "Thank you." Over and over again inbetween his kisses. His thrusts were coming faster as he was closing in on his orgasm, driving me over the edge with him. 'I- im- im close.' He stuttered faintly.

'So am I, almost there father.' His pace hastened as his hand slithered between our bodies, finding my clit and circled it. 'God' I moaned, spots specking my vision as the priests thrusts became frenzied. He pinched my skin in warning, reminding me not to take the lords name in vain. Then we came together, and he collapsed on top of me.

'Im sorry for swearing, father. You bring it out of me.' I whispered.

He chuckled, 'Youre forgiven.' Throughout the night, we made love on the couch, the floor, the kitchen table and shower.

Eventually, we got back into bed. Holding eachother tightly as we drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up late the next day, there was a vase of flowers on the bedside table with a note under it, the letter "-B" was written on it.

I unfolded it and he had written me a message, "I had to go to church, but didnt want to wake you. I hope on seeing you later, please stay if you want to. Id love to come home to you. -PS, Your favourites."

I smiled happily and smelled the bouqet of tulips, a soft, warm feeling spreading throughout my body.

For a long time love had felt dark to me, it had felt cold and lonely, but now. . .

I had let the light in, he was my light.

[reasonsforhope]

Early mornings are chilly in Los Romero, a village high up in the mountains of western Guatemala. As in other predominantly Mam villages – Indigenous Maya people who have lived here since pre-Columbian times – households come quietly to life before dawn. Isabel Romero, a grandmother with long black hair, used to feel somewhat trapped in hers.

“I was afraid of speaking because I was cooped up at home. I didn’t go out,” she says, explaining that like many Mam women, her days were dedicated to the hard work of running a household with little money, and she rarely spoke with other women. “I worried a lot and had headaches.”

Residents of Los Romero live mainly from subsistence farming, growing maize, beans and squash, or grazing livestock. Almost 50% of the population is Indigenous in Guatemala, Central America’s biggest economy, but they do not share in its prosperity. Indigenous women in particular are discriminated against and dispossessed, with a life expectancy 13 years lower, and a maternal mortality rate two times higher, than the national average, according to the World Bank.

In Romero’s village and throughout the region, a community-based collective of women’s circles has been quietly improving Indigenous women’s lives, empowering them to find voices that have been suppressed through centuries of marginalisation.

It was a long process, but Romero’s headaches and fear are now a thing of the past. These days she gets out to workshops, meetings and women’s circles. She shares her knowledge of weaving traditional textiles on a backstrap loom and has a leadership role in the women’s group she co- founded: Buena Semilla (Good Seed).

The initiative emerged from Maya Mam women’s experiences, when French physician Anne Marie Chomat brought them together for interviews for her doctoral fieldwork in 2010- 2012. The simple act of gathering with others and sharing their experiences had a profound impact on the women, many of whom are still dealing with the traumatic legacy of Guatemala’s civil war.

During the 1960-1996 armed conflict between leftist guerrilla groups and the military, more than 200,000 people were killed, overwhelmingly Indigenous Maya civilians killed by the army. Another 45,000 were ‘disappeared’. A truth commission concluded that the state committed acts of genocide...

“There’s so much chronic stress and other issues that are not being addressed,” says Chomat, Buena Semilla’s international coordinator, who now lives in Canada. “So much healing happened in that space of women connecting with other women, getting out of their houses, realising: ‘I’m not alone’.”

Once Chomat’s fieldwork was finalised, several participants decided they wanted to continue meeting and with Chomat came up with the idea of women’s circles. With the help of a grant, the project got going in 2013 and now more than 300 women in two municipalities participate every week or two in circles, each comprising roughly 10 to 25 women.

Wearing traditional embroidered huipil blouses and hand-loomed skirts, the women gather, arriving on foot via the dirt roads that weave through the villages. They meet in a home or community building, or outside when they can for the connection with nature. The circle opens with a welcome and a prayer and then the group engages in breathing and movement exercises. Next up is discussion of the nahual, the day’s name and energy according to one of the interlocking ancient Mayan calendars, traditionally used for ceremonial practices. “Here in Santiago Atitlán it is only maybe 20% of people who speak about [knowledge of nahuals], so we are reviving it,” says Quiejú.

Then it’s time for the sharing circle. “More than anything, it is speaking what they have in their hearts,” says Quiejú. But every time and each circle is different, even though the leaders all work from the same guide, she says.

Sometimes circles will have a guided meditation. Sometimes they’ll have a workshop to learn weaving, or another skill that can help them earn money. Sometimes they eat together. Sometimes they cry. Often they laugh. No matter what, they generally end with a group embrace...

Only 1% of Guatemala’s national health budget is designated for mental health, and nearly all of that goes to the country’s one psychiatric hospital. Most mental health professionals are concentrated in the capital, offering psychotherapy and prescribing medications. For those in rural areas, there is little discussion of mental health or access to services.

“There is nothing for the preventative side, to work with families, to work with communities,” says Garavito. However, he emphasised that the concept of buen vivir (good living) among many Indigenous peoples in Latin America, which includes the traditional festivities, ceremonies and community of everyday village life, inherently incorporates good mental health. “Mental health is a fundamentally social concept and that has been a historical and common practice among Indigenous peoples, without them calling it that.”

...Financial constraints also pose challenges. Since 2020, Buena Semilla’s budget has been funded through crowdfunding and small grants. Staff and leaders all work part-time and many volunteer unpaid, but most circles now meet bi-weekly due to a squeeze on funds...

[Note: If you'd like to help, you can find out more and support Buena Semilla here, at their website.]

Despite the challenges, interest keeps growing. Elsa Cortez joined a circle earlier this year, motivated by her sister’s positive experience with Buena Semilla. In her mid-20s, she lives with her parents and as well as helping to run the household, she weaves belts, drawing from a basket full of spools of brightly coloured thread. She did not go out much before.

“There was a mentality that women were only supposed to be in the home or should only do certain things. That’s how we were raised,” she says. “My family was like that too.”

Thanks to Buena Semilla, those dynamics have started to shift in some families, including her own, says Cortez. Now she is exploring the idea of starting a circle specifically for girls, to help build their self-worth and self-esteem.

“It used to be difficult for me to socialise or chat, but now I am starting to socialise more easily,” says Cortez. “In the group I feel like it is psychological therapy every time we meet.”

-via Positive.News, December 8, 2023

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

What is THE Sterek fic that everybody knows (and loves) in the fandom?

This is way too hard for one person to answer. What do ya'll think? I bet there's so many different answers. Let us know in the replies!

We got lots of comments! I'm going to be adding them slowly so give me a minute ok.

From @lololovescheese:

Move A Mountain by ZainClaw

(9/9 I 69,005 I Explicit I Sterek)

Stiles goes camping with his friends in New Mexico after graduation where they befriend a biker gang led by Derek: a guy whom Stiles can’t decide if he will be either relieved or devastated to never see again once their week is up.

AND

@pathsofpassion had a whole bunch!

Sum of it's Parts by kouriarashi

Wolf in the House by JoeLawson

(1/1 I 33,481 I Teen I Sterek)

“What? It’s totally an improvement. He’s not scowling, or dating bad guys, or slinking around in unsanitary places. Still a bit paranoid, but what can you do. At least he’s a lot easier to get along with when you can buy his affections with ear rubs.”

“And you always wanted a dog,” Sheriff added wryly.

“And I always wanted a dog.”

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

(1/1 I 35,197 I Teen I Sterek)

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.”

“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly.

Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding:

DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

The Importance of Turning Around Three Times Before Lying Down by otter

(10/10 I 40,293 I Teen I Sterek)

It’s like this dog has walked out of all of Stiles’ childhood dreams and into the real world just because Stiles wanted it hard enough. He is the most awesome dog ever, and he and Stiles have a bond. A deep, unbreakable bond because this animal is his soul mate, obviously. Now he just has to convince the dog of that.

Hunger by DiscontentedWinter

(27/27 I 55,382 I Mature I Sterek)

Beacon Hills. Two lost souls. A homeless boy, a lone wolf, and people who will stop at nothing to destroy them both.

(Sacred) In the Ordinary by idyll

(9/9 I 78,759 I Explicit I Sterek)

The Pack, after college, graduate school and the starting of careers, comes back to Beacon Hills. Nothing's gotten less complicated after all this time.

Based on a kink meme prompt that grew legs and got serious.

Note: This is a whole lot of pack!fic with a very slow build Derek/Stiles.

The Boy and the Beast by Dira Sudis (dsudis)

(1/1 I 116,686 I Mature I Sterek)

In which events in Beacon Hills go rather differently from the start, and a Beauty and the Beast (ish) story ensues. (Scott is not a teacup and no one sings about their feelings.)

AND

@harlstiel has some.

The Searching Ceremonies by kouriarashi

I Know Where Babies Come From, Derek by DiscontentedWinter

(15/15 I 51,937 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles finds a baby on the porch.

It looks exactly like him.

Well, this is awkward.

Little Wild Animal by DiscontentedWinter

(23/23 I 61,036 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek Hale finds a feral human on his pack's property. Humans are supposed to be extinct. But then, Stiles is full of surprises.

[almostfoxglove]

AIN'T THAT A BITE

written for @studioghibelli's writing challenge

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV), The Last of Us (Video Game)

Rating: Mature

Central Characters: Reader, Young!Joel, Sarah

Central Relationship: Joel / Reader

Word Count: 6k

Pre-Outbreak & No-Outbreak AU

SUMMARY

It's the night of Jackson High's Sock Hop, the 8th grade dance which took you weeks to organize, and everything seems determined to go wrong. Thankfully, one student's dad—the handsome and brooding Joel Miller—comes to your rescue. READ ON AO3, if that's your jam!

Four weeks ago, volunteering to organize the eighth-grade dance committee had seemed like an excellent idea—a chance to make a solid first impression on the PTA and the chilly cast of your new colleagues while giving yourself a little excitement, some frivolous living beyond the usual boredom of your repetitive existence. Lesson plan, grade, report card, lesson plan, grade, report card—you love your job, but it gets old.

But now, on the night of Jackson High’s September Sock Hop, you know you’ve made a terrible mistake. Someone brought cookies with walnuts that had to be ceremoniously tossed, one of the speakers in the gym is crackling, three of your parent chaperones have bailed, and oh, yes—a sink in the girls’ bathroom has decided to spring a sudden leak and flood the place a mere fifteen minutes before the kids are due to show up.

Drenched and sweating, you make a hopeless attempt to mop the flood of water with the gym’s supply of linens, turning the tiled floor into a swamp of soggy towels that squelch beneath your shoes. It’s all a futile effort—the burst pipe beneath the far left sink is spewing water faster than the towels can sponge—but here you are, trying anyway, looking like you’ve just taken a long walk in a fucking monsoon. 

A row of square mirrors sits framed above each ceramic sink, taunting you with your reflection. Your red poodle skirt has gone burgundy with water and your once pristine white button-up clings to your chest, translucent, peek-a-booing your bra. 

Real professional. 

“Miss Green?” comes a voice on the other side of the door, followed by a weary knock. “Believe students are arriving now.”

With a sigh, you take a final glare at your reflection as if looking again might fix things, then call out, “Alright,” with as much patience as you have left to muster. Outside the calculus teacher is waiting in his pin-stripe vest with a sorry grimace. He agrees to lock up that bathroom from use and with a tired thank you you click down the hall towards the school doors, stomach raw with nerves.

As promised the first, eager attendees stand outside Jackson High’s wide glass doors, giddy to be let in for the night’s event. Kids are in everything from pastel poodle skirts to leather jackets and waitress get-ups—you even spot the Broderick twins in matching, vintage baseball uniforms striped with strawberry red. Behind them stand their parents, some smiling and others bleary-eyed, who you force yourself to smile cheerfully for as you let them in, a clipboard held over your chest to hide your bra.

You don’t miss how the parents stare at you—soaking wet and clearly befuddled—and you mutter your apologies as they shuffle into the school. All but the main hall has been blocked off, leaving the children a one-way path to the gymnasium for the dance. You check your watch quickly; maybe you can sneak in a quick smoke around the corner before the rest of the eighth graders arrive.

Outside the air is perfect: your one reprieve. Blue-dark clouds haunt the star-pocked sky and the balmy remains of the dying summer sweep through the parking lot as a breeze. You breathe easily for the first time in an hour, lift your face, and close your eyes, stitching yourself together in the calm. 

When you’re steady again, you decide against the smoke break. Too many parents pulling up in shiny cars with the kids. It’s enough to feel them in your skirt pocket—an escape hatch when you need them, a totem when you don’t. A nasty habit, your mother always says. But you only allow yourself two cigarettes a year. Not so bad, as habits go.

You’re about to turn back in and see if you can’t call a plumber at this hour when a pickup groans into the lot—steely-blue, bold text stickered on the side. It pulls not into a parking spot but the drop-off zone, right in front of you.

Miller Construction Ltd.

Maybe miracles are real after all.

As the passenger window rolls down and the cab light blinks on inside, you rush over, desperation rocketing your heart around in your chest. A girl in a lilac poodle skirt blinks up at you from the passenger seat, eyes wide with surprise. She’s got her hair pulled back in two big, curly pigtails ribboned with bows, and looks adorable—exactly what you’d pictured when you took on the behemoth task of putting this whole stupid evening together—complete with a matching neck scarf and shiny black shoes. You give her what you hope is a friendly grin and start rambling.

“I am so sorry,” you say, before you bother looking at the driver. “But we’ve got a plumbing emergency and if there is any chance you might have a few minutes to take a look at it, you’d be a—”

Your sentence drops off as you at last hunch down to make eye contact with the man in the driver’s seat through the open window. Dark-eyed and frowning, all curls and scruffy beard and thick flannel shirt: your type to a T. In your pause his daughter stifles a chuckle, and you shake your head to restart your brain. Focus. Sinks to fix, floods to mop.

With a tight grin, you tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “Would be a lifesaver if you could, I don’t know, take a look. Even if it’s just to tell me we’re fucked and need an emergency plumber. We had a bunch of parent chaperones bail last minute, so we’re a little short on hands.”

Now the kid snorts, giggling. Shit—your teacher-voice has slipped. 

You close your eyes, horrified. Seems there’ll be no end to your embarrassment today.

Sighing, you step back to open the passenger door so the girl can hop out. “If you promise not to tell any grown-ups I swore in front of you,” you tell her. “I’ll give you all As when you get to my class in a couple years.”

“Deal,” the girl says, grinning at you. “But I’d probably get an A anyway.”

Despite yourself, you smile—this time for real.

“You ain’t her teacher?” comes the driver’s voice. Deep and coarse, all Texan. When you glance back, he’s still frowning, eyes narrowed at you.

“Tenth grade English and History,” you say. 

“And you’re workin’ the eighth-grade dance,” he says.

You shrug. “I’m new. Thought it’d go over well if I came in eager and offered to plan the thing.”

He hmphs, expressionless, his skin golden under the overhead light, eyes glinting with amber. You’re almost glad the kid’s not in your class; parent-teacher interviews would be torture. Sitting across your desk from this man, forced to pretend you don’t want him to ruin you. 

Beside you on the sidewalk, the girl shoots her dad a daggered look and crosses her arms. “He’s free,” she says. “He can do it.”

“Sarah,” the man hisses. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she snarks. “Do you suddenly have a social calendar I don’t know about?”

After a brief stare-down which Sarah seems to win, he huffs and mutters a cranky one second before pulling out of the drop-off zone to park. 

“I like your skirt,” Sarah says when he’s gone. Streetlamps have you both in a cloak of shadow, and the pale light radiating from the school’s front doors doesn’t quite reach this spot, but her inquisitive expression is unmissable in the dark. 

“It’s a little ruined,” you say sheepishly. “But I like yours.” 

Pleased, she gives you a little twirl, purple fabric blooming from her waist. “Thanks,” she says, when she stills again. “My dad sewed on the poodle.” 

Across the lot you hear the harsh slam of a car door cracking shut and spot her glowering father stalk across the asphalt, silhouetted by a distant streetlight, his shoulders unfairly broad. You nod toward the front doors. You’d never admit it to anyone, but the thought of this surly figure lovingly stitching a felt poodle to his daughter’s costume makes you a little weak in the knees.

“You can go on in,” you tell Sarah, and she waves at her dad before running inside.

Then he’s walking up the pavement, growing closer. Of course he smells good—like patchouli and something earthy and skin. Of course he’s rolled up his sleeves, baring his tanned forearms, one tensed by the toolbox clutched in his hand. You manage a stiff grin as he approaches, no teeth, to which you receive only a curt nod in reply. 

In silence, you walk him through the glassy doors, heels clicking as swing music crackles from the gymnasium some distance away. You catch, in the corner of your eye, the shape of his head turning as he watches Sarah running full-speed down the main hall to catch up with a group of girls that must be her friends. She launches herself at them, and even at this distance you hear the shrill of their joy, the sugar-high laughter, and smile to yourself.

“She’s sweet,” you say, guiding him into a branching hallway, away from the main event.

He grunts, then mumbles, “Pain in my ass is what she is.”

You chuckle. When you dare to look back at him again, you see his begrudging tone doesn’t match his expression. You swear his eyes flit quickly away as if you’ve caught him already looking at you. Hard to be sure, you think, in this dimmer light. But his cheeks almost look pink.

After a beat too long, you realize why.

You’ve dropped your clipboard to your side without thinking, unveiling your water-logged shirt, which clings sheerly to your skin. Grimacing, you cover yourself again. “Not much of a plumber,” you say quietly.

Once you’ve grabbed the keys back from your colleague, you drag this poor, probably busy dad to the girls’ bathroom and unlock the door, glancing down at his boots before you open it. “You don’t love those shoes, do you?” you ask.

His eyebrows lift, jaw tensing. “Sure they’ll be fine, darlin’,” he grunts.

You push into the bathroom before your brain has the chance to recover from darlin’. You’ve been in Texas all of six months and you still aren’t used to the pet names. Everyone here seems to call each other everything. Even the old woman who works the till at the grocer by your apartment calls you honey or angel, and you wouldn’t exactly describe her as the friendly type. Darlin’ isn’t even irregular. Bus drivers call you that. 

Difference here is that it’s this man saying it—which is to say, someone gorgeous with a voice that could melt you if you let yourself listen close enough. Your heart purrs, thrilled.

The bathroom is a calamity. Though the drains in the center of the tiled floor have meant no water has flooded into the hallway, there’s still an inch or so blanketing the tiles wall to wall. Under one of the mirrors, the guilty sink continues to spew: a graceful font of silver gushing from a fault in the pipe.

Over your shoulder you hear Sarah’s dad clear his throat before you step out of his way.

Fearless, he trudges through the mess unfazed, dodging the tides of boggy towels like this is the most natural habitat to find himself in. His boots and the ankles of his jeans blacken with water, and though you’re in some stupid, clacky pair of heels to go with your outfit, you follow him into the shallows anyway, riddled with shame. At the slosh of your footsteps behind him, Sarah’s dad turns to give you a cutting stare you cannot read and you freeze, caught.

“What?” you say.

“No reason you gotta be in here for this,” he says. “Might be wise to dry off a little, don’t you think?”

Does the corner of his mouth twitch upward, or do you imagine it—you can’t decide. “Right,” you manage. “Sorry. Thank you, seriously.”

You pivot to leave him to it, splashing weakly as you go, your skirt bunched in one hand to keep it safe from the splatter. In the doorway you can’t help but look back, and see him kneeling in the mess, tool in hand, his toolbox open and shelved on a not-broken sink. He spots you looking and this time, you don’t imagine it. He lets slip half a grin. 

“Got it from here,” he says.

You nod but don’t move and you don’t know why.

Well, that’s not true. You do.

Sarah’s dad cocks one dark eyebrow at you, bemused, maybe, by your hesitation. “You really have chaperones bail?” he asks, voice low.

“Three,” you say.

He grunts, then turns his attention back to the spitting sink, and you step out into the dim hallway without goodbye.

You slip into the bathrooms in the teacher’s lounge to stand under the hand dryer for a bit, letting your shirt dry out. When it’s no longer see-through, you stand in front of the long mirrors looking at yourself, fussing. You retouch your lipstick—red, like your skirt, like your nails—though the hair’s a lost cause. The best you can do is run a hand through the end bits and say an empty prayer.

Then, finally, you emerge, and take off with a sidelong glance thrown at the closed door of the flooded girls’ bathroom as you pass.

You volunteered four weeks ago, and you spent three of those weeks working on the decorations in tiny pockets of time between the school day, your commute home, and all the hours you spend every evening and weekend on lesson plans and marking. Maybe it’s only September, but the whole staff has been working since August and it’s no slower now than it will be in the spring. Still, you gave up sleep. Gave up seeing friends. Gave up proper, home-cooked meals and reverted to the habits of your college days, eating boxed mac and cheese straight from the pot over the stove. 

