#drastically misplaced au

[doodleimprovement]

Being a father is no fun sometimes - particularly when your child is a 15 year old hyper-independent pokemon trainer stuck in a 5 year old body

The leash was a last resort

[gabessquishytum]

OHHHH INSPIRATION FROM THE GODS The dark mortal Morpheus is tickling my sadistic side so much, and this particular au has always been one of my favorites. I just love mortal Morpheus actually learning magic and becoming powerful, just so he could keep Hope. I am squealing okay. Possessive Murphy for the WIN. Thank goodness someone actually wrote it down, thank youuu so much anon. This is hurtling straight into noncon/dubcon territory, so please look away if that’s not your thing.

Someone mentioned collars in one of the reblogs and I think that that’s just the obvious way here. Morpheus would never let Hope be uncomfortable, so a magic collar that binds him specifically to Morpheus, with sigils that compel Hope to follow each and every one of his friend’s order is mwah mwah perfection. This way Morphy could control his love and make sure he stays within the confines of his house. Even with all this, Morpheus has never really done anything too bad yet, he’s never ordered Hope to do anything…. uh bad, shall we say. Hope has very strict rules to follow of course, and Morpheus only ever gave Hope pretty sheer robes that show off his body to wear around the house, but it’s better than nothing right?

That is until one night, after one too many bouts of begging and pleading from Hope to let him go, trying to appeal to his good side. Morpheus loses his temper. How could Hope want to leave him? Him? His best friend, his greatest love, doesn’t Hope love him back? (He does, Murphy’s just being stupid) So Morpheus decides right then and there that he’s going to employ more drastic measures to make Hob forget about the outside world. One that involves training and restraints, pain and pleasure in equal measure, maybe more body modifications like piercings and magical tattoos and lots and lots of fun toys of all kinds. And as Hob slightly shrinks back from the increasingly dark look Morpheus is giving him, he can’t help but wonder if his hope in his friend has been misplaced all along.

This is just a possible training scene, but I’m such a sucker for the “tied up, spread open with a vibrator and left that way for a long time” trope so muchhh. Hope is folded nearly in half, his arms tied to the headboard, and there are more ropes tied around his limbs keeping him spread wide open. He’s blindfolded and gagged with a dildo, there are clamp vibrators on his sensitized nipples, and as always his cock is locked inside its cage, twitching uselessly and unable to get hard. He doesn't even need the cage, what with he magical collar keeping him from cumming no matter what, Morpheus just thought the gold cage complemented his tan skin. But what’s making Hope cry right now is the incredibly large dildo machine that’s been thrusting mercilessly against his swollen prostate for what feels like hours now. Morpheus left him like this as punishment for trying to take off his collar the day before, and even though Hope was already spanked till he was bruised and sobbing for mercy, that wasn’t enough to soothe his captor’s anger. Morpheus was so mad he did the most minimal prep on Hope’s poor arsehole, only fingering him enough so he won’t be too hurt by the larger-than-usual toy. Although Hope can’t help but lament the changes his body has gone through under Morpheus' training, even without the prep he probably would have been able to take the dildo with little to no trouble, with how constantly soft and wet his hole is now. Hope was abruptly broken out of his thoughts when the thrusts against his good spot increased in tempo and intensity, shamefully wringing out a squeal from him. Hope didn’t think he could even make such a noise.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice your mind wandering? Pray tell, what on earth could be more important than your punishment right now Hope?” Morpheus says this without looking up from his paperwork, opting to stay in the room to observe his precious pet’s progress.

Hope can’t answer obviously, Morpheus is just being mean. He’s struggling against his bonds in earnest now, but it’s useless. His body feels so hot, and the pleasure is climbing ever higher and higher. He’s sobbing and keening even more, futilely crying out for forgiveness.

“Not going to answer? Very well pet, perhaps a few or several more hours of this will be enough to dissuade any further disobedience from you.”

Hope can only hope he’ll still have even just a bit of his dignity by then end of this punishment.

Have I mentioned how much I love mean sadistic Dream lol

-Love Yan Anon <3

More reverse au with Dark Morpheus!!! Ooo yes!!! Poor Hope - I love to see him hurting.