Now, it all pays off. 

The gymnasium’s a goddamn ritz. Ribbons of twinkle lights droop from the rafters, sparkling above the scatter of a disco ball. You thrifted huge, vintage neon signs—with your own money, thanks so much public school district—that cast pools of candy-colored light on the shiny floor. Gingham tablecloths sheath the drink stands. You had to bribe the theater department to let you repurpose an old bartop set from some long-gone play. Painted that sucker with black and white checkers, even scrounged up some round, pleather bar stools to match. Instead of a bar-bar, it’s a snack bar—pastel cupcakes and dairy-free milkshakes and huge metal bowls of nut-free, everything-free snack mixes displayed behind the bar. Kids all get three snack tickets ‘cause the PTA had strong feelings about sugar intake, but hey. All the bar stools are full; the kids seem to love it.

Despite the last-minute disasters, you’re tempted to cry with relief. Slept three hours last night, painting the last of the stars that hang overhead, but they look like magic now. Glossy and twinkling while Elvis plays. It looks pretty close to perfect. And the kids, by some miracle, are dancing. The gym teacher comes out to show them some simple swing steps, and as clumsy as they all are, it’s fucking adorable.

“Hope you’re willing to do this for all the dances,” one teacher mutters to you as you pass. 

You flit from table to table, refilling and wiping down and checking in with chaperones—twenty minutes zing by in the blink of an eye. When the gymnasium door creaks quietly open, the dark shape of Sarah’s dad appears in the doorway. You set down your punch glass with a grin and scurry over. 

But he’s looking up when you make it to him, starstruck by twinkle lights, his face pink and blue with the neon light. Christ, he’s easy on the eyes. Facing this way, with none of the gym or kids or decorations in view, you can almost imagine that you’re standing in a bar looking up at some handsome stranger you might have a shot in hell at taking home. 

“Everything okay?” you ask, when he still hasn’t looked down, his hand flat and broad on the door to prop it open.

He blinks, wakes from his daze, and the look of wonder that just now softened him fades, his face stiff again. You step into the hall and the door slides shut behind you. The honeyed voices of The Isley Brothers muffle.

In the direct light of the hallway you can see he’s soaked—jeans wet to the tops of his thighs, his whole flannel clinging to his chest. One curl lays flat and damp against his forehead. He would’ve had to kneel right in the spray to work on the sink. Might as well have set a hose on the poor man.

Jesus, you must have ruined this guy’s whole fucking night. 

“Oh my god,” you say, eyes wide with horror. “I am so sorry—”

He lifts one hand as if to say stop and your mouth snaps shut. “Just water,” he grumbles. “Sink’s fine now. Joint was old and brittle. Had a part in the truck that’ll hold you over till Monday, but you’ll need someone to do a proper repair next week.”

You run a hand over your face, so grateful to him that all logical thought and processing flutters right out of your head. “Jesus, I could kiss you—thank you so much, seriously,” you start to say, hand still over your eyes as you stutter to a halt, realizing your mistake.

Heat boils in your face as you split your fingers to peek at him through your hand, but he doesn’t look horrified. He just rolls his eyes, a little playfully you think, and shakes his head like you’re being ridiculous. “Not necessary,” he says. 

You let your hand drop. “I’d insist that I’m normally the epitome of professionalism, but there’s no way in hell it’d be convincing,” you say, grinning sheepishly. 

Shrugging, he remains silent. Maybe you should take your friends up on their offers to set you up—you clearly need to get laid. Just him shrugging is doing things to you. Nevermind the tiny flick of his tongue that graces his bottom lip as he looks off down a roped-off hall. 

“Still short on chaperones?” he asks, not looking at you. 

“Yeah,” you admit. “But we’ll make due.”

Another shrug. “Could help out—‘m already here.”

Your eyes round. Though part of you wants to refuse, insist he’s done more than enough already, that he ought to get home and into dry clothes and forget about this mess, you don’t. It’s definitely selfish, almost greedy, but you don’t want him to go. Even if you only get to look at him across the gymnasium without saying another word to each other the whole rest of the night, you’d like him to stay.

A grin squirms across your face before you can stop it; you have to look away to smother it as you tap one foot against the floor. 

“Okay,” you say coolly, returning your gaze to him once you’ve gathered yourself. “But you can’t go in there looking like this.”

The theater department’s costume room gives you the creeps. Has since the first day you stepped foot in this place back in August when you got the grand tour—anywhere with this many mannequins is cursed, frankly—and it turns out it’s even worse in the dark. When you swing open the door, pale light from the hall slants against the black floor, and you reach blindly across the wall for the switch as your heart patters with dread.

Then finally: light. Weak, stuttering, yellow, but light all the same. You breathe.

Regardless, stepping into the costume room feels like being squeezed. Cramped alleyways have been formed by clothing racks stuffed well past their capacity—gowns of past Shakespeare productions hang beside the gothic frocks of Morticia and Wednesday Addams—forcing you to inch between racks, grazed by a parade of empty sleeves.

Sarah’s dad, bless him, hardly fits at all, and has to shuffle through the aisles sideways to follow you on what must seem to him like a blind mission without any destination. 

But you’ve been in this place. You know exactly what you’re looking for. Turning a corner, the next section is too narrow for the man to fit through, so you point out a chair across the room by the mirror and tell him to wait. 

“And you can ditch the flannel,” you call out as he goes. “Can hang it over the heaters to dry.”

Though you hear the low thunder of him mumbling, you miss the words.

When you emerge from the dusty racks, unnerved by the looming, half-dressed mannequins standing guard over their lot, Sarah’s dad is sitting where you asked him to wait, stripped out of his flannel, left in a slightly damp white t-shirt, his shoulder blades faintly visible in the stuttering light. If him shrugging was doing something to you earlier—this is likely to kill you. 

You clear your throat as you approach and he quickly straightens his posture. When you’re close enough, you hold out the hangers to him, even give them a little shake when he cuts his eyes at you, doubtful. You roll your own in reply. “Come on,” you insist. “Sarah will love it.”

That gets him to stand, albeit with a scowl, but it still makes you grin. With a grumpy hmph, he takes the hangers from you and you duck between racks again to give him some privacy. Sure, maybe you’d like a peek as he strips off those wet jeans, but even you know better than that. So you stand in the disordered aisle of costumes and listen instead. 

For a long time you hear nothing, like he’s hesitating. You did have to guess the sizes, but you worked plenty of retail jobs in your early twenties. Aren’t so bad at guessing. Every breath in this room, now that you’re silent, feels agonizingly loud. Not just yours, but his. The swelling of his chest with air. 

Then finally—clink. A belt buckle slacking open. Your eyes slam shut even though you’re looking in the opposite direction, at some 60s-style dress from what must’ve been an old Hairspray production with construction paper polka dots duct-taped on. He lets out a soft grunt. There’s a shuffle of fabric. Then a wet slop as his jeans hit the floor.

Your whole body throbs with heady, certain want.

Yes, you definitely need to get laid. This is humiliating. 

When you hear the belt buckle’s metal clink again, signaling he’s got the new, dry jeans on, you feel it’s safe to speak again. “I never asked you your name,” you say, still staring at the costumes. You hear him set the next hanger on the chair and even though putting it on requires no further undressing, you’ll stay exactly where you are until he’s done. Don’t trust yourself not to leer.

More shuffling, this time of sturdier fabric. “Joel,” he gruffs, and after a pause adds bitterly, “I look ridiculous.”

Chuckling, you squeeze out of the aisles and find him standing before the full-length mirror wedged in the corner of the room, into which Joel is sneering at his reflection. 

Also, he’s dead fucking wrong.

The jeans are a little tight, but frankly they’re better this way. His thighs taut beneath denim, his calves hugged. He’s a little bow-legged. So Texan. From the waist down he might as well be a cowboy. From the waist up, however, he looks like he’s just strutted off the set of Grease, putting even 1978’s Travolta to shame. His white t-shirt sits crisply beneath the black leather jacket, which he snaps to adjust the lapels. Fits him perfectly, like it was made for those shoulders, and he’s raked back his wet hair, giving it the look of being gelled, one stray curl rebelling over his forehead.

He catches your eye in the mirror, mouth twitching again, but it doesn’t become a grin or a frown. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Don’t know what you’re looking at,” you say. “But you do not look ridiculous from where I’m standing.”

His nose scrunches as he breaks his eyes from yours in the reflection, ducking his head to rub the back of his neck. Seriously, you’d crawl all over this guy if he weren’t the dad of one of your students. Future students—whatever. But you’ll save yourself the humiliation, gotta get this show on the road, and so you jut your chin in the direction of the door. “Let’s go. Got kids to supervise, hands to keep from wandering.”

Joel balks, hands flat to fists in an instant, ready to kill.

“Oh please,” you tease, and wave one hand dismissively as you make your way to the door. “Like you weren’t thirteen once.”

You listen as he stomps after you, muttering a cranky, “Gonna have to be at all these fuckin’ things,” that makes your head fall back with a sudden laugh.

The moment you return to the gymnasium, you’re needed by everyone—so and so needs to know where the extra ice is; what’s-her-face is concerned about the sugar content of the fruit punch; and some parent wants to talk about their kids’ English grade like this is the appropriate venue for such a conversation. You immediately lose Joel to the call of teacher-slash-host duties, and he slips past you, hugging the wall as he strides over to man the drink table which, in your absence, has stood without supervision. The man might as well be a saint—you manage to catch his eye and mouth a silent thank you across the gym, to which he half-grins from a pool of neon pink glow, setting you ablaze.

Most of the night you spend running around like a madwoman, responsible for switching in new music as each CD ends, refilling snack bowls, and pulling one student off another when you catch them kissing in the hall. Thankfully neither of them is Sarah, but you do have to give the kids a talking-to.

Late in the night, you’re chatting to some of your colleagues against the gymnasium wall and watching the kids shimmy to Rock Around the Clock, poodle skirts billowing like spinning tops, when you spot Sarah rush across the floor toward Joel—apparently only spotting him now. You’re too far to hear them, too far to read their lips, but Sarah’s runaway smile is obvious at any distance. She hops in place, delighted, and forces Joel to do a little spin for her. 

Though smaller, you catch his smile too. The dimple in his cheek as he fails to restrain his contentment at her approval. How he shakes his head, embarrassed to be fawned over. Adorable.

When the Spanish teacher makes his rounds with the school’s camera, snapping flash photos of the kids’ eager smiles and costumes as they pose with their milkshakes or friends, you tap him on the shoulder and point in Joel and Sarah’s direction. “Get one of them, would you?” you whisper, and he nods, shuffling off.

Joel spots him coming a mile off, camera in hand, and immediately frowns. He makes eye contact with you across the gymnasium like he knew exactly where you were standing, and shakes his head as if to say no way. You smile, wicked, and mouth yes. One of his hands balls to a fist. 

But when Sarah spots the photographer a second later, she wraps an arm around Joel’s waist to pose and his resistance crumbles. When you were thirteen, you’d have been humiliated to be seen posing with your parents in front of your classmates, but Sarah doesn’t seem to mind at all. Her adoration is obvious, abundant. Anyone can see how much she loves him—you can see, too, Joel’s love for her. Once the Spanish teacher raises the camera to shoot, he throws his arm around Sarah’s shoulders, looking down at her with a soft, grump-less grin. The white flash snaps in the dark gymnasium, photo taken, then Sarah returns to her friends.

You cut your eyes away when he starts to turn his head in your direction, returning your gaze to your colleague. Don’t need him catching you staring. Your dignity has suffered plenty tonight.

You cave about twenty minutes before parents are due to pick up the kids at the end of the night—not due to stress, just exhaustion—and sneak out into the black night to smoke. Tucked just out of view of the parking lot and doors, you sink onto a wooden bench and light up, letting the tension unwind from your body. Gray smoke tendrils as you exhale a half-formed smoke ring. Never could get those right, but it’s fun to try while crickets croak unseen from the shadows, braiding their eerie melody. With every drag, you relax into a kind of trance, at one with the night. 

Eyes shut, you don’t hear him coming. It isn’t until he clears his throat that your eyes snap open and you realize someone’s caught you smoking.

“Shit,” you mutter, adjusting your posture to sit up straight.

Joel stands over the bench, caliginous in the dark. His hair has dried, curls loosening from each other. You hear a low chuckle that must come from him, but you can’t quite make out his face until he lowers himself onto the bench beside you—then you see he’s smirking. 

You tap ash onto the sidewalk beside your feet, away from him, unable to look him in the eye. “Not worth trying to defend myself, is it?” you joke sheepishly.

He adjusts his position, thighs spread just a touch, and crosses his arms over his chest. The leather jacket is practically criminal, it fits him so well. 

“That’s alright, darlin’,” he replies. “Don’t need to.”

You bring the cigarette to your lips to smother your impulse to smile, the filter stained crimson by your lipstick. You risk a glance at him. “You want one?”

Shaking his head, the corner of Joel’s mouth tugs. “Quit when Sarah came around,” he admits.

“Very responsible,” you say, and though you really shouldn’t flirt, it comes out a little snarky, like you’re teasing him. “Quit after college, but I get to indulge twice a year.”

Joel quirks an eyebrow at you, though doesn’t question the obvious flaw in your logic. “Miss it?” he asks.

You shrug and exhale a thin stream of smoke from the corner of your mouth. “Always think I do,” you say. “But it’s so much grosser than I remember. Can’t believe I used to smoke these everyday.”

He lets out a deep hmph, not quite a laugh. 

“I’m serious,” you say, grinning now. “These things are vile. They reek and make kissing gross. I might as well burn the clothes I’m wearing after this. Don’t even like it anymore—it’s just nostalgia, I think.”

Shifting again, Joel’s legs spread a little wider, though from the other side of the bench you’re still nowhere near touching. As you click one lacquered nail against your cigarette, ash rains softly to the ground. 

“Never minded,” he mumbles. He’s looking out at the dim street, not you. Streetlamps dot the street with coins of gold between cedar elms that have already begun to drain their color. The breeze is next to perfect, whisking your smoke politely away from Joel.

“Minded what?”

“Kissin’ someone who smokes,” he says matter-of-factly. His tone isn’t flirtatious—nor is his expression, his face still profiled to you—but goosebumps scale your arms all the same.

“Hm,” you hum in reply. 

Best not to dwell in this breath of quiet. The long pause in which you feel yourself want. You shift on the bench, cross your legs, and prepare to change the subject—but Joel beats you to it. 

“Looks good in there,” his voice rumbles, and in your periphery, he turns to look at you for just a moment, handsome and leather-clad. Practically put on this earth to punish you. You hold your breath until he turns his head away again. “Impressive.”

Your heart squeezes like he’s crushed it in his fist, but you tilt your head back and forth nonchalantly. “Guess it doesn’t look so bad,” you admit. To your surprise, this drags a quiet chuckle from Joel, and your eyes drop quickly to his hand where it hangs from his still-crossed arms—a brief and discreet glance, you think—and see no ring. It shouldn’t make a difference, but you're glad.

“Gotta be more subtle than that, darlin’,” Joel mumbles, despite the fact that he’s not looking at you.

You feel your face rash with heat. “Fucking eagle eyes,” you mutter, pinching the last of the cigarette to your lips for a final drag. You hold the smoke in your lungs as Joel laughs again, this time with more warmth.

He shakes his head. “Could’a just asked,” he says.

“You’re not even looking at me,” you say, smiling despite your embarrassment. You bend over to crush your cigarette against the bottom of your shoe, then pocket the spent filter, disappearing the evidence. “How the hell did you even catch that.” It isn’t so much a question as it is a whine. 

Joel shrugs. “Don’t have to be looking at you to be watchin’,” he says.

You can’t decide if you’re glad or disappointed that the moment you both look at each other, the whole of his face finally visible in the murk of nightfall—warm eyes, summer skin, that stubbly beard you’d like to nuzzle into—a caw of noise erupts inside the school and shatters the moment. The sound of students emerging from the gymnasium into the hall draws Joel’s attention first, and you allow yourself a long look at the back of his head to study his curls, just beginning to thread with gray, before you let the noise draw your attention, too.

“That’d be our cue,” you say, and you both rise from the bench.

As Joel starts shrugging off the leather jacket, you put a hand on his bicep to stop him and shake your head. So solid. Warm. He freezes under your touch, black leather slumped part-way down his arms, until you withdraw your hand. 

“Nu-uh,” you say. “You’re keeping that.”

He frowns. “Not sure I like the idea of stealin’ from Sarah’s school,” he says. 

You roll your eyes, wave one hand dismissively. “You saw where it came from, they’ll never miss it. There were at least half a dozen more in there.”

When Joel narrows his eyes at you, you narrow yours back stubbornly. Finally, he sighs and snaps the jacket back over his shoulders—a gesture that turns you to honey—and shoves one hand into the back pocket of his jeans. The also-stolen jeans. You’re gonna make him take those too. Not like anything that fits him is gonna fit any of the students here. You don’t even know why the theater department has costumes this size. 

“Least take this and sign me up for,” he gestures vaguely with one hand as he pulls something from his pocket and holds it out to you. “Whatever. More chaperonin’.”

Pinched between his fingers is a crisp business card bearing the same logo stickered to his truck. Miller Construction Ltd—Joel Miller, Co-Owner. His phone number is printed squarely at the bottom. You take it, running your thumb across the printed text. 

“Very generous,” you tease, and Joel looks down at you and grins, one dimple creasing his cheek. When you smile in return, his dark eyes slip down your face, landing on your lips.

As you make your way back up the path to the school, he walks close enough that his arm brushes against yours just once. Your body purrs with want, made worse when he smirks and leans toward you, lowering his voice. “Trust me,” he rumbles quietly. “Offer’s entirely selfish.”

Then, entirely composed, Joel yanks the front door open for you and winks.

Moodboard created by @studioghibelli!

[nxuvillette]

“BABY, IT’S COLD OUTSIDE!”

SPENDING CHRISTMAS W/ TR MEN

synopsis: spending the holidays with your boyfriend is like a dream come true.

❥- including : baji keisuke, kazutora hanemiya, chifuyu matsuno

❥- note : decided to write something sweet for christmas coming up !! also new theme.. so new post colors :> ! i hope you guys enjoy, reblogs are appreciated <;3.

content warnings : sfw, fem!reader, ageless + blank blogs dni, fluff, christmas activities, mentions of food (baji + chifuyu), use of pet names (babe , baby , princess), tooth rotting fluff.

♡ BAJI KEISUKE

you were honestly super excited that baji suggested building gingerbread houses together for christmas. you had seen many couples partake in the activity and now that you were in a relationship, you wanted to try it out.

baji came over with all of the supplies you needed. he even suggested that you two make little gingerbread men to live in your little houses together. he honestly thought it was super fun decorating their faces with different gumdrops and drawing on their smiles with delicious frosting. it was fun. both of you were having such a fun time doing it that you made multiple gingerbread men and you had even made them girlfriends to have. baji thought it was a cute addition.

it was all fun and games until you and baji got to the house making part.

neither of you expected it to be so complicated and so.. messy. there was frosting all over your fingers and the parts of the houses kept collapsing or caving in whenever you moved your fingers away. there were a few times that he thought it would stick together, but in the end, he was met with the same fate of the pieces falling apart and onto the placemat on the table.

although it wasn’t you thought it would be, you two were still having fun. you would both laugh whenever a piece of the houses would rip over or when the pieces of candy wouldn’t stick long enough. it was hilarious to both of you, so that’s why you continued trying to perfect the houses. baji kept making the same comment that the gingerbread men can’t be homeless and even if the house was falling apart they needed a roof over their heads. you had to agree with him on that.

after almost two hours of working, you both got your houses into decent condition. it was messy and didn’t look anything like the picture on the box, but you still had so much fun regardless. you two were honestly proud that you didn’t give up halfway through and throw them away. 

“well, we did our best!” baji exclaimed, popping one of the many gumdrops into his mouth.

you couldn’t help but laugh at how they looked, but what he said was true. “i agree!” you then came over beside him to take a photo of the houses.

baji snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. he dragged his thumb along the corner of your lip to wipe off the excess frosting. “had a little somethin’ there..” he smiled, pressing a soft kiss onto you. 

you couldn’t hide your grin, brushing your fingers through his hair. he honestly loved when you did that. your fingers always felt so nice threaded through his locks, brushing against his scalp. he could fall asleep like that if he wanted to. “i love you..” you whispered, looking into his chocolate brown eyes. 

he squeezed your body against him, bringing you closer. “i love you more, baby, don’t you forget that.” he intertwined his fingers with yours, spreading his warmth onto your hand.