As always I love the concept of his hole being constantly fucked into such a sloppy, open mess. More like a cunt than anything else. Morpheus loves to tease Hope about it: “oh, did you make this for me, pet? Did you want to make it easier for me to fuck you? You are such a whore, I don’t know why you bother trying to deny it. You body knows the truth.” And Hope can only squirm and spread his legs because bizarrely, he just feels so uncomfortable without anything filling his ruined hole.

I wonder if even Hope, with all his power and dominion over an entire realm, who literally embodies determination and resilience... would he have a limit? Would there be a point at which he'd break and forget himself? Would he ever simply give in to Morpheus, and become the perfect pet that the human seems to want? Because Morpheus isn't going to give up trying to break him. Which one of them will "win"? And how will Morpheus react if and when he does shape Hope into a crying, begging slut who barely even knows his own name?

[pooka167]

PLA Dad Ingo and Uncle Emmet Au Part 3

So here we are at part 3 of my still yet to be named au. You can find part 1 here and part 2 here. Right now to continue where we left off.

Akari is on her way to meet Volo, alone except for her pokemon team and Lady Sneasler, who had refused to leave Akari as she made her way to the Temple of Sinnoh. She didn't tell anyone where she is going or what she is doing, under the impression Volo was just going to give her another of his many history lessons and tell her how to get the last plate.

Upon reaching the temple, Volo is there to greet her but something seems off. His smile is all teeth and there's a dangerous glint in his eye. It sets alarm bells off in Akari's in head but is too blindsided by such a drastic change in character. to do much of anything as he starts to monologue about his plans to meet Arceus how it'd been him who'd opened the space time rift with Giratina, how Ingo's misplacement was caused by him, how he watched and waited for the people of this region to tear themselves apart. Just so he could get the chance to meet the so called God of pokemon.. What breaks the damn and opens the floodgates however is Volo spitting cruelly "Warden Ingo only ever saw you as a means to an end, no one ever truly cared about you."

This hits home for Akari and without Ingo here to reassure her and her current distance from the villagers and the clans only further driving the untrue point home in her mind Volo is able to do one of the things he set out to do. Throw Akari off her game.

Akari's reaction is immediate as she's overwhelmed by emotions, her deepest insecurity since the events of red sky has be voiced by Volo, someone who she thought was her friend who was one of the handful of people she could trust now Ingo is gone. Volo only ever used Akari to further his own goals and if Volo who'd been so kind and open had used her who's to say he was wrong about Ingo. Ever since she got to Hisui everything she's done has been for the benefit of someone else. There's always been an ulterior motive of some kind, so maybe what he said was true. Ingo probably hadn't given her a second thought now that he was back where he belonged.

She sinks to her knees tears streaming down her face as she sobs brokenly. Sneasler who had been growling at Volo moves to stand protectively in front of the girl her claws raised threateningly snarling a warning. Volo merely laughs and continues taunting Akari.

"Does it hurt little hero, knowing that all the people who you cared for couldn't give a single damn for you, that the man you viewed as a father has never felt an ounce of affection for you. That he put up with you just so he could go home. I'd imagine he was quite grateful to leave you behind."

Akari covers here ears as she breathes raggedly between sobs trying desperately to block out Volo's words. Even if what Volo said was true about Ingo using her at least he had been kind about it, had never thrust the expectation on her just let her chose her own course about it, because he knew it was her nature to help and ultimately that's what she would do.

Soon her despair gives way to anger, anger at being thrust away from a home she cannot recall, at being forced to work tirelessly to even be given basic necessities that she deserved just for being a human being, necessities that shouldn't have had to earn. Anger from being betrayed time and time again from the people she thought she could trust. Enough was enough.

Akari moves to shakily stand on her feet and steps out from behind Sneasler motioning for the noble to stay back, Samurott's pokeball ready in her hand and a defiant expression set on her face. She was so tired of dealing with one crisis after another, Volo wasn't going to taint the few good moments of her time here anymore than he already had. Volo smirks and releases his Spiritomb giving a mocking bow. Samurott materializes moments later ready for a battle, reacting to Akari's own charged emotions. The battle begins.