♡ KAZUTORA HANEMIYA

it was actually your idea to go out and see christmas lights with kazutora. there was a festival that was planning a lighting ceremony and you decided to go with him. both of you were really excited, considering it was your first christmas together as a couple.

you bundled up in your winter clothes. it was going to be a chilly night, but neither of you minded the cold if it meant you got to be together when you saw the lights. it wasn’t a far drive at all and there were a lot of people who were waiting to see the christmas tree shine. the sheer winter wind nipped at your exposed skin, which brought you closer to your boyfriend. kazutora had a tight hold on your body, making sure that you weren’t shivering. he’d hate to see you feeling any kind of cold.

soon enough, the tree was lit. multicolored lights were laced around the trees branches, making them twinkle in your eyes. kazutora couldn’t help but smile at the sight of you gleaming like a small child at the pretty tree. you looked so cute. he just couldn’t help but admire you in the glow of the lights.

you then walked along the sidewalks, pointing at the different trees and bushes that had lights strung along their leaves. you and kazutora had even taken a few photos along the way. he loved nothing more than to spend time with you, even if that meant his toes were numb. you never failed to make him happy and that’s why spending holidays with you felt so special. you made them just a little more exciting than it usually would be. 

kazutora held your hand as you both viewed the different houses in the neighborhood. some people had decorated their houses beautifully. “baby, look! that snowman is adorable!” you pointed at the glowing decor with a smile on your face. 

he chuckled when his eyes focused on it. he had an image flow into his head. it was of you and him together in the future when you had your own house together. you’d be decorating the front yard with too many lights to count and you would have the brightest house on the block. he could never say no to you. 

“looks cute, princess, just like you.” he kissed your cheek, making your face turn warm from the sudden contact.

you shivered at the sudden gust of wind that danced through the air. the temperature had dropped even lower than it had originally started at during the beginning of the evening. “i don’t mean to c-cut it short but can we go home? i-i’m freezing!” you looked at your boyfriend apologetically.

kazutora draped his arm around your shoulder, pecking your lips in the process. “of course, babe. maybe we can make some hot chocolate when we get home, yeah?” he nodded, to which you agreed eagerly.

♡ CHIFUYU MATSUNO

you were excited that evening to spend time with your boyfriend for a little christmas date. he had been talking about it for weeks. chifuyu planned every little thing and he was so ecstatic to have you come over and be with him. he had even gotten you both matching pajamas to snuggle up in.

when you arrived, you were hit with the aroma of food and you saw what your boyfriend had done for you.

chifuyu had bought an abundance of snacks and drinks for you two. he had quite literally gone all out for you and it made you so happy. there hadn’t been a single man in your life that would do something like that for you. it honestly made you fall for chifuyu even harder than you already had before. he had this smile on his face and he looked so handsome in his pajamas.. even if there was a snowman on the shirt.

the two of you cuddled up on the couch with many blankets and watched classic christmas movies together. the food he brought was honestly great too. pizza, cookies, candy canes, he had even made hot chocolate with those extra large marshmallows that could hardly fit in the mug. it was absolutely perfect.

with the food and how late it was, you found yourself becoming sleepy. you had quite the busy day and relaxing with chifuyu was only making you want to drift off and sleep for as long as you could. he could sense by your hums and droopy eyes that you were indeed exhausted, so he decided to take you upstairs to his room so you could both retire for the evening in there. 

“tired, huh?” chifuyu asked, lying down beside you in bed.

you had your eyes closed, but you nodded in response. “yeah.. i was so busy today..” you scooched closer to your boyfriend to feel his arms wrap around your body. 

he pecked the top of your head, tucking you underneath his chin so you were resting against his chest. he smiled to himself at your sleepy form. you were so cute. there were so many reasons for him to love you, and this was just one of them. “goodnight, baby.. i love you.” he rested his chin atop the crown of your head.

a light snore came from your lips, making him laugh through his nose. he couldn’t imagine spending christmas with anyone else but you by his side.

© NXUVILLETTE ┆ all rights reserved, do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

London calling

Summary; Price is invited to a military event, you're his plus one. A night of socialising and teasing leads to a hot night back at the hotel.

Pairing: Cpt. John Price x reader (sunshine!universe)

Rating: Explicit

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Onehsot 

Word; 12.5k

Warnings; alcohol consumption (drink in moderation), SMUT (18+ mdni), oral (m-receving), dirty talk, p-in-v, d/s themes, unprotected sex, captain!kink

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing​

A/N: Where's the nearest wall I can bang my head against? I need this man so bad and that's why you get 12k upon my return💀😭

SUNSHINE UNIVERSE MASTERLIST

If not for the Christmas lights dangling almost in line with your window, the quickly diminishing daylight soon would've shone with its absence within the room. Dusk was approaching, if not already present, but not with its rosy summer glory, but a gloomy and yellowy-grey sky of early winter. 

Things were still a scale of grey and dark rather than white. Even though some stray white flakes had fallen when you arrived yesterday, they'd melted even before hitting the pavement. And, if it had been cold enough, pedestrians still would've trambled it into mush, and cars would've melted it with their heat.

You put on the small pendant earrings you'd brought as you glanced out the window and down at the people mulling about on the streets. 

Most had shopping bags in their hands, everyone seemingly in a hurry. You didn't need to see their faces whip left and right to find the next store they could steer towards. The ant-like stir of people was enough to know Christmas shopping was in full swing.

A heavy breath escaped you, your eyes flittering back to the mirror. 

You ran your hands down the fabric wrapped around your body. The material felt cool beneath your sweaty palms as you tried to brush out any wrinkles from the dress. Impossible, seeing how you'd gotten it from the tailor this morning and barely touched it inside its casing.

You took another deep breath, one hand raising until your palm rested over the centre of your chest, fingers draped over your bared clavicles. There's a prickling sensation beneath your hand, resembling the crowd's irregular movement outside. If you concentrated enough, you could almost feel how it vibrated, causing your heart to do an uncomfortable double beat that quickly pushed the air from your lungs before you instinctively inhaled.

"Not goin' to faint on me, are you, love?" Your eyes flicker sideways, landing on John as he emerges from the hotel room's bathroom.

"Might just now", you say breathlessly for an entirely different reason than the edginess causing the prickly sensation in your body. 

The man now making his way towards you is the same one you travelled to London with. And yet, there's no jacket ladened with a furry lapel warming him from the chilly temperatures, no beanie atop his head to shield him from the consistent gusts of wind. Now, he's dressed smart. 

Whatever event he's invited to is military in nature. So, while John mentioned that it was a black-tie event for civilians, it was ceremonial for him, meaning you would see him in his formal military uniform. But nothing had prepared you for how regal he now looked in his dark blue suit, polished black leather crossbelt with shoes to match, and the row of medals proudly displayed on his chest. The only missing thing was the matching hat pressed close to his body beneath his arm.

"Flatterin' an old man?" Your gaze locks with his again from having roved over his body, noticing the creases in the corner of his eyes as he stops beside you.

"You deserve every ounce of flattery when looking like that". You turn to John just as he settles one of his hands on the small of your back. In return, you raise your fingers, barely brushing them against the underside of his chin as you lean up and kiss him.

"Mhm, don't look too shabby yourself", he mumbles against you as you pull away from the brief exchange.

"Thank you". You turn towards the mirror again, eyeing yourself. "I didn't know if it was too much". 

"Could never be". 

You'd meant it to be a quick look, but your attention stayed on your reflection, eyes flittering over your form. 

There were a few beats of silence until John stepped up behind you, the hand previously on your back sliding to accommodate the new position. You follow his larger frame in the mirror, simultaneously feeling and seeing how his hands settle on your hip.

"Nervous?" Those blue eyes meet yours in the reflective surface, knowing. You release yet another sigh, head ducking momentarily as you lean into the sturdy bulk of John at your back.

"Yeah", you breathe, the admittance not the first of its kind. 

When the news had been brought up that John needed to attend some military event in London, you hadn't blinked twice. However, when he mentioned the invitation inquired about a plus one upon acceptance, and he'd asked you, you'd looked at him wide-eyed.

"There's no need to worry, love". John dips his head, kissing the juncture of your neck. "You know nothing is expected from you".

Your shoulders slump, hands seeking his as he wraps his arm around your waist. The weight was a pleasant pressure around your mid-drift while his skin was warm beneath your hand.

"I know, but-". You bite your lip, shrugging timidly, eyes meeting John's in the mirror. "It's a military event".

"Nervous 'bout meetin' some colleagues of mine?"

"Not just any type of colleagues", you mumble, making John let out a gentle chuckle.

"You get along great with the lads".

"That's when we're at the pub, not a formal occasion with a lot more of the same kind of people around". You huff in protest. Though Ghost wouldn't attend the event, Johnny and Kyle thankfully would. So, while John won't be the only familiar face in the crowd, that's still only three out of everyone invited.

"I just don't feel like I fit the picture". You shrug once, gaze dropping to watch you play with John's fingers. Your fingertips trail over his knuckles, then up and down his digits. Only when John interwines your hands does your motion stop and attention return to him.

"You'll fit because you'll be there with me". John's gaze was intense as he spoke, voice a steady, deep reassurance. "The lads nor I fancy these occasions, but we need to attend nonetheless. Your presence will undoubtedly make it more pleasant for me, at least".

You smile, craning your neck so you no longer watch him through the mirror but look up at him. John dips his chin in return.

"You're good at motivational speeches".

There's a chuckle before he nudges his nose against yours, moving closer. "Gotten good at 'em through the years". Your chuckle is sealed into your mouth as he slots his lips with yours. 

Your muscles relax as you lean into him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours and soothe you just like a warm blanket. Even when you part, you linger within each other's presence.

John was the first to pull away entirely, his eyes falling from yours as he did. You watch him take a step back, keeping one hand on your hip as he lets his gaze rove over your body. 

"God, you're gorgeous", he mutters, taking a full once over before those blues lock with yours again. 

You bite your lip, a smile breaking through nonetheless. "Would hope so. You helped me pick, after all".

"Anythin' to make my missus feel pretty". Your smile widens even more.

John had known you were nervous about the event, reluctant to even agree to be his plus one at first. So, he'd done everything to make you comfortable. 

When you'd had half a breakdown while digging through your closet, only to find nothing appropriate to wear, John sat with you as you looked at dresses online. After seeing nothing that felt right there either, he'd booked a weekend trip to London to visit the tailor he usually entrusted when his formal attire needed a sow-up. 

It had been your first trip together, strolling through the city, having dinners, playing tourist despite not really sightseeing. Though one of the days, between walking and dining, you'd visited the tailor's atelier. 

For once, John only sat down on one of the plush armrests; no need to be attended to. Instead, it was your time in the spotlight, the storage manager ushering you to the racks of dresses, instructing you to pick whatever caught your eye to try on. 

None of the dresses were especially embellished. Still, they weren't simple but elegant. 

You'd switched between examining the dresses, showing John to get his opinion when you found any you liked, to testing them. Although he didn't complain once about you taking your time, chatting to the owner with an old familiarity, even you were tired when you found a dress that was just right. 

However, the sluggishness only brought on by trying on clothes disappeared the second the owner had taken your measurements and you stood by the pay desk. A deposit was needed for the dress, and the rest would be paid on the day you picked it up. But the pre-payment had been enough to nearly make you baulk and glance at John to see if he was okay with spending so much. However, the man at your side hadn't even blinked at the number.

After you'd bid the tailor goodbye and exited the store, you did ask about it. Though not unfamiliar with John's gentlemanly fashion of paying for things, how confidently he answered left you at a loss for an answer, only able to shake your head with a smile when he offered his arm to you. 'I want to, love. It's the least I could do when draggin' you to this spectacle. Now lead me wherever you can find some jewellery matchin' the dress".

"Would you help your girl feel even prettier?" You hold up the necklace bought to fit the dress. God, he'd spoiled you rotten for this event.

"My pleasure". John threw his hat on the bed, overtaking the jewellery from you. With a slight move of his head, he signalled you to turn around. 

Despite facing the mirror again, your eyes were cast down as you tipped your head slightly forward. The glittering metal links suddenly pass your vision as he raises it over your head, the necklace falling over your collarbones as he lowers it. Feeling his fingers brush against your skin, not long after, a barely audible click indicates the piece of jewellery is secured around your neck.

When you raise your head, your eyes immediately fall to the necklace, your fingers trailing over it. A smile slowly shifts your lips upwards as you follow the pretty drop down your sternum. The gentle bow of your lips remains as you turn, craning your neck as you pout your lips, insisting that John meets you in a kiss. And he's never one to turn you down. 

"Thank you", you offer after the sweet peck of gratitude, to which he hums in return. 

You feel how his blue gaze follows you when moving towards the desk that became your makeup table for the night. Even more so when you reach for the lipstick you'd saved to apply until now. 

Crouching slightly so your face aligns with the much smaller mirror on the wooden desktop, you carefully outline your lips before colouring the rest until an even shade coats them.

"What do you think?" You say, straightening up again. As you press your lips together, you put on the lid and place the lipstick in your purse, all in the motion of turning to face the man almost transfixed with you. "Thought the red matched those". You motion with your finger to the ribbons, half-red and half-other colours, attached to his medals.

"It does". You parry the hand reaching for you with a shift to the side, knowing that tone of voice from John would only mess up your makeup. 

He arches a brow at your move, but you only arch both of yours in return as you put your clutch beneath your arm.

"We'll be late", you claim. Even so, you can't deny you enjoy John's attention and the look in his eyes. He makes you feel pretty, desired. It completely overhauls your stomach's previous knots.

Deciding to tease him just the slightest, you pop your index finger much more dramatically than needed into your mouth, pursing your lips around the digit before pulling it out slowly, all whilst keeping eye contact with the man watching you. You smile at John after your finger leaves your mouth, now not afraid of red smearing your teeth thanks to the ring of colour around the middle of your finger.

"Goodness, women", he groans, hand trailing over his lower face. You can only giggle as you pluck a tissue from the box on the desk, rubbing off the lipstick as you slip around John. "Could think you want to be late". 

You throw the paper into the bin beside the dresser as you pass it to the short hall leading to the door, flashing a much more satisfied smile over his reaction than previously graced your lips. 

"Good things come to those who are patient. You just have to wait until after the event for me to paint something else a pretty red".

You catch another deep, grumbly sound coming from him, your previous display more than enough to conjure precisely the picture you insinuated.

As you turn forward, you chuckle again, plucking your heels from the shoe stand built into the dresser. What you hadn't anticipated was for your shoes to be plucked from your grip seconds later and to find John standing close behind you with his retrieved hat under his arm.

You send him a questioning look that he ignores as he kneels. Unable to do anything else, you shift to rest your back against the dresser and follow along when he taps his kneecap. 

You raise your foot so the front pad rests against John's knee before he gingerly grabs the back of your ankle, and the pump is slipped on. He gives you time to find the balance on your now-heeled foot as he drops it before repeating the process. However, before letting you go this time, he raises your foot just slightly as he dips his head, kissing the lowest part of your shin, all the while looking up at you. 

"Gonna hold you to your words, love", he declares, dropping your foot to the ground.

You swallow, going from looking down to up as he rises from the floor. "Don't mind if you do".

"Good", he kisses your cheek, heeding your desire for him not to accidentally, or very consciously, destroy your makeup. "Let us be on the way", he says, grabbing your coats from the racks. 

***

The venue was beautiful: an old building with pillared walls, a second floor acting as a running balcony overlooking the ground floor and high vaulted glass roofs that stare into the dark sky above. You'd only looked down from the stunning decoration and lighting when you ascended the stairs to the main floor, lifting your dress to not catch on the fabric.

You don't know how long ago that had been, but since then, you and John haven't been given much time alone. 

Each and every minute, the man who either offered his arm for you to hold or kept a hand on the small of your back introduced you to someone he knew in one way or another. Although politely greeting them with either a nod or a handshake, there were too many names and too fleeting conversations for you to remember any of them.

Only now did you get the chance to breathe. But rather than feel at ease for the momentary respite, you'd hastily moved from the midst of the crowd to the edge of the room where the table of aperitifs and drinks was, a plate filled with bite-sized food in your hands.

You would've shared them with John if he hadn't been whisked away a few moments prior. Albeit he'd been reluctant to leave your side, even when it was some affiliate from the U.S. who asked for a few minutes of his time, you'd reassured him it was fine. 

You'd told yourself you could survive at least a few minutes without John and that the buffet could keep you company enough. And though you weren't as uncomfortable as you previously thought you would be, the thought of socialising with someone you'd either met already or not at all felt... awkward.

You wouldn't call it shyness. Far from it, you were curious about some of those you'd met who sported black smokings, cocktail dresses or gowns. But, out of those civilians you'd met so far, most of them were not like you. 

Your sole connection to this event, to the military, was John. The other considered civilians had seemingly much closer ties, most acting as private corporate sponsors for military-tied causes through funds or services. While finding it interesting, you didn't know how much of the stuff was confidential, and you would much rather not make a scene just for some small talk. Neither did many have a plus one you could initiate a conversation with. So, the buffet became your company.

Your gaze travels over the mass of people as you plop the last canapé into your mouth. And as if the universe decided to be kind, you spot a familiar face lingering at the other edge of the room. 

With all the new people John had introduced you to and recently also had to part from you to speak with, exhaustion was starting to creep up on you, along with the feeling of being lost in a crowd of still most unfamiliar people. Hence, you quickly discard your plate to instead grab two flutes of champagne before moving straight across the floor.

With people moving almost sluggishly, if at all, around the room, it was no wonder a pair of brown eyes combined with a friendly smile welcoming you met your long before you joined the very man whose attention you'd gotten.

"Kyle". The man nods in response to his name as you get close enough to greet him. The silent hello looks incredibly more formal while dressed similarly to John. "How are you?" You slow until stopping before him.

"Good as can be", his voice was light, making your brows raise upon the humour in his tone. He was the first of John's closest circle you'd seen tonight; Johnny had yet to arrive. Even so, by the looks of it, the Brit looked like he rather wouldn't be here at all.

Kyle carried himself straight-backed, faint smile in the corner of his mouth, one hand behind his back while the other rested along his side. And yet, despite the at-eased posture and expression upon his features, something told you it was entirely for show.

You chuckle, handing him the flute you'd brought. "Yeah, not really my setting either", you admit in a low voice. 

Kyle cocks his head, smile widening as he shifts on his feet, accepting the drink you'd stretched forth. "What suggest I don't fancy this?".

"Don't know, but something about the all too delighted expression gave me a hint", you reply, sarcasm lacing your tone, on par with the amount that previously laden his sentence. That's the first time you see Kyle's shoulders drop somewhat as he chuckles, his posture less flawless as he looks more relaxed than previously.

You smile at his reaction, stepping forward to stand beside rather than in front of him. His brown gaze followed you as you did.

"Why ain't this your kind of setting then?". Your eyes fall on Kyle just as he shifts to look over the crowd.

"Too many of the older generation has gotten stuck and too comfortable behind their desks to remember what it's like out on the field. The rest are mostly snobs who think money and chest candy is our motivation". You bite your lip to stop the laughter rising from your throat at his quick remark. "Why isn't this your setting then? You fit in with the dress".

"Calling me a snob?" You raise a playful brow, a smile tugging the corner of your mouth.

"That you're here, talking to me, says enough", Kyle retorts, eyes falling on you. 

You chuckle, but it turns into a sigh when your gaze breaks from his, fleeting over the crowd. "It just makes me nervous, I guess".

"Why?"

"Well, for the same reason as when I first met you guys". You glance at him. "Just feels like I don't fit in with all of you military people, especially now, at this event".

"Didn't do too bad of an impression on us back then. Especially not Price". You duck your head, a bashful smile bowing your lips that's still present when you look at the man at your side again.

"Perhaps not, but as you said, many here are high-ranking military personnel or snobs that are more difficult to get along with than you lot".

"Cheers to that", he chuckles, raising his glass of champagne. You mimicked his movement and raised your flute in a small tip, you both taking a sip from your drinks as they fell from their elevated position.

Your eyes glide over the crowd, and as if it's second nature, you search for John again. While having tried to spot him previously, you hadn't been successful. Although this time around, you find him.

"He's good at that". You observe John as he talks to the same man who'd whisked him away previously, though now they're also joined by a woman.

Your comment pulls Kyle's attention in the same direction as yours.

He releases a huff not soon after, the reaction making your brows arch and your head turn towards him. His brown eyes flicker down to lock with yours, a humorous glint in them. 

"The old man is good at handling the higher-ups and other connections. That's why he does most of the talk for us". His eyes flicker sideways, probably towards the group you talked about, before they return to you. "Doesn't mean he despises it any less than the rest of us in most cases".

You turn to look at John, eyes narrowing as you closely watch him interact with the man and women. While he seems formal when talking to the man and more cordial with the women, he still doesn't seem relaxed. His posture is stiff, one arm bent behind his back as if wanting to pose fittingly to the occasion, his other hand clutching a champagne flute. Untouched.

Pissy excuse of fizzy water, he'd said once you asked if he wanted to share an old bottle you found in your apartment from god knows when, but acceptable enough that it wouldn't taste like the piss John labelled it as.  

"That's why he brought you". Kyle's voice pulls you out of your thoughts. "He's going to use you as a scapegoat the moment it's deemed enough for him to be here". You bit your lip to quiet your snicker, shaking your head.

"He isn't", you argue, only partly believing it yourself.

"Oh, he will". Your head turned towards the new but familiar voice, finding Johnny, dressed similarly to both John and Kyle, approaching from the crowd. "Don't put it past him". 

You immediately split into a grin. "Johnny, how are you?" You step forward, engulfing the man in a hug, getting anchored to the Scot's side as his arm remains over your shoulders.

"Think Gaz gave ya a brief 'nough for us", the Scotsman formally greets the young Brit with a raise of his brows and an upward nod of his head as he directs his attention towards him. Kyle only reciprocated the motion, not answering his question. "Ya gonna drink that, lass?" 

You shake your head fondly, Johnny taking the flute of champagne from your hand as you give it to him. 

"Drunkard", you mumble, rolling your eyes as he gulps down your drink, only to provide you with a cheeky wink when he's emptied the glass.

"Where's Price?" You're about to answer that he's socialising. But you don't get the opportunity before a voice cuts in.

"Savin' my missus from a drunk Scotsman, it seems". Your head snaps towards John's voice, a smile unfolding as you see him nearing your group while collective chuckles emerge from the men around you. "Easy on the drinks tonight, Sergeant". John's eyes switch from yours as he directs his attention to Johnny, the quirk of his lips now reaching his eyes.

"All stereotypes ain't true, Captain. Besides-". The Scot lets go of you, his arm falling as he steps to the side, giving John room to step into the semi-circle. As if you never left his side, his arm naturally falls around your waist, anchoring you to his broad frame again. "-can't get drunk on this, know it yaself", Johnny chuckles.

John hums in agreement, swirling the golden liquid in his flute with the hand hanging by his side. You tap his flank, and he looks down at you. As you motion for the glass with a nod, he gives it to you without any protest, probably delighted to get rid of the drink.

You happily sip it, your throat not feeling as tight anymore when John's with you and you're surrounded by familiar faces.

"How's the evening been then, Captain?" John shifts to look at Kyle.

"Not too shabby, lot of talkin' as always", he says. "Where the two of you been then?" His eyes shift from his fellow Brit to Johnny, who's standing with the hand not clutching the empty glass in his pocket.

"You know how London traffic is". Kyle offers with a one-shouldered shrug. "I'm not complaining about it this time around though".

"Only means you need to stay longer", John huffs, arm tightening around you. You can't help but shoot the younger Brit a look, an amused smile barely hidden beneath the rim of your glass. He cocks his head slightly, an unspoken 'what did I say' lingering between the two of you. "You two conspirin'?" Your eyes flitter back to John as he bumps his hip into yours.

"No", Kyle says as your eyes lock with the man at your side. John's eyes shine, a brow quirked in intrigue. It schooled the expression of rigidity he had previously, showing how at ease he became around his men despite the setting.

"What he said". You smile sweetly at John, fluttering your lashes, causing a ruckus of laughter around you. 

"Be careful, Captain. That one is a sly thing". Johnny claps him on the shoulder.

"I know".

"Don't paint me in a bad light", you joke, nudging John's side with your elbow. The man in question chuckles when watching the pout you send him.

"The lot rub off on me", he indirectly chides Johnny and Kyle, both of whom make faux hurtful sounds upon the comment. "I better steal you away from them and introduce you to better company".

"Who could possibly be better company than us? The silent grump ain't here anyway". The Scotsman questions, glancing around the space with a humoured look until it returns.

"Laswell is better than the two of you together", John returns with a chuckle, his arm tightening around your waist to signal that you soon would be moving to meet whoever this Laswell was.

Upon what's apparently a familiar name, Johnny's brows jump upwards. "She made it here? Didn't think she would". 

John only answers with an affirming hum. "Behave now", he offers in goodbye while you give them a wave before he tugs you with him.

As John directs the two of you through the crowd, you soon realise where he's taking you. The woman he's leading you towards is the same one he'd been talking to previously.

You give him a curious glance when you note she isn't dressed in any military uniform, only a long-sleeved jumpsuit. Even so, when you turn to face her again, the woman has noticed your nearing presence and turned toward you, eyes regarding you in a manner too in-depth to be a civilian.

Her eyes flicker sideways as you stop before her, most probably to the man at your side. It's brief but enough for her face to soften and a hint of a smile to quirk her mouth.

"Kate Lawsell", her American accent is apparent as her eyes fall to meet yours again upon the greeting. You're not late to shake the hand she stretched forth, introducing yourself in return. "So you're John's sweetheart?"

You shrug with a smile as you feel John's thumb start brushing circular patterns through the silky material of your dress. "Guess I am". She hums, the corner of her lip twitching a bit further upwards.

"Almost thought he made you up with the lack of evidence about his special someone".

You chuckle while practically feeling how John rolls his eyes. "S'no need to carry a photo with me everywhere".

"Expected it from a traditional one like you", she shrugs one of her shoulders. Their exchange makes you smile, head cocking slightly.

"So, where do you know each other from?" 

"I work for C.I.A., deal a fair share with the 141 and that British Captain of yours". Your eyes widen, lips parting in a silent oh as your eyes shift to John, then back to Kate.

"That ain't half-bad". Your comment brings out a chuckle from the dark blonde woman.

"Say that when trying to keep any kind of leash on him". Kate nods towards John, a conspiring look in her eyes, one he gruffs at.

"That so?" You face the man at your side with an amused expression, catching the look he sends the woman opposite him. "Am I hearing that you're a nuisance at work?"

John's eyes flicker to you, his features softening as his head dips in a shake and small huff of laughter. "You women always like to team up".

Despite his comment, you talked with Kate for a few more minutes, getting to know more about her, until separate parties dragged her and John off. This time around, however, you got tugged along to the new conversation, with no choice but to remain glued to the brunette's side as he didn't let up on his hold.

Although relieved to stay with him again, your feet start to feel sore, and your body tired. Consequently, you slowly let John take more room in the conversation as you fell silent, still with a smile present to appear interested in the conversation. 

You take a deep breath, careful not to let your exhale sound like a sigh. Even so, John caught it, giving you a brief look to check in on you. You spare him a glance, attempting a soothing smile to fend off any potential concern.

His eyes flitter over your face before he turns forward again, offering a chuckle at something the soldier said. You'd completely missed what it was but mimicked John with a much softer sound huffed through your nose. 

You try to concentrate after that, as it's the only polite thing to do. But god, you find your mind wandering to every little ache suddenly emerging. 

Shifting the weight on your feet subtly, you try to move your hips to ease the twinge in your spine. Unsuccessful, you straighten your back, rolling your shoulders to try a different approach. Through your peripheral, you notice your squirming caught John's attention again, his gaze flickering sideways momentarily. Soon after, his thumb starts rubbing the small of your back with slightly more pressure just to be a subconscious movement.

John had been attentive to you the whole night, but if you could catch his attention this easily, you had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't only your concentration that started to stray or energy to wither.

Even if you probably would do both of you a favour by asking if it was time to leave, you didn't want to interrupt their conversation, so you simply let your head fall sideways onto John's shoulder, content with feeling how his kneading thumb eased the discomfort in your lower back. 

Thankfully, whoever this Miller was, he didn't keep a long-winded conversation with John as Generals had. Instead, the soldier of equal rank soon bid you both goodbye, explaining his departure as not wanting to take up too much of your time. That made your smile more genuine than it had been while listening to the two men for the last few minutes.

As you sigh lightly, a gentle press against your back suddenly steers you forward. You don't protest when John moves you through the crowd, especially not when noticing he's leading you to the outskirts of it.

"How you feelin', love?" John ducks his head to ask the question as your pace slows.

"I'm good, just a bit exhausted after standing for so long", you return with a shrug as you stop at the edge of the crowd, between the columns lining the wall. You tilt your head to look at John as he stands opposite you. Blue eyes meet yours as his hand moves to the dip of your waist before they skate over the crowd.

You watch John as he does, feeling his finger through your dress as they rap against you, almost as if thinking about something. 

Gaze falling, you follow his profile: the slope of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw accentuated by the angle of his head, his beard shining with the oil he'd worked into it after his earlier shower. God, he's too bloody handsome tonight. 

From nowhere, you get the urge to lean up and kiss the skin of his throat right above his collar. Though quelling the desire to plant a red mark matching the outline of your lips on his throat here, amongst all these people, that's all it takes for your mind to spiral.

Gonna hold you to your words, love. 

His sentence from the hotel room echoes in your mind, and suddenly, you can't wait any longer to be the scapegoat Kyle had dubbed you. Sick and tired of this event already.

When you take a step closer to John, his attention is quickly pulled back towards you. With his now undivided attention on you, you lightly grab the tie tucked beneath his jacket, tugging slightly on it to straighten the material to its previous perfection a few hours earlier. 

Satisfied with the minor fix you'd done to his attire, you pat his chest, eyes travelling upwards to lock with his not soon after.

John scrutinises your hands that remain close to where you'd fiddled with his tie rather than drop to your sides. When his blue gaze locks with yours, his head cocks. "What are you up to?"

"M'nothing, just wondering when it's acceptable to leave this event".

John's eyes narrow slightly before his brows rise. "Any special reason to why?"

"Just want to go back to the hotel". You made it evident that trailing your hands down his chest wasn't a coincidence but a conscious decision as you lowered them to pull your purse from beneath your upper arm. "Don't know what you're insinuating". 

"You don't?" You only reply with a coy nuh-uh sound as you open your purse, pulling out the golden encasing housing your lipstick. 

You'd touched up your makeup once throughout the evening, right after John left you to talk with whoever the American man had been, along with Kate, for the first time. As you do it now, blue eyes fall from yours, following your move of painting your lips in a new coat of red. 

"You know very well what you're doin', love". His words are spoken slowly, but their edges are rough, frayed.

"Just playing my part as pretty arm candy". After putting away your lipstick again, you motion to your lips. "Want to help me so I don't get any lipstick on my teeth?" You form your lips into an o, knowing precisely what you're doing.

"Love...", he warns, fingers pressing into your waist.

"John?" You retaliate with a cock of your brow, only to shrug when he makes no move to help you.

Raising a finger, you place only the tip between your lips before pulling it out with a pop. 

A repressed groan escapes John, head tilting backwards, eyes shut tightly. "You're doin' this to me on purpose", he grinds out.

"Of course I am", you giggle in return, using your other hand to rather unceremoniously rub away the red colour with your fingers. "So what's the choice? We staying a bit longer or-". You're not even allowed to finish the sentence before John's head tips forward again, and he does it for you.

"We're goin', now". His arm swiftly wraps around your waist to turn the both of you towards the exit.

"Can't play polite anymore?" You let yourself be carried along.

"Been plenty polite when all I've wanted the whole evenin' is to return to the hotel". John's hand scorches the place it pushes against the small of your back, guiding you straight to the very stairs you'd entered through hours ago. "Then you're pretty arse go about actin' up, provin' how much more I would've gotten done there than here", he grumbles, making you swat the side of his chest with a low, chastising John concerning the setting you're on. The man in question only sends you a look, daring you to argue against him, but after forcing his hand to take you back to the hotel, you can't.

There was a warm, eager air between you and John as you retrieved your coats and exited the venue. You shared glances, fleeting but heated locks of your eyes that had your body igniting. Touches setting you aflame even if his was much the same as throughout the evening but firmer, while yours were brief, teasing over his torso. 

When John managed to hail a cab, he let you enter first, following seconds later and sitting down in the backseat with a low, frustrated sound. 

He tugs his hat from his head, the other hand smoothening his hair. You both know there's a twenty-minute ride ahead of you when even half the time would've been too long and yet you watch him with amusement as his head thuds backwards.

He must feel your eyes on him as his head rolls to face you. You didn't need to say anything; your smile was enough to make him release a low, impatient grunt, eyes closing. 

You chuckle, hand settling on John's thigh as you do. Apparently, he thinks there's an ulterior motive behind your action as his eyes snap open, sending you a warning look that, if anything, made you wish you had done something to deserve it. His large hand grabs yours to emphasise the message to not try anything, dropping it in your lap instead. Even so, he doesn't pull away afterwards, instead letting your fingers intertwine.

When finally rolling up to the hotel, John couldn't stop tapping his thumb against your hand as he paid for the cab, practically dragging you along when he exited the car. 

With his hat in a white-knuckled grip and your hand in a gentler hold, the two of you moved through the lobby. You felt how fiercely John battled with himself to not stalk to the elevators but keep a pace that wouldn't draw attention and you could match.

It's always amusing seeing John like this, exhilarating if nothing. And that's why you can't help but poke the bear while waiting for the elevator. 

You slip your hand from his, blue eyes immediately falling to you as your arm closest to him slides beneath his coat and around his waist, squeezing his mid-drift teasingly.

"Someone seems impatient". The end of your sentence is perfectly followed by the chime of the elevator arriving. Letting your hand drop after pressing your fingers into John's side, you stride into the empty space with a sway to your hips. "I wonder why". You look over your shoulder, a smile gracing your lips as you cock a brow.

John is hot on your heels, pressing the button to close the doors rather than waiting for them to do so. 

Just when you turn to lean against the railing the furthest in, he takes the last step towards you, hands settling beside your own, caging you against the wall just as the door slides close. 

"You should know what torture it's been havin' you this good-lookin' and unable to do anythin' the whole evenin'". John's words are rushed as his head dips close to your face.

"Ditto", you return in a hum, gaze flittering down and then up again. "There was a relatively empty second floor I thought about dragging you to".

"Fuckin' hell, don't say that", he groans, hand coming to cup the back of your neck, angling your face towards his. 

Yet, before John can press his mouth against yours, the elevator suddenly halts on a floor too early to be yours.

He quickly drops his hand and moves so he doesn't corner you against the wall, even though he remains awfully close. Your eyes swiftly snap to the opening doors, schooling your features into a polite smile at the woman who steps into the elevator. She offers you a similar one before her eyes flicker to John. When they do, her eyebrows rise before they jump back to you. 

For a few mortifying seconds, you fear she knows precisely what she interrupted until her smile becomes softer.

"If the two of you don't make a stunning pair", she remarks kindly, making John turn his head to look at her, his body still firmly angled towards you. 

"Well, thank you", you answer for you both.

"My husband was also in the military", she directs the comment to you even if her eyes flitter to John when she continues. "But he never took me to those fancy events. The old man despised them like the plague".

"Seems like all of them do". You chuckle in return, patting John's side fondly. 

The man in question remains remarkably silent, only muttering something under his breath. Your eyes switch to him, sending him a questioning look. Blue eyes return your stare as his head tilts to the right, just a notch, but your brows only pinch together, still not understanding what he's trying to silently get at. That is until his face sets and John angles his hips just slightly more into the upper part of your thigh, and you feel it. 

You almost gasped at the considerable bulge in his pants that definitely would be in danger of showing. Yet, you manage not to, only letting your brows shoot up when you finally understand John's silence and the position he was adamant about keeping.

The woman, however, must have interpreted it like some coupley squabble as she chuckles at your interaction, pulling your attention to her.

"Young love, always so charming."

"Young?" John scoffs into your ear, his voice barely enough to be considered a whisper. "Got me feelin' like a bloody teen", he grouses over his predicament.

You duck your head, forehead falling against his shoulder as you muffle the chuckle bubbling in your throat. 

While the man you hide your face against notices your shoulders jumping and sends you a glare, the woman again misinterprets your reaction.

"No need to be embarrassed. We've all been young once".

"Did you meet your husband young?" You shift the conversation when finally facing her, sure no trace of your previous amusement could be detected.

"Oh goodness, yes, even younger than the two of you", she motions to you and John with a wave. "Much more immature, too". You almost laugh out loud at that. And like previously, John notices, husking a low, pointed 'Don't laugh' into your ear.

"This one's a real gentleman." You turn to face John, smiling up at him despite being met by a stern expression. What the women don't see is the way your hand trails down, down over his stomach until the flat of your palm presses into the spot just above his groin. 

John's jaw flexes, unable to snatch your hand and pull it away if not genuinely desiring to draw attention to what you're doing. But that doesn't stop his blue eyes from meeting yours as he lowly hisses, "And don't do that".

Then, the elevator suddenly lets out a ding as it stops.

"It was lovely to meet you youths, but this is my stop", the woman waves after the doors slide open, John craning his neck to watch her leave with a faint, for your eyes awfully forced, smile. "Have a great evening".

"You too!" You reciprocate her wave as she exits, receiving a friendly smile before the doors close.

Seconds, it takes seconds before your vision is once more filled by John.

"You... love-", he chuckles, nose scrunching as his head cocks to the side. "-oh, you are trouble".

"Don't be moody. You were called a youth", you chuckle. John only manages to open his mouth before the elevator chimes again, this time on your floor. 

You know it was your saving grace from how those blue eyes had narrowed at you. Instead, he only exhales sharply as you grasp his hand, forcing him to follow you to the exit.

Although reaching the doors, you stall with one hand holding them open, peeking outside, head swivelling right and left down the corridor. Noticing the coast was clear, you tug John with you.

Even if no one was around, he walked close enough behind you that the slight problem in his pants would be hidden enough if you stumbled into someone.

Thankfully, you didn't meet anyone on the way to your room, sparing you from the embarrassing interaction that could've occurred. However, it enabled John to whip out the key card and more than a bit unceremoniously push you into your room once the light flashed green, the door barely slipping close before he chucked his hat to the side to pull you against him. 

John's thick arm winds around your waist, pulling your body against his as his nose gently knocks against yours. Hot lips descending upon yours soon after, moulding your mouths together.

A groan vibrates against your lips, John's fingers digging into your ribcage and the side of your stomach. His near-desperate need to feel you against him makes your fingers curl into the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. The response is instantaneous, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he deepens the kiss. It's your time to release a pleased sound, something melting away from your body as hunger takes its place.

"Fuckin' hell", John nearly rips himself away from you as he grunts the words against your parted lips, hands enveloping your face as he lets his forehead rest against you. Heavy exhales puff against your face in an attempt to steady his heaving chest, to rein in himself. He doesn't remain like that for long, shifting backwards as his eyes flutter open. 

John's gaze locks with yours, eyes considerably darker than usual. Sodalite rather than aventurine. A warm shiver runs down your spine, unable to continue meeting those blues due to the flush spreading through your body. And yet, despite the tangible tension, a chuckle travels up your throat when your flickering eyes halt at one spot on his face.

Your amusement and thumb swiping over John's lips to wipe away the lipstick now coating them in a faint red pop the feverish bubble, turning it somewhat softer, less desperate.

When the added colour fades, you finally lock eyes with John again, finding they've creased in the corners.

"Maybe we should get you out of this, so I don't go about tainting that, as well", you hum, fingers falling to toy with his white dress shirt, mindful to keep the thumb you'd wiped his lips with at bay. Only a deep hum escapes John, yet it's enough for you to make do with your suggestion. 

Your fingers find the first golden button on his army jacket, unbuttoning that, then the next and all the ones until it falls open. Hands moving inside, you feel the warmth of his skin shielded beneath his dress shirt. 

Your hands move up his chest, over his shoulders, until you move the dark blue jacket down his arms. John shrugs out of it, and while letting his wool coat drop to the floor, you're mindful of the jacket, grabbing it in one hand as you move him backwards by pressing your body against his, lips teasingly close but not kissing, only brushing as your breaths mingle.

When you're close enough, you drape his jacket over the chair by the desk before attempting to move on to the next piece of clothing. But apparently, you move too slow for John as he steps back, yanking his tie loose to tug over his head, throwing it to the side. The buttons on his shirt make a frustrated grunt leave him before it's tossed aside as well. While your eyes never leave him, you slip out of your coat, letting it fall to the floor with no greater care than he'd done his clothes seconds later. 

Not only does your gaze drop to John's now-bared chest. Your hands move on their own, feeling him up, sliding over his pecs and the slight patch of brown hair covering them before they slide lower, over his stomach, reaching the happy trail beneath his navel. But too soon, your exploration of his burly upper body ends, John moving out of your reach as he steps backwards. 

Not until his shins hit the edge of the bed and he sits down does he stop putting space between you.  

You watch as his shoes are toed off, all while keeping eye contact with you. Not until John raises a finger, motioning for you to come closer, do you follow him.