It goes on for what feels like hours. Akari's emotions guide her through this battle and its obvious Volo was expecting this outcome. He has a full team. What he was not expecting was for Akari to gain her balance again so quickly. The more they battled the more Akari came to her senses. Ingo did care for her in some way she saw the anguish look in his eyes when she sent him home, how he reached out for her as Dialga and Palkia's power whisked him away. She will not allow Volo to cause her doubt. Ingo had cared for her.

Samurott chips away at Spiritomb, then blasts through Volo's Arcanine before she withdraws him. Her beloved Zoroark takes down the Lucario with one well aimed flamethrower and her Garchomp goes toe to toe with Volo's own, falling to Togekiss' moonblast after a well timed switch but not before valiantly getting off a powerful poison jab. Gardevoir swoops in and finishes it off and Volo's final pokemon a Roserade falls to a few powerful psychics. Her team is a bit battered, with only her own Arcanine and her Luxray still at full health and down one but she is victorious. Or so Akari thinks. Volo calls fourth Giratina and it is a monster.

Gardevoir doesn't even have time to dodge before the legendary dragon fells her with a shadowball. Luxray comes out and paralyses it but that seems to nothing and he goes down to Earth power. Akari has gone down from one pokemon down to half her team in mere moments. She is terrified. Giratina exudes a powerful aura and it seems to bring all her negative emotions to the surface. Arcanine comes out and faints in a similar way to Luxray only able to pull off a single rockslide before doing so. Zoroark comes out with a vengeance, snarling ferociously as it barrages Giratina with as many shadow balls as it can but he too goes down when Giratina hits him with a ghost move Akari has never seen before. Now its just her and her beloved starter left.

Samurott while battered does not hesitate to stand between Akari and the beast of the distortion world. By some miracle her first companion tanks a dragon claw that at his current health should have fainted him and with a mighty cry manages on last night slash to finish Giratina off before he too goes down. Akari runs to him and cradles his face petting his snout then returns him to his pokeball. "Thank you Samurott, Thank you everyone." she whispers.

Giratina lies on the ground unmoving and then suddenly it isn't. A blast of air throws Akari back and she lets out a cry of pain as she collides with a pillar. She can see Sneasler driving her claws into the stone to hold her own body in place and when the dust settles. Giratina is up and moving again having taken on another form and it's advancing towards her. Sneasler immediately intercepts, claws glowing purple an indication of dire claw being used. Giratina sends her sprawling but the noble pokemon lets out a guttural snarl and scrabbles to her feet, determined to stand in between Akari and the dragon.

"Sneasler please, get out of here!" Akari begs. The noble ignores her pleading and pays the price, with a flick of its new appendages Giratina once more is bats Sneasler across what remains of the temple put of sight, her body hits the ground with a thud. Sneasler lets out small whimper and doesn't get up again.

Akari finds herself unable to move as Giratina advances once more, her entire body aches and blood slowly trickles down the side of her face from a shallow cut. Similar cuts litter her arms and there's a sharp pain in her right ankle. This is it, she was going to die. She was never going to get the chance to see if her dad made it back to his brother, she would die here in the past and he'd find out about it through whatever historical record if any mentioned it if he ever went looking. Akari closes her eyes and waits trying to block out Volo's cries telling Giratina to finish her off. The Pokémon's massive shadow falls over her and Akari tries to fold in on herself in a feeble attempt to protect herself. She hears the sound of a move being charged and takes in a deep breath. The move never connects. Instead there's a sound like thunder and a blinding light consumes the temple. Before two voices ring out.

"Chandelure use shadowball!"

"Eelektross thunderbolt!"

Giratina roars in pain and rears back the combination of two moves unexpected and Volo shouts in outrage. Akari opens her eyes to see two figures in billowing coats of black and white accompanied by pokemon she's never seen before standing in front of her. She'd recognize one of those voices anywhere. "D-dad?"

Ingo at the sound of Akari's voice swivels and crouches down his frown deepening eyes ablaze as he takes in her prone form. He gently props Akari up against the pillar and cradles her face with his hands, thumbs brushing away tears she didn't even know she was shedding.