You're about to straddle his lap when he stops you, making a twirly motion with his hand. Your head tilts even if you listen, turning your back to him. Gripping your hips, John steers you to sit on his thigh. You wobble slightly as you do, hands shooting to stabilise yourself by grabbing his hand and his other thigh as you press your feet to the floor to keep stable upon the muscular seat.

Once he notices you've found your balance, his big paws slide up your body until his fingers brush the back of your neck. There's barely an ounce of fiddling before you feel the clasp of the dress unhook, and the zipper descends. 

Kisses are pressed against the nape of your neck, the top of your spine and a last one on your shoulder blade before John squeezes your hips, urging you to stand with a delicate push upwards and forward. As you do, the heavy fabric of the dress falls to the floor, collecting in a lustrous circle around your feet. 

When turning to face the man whose attention never averted from you, only your necklace, panties, and heels are the remnants of your previous outfit.

"Always so fuckin' pretty beneath those things", John mumbles, hands rising from his sides. But, before his hands can reach for you, you settle one of your own on his equally naked chest, giving a gentle shove. But the brunette doesn't heed your want, not letting himself be budged an inch.

"Scoot up, John". You nod upward the bed, positioning one knee between his legs on the tiny sliver of the mattress available. He cocks his head in intrigue, hand grasping the back of your thigh, running up and down with gentle gropes.

"What you plannin', love?"

You press your lips together, John's eyes flickering downwards before returning in a slow trail upwards to meet your gaze. "Wanna be good after how I've teased you, Captain". Your voice drops, nearly entering a purr as you trail your fingers to his jaw.

You see him shudder, goosebumps flittering down his forearms as his big hand squeezes the back of your thigh.

"Fine then", John moves up the bed, and you crawl after him, effectively shrugging off your heels that thud to the floor as you do.

As he makes himself comfortable, you busy yourself with opening his belt and rucking down his pants and boxers in one. John's flushed and erect cock bobs upwards towards his stomach as he lifts his hips for you. Just as you rid him of his pants, you remember something. 

When you scoot off the bed again, you haphazardly throw his pants over the same stool as his jacket, moving towards your purse. John props himself on one elbow, brows pulling together as he follows you.

"Thought you say you wouldn't tease, eh?" His voice is husky, verging on impatient as you look over your shoulder, watching as he wraps a hand around the base of himself, most likely not the touch he'd liked as a frustrated rather than pleasurable grunt leaves him.

"I'm not, just fulfilling my promise", you say, wiggling the lipstick you'd fished out before returning to him. 

Moving up the bed, you settle on your knees between John's muscular legs. Opening the case, your gaze locks with his as you coat your lips in a more noticeable red. The sight makes his cock twitch in his hand, his head notching backwards slightly, resting on his shoulder, without ever letting those blues leave you. 

You shoo away his hand when you're done and throw your lipstick aside, your fingers wrapping around him instead. A pleased hum vibrates from John's chest as he relaxes backwards, head settling against the pillows. 

Although promising not to tease, you press a few firm kisses to the lowest parts of his stomach, along his adonis belt and the area just above the cock you're pumping lazily with twisting motions, colouring his skin with red lip-marks. 

When satisfied with your work, you finally slot your lips around him, the sudden heat of your mouth making John's cock jerk, one of his hands instinctually shooting to the back of your head with a drawn-out groan filling the air.

Despite usually building up to a swift pace gradually, pulling out the process to build his pleasure, you don't hesitate to overwhelm John with how you drop an inch or two down his cock immediately, tightly sealing your lips around his shaft, doing everything to leave those marks you'd promised around his cock.

"Fuck". John's hips jerk upwards, not expecting the suddenness of your actions, though he manages to stop the full thrust by slamming his head backwards, hand tightening considerably at the back of your head. 

A smugness fills your chest as you pull back slightly, suckling the tip leaking precum, tongue swiping back and forth over his frenulum while your hand creates slow, circular rotations at his base. 

Through the lowest corner of your eyes, you notice the red rings around his cock, yet you steadily look upwards, following how John's head rises again, eyes half-lidded as your gazes lock. But those blues don't meet yours for long before they fall, the twitch of him inside your mouth and the near growl telling you he also spots the stains left behind by your lipstick.

"Those pretty lips makin' such lovely marks 'round my cock". The sound of his voice is so rough and delicious that your cunt clenches around nothing. "Such a good girl, ain'tcha, love?" You release him with a pop, but rather than answer, you collect your spit on your tongue, stretching it out as your hand moves upwards. Letting the glob of spit hit his cockhead, you coat his saft in the slickness with a pumping motion.

"Fuckin' hell", John rasps, sounding almost pained as his eyelids flutter close, head falling backwards. Your smile is brief before you slot your lips around him again, bobbing your head up and down half of his length, the rest squeezed and jerked by your hand.

"Suckin' me off s'good. Come on, deeper you go". He's not even looking at you as he speaks, his throaty words subdued into the air, almost as if he chokes on them halfway through. If anything, it makes you moan around him as you let the hand on the back of your head press you all the way down until he hits the back of your throat. "Jus' like that", he groans between clenched teeth. 

As your tongue plays with the underside of his length and head bobs up and down, you feel him twitch violently inside your mouth, beefy thighs pressing against the side of yours, timbre-low sounds stemming from deep in his chest.

As John finally opens his eyes and looks down at you once more, always so transfixed with the way you desire to please him, he catches the faint glimmer of your jewellery behind the hand and mouth busy with his cock. The stones in the pendant glitter despite the room's dimness, the light from outside finding its way to make them gleam. What's remarkable is that your eyes harbour the shame glint.

Although heady with lust, your eyes are bright, excited, as your gaze meets his. The fact that you love this just as much as he does is enough to make him groan and tip his head backwards, wallowing in the pleasure creeping up his spine. 

Only when a slurping noise fills the air as you suck purposefully and tongue plays the underside of his cockhead, does John's release hurtle dangerously close, and he pulls you off with a firm grip on your hair.

"I wasn't done". 

"You're gonna be the death of me". That comment melts your stare into a smile.

"Don't die on me, handsome". 

"C'mere". John's hand falls from your hair to grip your jaw, pulling you upwards. Your arms shoot to catch you, stabilising on either side of his body as he bends forward, crashing his lips against yours halfway. 

It's dirty, your tongue slipping against John's as he pushes into your mouth, no doubt tasting himself on you. But it doesn't bother him, never has, not when it's on your lips that he tastes himself.

"You wet, love?" He groans against your lips before slanting his mouth against yours anew, your whined 'yes' going straight into his mouth. You unconsciously press your legs together, wiggling your hips, the motion along your forward-bent position exposing your drenched panties to the considerably cooler air. It urges another sound into the mesh of lips, a whine of discomfort this time. 

"Bet you fuckin' are, love suckin' my cock".

A shudder runs down your whole back. "John-"

"Love bein' fucked even more, eh? Get on your back". The demand barely leaves his lips before you shift over his form, laying down just to the left of his previous position in the king-sized bed. 

John moves between your legs, resting on his haunches as he pulls both your legs upwards, squeezing them together as he lets them rest against his chest. With a yank, he pulls your panties off your hips, the wetness on the crotch area dragging against the inside of your thighs as he tugs off the piece of fabric.

You don't know where they end up, wide eyes following John as he lets your legs down, pinning your thighs to the side, wasting no time before his hand slips over your cunt.

"Fuckin' soppin'", he drawls, confirming the answer you'd given him. "Can't wait to feel me stretch you out, can you?" His thumb runs down to your fluttering entrance, teasingly pushing against it. Before he goes any deeper, though, he collects some of your slick and trails his thumb to your clit.

He plays with your bundle of nerves just the way he knows you like. The pressure, speed, and everything he'd learnt about your body is now utilised to get you even more desperate, even wetter. And it works like a bloody charm too, your gasps soon turning to low moans and whines.

"C'mon, love, gotta be quiet", John shushes you, settling a hand over your throat, your necklace digging into his palm. He doesn't squeeze, simply rests it there to accentuate his point, and yet, he doesn't let up on playing with your clit, not even as your squirm, his thumb only chasing you through the movement. "Can't let everyone hear you, now can we?"

Even if you realise John deliberately must have kept his voice down as you blew him -because, of course, you're not at home- even if you try your damnedest, you can't contain your sounds of pleasure.

"Can't", you whine. John makes a deep sound, something between soothing and a snarl that makes your heart jump. Your eyes widen when his gaze darkens and he leans closer, all while his fingers apply more pressure on your clit, the pace quickening. As his face hovers over yours, your mouth falls open, letting out just one of those breathy moans he told you to hold.

"Can't, eh?" John releases your throat and leans back, but not enough to sit straight. Instead, he bends your legs forward and hooks his arm around your waist, manually flipping you over with a swift jerk. "That should do the trick".

It's a strength you know he possesses, but it makes you gasp in surprise anyway, the sound now muffled as your head is slotted in the crease between pillows. 

Two big paws suddenly grab your asscheeks, groping the fat as you feel the man behind you lean over you just after widening your legs with his knees. 

"Stunnin' fuckin' view from back here. This pretty arse-", John spanks your ass with one hand, making you keen, instinctually arching your back towards John. "- and your lovely cunt, just weepin' for me", the same hand that soothed the sting of his slap slide to your wetness.

You beg, a please moaned from your lips as he stretched you, barely any trouble going from one to two fingers with a few pumps. When he doesn't respond, you try again, louder, but only get a chuckle in return.

"Can't hear you, love". Amusement fills John's voice, making you frustratedly whine into the mattress before pushing a pillow to the side, raising your head only to crane it over your shoulder. Sitting behind you is an awfully smug-looking Brit.

"Please", you breathe the whisper, now mindful of your tone, which only widens his smile as he leans over your sprawled-out form.

The sudden prodding against your entrance comes without any warning, and you whip your head around to press into the mattress, muffling your moan so violently that John chuckles. But the sound swiftly deepens, evolving into a tight-lipped groan as he slowly pushes deeper.

Your back arches when his pelvis hits your backside, your motion prompting the slow grind of his hips against you. He doesn't even pull out, only rolls his hips shallowly against your rear.

All John can do is work his hips back and forth, listening to your faint moans slipping from the mattress your face rests against and the slick sounds of your pretty pussy being fucked. 

When he leans his weight forward, hands gripping your hips, John shoves himself even further inside you, driving your face further into the bed. You practically sob, clit pulsing and throbbing and god—

"Fuck, you feel s'good 'round me". The lewd way he said it, a groan breaking the sentence into two with the unhurried sound of skin slapping occasionally, had you choking on an affirming moan. "Makin' such a mess. Pretty cunt's so wet, stretched".

John stuffs his fat cock into you with slow, even thrusts from behind, watching how you grip him tight when he pulls out and sucks him in once he pushes forwards. 

It's slow until it's not. 

When John loses patience, or the pleasure simply gets too much for him not to chase more, he changes the pace, making the curve of your ass jiggle against his hips with each shove of his cock into your cunt. You push your face into the bedding as far as not choking yourself goes, moaning throatily as you clench around him. 

He fills you so deliciously like this. Each firm press of his hips against your ass crams his entire girthy length into you as his balls push against your clit. The rocking motion fills the air with wet slaps that make your head spin and fingers curl into the covers. 

You moan unabashedly as he fucks you. Deep and fast enough that he needs to angle your hips, but when you just keep sliding back prone against the bed from the force of his shoves, John simply leans over you with a growl, fucking you down into the bed. 

Whining, you thrash your head at the way he pounds into your sweet spot buried so deep. With your mouth falling open, it's no surprise if saliva soaks the fabric beneath your face.

Your orgasm doesn't even build slowly. It's a tumbling mess that, once it starts, just picks up momentum until you hurl face-forwards into it. It's so violent it catches John off-guard. The sudden way you shudder with a broken moan, the muscle of your back tensing, walls clamping down on him, everything without him even having to play with your clit, tells him you were just as worked up and exhausted as him, not able to do anything but let the pressure release.

"Fuck", he curses, thick and dark, feeling you get even slicker and tremble beneath his fingers. 

Even through your drunken haze, you catch the drawn-out vowel of the word, which tells you John's close. 

What surprises you, however, is that rather than rut irregularly into you until he buries himself deep and comes, his hand shoots to rest beside your head to catch his weight when he falls forward, slipping out of you in the process. Leaving your fluttering aftershocks to clench around nothing.

You feel as John jerks himself, his knuckles brushing over your skin rapidly. His breath cascades over the back of your head, head probably hanging low between his shoulders as he gazes down your body. Albeit not knowing what he has in mind -his fixation on spilling deep inside you as he pushes himself as close as possible to you no secret- you arch your spine, wiggling your ass upwards.

It prompts a deep, growling moan from him before his breath does a little hitch, then he groans, pleased and drawn out as you feel his release shoot over your ass and then straight over your pussy.

The bed quivers beside your head, all strength momentarily escaping John's burly frame that slackens against your back. Although he slumps to his forearm to keep most of his weight off, his other hand resting on the bed near the dip of your waist, he still presses you considerably deeper into the mattress.

John's heaving exhales disturb your hair, but your eyes remain closed, your whole body feeling light and satisfied as you relax, fingers uncurling from the covers. 

When the man behind you finally moves, you don't have the energy to rise and look at what he does when he grabs your cheeks in his big hands, massaging the plush flesh with parting motions. But, you can only imagine he stares at the white ropes of cum coating your rear, gaze dropping to follow the way it dribbles down over your cunt.

Even if John doesn't do it for long, a pleased hum fills the air before he stops. 

His hands are suddenly replaced with something that swipes over your asscheek and down between your legs. Despite twitching at the contact as it moves along your sensitive core, you release an appreciative sound as he wipes you clean of your releases. John replies by bending forward, kissing your shoulder-blade before shifting off you with a last squeeze to your hip.

Despite feeling the mattress dip beside you, his form slumping to the side with a low grunt, you already miss his warmth.

You breathe heavily, your exhale bordering on a whine warming the covers your face is burrowed in. When your sound gets nothing in return, your breath out softly again, hand searching for John. Just as your hand lands upon his chest, you catch a chuckle before fingers wrap around your wrist. You're tugged sideways, pulled partly onto the chest you'd fumbled your way to feeling. 

Although now looking down at John, you don't see much of him, your hair is mussed enough that most of your vision is covered. A giggle escapes you while a huff of amusement passes through John's nose as he brushes your face clear of its momentary shield.

"There she is", John hums when your gazes lock with nothing in between. There's a tug in the corner of his lip, eyes lidded as he watches you. 

The tilt of his head and craning of his neck is slow. The kiss he initiates is equally deliberate and sweet. Although the exchange is brief, as he parts, John lingers close to your face with his forehead resting against yours, hand brushing over your cheek feathery light.

He murmurs something low enough you can't catch but hum in return nonetheless. A few seconds later, he rises from the bed. As he does, you move to your back, wiggling beneath the sheets to not experience the cold, knowing the sheet must be warmed thanks to your bodies. A content sigh leaves you when you realise you've been right.

As your gaze settles upon John's bare form, rifling around his bag for whatever he's searching for, you can't help how your eyes trail over him. That's how your eyes locate the faint red marks littering his body, some more smudged than others.

Your giggle catches John's attention as he shifts towards you, a pair of boxer briefs now in his hands. But rather than meet his gaze, your eyes flitter over his form, numerous outlines of red lips littered along his lower stomach and groin. Your laughter intensifies, and John follows your line of attention, only to tilt his head upwards again with a smile when he finds what caught your attention.

"You look real pretty with my lipstick all over you", you comment once your laugh fades, head tilting against the pillow behind your head, eyes locking with John's.

"Quiet the artist", he chuckles as he pulls on his underwear.

"It isn't waterproof, so you'll be able to wash it off with water".

"Think about makin' one of 'em into a tattoo". John points to one of the still near-perfect copies of your lips just inside his hipbone and above his waistband. "Make 'em permanent". His wink makes your mouth fall open.

"Please don't!" Your revolt makes him chuckle.

"What do I get if I don't?"

"Me only asking for a pair of pants and not a shirt along with them. And cuddles?" You stretch out your arms towards John with your offer. He huffs a laugh, moving to your bag to dig through it for your underwear.

"Never sayin' no to half-naked cuddles with you, love", you shake your head fondly just before the clothing article you requested is thrown your way.

As John rounds the bed, you lean forward to snatch your panties from the covers. You barely have enough time to slip them on before John, with practised ease, settles into the bed on his side and pulls you close, naked chests pressed against each other.

You sigh in contentment as John's warmth seeps into your body, arms winding around his neck to get closer and being able to graze your nails through the hair on the back of his head, which makes him pull you even closer in return.

The moment drags on as you card fingers through his hair. Every now and then, you feel the gel he'd cursed over as he styled it before the event, still intact at certain places despite the overall moussed state of his locks. 

Somewhere along the way, a hefty, pleased sigh leaves the man holding you as his head burrows into your neck, nuzzling against the necklace still around your throat. Your eyes flutter close upon the rhythmic breaths puffing against your skin, melting more into John's burly body.

"You're awfully cuddly tonight", you hum but make no move to disturb the peaceful air by moving.

"Could say the same about you".

You chuckle at the response breathed against your skin. "Can never get too much of you". A set of warm lips press a kiss to your throat, making you hum contentedly before continuing to speak. "Especially not after tonight when everyone's been fighting for your attention".

There's a few seconds of silence and then a sigh.

"More people goin' to fight for it soon". Your brows pull together at the sudden shift of air when John emerges from your neck, blue eyes locking with yours. "Before introducin' you to Laswell, I got informed we're set out on a mission."

You sighed, nodding at his explanation. It was only about time. "When?

"A week, but it won't be a long one". You perk up at that, John noticing, a small smile tugging in the corner of his lips. "Estimated to be back home before Christmas".

"Yeah?" He hummed an affirmative. Your smile twitched just slightly wider, unable not to press a kiss to his lips. You felt his chuckle just before you parted from him.

"Someone's happy about that". John's brows arched, head tilting to the side.

"Just... didn't have much planned for Christmas this year, so I thought about maybe asking-", you got interrupted by his lips pressing against yours this time. The passion with which John kissed you made your chest flutter.

"Wanted you with me this weekend just in case you had somethin' in the calendar or I wasn't home", he breathed against your lip when putting some distance between the two of you again.

You bite your lower lip, brows raising. "John, are you saying you wanted to ask me about spending Christmas together too?"

"Didn't know if it was an awfully traditional period for you", he said, giving you a half-hearted shrug.

"How sweet of you". You cooed, pecking John's lips, earning yourself a content huff from the man cocooning you with his arms and body. "But I would've wanted to spend some time with you no matter what". As you said this, that handsome smile of John's unfolds as he pulls you on top of him. He released a deep chuckle at your slight squeal, only for both of your sounds to fade as he stared up at you and you down at him.

God, you couldn't wait until Christmas.

[iloveboysinred]

No love lost [Firelord Zuko]

synopsis- Too soon after the war ended, you and Zuko became leaders of your respective nations. You struggle not to think about the political repercussions your secret romance could bring.

cw- zuko x gn watertribe chief! Reader, slight angst to comfort (nothing too heavy), forbidden romance, feelings are all over the place, not a lot of editing, fluff

2k words

Masterlist

Anxiety sent jitters up your spine, the chilly balcony under your fingertips providing little to no help in easing your nerves. Below you stood the entirety of the Northern Water tribe, looking up at you with scrutinizing eyes. It was now you felt the weight of what your new status as Chief would bring, especially the mounting pressure to live up to the legacy of your sister princess Yue, who had sacrificed herself to become the moonspirit after the sudden assault from the fire navy. The attack had almost left your home in ruins, and it prompted you to join team avatar in their efforts to take down firelord Ozai. Despite leaving for a good cause, your disappearance had left a bad taste in a lot of the water tribe elder’s mouths, especially when news of the then disgraced Prince–now Firelord Zuko, joining your group had traveled throughout the nations. Many had accused you of treason, protests erupting amongst the tribe as soon as your father announced your return and ascent to the throne. 

Now you stood before your people, wearing your traditional colors and furs, pledging your life to the tribe as its new leader. Your friends stood beside you, silently supporting you as you went through the ceremony, offering hushed words of encouragement and reassuring shoulder squeezes. You were glad they were here to support you, especially Zuko– who was visibly uncomfortable, his heavy red robes making him stand out like a sore thumb. It was impossible to miss him, the cold stares of the citizens following his every move. It made you feel queasy having him here, close enough to catch his eye but never close enough for him to speak to you. You had developed somewhat of a knack to know when Zuko had something on his mind, and the way his gaze kept following your movements whenever he could, was evidence enough for you to avoid him as much as possible.

When you first met Zuko, you were wary of him, understandably so. The memory of Fire navy soldiers invading your home fortress was still too fresh in your mind. Kitara had told you of how he had kidnapped Aang when he was still in the spirit world, attempting to sneak him into the clutches of his father and it had only made you resent him more. You ignored his attempts to prove himself, and rejected the idea of forging a friendship with him. All you could see when you looked at him were the atrocities committed by his homeland. 

 While the days progressed though, you had started to grow a little fond of him. As he acclimated to the group, Zuko had revealed more and more about himself, and it was the first time you had actually seen him as more than a spoiled prince. You began to see him for who he was; a broken child with a bleeding heart, wanting nothing but the love and acceptance of his father. Prince Zuko was a bashful, awkward teenager just like everyone else. Still, it was hard for you to push the apprehension you felt to the back of your mind at first, especially when you were still living in the reality that his forefathers had created.

Seeing the rest of the team embrace Zuko as a friend, it didn't take long for you to embrace him too— but it was different between the two of you then it was for everyone else. Zuko understood your turmoil, he knew what you felt when you explained how you had always been in your sister’s shadow, he held you close to his body when you wept to him about your mother, your tribe, and your upcoming role as chief. He was as warm as the sun, reassuring you that everything would be alright. That he was here. It was clear to everyone in the group that you and Zuko’s relationship had long transcended the bounds of friendship. They had noticed the way you inched closer together during supper time, your knees constantly brushing together as you sat. Even Sokka had pointed out the way his eyes softened with adoration whenever he spoke of you. There was always an air of comfort and warmth between the two of you that nobody could deny. He was your complete opposite, but his warmth drew you into him, and two days before confronting Firelord Ozai, you couldn’t resist the pull anymore. You gave in, allowing yourself to press your lips against his. You could feel his heart beat thrumming in tandem with yours, his lips pressing back into you so desperately it felt as though you were waiting your entire life time for this moment. It was a second of quiet. Nothing else mattered in that moment, the worries about war, the stress of returning home all faded away into obscurity. 

You allowed yourself to dream–to imagine for just that second, a life where you could be together. A different reality in where you could give your all to him, to embrace him without political repercussions and scrutiny. But just as quickly as it started, you pulled away. He looked at you then. His eyes swimming with admiration, a question burning him from the inside out that you couldn't bring yourself to answer. You’d turned away from him at that moment, returning to your camp without speaking another word to him. 

Zuko had always been persistent though, and shortly after Aang had claimed his victory against Ozai, he came to find you sitting alone in his quarters. He sat beside you, the bed dipping under his weight, but you said nothing. Silently staring down at your hands, you avoided his gaze. too afraid to lose against your better judgment if you faced him. “Can you…can you look at me?” he always spoke to you so softly, his raspy voice making your skin warm with goosebumps. You felt him falter after he noticed you still refused to look at him, his bandaged chest aching as he dropped his hands into his lap, staring hard into the red carpet beneath your feet. The silence between the two of you was suffocating, filled with unresolved feelings and questions. You fiddled with your fingers, thinking over the words you wanted to say, and how to get them out into the air. It was a lot easier to think when he wasn’t right next to you. When you didn’t have to fight the urge to pull him close. 

“Look..what happened that night, i-” he cut himself off when you stood up abruptly, your eyes downcast, still not bringing yourself to meet his eyes. “Don’t. Please, don’t.” you whispered, your arms hugging your chest as you tried to keep your emotions at bay. “y/n..please, i don’t want to just pretend like..like that kiss meant nothing! I have feelings for you, I don't know how else I can show you that I'm good now, I've changed! You can trust me, I'll turn everything my father did around, I promise!” You turned to him, tears burning behind your eyes, but you forced them back. You had to be strong, for yourself, for your nation, and for the peace you and your friends had worked so tirelessly for. “Is..is that what you think this is about?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know you’re good, Zuko.. you– you’re amazing, and noble and kind” you felt the tears rise up along your waterline and you wiped them away, sniffling as you forced your shaking voice to continue. “Which is why this–” you motioned between the two of you “This..can’t happen. Your nation needs you, and my nation needs me.. everything is so fragile right now, we can’t risk another conflict between the nations, not over something so stupid.” you looked away from the flash of hurt that flitted through his eyes. Instead you looked down at your feet, steeling your resolve. “I’m sorry Zuko.. but I have to put my nation first. And you should too.” Zuko said nothing, watching you leave without looking back. 

That was the last time you’d truly spoken. Defeating Ozai was only the beginning of the end for this war, and after Zuko’s coronation as Firelord it became apparent just how large of a responsibility was on his shoulders. You’d only caught glimpses of him during his ceremony, and saw even less of him during your stay in his palace with his advisors roping him into long meetings with diplomats, his attention constantly stolen away by long documents he’d have to carefully read word by word. Your own responsibilities had stolen you away as well, leaving you no leisure time to join your friends in their bi-monthly escapades to the fire nation. 

Now after your ceremony had ended, you stood alone on your balcony, the moonlight washing you in a gentle glow. You gazed up into the sky, silently hoping your sister could see you now, bittersweet emotion gripping your heart. You didn’t have to look at him to know Zuko was silently standing next to you, the warmth radiating from him in contrast to the frigid air that surrounded you was more than enough to make you aware of his presence. You closed your eyes when his hands held on to the icey balcony. The two of you stood in tense silence, neither one of you courageous enough to say something. It was only when you turned to him that you willed yourself to speak. “Cold night, tonight huh?” you muttered, sheepishly kicking the snow around with the tip of your foot, trying to distract yourself from the fact that he was here. His hair had grown from the shabby mess he had when you first met. In the year you’d been apart, his soft features from adolescence were slowly hardening into one of an adult. You felt your heart pound when he said nothing, staring off into the distance as if he was distracted, his hair was down from its traditional top knot, his crown sat off a few inches next to him. Zuko still looked like the boy you had met what felt like years ago. But he was more regal now, and he carried himself with the exact poise and grace you’d expect from someone of his status. Still, when he spoke, his voice still carried the rasp it always had, and he still spoke to you in the same soft tone he reserved for you. 

“Did…did you really mean what you said that day?” you felt your mouth dry, already knowing where this conversation was going to go. “Yes, Zuko.. I'm the chief of the northern water tribe, and you're the firelord. We have no time to be sneaking around like stupid teenagers–” “Do you really think what we had was stupid?” he looked at you now, his golden eyes catching the soft illumination from the moon. You didn’t know what to say, your words catching in your throat. dropping your shoulders, you returned to the balcony, staring up at the moon for comfort. 

“No, Zuko. It wasn’t. I have feelings for you, feelings I can't have. Don’t you understand? Our nations– the world is still recovering from war, a forbidden romance is the last thing we need. If it gets out that we’re sneaking around, then we could start another conflict between our nations and i…i can’t subject my people to that, not when we’ve been wanting peace for the last hundred years.” you gripped the balcony tight, your stomach knotted up with pent up emotion. Zuko stared at you, mulling over what he wanted to say next. You felt the silence settle once more between you, and you almost wanted to take your leave, but his words stopped you in your tracks.  “It doesn’t have to be that way. We can form a deeper alliance. The Northern watertribe would receive fire nation support and trade, and the fire nation would receive the Northern watertribe’s trade in supplies and support, we can.. we can be together and not have to worry about conflict.” he was pleading now, grasping your hand with his as he looked into your eyes imploringly. “But, the fire nation has no use for water tribe supplies..” you muttered, your hand limp in his grasp. He squeezed your palm in his, and you allowed yourself to feel the familiar warmth soak through your glove, feeling your resolve starting to chip away more and more the longer the contact sustained. 

“Then we’ll make a market for it, i’ll make it work, we just have to try.” he pleaded, pressing your hands to his chest. You stared at him, at a loss for words, feeling his warmth draw you in the same way it did months ago. “Please, y/n. I-i want you to be in my life. I don’t want to hide what I feel for you anymore.” his heart was beating fast and steady against your palm, anticipation clear on his face as he waited for your answer. “But, what if.what if it doesn’t work, Zuko? I can’t just risk everything like this–” “Then I'll give everything I have to fix it. Just trust me.” you closed your eyes, nodding at his words. “Okay. I trust you.” you felt your cheek pressed against the hard plain of his chest, his warmth enveloping you as he wrapped his arms around you tight. “Thank you..i promise i'll make it work– i’ll write a draft as soon as i return home, i’ll court you properly, i-” you interrupted him with a soft kiss over his heart. “Shhh..let’s worry about that when you get home, let me just enjoy you for a few moments.” you whispered, looking up at him through your lashes. The moon seemed much brighter now, you could see his entire face under the glow, his golden gaze pooling with affection as he met your gaze. He leaned down, ghosting his lips over yours as if asking for permission, he was holding his breath, shoulders tensed as if anticipating your rejection.  Without a second thought you pressed your lips to his, melting into him as you let your heart soar. You were no longer afraid to dream, because before you stood the man who would make all of them come true.  

[sirfrogsworth]

Just finished watching the closing ceremonies.

The Chilli Peppers did a little performance signifying the Olympic handoff to Los Angeles.

And there was a wardrobe... choice.

My brain immediately thought, "Anthony, you're 61 now. What are you wearing? I think I'd prefer you just be shirtless over this weird ping pong net."

5 seconds later...

Yep. I deserve that.

You look great, Anthony.

Flea, too.

John your guitar playing is always magical and trying to learn your licks as a beginner guitarist almost made me quit because you always did the coolest, weirdest shit that I could not replicate.

And it's always good to see Will Ferrell.

[mrsnancywheeler]

finnick odair x childish!partner hc's

based off this request

masterlist

finnick odair would find you charming for the way you showed such a bright interest in things, seeing the best in everyone, and the way you could find entertainment in anything

you'd do dishes only to blow the soapy bubbles on him when walked past and burst into laughter every time

you had no fear of danger, just living in the moment, swimming out as far as you could because you thought you caught a glimpse of a dolphin even if finnick tried to warn you about how dangerous it could be

you loved to be outdoors, in the sun, running up to show him your seashells and the sea glass you found on the beach while he fished

you looked so giddy that finnick would get excited too

finnick would take you out in the early morning, when tides were low because there's nothing you loved more then looking at all the sea creatures on the rocks

after a few trips to the market he learned he had to hold your hand in order to keep you from disappearing

it wasn't enough for finnick to keep an eye on you, he'd take one second to talk to the vendor and your eyes would catch something shiny so you'd wonder away

finnick mostly feared this because you were so prone to believing anything a vendor said, overcharging you, lying to you about the worth or quality of an item

there'd also been the time when you'd initially gotten drawn to another booth, then another, and then lost interest, so when you'd hadn't known where finnick was just decided to walk home without telling him

he'd spent over an hour searching just in the large street markets, filled with non-stop worry when he couldn't find you anywhere, spending another hour checking the beaches and secret spots until he finally found you, blissfully unaware at home

"finny, I got bored, wanted to come home and paint. I tried to make ice cream too, but that was a huge disaster, so don't look in the kitchen"

even if it had frustrated and panicked finnick, he couldn't help but laugh at your antics and let you ramble on about every thought you'd had as he cleaned up your mess

since then finnick made sure his hand was always intertwined with yours which you just found sweet

finnick was always bandaging you out, lightly scolding you for all the bruises you got climbing trees, jumping around the rocks, rolling down hills and in the sand

you'd drag him to the meadow so you could run in the flowers, make you both flower crowns and daisy chains, once you'd insisted on holding a mock ceremony where you crowned him

the meadow had once been your safe place and it felt right to you to do something to signal you were letting him into that part of you

finnick adored the way you pouted when you didn't get your way, like saying you two had to get home, how you needed to put a sweater on before going outside in the chilly weather, or that you both had to go to bed

he especially loved mocking your little pouts and whines which made you increase them until he kissed you which always put you in a happier, gigglier mood

[yuurei20]

(Continuation of a request for Twst-world happenings and weather)

Twst Holidays

Interestingly, we have an example of a real-world Japan holiday being referenced by name in Twst! During the Wish Upon a Star event the prefect comments that the school’s Starsending activities sound strikingly similar to Tanabata, though none of the characters react.  

I do not believe that we have heard of anything concerning Falena and Cheka’s birthdays, though in Leona’s flashback we hear about an unnamed ceremony where Falena presented Cheka to the kingdom as their future king.

(This scene is sometimes referenced as proof that Falena is already king of Sunset Savanna, but he is not! He is still first prince. This is a not-insignificant part of Leona's turmoil, as it is technically not too late for him to be chosen in favor of his brother and he is grappling with resigning to the inevitable and his fear of giving up (re:novel))

Malleus’ birthday has been confirmed to be a national holiday in Briar Valley!

We have also heard about many of the festivals held throughout the various countries:

-> The Queendom of Rose’s White Rabbit Fes is a recent tradition, started 16 years ago.

-> Craneport’s Port fest is an annual festival held to commemorate the construction of the port and has been held for decades, though waning in popularity.

-> Harveston’s Mount Moln Sledathon is an annual festival.

-> The Yasamina River Fireworks Fest is a festival organized by the Scalding Sands’ most prominent families.

-> The Fairy Gala is a festival that fairies hold to usher in spring, but it is “no mere celebration of fairy fashion,” and an interruption of the festival can result in the entire world being caught in eternal winter.

-> Beanfest is “a traditional Twist Wonderland event,” not just a school activity.

-> Halloween is “one of the biggest events in Twisted Wonderland.”

Concerning weather: it seems that each dorm exists in an independent dimension, and it might be possible that these dimensions are maybe kept weather-controlled? :> Kalim says that “Scarabia’s usually warm year-round!”

Curious things happen to the temperatures during Fairy Gala, which might be hinting at how hot and/or cold those dorms usually are? Octavinelle becomes “unbearably hot,” so it is possible that it is usually cold (as would make sense for a dorm under the water).

Scarabia usually gets chilly at night, according to Kalim, but during Fairy Gala the dorm is buried in snow in contrast to its usual desert temperatures.

Ignihyde becomes extremely warm, so maybe it is usually kept at a cool temperature? (Which would also make sense, considering all their electronics).

Heartslabyul also becomes very warm, so it is possible that the dorm’s usual temperature is cooler? While Epel complains that Pomefiore has become extremely dry, so maybe that dimension usually has high humidity.

Lilia says that Diasomnia stays cool because there is little sunlight and that it might not be hospitable for someone like Kalim, who is used to warmer climates.

Crowley’s office becomes freezing cold during the gala, possibly insinuating that it is usually kept warm? Ramshackle Dorm is the opposite, becoming “hot as a desert.”

While dorm-dimensions may be weather controlled, it would seem the weather on the main campus is not! As you say there is the rain at Ramshackle during the prologue (also emphasized in the novel), and it rains again on campus in Book 7, but as that is Malleus-rain I am not sure it counts?

There is also forecasted “thunderstorms and torrential rain” being a plot point in the Wish Upon a Star event, and snow can be seen around Ramshackle and the Main Street of campus during Book 4.

And that is what I was able to find! :> Hope this helps!

[skythighs]

Calista's Dream: Blood on my Flesh

I don't own the art used per usual. It's all from Pinterest. So we all know Feyd is psychotic so this is me channeling that energy. Tbh I love a fine psychotic love interest that pushes the boundaries of love and toxicity.

Warnings: dub con/non con elements, uninformed voyeurism. 18+ only please 🙏🏽

Word count: 2.2k

Chapter 5

I was seated next to Feyd Rautha near the gluttonous Baron as he shoveled unfathomable amounts of food into his mouth. Feyd barely touched his food and sat stiffly in his chair. There were about twenty noble Harkonnen couples around the table. More than once, I caught the lecherous looks of the male counterparts, and it made my skin crawl. The Baron however couldn’t be bothered to socialize with them, for he was far too preoccupied with plates stacked so high they would surely topple to the floor. 

After dinner my husband disappeared and I was bathed meticulously by the nameless slave who used her body to shield me earlier. She washed my hair very gently, almost as if she was afraid of it, which made me smile. Once we were done I noticed there was a red mesh robe laid out on the bed. 

“We must prepare you for the consummation Na Baroness.”

“Oh, of course.”

She placed the robe over my shoulders helping me put my arms in each hole. I flinch slightly when I feel her move to drape something across my eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Na Baron requested you wear this tonight.”

“A blindfold? Why?”

“I can not say.” She looked down at the floor like she did so often.

“What will happen once you blindfold me?” I ask hesitantly.

“I will lead you to the ceremony room, where Na Baron awaits you.”

I nod my head slowly agreeing to the terms. With the blindfold secured she grasps my hands and places them on her shoulders before moving slowly before me guiding me away from the quarters that had become familiar to me in this short time. 

The place beyond the doors was just as silent as earlier today when I explored them, and the walk seemed to take much longer than I anticipated.

“Are we almost there?”

“Yes, Na Baroness.”

I hear large doors creak open and I’m led into a warm room. Much warmer than the chilly empty corridors. She removes my hands from her shoulders and then moves away from me leaving me feeling vulnerable and insecure.

“Wife.” Feyd calls out to me from nearby. 

I feel him grip my waist and pull me towards him before I smack against his bare chest ungracefully.

“What’s going on I-”

“Shhh.” He leans down to my ear before continuing.

“Don’t remove the blindfold, no matter what you hear.”

Without another word he lifts me off the floor placing me on an elevated platform. There was a silky material beneath my body but not much give besides that.I rubbed my hand around me trying to get a grasp of my surroundings. Feyd Rauthas hands stroke against my breasts slowly making me seek out his lips blindly. Our lips briefly brush before he shoves me flat on my back seemingly agitated with my attempt. My lips quiver in fear, this level of disadvantage struck a chord inside my brain. Alarm bells were ringing and I try to sit up before his large hand pressing on my chest prevents it.

“Don’t.” He orders harshly. 

“Please let me up, I don’t like this. I can’t see anything.” I plead.

A low chuckle sounds from somewhere else in the room and I jerk my head toward the offending sound. Are there others in this room? Watching us? Horror drains the color from my face. I move my hands up to the blindfold quickly, but Feyd grips my hands and pins them above my head. I feel his lips brush my ear again before he speaks calmly to me.

“I said don’t remove it. No matter what you hear.” 

He squeezes my wrists to emphasize his words. As if to pacify me, he kisses me then. A slow exploring kiss that would have put me at ease any other time, but not now. My body is rigid as he continues kissing me, slowly licking into my mouth deeply. He squeezes my wrists again, silently ordering me to keep them there above my head. His giant hands slither down my frame, gripping and pinching as they travel. I feel each of his hands warp around my thigh and spread my legs as wide as they can go before he settles between them.

His large erection rubs against me suddenly, and he begins to pull the mesh robe up around my waist, not removing it from my form completely. He detaches his lips from mine before slowly moving down to suck on my nipple through the mesh material. A small sigh leaves my lips and he swirls his tongue around before moving to do the same to the other. All the while his erection rests against my heated entrance twitching occasionally. I slowly move my hands down. I want to explore his body as much as he explores mine, and he lets me. I feel him tense slightly at first but then he relaxes as I slowly stroke his muscled back up and down with both hands. 

He bites my nipple and I dig my nails into his back reflexively and he sighs quietly before claiming my lips again. My thighs naturally wrap around his waist as I feel my body become soft again. Forgotten was the misplaced chuckle from somewhere in the room. Right now all I could think about was him, the feel of him, the taste of him. It was all so overwhelming. He reaches between us letting his finger circle my clit bringing back memories of the night we shared together. 

My moan slips out, and he's there to capture it with his lips just like that night. His finger works quickly and deftly before his hand is absent and it’s been replaced with his manhood. He strokes it up and down my slit, letting it slip and slide against me. Earning a groan from the both of us, which prompts him to slowly enter me. I pull away from his lips to breathe slowly and more controlled, preparing myself for what was next.

He breaks me apart, sliding until balls deep in one long stroke, causing me to cry out. It hurts so much that tears are caught by the blindfold. They keep coming until eventually one leaks down my face. Feyd captures it with his tongue and then rests his forehead on mine.

“Such a good pet.” 

This earns laughter from various spots in the room around me. I tense then and cause myself unspeakable pain in the process. 

I whimper aloud and try to push him away from me, out of me, but he won’t budge.

“Don’t fight me Calista, it’ll only be worse.”

“Feyd stop please. Why am I blindfolded? Are we being watched-”

He captures my lips and kisses me harshly as if punishing me for asking questions. He pulls out of me before diving in brutally. Earning a shriek from me, but it doesn’t stop him. He does it over and over, and I find myself trying to scoot backward and away. The faceless voices around the room snicker at my attempt. Feyds grip on my waist stops my attempt to run before he flips me onto all fours and re enters me with a splintering stroke of his cock. He pushes my head down onto the silks below us and holds me exactly where he wants me. What can I do? What can I do? The fear settles into me and I start to cry burying my face into the silk.

“Remove her robe Na Baron. I want to see-”

A resounding hiss from Feyd silences any other attempts at speaking amongst the viewing crowd. Skin slapping skin is all that can be heard now as well as my quiet sniffles here and there. With his hips pistoning into me I bite my knuckles to prevent myself from sobbing. 

Feyd Rautha starts panting like an animal in heat, and I just want it to be over, so I move my hips back, meeting each thrust. His hand settles on my lower back, helping me meet him thrust for thrust, and he moans above me. I feel him lie his front against my back as if he can’t get enough of feeling me. It's as if he wants to absorb my soft skin and bones with his much more hard ones. It's as if he's trying to merge us into a single being.

 He groans into my ear before biting down on the back of my neck painfully as he releases his seed so deeply inside of me. He brushes against a tender spot, and I feel myself reach an unknown peak. I bite my knuckles even more, refusing to cry out in pleasure. Warmth paints my insides, and he keeps stroking until he hisses and shivers behind me. He grips a fist full of my hair, pulling me up with him, forcing his despicable lips onto mine. His arm was placed across me, covering my breasts. He removes himself from the platform before guiding me down as well. 

I try to stand but my legs give out beneath my weight which causes raucous laughter around the room.

“Feyd, what a lovely performance as always. You may go.” Baron Vladimir spoke clearly, no doubt wanting me to know he was present.

Feyd scoops me up into his arms before walking out of the too warm room. All I can do is rest my head against his shoulder and let him carry me out. I was in no state to protest, although I continued to cry silently. Once we reach his chambers he removes the blindfold from my eyes and carries me to the bathing area. He doesn’t speak to me or try to comfort me; he simply watches me as he lowers us both into the tub. The hot water stings my sensitive folds causing me to hiss at the contact. 

“You did well tonight.” He says with pride as he strokes my cheek softly reminiscent of the first time on Caladan. 

“Why?”

He doesn’t respond for a long time as he stares off into space, although he continues to stroke me.

“It had to be done.” He says with finality. 

He didn’t want to continue this conversation. That much was clear.

“Will we ever have to-”

“No. Never again.”

I look him in the eye and see the truth there.

The next morning I woke up alone in the large bed. My core felt battered and bruised and it hurt to move. The nameless slave appeared by my side looking concerned.

“Na Baroness, I’ve been ordered to keep you in bed today. Whatever you need I will provide.” She bows looking at the floor as if she’s ashamed.

“Did you know what would happen there last night?”

“Yes, but I was not permitted to tell you. Forgive me. The Baron demanded the old tradition be upheld, I heard Na Baron Feyd Rautha was not pleased when he received the news."

“It’s not your fault. I just- I don't quite understand any of this or why it happened, and I'm in so much pain."

I felt so hollow. Like a husk of a person. Had I really been reduced to this in such a short time? Was there no fight left in me?

"I have something here for the pain." She holds out a small white pill and a glass of water.

“Are you hungry Na Baroness? I can have the kitchens prepare something special for you.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

After eating and refreshing myself in the bathing chamber I climb back into bed and lounge.

“When will my chambers be ready for me to move into?”

“Na Baron informed the staff you would no longer be needing your own accommodations. You are to reside with him permanently.”

I couldn’t bother responding to her revelation, I was too exhausted. I felt too weak, and I found myself drifting into a slumber even though it was only mid day. I hear movement near me and feel the bed dip, causing me to readjust. I snuggled deeper into the pillow I hugged against my torso. I then felt slow, soft strokes in my hair, lulling me back to sleep.

When I awake the room is dark, but I can feel eyes on me. Watching my every move.

“You slept the day away, pet. Who knew pleasure would take so much out of you?”

Without turning over to look at him I shake my head.

“You’re mistaken, there was no pleasure, only pain.” My shoulders tense as I feel him adjust behind me.

“Is there a difference, wife?” He questions genuinely. Running his large palm down my back. I hug the pillow closer as if it could save me. His touch once excited me, but now I felt only fear. I could remember asking him to stop only to be ignored. I could hear the chuckles from the room and feel the vulnerability of being fucked in front of a crowd while blindfolded. Last night may haunt me forever. 

“Yes. There is.” I say firmly.

He hums contemplatively as if mulling over a brand new discovery. Perhaps for him pleasure and pain were one in the same but that was no excuse.

“I want my own chamber, Feyd Rautha.”

His hand moves from my back to my hair gripping it painfully forcing me to turn and face him. My lips quiver as I look him in his eyes. 

“No.” He bites out brushing his nose against my cheek staring into one eye.

“You said I need only speak my wishes and they would be granted. Was that a lie?”

His hand loosens half an inch as he watches me.

“Are you angry with me, pet? You wish to leave my bed?”

I close my eyes tightly, too afraid to look at him any longer as I speak.

“You hurt me last night and I don’t trust you anymore.”

He laughed a deep offensive laugh for a solid two minutes right in my face.

“Trust. Unfortunately, my innocent little pet Giedi Prime is deprived of trust."

He spits the last word bitterly.

"You will adapt."

Taglist: @mamawiggers1980 @drunkennunicornn @aoi-targaryen @lovereadingfanfic @avidreader73

[clangenrising]

Month 8 - Leaffall

Russetfrond carried a pair of birds in his jaws as he strolled beside Goldenstar who led the way back to camp, carrying her own catch, a particularly fat mouse she had snagged last minute. He looked idly over swaying grass, pressing his ears back as they walked against the chilly Leaffall breeze, and let her chatter. It was a familiar old feeling; her talking as if silence was her enemy, him responding here and there. It was nice. 

As they got closer to camp, talk turned to Oddstripe’s litter. 

“I’m still trying to figure out exactly who I want to mentor the kits,” she said. “It’ll be my first apprentice ceremony as leader and I wanna make sure I do it right.” 

“Mm,” he grunted in response.

“Yarrowshade said you knew exactly who you would pick,” she continued, meeting his gaze. “Is that true?” 

“Mhm,” he tried for, hoping she’d leave it at that but knowing she wouldn’t. 

“So, what are they?” she asked predictably. “If you care about the choices I make, you gotta say something, man.” 

He sighed, disliking that he had to make his mouth form actual words again, and then grunted to clear his throat. “Floodkit I’d give to Nightfrost, Sparrow to Pantherhaze, and Barley to Ospreymask.” 

“Huh,” she mused and he twitched an ear indignantly. 

“What d’you mean, ‘huh’? You don’t like my placements?” 

“No, no, I just wouldn’t have picked them myself,” she shrugged. “I feel like Ospreymask is too much of a kitsitter to them to be a good mentor. Y’know, same reason we don’t usually let cats mentor their own kits.” 

“Fair point,” he conceded. 

Her next question surprised him. “Would you like to mentor any of them?”

“Me?” he blinked, tail unfurling upward.

“Yeah, you, fish face,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re a good warrior and you deserve another apprentice.” 

“I know that,” he said, unable to resist a little jab. “I just figured you’d give them to Yarrowshade and Scorch instead.” 

Goldenstar let out a little growl. “Ugh, you’re still on about that? Just because you disagree with some of my choices doesn’t mean I’m just blindly doing whatever they tell me to, y’know.” 

“So who are you planning to give them to?” he asked, sidestepping her comment. 

She sighed in frustration and said, “I don’t know. But you’re at the top of the list. Now do you wanna mentor one of them or not?” 

“I wouldn’t say no,” he shrugged. 

“Any preference?”

He thought it over for a second. “Floodkit I guess. He’s got a lot of passion and ferocity. I think he’d make a great apprentice.” 

“Interesting,” she hummed. “I’ll take it under advisement. Let me know if you change your mind.” 

“I will,” he agreed. 

Shortly after, they arrived back at camp and she left him to head into the Healers’ den. In the dusty center of camp, the kits were playing. Floodkit and Sparrowkit wrestled and chased each other, shouting about borders and territories and such. Barleykit sat at the edge of camp, watching her brothers with a dejected look on her face. Russetfrond decided to see what was troubling her and took one of the birds he had caught, a bright red cardinal, over to where she was sitting. 

“Mind if I join you?” he asked. 

Barleykit squeaked in surprise and nearly jumped to her feet. Recognizing him, she settled down again and said, “um, sure.” 

He sat down next to her and said, “You seem upset. What’s wrong?” 

“Oh,” she blushed, massive ears folding back. “I’m just… thinking.” 

“About what?” he pressed gently as he started to pull the flight feathers from the cardinal. While it was normal to eat a bird feathers and all, he didn’t feel inclined to deal with the larger ones today and there was a methodical kind of pleasure in plucking them. Barleykit shuffled anxiously and looked askance. 

“I’m worried about becoming an apprentice,” she admitted softly. “I don’t think I’ll be very good at it.” 

“No one is good at it at first,” he shrugged, “that's why you have a mentor to teach you.” 

“I guess,” she shuffled again. “I just… I don’t like rough games. I don’t wanna fight anybody. But I don’t care about herbs either. I’m worried I’m just gonna be a scaredy mouse my whole life.” Russetfroned hummed thoughtfully. He wasn’t sure what to tell her. 

“Well,” he said, “being brave isn’t about not being scared. It’s about doing the scary thing anyway.” Barleykit sighed and looked down. It seemed that hadn’t helped to calm her worries at all. He looked down at his paws as he tried to gather his thoughts, and he spotted the scattered feathers. Something about their bright coloring sparked an idea in his mind. 

“Here,” he said, plucking one of them from the ground. “See these feathers?” 

“Yeah,” she said cautiously, eyeing them. 

“These feathers are magic,” he said.

“Really?” Her eyes widened and she looked them over. 

“Yep,” he nodded. “If you wear them on your fur they make you very brave.” 

“Really?” she asked again. “I want some!” 

“I dunno,” he feigned reluctance, “I was going to save them for myself…” 

“Please?” she begged, “Please, please, please? I wanna be brave just like Floodkit!” 

“Well… Okay,” he chuckled. “Here, hold still and I’ll put them in.” Barleykit sat up straight and lifted her head eagerly, posing in what he imagined she thought was a very brave position. He leaned forward and started to place feathers into her fur around her neck and shoulders. 

After he’d placed as many as he cared to, he sat back and said, “There.”

She looked down at them, craning her neck to try and examine his handiwork, and said, “Wow. Do they look alright?” 

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded. “You wear them well.” He leaned down to start eating but she leaped forward and put her paws on his food causing him to frown. 

Before he could complain, she declared, “I wanna do you now!” 

He closed his mouth, biting back on whatever irritation had risen in him. Taking a deep breath he said, “Okay, but put them in my tail okay?” Maybe that way, he reasoned, he could ignore it for the most part and finish his meal.

“Okay,” she said, plucking several feathers and then passing his food back to him. Sighing, he twitched his tail out in front of her and hungrily began to devour the cardinal. Barleykit hummed to herself as she tucked the feathers into his fur and smoothed the fur back down with the utmost care. After she finished, she sat back and looked at him eagerly.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

He gave his tail a roll and glanced over it. “It’s perfect,” he said, “Thank you.” 

“We can wear them together,” she nodded, “and we’ll both be brave.” “Sure,” he chuckled, and went back to eating. She was a sweet girl, he thought, but already his energy for kitsitting was nearly gone. Luckily, she settled down again, laying her head against his tail, and they quietly watched her brothers tumbling across the grass together. She probably isn’t the right apprentice for me, he thought, but I hope Goldenstar picks a good mentor for her.

UPDATES:

- Russetfrond and Barleykit start wearing cardinal feathers on their pelts.

[jamneuromain]

Another Man's Poison - Part 2

Curtis Everett x You

Warning: Shifter!Curtis Everett, Shifter!Reader, wolf transformation,

Summary: You have accidentally come across a scheme that could shatter your shifter clan and your life. Unable to think of any way to stay away from this catastrophe, you turn to Curtis for help.

W/C: 3k

Part 1 | One Man's Meat M. List

The transformation ceremony awaits.

You and the Maximoff twins are stripped until only a sports bra and shorts are left, the bare minimum to cover your skin, standing in the middle of the forest, facing the moonlight.

Margo, being the perky princess she always is, refused to wear so little in the middle of the fucking August, the most scorching time of the year, and chose to have a large T-shirt to cover her body instead.

“Don’t be afraid of your wolf.” Paul remains in his human form, reassuring you four youngsters as the Maximoff twins tremble in either the chilliness of the earth, or the fear of transformation, “Hear it. Tune into it. Unleash it. Your wolf is a part of you as much as your limb or your eyes.”

A few wolves pace around the circle of the ceremony. You recognize Halden and Jason in their wolf form, protecting the perimeter. Sam, being the younger brother of Paul, stands in the circle of pack members, as always. Your parents are here too, watching you with encouraging eyes.

You take a deep breath and feel inside.

Nothing.

As if your wolf is sleeping.

Looks like the plan is on the right track.

The extremely reckless and frankly stupid plan, as Curtis calls it, involves you drinking a carefully measured vial of potion made from Wolfsbane and other herbs. Temporarily reducing your wolf's connection to the moon, hoping it would stop you from turning into one during the ceremony.

Margo, unexpectedly, as you zone out for a moment, is the first to transform.

It starts with a pained yelp, and her body crawls onto the ground, arms and legs are covered by brown fur. When she finally stands, on her four legs, she transforms fully into a large wolf, howling to the moon.

It is at that moment, when Jason and Halden attack from either side of the circle of shifters. Aiming at Paul. Margo, as well as a handful of families, joins them in their wolf form. Others, such as the Maximoff twins, shield themselves from the chaos and the riot.

Snarling. Growling. Whimpering.

While you begin to run.

Run as fast as you could. Run as if you are going to leave all of this behind you.

Twigs snap at your feet. Sharp leaves cut into your skin.

Something briefly makes your heart jump. Not the kind of squirrels or birds that spread their tails or flap their wings all of a sudden. Not the kind of scare that startles you for a second.

No.

Something from the inside. From the bottom of your heart.

Something that … is disturbed. Is cocooned. Wanting to come out. Waiting to come out.

You stop. Leaning onto a large tree trunk. Catching your breath.

You are no expert but you know whatever frightened you wasn’t normal.

It was your wolf. Sensing possible danger and threat. It was disturbed from the slumber you put it – her in.

Not there yet. You tell yourself. If you let go right now, the wolfsbane toxin still lingers in your blood. It could make you and your wolf hurt.

You take a deep breath and lower your heartbeat. You cannot afford your wolf to come out.

Not yet.

Not until you have drunk the antidote in Curtis’ place.

A rustling noise comes from your left, which instinctively forces you to run. Run to the only place you feel safe.

Run to Curtis.

The cabin stands in the middle of the forest, on the very edge of Wilford’s and Paul’s territory. Warm yellow glow shines from the porch, shining from the creek between the door and the door frame, suggesting someone – most likely Curtis – was waiting for your arrival.

You almost break Curtis’ door open before closing it. Panting. Supporting your body weight on the wooden planks that form the door. As Curtis shoves a small vial in your hands.

“Drink.” That’s all he says.

You take his word for it, downing the vial in one gulp, and almost immediately your blood bubbles like five liters of Spritz in your veins. The poisonous wolfsbane evaporates out of every pore on your skin, dissolving into harmless air.

“Better?” His cold blue eyes focus on you, handing you a large bath towel as you almost collapse on his chair, gesturing you to wipe the sweat off your body, “I calculated the dosage. The antidote should outweigh the poison, leaving a little behind to wake your wolf.”

You could have possibly broken a marathon record just now, but at this precise moment, you are too tired to speak, only nod as a reply. You take the towel off his hands, wrapping it around your body, and gently dabbing it on your face. You can feel the sweat streaming down on the edge of your eyebrows.

The towel has a faint scent on it. You are sure it doesn’t smell like Curtis, but something softer.

Lilac.

Catching your breath, you tear your mind from the topic of what kind of laundry detergent he uses, and turn to the more urgent one at hand: “The connection – my wolf,” you pause briefly, trying to recall the jump in your heart, “it stirs a little on my way here, is it alright?”

Curtis grabs a few vials from the kitchen table, nearly knocking down a few glass equipment as he prepares for your ceremony. He sighs, lightly shaking his head, “I not sure … to be honest. We will only have to wait. If she pops out, no harm no foul.”

“And if not?”

Curtis bears his eyes into yours, “If she doesn’t come out by morning, then we will both be in trouble.”

Your body can feel it. It is being called to at the wrong time, the wrong place. The moon is dropping low by the second and the right time has passed. The right time was hours ago.

Thirty minutes until the moon descends completely, you must get the wolf out.

Curtis paces around you.

"Sit down, will you? It's not like my wolf is counting your steps and waiting for the right number." You snap at him, despite knowing that you have dragged him into this mess in the first place. A little snarl slips out of your lips. Your wolf spirit is awakening, but not quite yet. Not quite there to unleash your wolf form.

Curtis has his gaze zeroing in on you. His eyes narrow for a split second before pushing two words out of his clenched teeth:

"Excuse me?"

You have been sitting on the ground for over an hour now. You have tried running, stomping, jumping around, almost everything you can do to alleviate your heartbeat and wake up your wolf. But deep down, the inside of your body has been awfully quiet.

On the other hand, Curtis has intimidated you enough regarding the topic of “what would happen if your wolf won’t come out”. There is a good chance of your wolf never waking up because the wolfsbane poison is too strong. A slim possibility would be your wolf acting out in the wrong place and at the wrong time, similar to how patients wake up from their coma. But nothing is for certain.

According to Curtis, his wolf woke when he stumbled into the woods after running away from his family. It was early, he had just reached the age of 18. And he had no pack alongside him for this process. He shifted quite painfully and nearly caused a stir in the nearby village if it were not for him running into a large tree trunk and knocking himself out cold.

"Excuse me?"

His words reach your ears, his eyes spark a glimpse of a reddish-gold, his hissing pushes and pokes you even further.

With your emotions on edge, there is no way you would slip past this chance to shove his stupid ass into his stupidly handsome face.

“Well, excuse you, but I’m trying to let my wolf out here. So, unless you have a better idea, kindly shut up and let me think.”

“It’s not about thinking.” He snaps back.

“Thanks, genius. Not sure how that’s gonna help.”

You are normally not like this. Angered. Agitated. You are kind and sweet, most of the time, and that’s why Curtis decided to help you. At least it’s one of the reasons.

His blue eyes spare you a glance.

“It’s about tapping into your raw emotions. Your primal instincts. The wolf spirit inside is all about the wilderness, not critical analysis.” He takes a deep breath to calm himself, pointing to his chest as an example, “Feel her here.”

“There’s nothing there!” You cry out due to visible frustration, “I can’t feel a goddamn thing!”

“That’s because you’re not trying hard enough!” He shouts.

“Well, maybe you killed it!” You scream.

A growl.

A growl and there is a jet-black wolf instead of Curtis.

His clothes tore off. His nose twitched. His fangs bared. What remained Curtis is the crystal blue eyes that are practically glaring daggers at you.

Another growl. And you assume he’s cursing in wolf vocabulary.

He – the wolf steps forward. And another growl rumbles from his large body. His snout is dangerously close to your face. If you run, there’s a good chance he rips your head off your shoulders.

But that riles you up even more.

“Don’t you fucking dare yell at me!” You shout back, feeling your heart is about to explode as your anger and the surge of your boiling blood travels down your limbs, “It’s not my fault that-”

Sharp claws land on the ground instead of your own hands, stopping your single-side shouting match and your thoughts as well. It’s silver, like the moon – though your sight feels different, taking a more yellowish color than your human vision. You can see more from the front and less from the sides. And your tail, it feels heavy. But natural, as you sway it like you have seen the puppies do. Your bones, your fur-coated skin, your strong legs. Everything feels new and … different.

Curtis takes a few steps back without you noticing – as you have said, your wolf side-vision is practically shit – and approaches you again in small, calculated steps.

His snout brushes the fur on your neck, sniffing you carefully.

A noise that is close to a snarl escape your lips – your snout. The anger is still running through your bloodstream, so you huff and turn, slapping his chest with your tail.

Curtis grunts in return, trotting up to sink his teeth into your fur. Not really to hurt you, but, you take a wild guess, to assert dominance.

You grumble a few dark words under your breath. You doubt you can speak “wolf”, but your ducking and escaping his bite certainly adds to the obvious fact that you won’t accept his lead.

Shaking your body like you have just emerged from the water, you put some distance between you and Curtis. There’s a tiny voice inside that yips “BITE HIM BACK” and you are fairly certain that’s your wolf. But you do your best to ignore it.

After all, you know that it is his effort that you and your wolf are intact, safe, and secure.

Curtis takes another careful step towards you, and you start to run.

Strong bones and muscles support your large wolf form, carrying you sprinting on the edge of pack territories. Your paws digging into the dirt, your nose twitching for peculiar scents in the forest, and your eyes focusing on your tracks.

Curtis catches up in just a few seconds, running along with you, bumping into your body, whether the act is out of deliberateness is unclear, but you bump into him as well.

You slow your steps into trotting, playfully trying to bite his neck. He yawns, nibbling on your front leg as an act of defiance. Somehow, it has ended up in a strangle. You tackle him on the ground, sprawling over him like it is a blanket instead of a wolf underneath. His teeth are bare and a little rumbling is simmering down his throat before he flips you over easily, howling to the moon – while the moon is practically nowhere to be seen as the sky turns a lighter shade of blue.

You take the chance and shrink to your human form, mounting on him easily as you have been living in the woods your whole life. You are more or less of a climber, which makes you giggle in triumph as you lie on his back and grip his dark fur tightly, just in case he decides to flip you over again.

He freezes.

His soft black fur wraps around your body like a second skin, which your brain realizes, in hindsight, that you ripped through your clothes during the sudden transformation, and now you are lying stripped naked on his back. On Curtis’ back.

Embarrassment floods your face as you bury your burning cheeks into his back deeper, mumbling, “Could you please take me back? I don’t have any clothes on …”

Curtis does not reply, but his action speaks for him. He turns in the direction from which you came and starts jogging towards his place.

You didn’t run very far at the beginning, and it doesn’t take long as Curtis stops at where you transformed.

You jump to the ground from his back, hurriedly covering your body with the large towel he brought in his backpack and shrugging his jacket over your shoulders. Shoes are a bummer, as you left them in your home, and the soft soil under your feet does not bother you to put some shoes on.

Curtis, now fully returned to his human form, takes his clothes to put them on behind a tree, emerging a few seconds later, dressed in a grey T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

Expecting to put the awkward ride behind your head, you whisper a soft “Thank you” and ask, “By the way, that thing you mentioned, the one possibility where the transformation could have less audience, why … or what is that? Is it like … an old ritual?”

The three a.m. tiredness is creeping up towards him. “It’s … an ancient lore.” He fumbles with his words as he walks to his cabin with you, “More like a myth, actually.”

“If we can work on this myth – I mean, it worked on me, didn’t it? Then wolves don’t have to be in their pack when they shift.” You pipe up, still very excited about the fact that you have transformed, “Think about how it would benefit the young shifters -”

“Because it has a critical, almost crucial condition.” Curtis sighs, “Can we not talk about this? It’s almost four and I’m tired.”

“But could you tell me the condition, at least?” You blink, “Please?”

Was he this annoying at the age of 19? He doubts so. But alas, shifters always say that a pair of wolves should be different, that’s what makes their mating bond tight.

Curtis is probably using the ration of sighing for the next year as he reluctantly compels himself to tell the truth.

Well, more like his wolf is encouraging him to tell the truth, or else, he’s going to annoy Curtis till his – their deaths.

He takes a deep breath.

What Curtis didn’t tell you at the beginning, was that he did not knock himself out cold as an accident. He stumbled to the edge of Paul’s territory and smelt you.

A hint of your raw and immature scent.

Lilac.

That put him out cold and restored his sane brain, along with the loss of his energy for running all night.

“The myth tells of only one other wolf’s presence at the transformation. The true mate’s presence.”

By the time Jason finally has his mind free of the trivia from his pack, he agrees with your parents and starts a hunt for you. Halden traces your scent to the cabin in the woods. Curtis’ place. By then you have already gone.

Clothes and necessities packed. His pickup truck driven away. Leaving a room full of dust and herbs and creaky furniture behind.

A few sightings of a big black creature have been reported since then. Myths start to spread, claiming that a bloodthirsty bear is lurking in the forests.

But it’s just Curtis on his herbs hunt.

Such sightings always make you grin that Curtis and his wolf made their way to urban legends.

“Have you thought about joining a new pack? Treating the shifters with your herbs and potions?” You dip your toes into the lake, watching as the “terrifying” big black wolf takes another lap in the water under the moonlight.

His wolf huffs, jumping onto the shore and shaking his body, soaking your shirt with the water beads from his fur.

“Okay, okay! Point taken!” You raise your hand in defeat.

“Firstly, it’s not potions, pup, it’s called herbal medication.” Curtis returns to his human form, dries himself with a towel, and sits beside you with his jeans on. “Secondly, we’ve been near so many pack territories, and nearly nothing grows. And last,” he points towards your backpack which has your laptop and books inside, “you’ve still got your college for three more years, and we’re not going anywhere before that.”

“We could find a spot in the mountains when I graduate.” You lean onto his firm chest, feeling his heartbeat in a steady rhythm and his warmth radiating from his skin, yawning, “Just the two of us, y’know? In a small town, in the woods, with a small patch of land for you to grow the herbs … and … a small cabin … and … beds not creaky …”

Curtis presses a kiss to the top of your head as you fall asleep.

“I know, pup.” He whispers, “I know.”

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[the-man-in-the-suit-official]

Strange Mercy.

Summary: After hooking up with Harry occasionally, you fall pregnant. The real problem starts when he begins touring, and no matter what, you can never seem to make it past fans - or even the guards in order to tell him.

A/N: (D/N) = Daughter’s Name

Reader Pronouns: She/Her

Length: Medium

TW: Cheating, Single Pregnancy, Violence While Pregnant (Slight), Hookup, Angst (Fluff at the end)

Celebrities: Harry E. Styles

Song(s) To Listen To: Strange Mercy - St. Vincent

You met him at a party. You had been a groupie of some lowly band, really just because you liked their music, but since then, their guitarist had taken a liking to you. You had hoped this meant you were his girlfriend, and yeah, he’d sleep with you and take you on ‘dates,’ but he’d do this with other women, too.

Truthfully, Harry wasn’t even supposed to be there. The party was in New York, close to the building that happened to be throwing an after party for an awards ceremony. So when he saw you smoking a cigarette outside the building, watching the dirty guitarist flirt with a few girls to the left of you, he approached you.

“Erm,” He began, shifting your attention.

He was dressed rather lavishly, but casual for the party. He wore a floral Gucci button up shirt and dress pants with Gucci shoes. The Apple Watch against his wrist read, “You’ve Arrived!”

“Is this The Louvat? It doesn’t really look like it…” His accent was thick, rolling off his tongue slowly.

Taking another drag, you chuckled a bit, “No, this is Lamar, the bar a bunch of shitty bands play at? You must have mistyped it.”

You looked back at your ‘boyfriend,’ watching as he slid a hand up one of the girls’ waist. You settled into your fluffy coat a bit more.

“Here,” You took his phone and typed in the right thing, “So you don’t miss it.”

Harry blinked. It was odd not to be noticed, but he wasn’t complaining, and eased into it, “Thank you.”

“The Louvat, how’d you miss that?” Another chuckle escaped your lips, “Hasn’t it got paparazzi littering the place?”

Furrowing your brows, squinting and pressing your lips into a thin line, you asked, “Are you famous?”

This time, it was his turn to chuckle nervously, “Eh,” He shrugged.

You softened your face a bit, glancing at Luke, the guitarist, who now was caught up wrestling tongues with a different girl. You looked down, “Well, you should probably get going, huh?”

You flicked your cigarette to the side, and he noticed the man you were looking at.

Dipping his eyebrows in worry, something came over him, “Would you like to come with me? Completely free. You just, I don’t think you really belong here, is all.”

A pink dusted your cheeks, and you couldn’t help but blame it on the cold Fall air.

“I…” You looked toward Luke, but the stranger stepped closer, gently turning your head toward him by the chin.

“Think of yourself, alright?”

Those sea green eyes could have controlled you. Suddenly, it wasn’t chilly. It was warm, stemming from your heart.

“Aright,” You responded softly, “I’d love to go.”

To be honest, he could have been a kidnapper or a killer, but could one have such sweet eyes? And to be fair, you’d rather be anywhere but here.

He smiled at you softly, “Well, I’m quite early since I had a feeling I’d get lost. Let’s get you something to wear, yeah?”

You’d been dressed the opposite of him - wearing a sleazy coat lined with faux fur zipped right as low as it could be without showing too much cleavage, Daisy Dukes, and a pair of tennis shoes. All to impress some boy that didn’t seem to want you anyway.

You’d felt hot earlier, but in the presence of this stranger and his enchanting eyes, you melted with embarrassment.

“That would be great,” You sighed with a smile, “Someone told me to wear this here, and now he’s off flirting with someone else.”

“I see,” Harry began, “Then you need to choose what you like…” He trailed off.

“(Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N),” You took a hand out of your pocket and held it out, but he kissed it instead.

“Harry Styles. Nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

Luke caught a glimpse of you leaving with your handsome stranger, angrily shouting after you, but you flipped him off and laughed as the car strolled on, turning back to Harry soon after.

Harry had found himself enchanted by your laugh. You were gorgeous in the face of revenge.

And that’s where it began. You’d become good friends since then, and when you made your ‘debut’ accompanying him, you’d been dressed in lavish branded clothes, from your dress to your heels to your accessories.

You owed him a lot, really, but working as a waitress really sucked. You didn’t get paid much, unless some guy had taken a liking to you and you flirted back a bit.

But now, every attractive guy seemed less and less so, even when your coworker, Emma, seemed to gleam the handsome men. Harry, though, seemed more beautiful by the minute.

“I still can’t believe your friends with him,” Emma sighed, obviously envious, “And that you didn’t know who he was!”

She had begged you so many times to get him to meet her, and you refused, knowing her and her…tendencies. Not that you disapproved, you just wanted to keep Harry safe. Safe. What a weird way to put it.

Your shift had just ended and Emma was on break, though you weren’t even listening as you fixed your makeup and waited for your ride.

He came strolling in soon after, curls gorgeously bouncing with his steps, smiling from ear to ear when he caught a look at you.

“(Y/N)!”

The diner was nearly empty now, so he noted he could make a quick entrance and exit.

“H!” You smiled and ran toward him, hugging the taller man, “You all packed up?”

He nodded, hugging you back, “Yeah, but you call me if that Luke is giving you anymore trouble, alright?”

You nodded, starry-eyed and so obviously enamored, “Thank you.”

It was Harry’s yacht party when it happened. The both of you were as sober as can be. You had admitted (hesitantly, of course) that you were afraid of the water, and Harry, without the bat of an eye, decided that he would watch over you and drink nothing for the night.

Ultimately, you felt bad, but noted that he seemed to be having as much fun at his going-away party as he would under the influence.

“(Y/N),” He started, once he managed to come away from the crowd of celebrities you still couldn’t process were actually there, “I rented the yacht out for the night. After the party, you wanna take it around?”

Your heart leaped at the opportunity to have Harry alone, and you nodded, “That sounds great!”

And when the time finally came and the last person left, he turned to you with a huge smile.

Who would have thought that you’d be here, with the most handsome man you’d ever seen? He had a goofy smile and eyes that glittered, the ocean reflecting on them.

He was perfect.

“There are some pretty things out here,” He had spoken, excitement bleeding into his voice, “I wanted to show you.”

You were quite surprised that he even knew how to drive a boat, but you felt safe with him either way as he steered it through the night.

And there you sat together, staring at the stars that seemed so much clearer out in the open. His hand found the small of your back quickly but softly, and he smiled into the night sky.

“All of those guys forget that we’re just humans. We’re nothing compared to the stars,” He spoke, not even turning to you.

You hummed happily, not even noticing when he did face you, “Except you, (Y/N).”

You met his eyes in confusion, raising a brow before he continued, “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

You smiled bashfully, looking down, “Ah…I’m not that special, H.”

“But you are,” He scooted closer, “I…I knew from the moment we met that there was something different about you.”

Your eyes glimmered when they met with his again, your heart skipping a beat as the salty ocean air nipped your cheeks, “That means the world to me.”

Cupping your face in his hands, he inched your faces closer, “(Y/N)…would you let me love you this once? Before the tour starts again.”

Your face flushed red. And suddenly it made sense. Harry had felt something for you since you met, only he decided not to pursue anything after your breakup, and when you explained to him just how much relationships scared you since Luke. He figured that if dating a minor celebrity hurt you that much, then dating him would only be worse.

But he’d be leaving soon. And you’d miss him so, so much.

You nodded softly, lips parted before his met yours.

The butterflies began to fight their way out of your stomach, even as the kiss grew in intensity, and when he hoisted your legs around his waist, carrying you to the bed downstairs.

There wasn’t much thought for either of you, as he looked down at you, straddling you, “And you’re sure…you want to do this?”

“Yes,” You replied quicker than you meant to, “Yes, I’m sure.”

He was going to say something, but was only surprised when you pulled him by his collar and kissed him deeply.

-

The gentle beams of bright ocean light woke you, and you found yourself covered from your chest down to your thighs in a thick white comforter that felt like the softest thing in the world.

When you turned, you were met with an empty bed, making your heart sink. You’d trusted Harry dearly, would he just leave like Luke would?

You felt your mood begin to sour, that was, until you heard soft singing from above, and smelt blueberry pancakes, your favorite from the diner.

It was Harry, you would come to recognize, and your frown morphed into a wide smile. Once you were able to find the complimentary robe, you slipped it on, noticing it said, ‘Mrs.’

You giggled, figuring Harry had the matching one.

“Good morning, my sweet creature,” He set a plate down on the bar table for you, and another for himself, “How’d you sleep?”

You sat down and began to eat, thanking him before doing so, “Quite lovely, prince of pop.”

He exhaled a laugh, tying the robe around him once more, seeing as it was coming loose.

Part of you hurt, because you knew that you still weren’t quite ready - Like had messed you up terribly, and though Harry made you feel safe, there was still a block.

“Hey,” Harry’s hand met yours as you chewed your food, “I promise this doesn’t change anything. We can remain friends until you’re ready to decide, alright?”

You smiled sentimentally, overwhelmed with his understanding of you, “Thank you, H.”

He kissed your hand gently, and the two of you finished breakfast in peace.

He left less than a week later, taking your source of light with him. You wouldn’t be able to have him back at your house for almost a year, and though you could still visit, it would be hard.

It started with small things. About a month after he left, you began to wake up in the middle of the night more often, restless. Your chest became sore, no matter what, scaring you since your mind jumped straight to the idea of cancer.

It wasn’t until you sat on the toilet after spilling up last night’s dinner that you realized.

You were late.

And the theory became fact as you held onto the two pregnancy tests later that day, hand shaking in fear.

You were happy, of course, but you were anything but ready. Neither of you were.

The rest of the night, you were pacing, trying hard not to freak out in your small, bummy apartment, to no avail.

That night was more restless than the ones before it, and at 4:36 in the morning, you finally decided to tell Harry.

ME: We need to talk. Call me.

And just as quickly as it was sent, there was a reply.

HARRY: Due to insufficient funds, your service has been shut off until further notice. If you think that this is a mistake, or you would like to make a payment, please click the link below.

What awful timing.

It had come between either the phone bill or the rent this month, and you’d decided that you quite enjoyed shelter, but now you regretted it.

There was your friends you could meet in the morning, but Harry would never answer a message from an unknown number, especially one claiming such shocking things.

And who could you even talk to about this? Your family hardly spoke to you, ever since they found out you’d dated Luke, and this would only drive them away further, using their religion as a scapegoat for their pushing you away.

So you’d have to track him down. How hard could it be?

You saved for about three months, finally getting enough money for a plane ticket to meet Harry again, and though you couldn’t afford the concert ticket, you did your best efforts to come up with a plan.

As you idly watched the clock tick by, you prepared yourself for what was to come. Fan girls. Guards. Flashing lights. Nauseating smells.

And then you packed your bag and were on your way. Sneaking in was pretty easy, actually, especially when you recognized one of the guards as the one who drove the two of you to the party that fateful night.

The hard part was getting backstage during his intermission.

You had made it through, but now here was this giant man hassling you. He was buff, standing at at least 6’4”, and looking down at you through his sunglasses. You couldn’t have been farther apart.

“Hey, miss. You’re not allowed back here,” He raised a brow, stepping in front of you again, “I won’t say it again.”

You shook your head, “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m a friend of Harry’s, and I really, really need to tell him something important!”

You pushed forward, trying to reach the bright vanity, but the man pushed back with his hands. Instinctively, you grabbed your belly as you fell, landing on your side, a forearm holding you up.

“Hey! I’m fucking pregnant! What the hell?!”

He didn’t seem to care, hoisting you up by the arm on your belly, to your feet. The grip hurt, and you closed your eyes tightly, “I don’t care. I’m doing my job. It’s your fault if the baby dies because of you, you sick whore.”

He had obviously been frustrated, you’d noticed, and maybe he was right. Who were you to sleep around with Harry? Or with Luke? With anyone? What good did it do you but bring you here?

Tears started to sting your eyes, but all you could mutter was, “You’re stupid.”

He tossed you on the ground again, and you landed like before, not even meeting his eyes.

“Very bold of you to s-“ He began, but suddenly froze cold at a voice.

“(Y/N)? Bryan? What the hell are you doing?!” It was the fastest you’d ever heard him speak.

Bryan, you guessed, turned, his mouth agape, “A trespasser.”

“That’s my friend, you idiot! And any man who treats anyone like that shouldn’t be here in the first place!” Harry was now in his face, not even noticing your bump, “You’re fired!”

He looked over to you and his eyes widened in a second, “Oh my god. (Y/N)…you’re pregnant.”

“Really?” You chuckled sarcastically, a bit annoyed at the man as Harry helped you up, “I almost wasn’t when he kept rag-dolling me everywhere.

“Fucking leave,” He turned to the man, venom seething through his words, and when he did so, escorted by other guards, Harry turned back to you.

“I’m so sorry, love. I’ll make sure he’ll never be near us again,” He looked down at the bump, a bittersweet smile on his face, “Was it Luke?”

You felt safe with him, like usual, and you felt butterflies begin to swarm your insides.

“God, no,” You paused, looking down before meeting his eyes, “It’s yours.”

He froze completely, and you panicked, “But…I don’t mind raising it on my own, Harry. You’re a pop star and I knew what I was getting into, plus you’ll be busy. We can keep it a secret a-“

“No,” He spoke sternly yet softly, his hands holding yours as he smiled down at you, “No.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone else I’d want to have my kid,” He chuckled, “I would tell you you have pregnancy glow, but you always look that good.”

He was practically beaming, “God, I’m going to be a father! I can’t believe it! Thank you, thank you,” He hugged you tightly before pulling away, looking as if he realized something grim, “But, erm…if you want to raise it separately and as friends, that’s okay.”

You smiled solemnly, admiring just how stupid this boy was, quickly pulling him by his collar and smashing your lips on his.

When you pulled away, he blinked for a few seconds, “Did I get my point across?”

He nodded, smiling like an idiot.

“Then go out there and focus on your fans, okay? I’ll be in the private booths.”

The night, you thought, couldn’t have ended more wonderfully, but that’s when you were proven wrong. He stood on stage, finishing the previous song, Grapejuice, when he abruptly paused the show.

“Before I continue, I want everyone to know something,” Your heart skipped a beat, “I would like to dedicate this next song, Matilda, to everyone.”

The sentence brought your anxieties back down, “But most of all, (Y/N).”

And the tears began to fall for you, a hand over your mouth in surprise.

“She’s a wonderful girl, a long-time friend of mine who was never treated how she deserved to be treated. The kindest person I know, and the strongest,” He continued on, “And I’m honored to be the father of our baby.”

The crowd erupted into screams and cheers, and tears began to fall from him as well. Shifting his weight on his other leg, he gave his signature air kisses before the music began to play.

“You were riding your bike to the sound of ‘It’s No Big Deal.’”

-

When she, (D/N), finally arrived, it was the best thing to ever happen to either of you. Harry would have sworn by it, despite his very fortunate life, and even as she grew to a toddler, she looked just like him.

It made you smile as you held onto your husband of two years, “God, she looks just like you. From her eyes to her nose to her jaw.”

She was playing with the Golden Retriever puppy you’d gotten to grow up with her. She giggled even as she fell onto her bottom and was covered in kisses.

“She reminds me of you, most of all, love,” He looked at her lovingly, “I’m just worried she’ll be lonely growing up. I can’t imagine not having Gemma with me. I know we rushed into it a bit for her sake, but it’s the best thing we’ve ever done. Well, aside from (D/N).”

You bit your lip slyly, “Don’t worry, H. She won’t have that problem in about seven months.”

His heart stopped, and he practically leaped up in joy, pulling you in by the waist and spinning you.

“You could have destroyed me and refused to be with me. You could have never told me she was mine or worse. When I met you, I knew you were going to be in my life forever. Thank you for taking mercy in the stupid pop star who knocked you up,” Harry met your eyes, speaking softly, “You’re my blessing, my strange mercy.”