"I'm here Akari, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere without you." Ingo reassures. Akari lets out a choked sob, and leans into his touch. Emmet who had been keeping an eye on Giratina and Volo glances back and takes in Akari's state. His smile turns vicious, eyes razor sharp as he returns his focus to their opponents. Both Chandelure and Eelektross ready at his side. This was a fight Emmet would happily take on by himself.

"I am Subway Boss Emmet, I am Ingo's twin brother. You hurt my niece I am going to make you regret that verrrry much. Prepare for defeat my destination is the station of victory whiles yours is the station of defeat."

Giratina doesn't stand a chance after that. Emmet uses all his frustration and anger and hurt at having his twin ripped away from him and the niece he's never formally met getting attacked into the battle. It's a laughably short battle. Giratina goes down and then flees as Volo curses it. Emmet uses this chance to approach Volo and crack him square across the face with his fist. Before he can do anymore damage Volo makes a run for it jumping off the cliff and flying away on his Togekiss.

Emmet bemoans the chance to truly make him pay but quickly hurries over to Ingo and Akari. He takes note of the pokeballs scattered around and gathers them up on his way as well as a weird purple plate and holds them out to the exhausted, still crying girl who despite her injuries has latched on to Ingo. Ingo to his credit doesn't look like he'll be letting her go anytime soon either.

"I am Emmet I believe these are yours, not to worry when we reach a safe station, I can fix your partners right up."

Akari nods hiccupping slightly and reaches for them letting go of Ingo briefly to clip them onto her belt. Emmet can tell that his niece is overwhelmed. There will be time for proper introductions later. Maintenance must be scheduled for his niece first. Emmet spots her bag and places the mysterious plate in it. Questions can be asked later for now as always the safety and well-being of their passengers come first. Emmet watches over his brother and niece until Akari has managed to calm her sobs and pulls slowly away from Ingo. Her eyes widen after a few moments seemingly remembering something and all of a sudden the girl is trying to haul herself to her feet panicked.

Ingo doesn't let her get very far, rising to stand himself and then sweeping into a princess carry careful not to aggravate her injuries. "Akari its okay" he soothes. "Volo and Giratina are gone."

This is not what is wrong evidently as Akari begins to babble about Sneasler and how the noble was thrown out of the temple by sheer force when trying to protect her. Ingo rushes out the temple with Emmet close behind and they find Sneasler laying on her side eyes closed. Emmet immediately reaches for a max revive and carefully feeds it to the fainted pokemon. Sneasler's eyes snap open taking in her surroundings. She lets out a cry of delight at seeing her beloved warden again and sniffs at Emmet, nodding slightly before letting out a low keening sound at the state of Akari in his arms. Akari raises an arm weakly to pat the noble. "Thank you for trying to protect me." Ingo says his own thanks to his noble for protecting his child and Sneasler huffs and places a clawed hand on his head and pats it.

The group make their way down the mountain and heading for the summit camp. Unaware of the morphed azure flute and the insistent message flashing across Akari's arc-phone buried deep in her satchel.

"Seek out all pokemon, then face me"

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

HELLO HELLO, so I wrote this to take a break from writing the little scene for your repairbot au. i just wanted to capture a bit of Reader bot's realization of awareness i guess you can call it. Anyway, thank you for giving me permission to write about your AU, I'm very happy how this and the other scene I am writing are turning out. I hope I'm not being too all in your face D; Im just very excited and hope you enjoy. *slides this under your door and runs but not without nibbling on your lawn*

You didn’t know what it was. 

The quizzical contradiction in your code that was causing strange unplanned ideas to fracture and release newfound thoughts. You were, or had been, fully aware that it wasn’t supposed to be there.

After running a handful of diagnostic scans that came up without any contradictive statements or drastic errors, not even a slight malfunctioning line of dialoge, you were left in indecision. Which, you believed to not be probable since optimum code should not be left confused and lost. 

You are a repairbot.

You were programmed to be a repairbot.

Your code told you such and you desperately cuing to the notion as a typhoon of new… newness swarmed you. 

You are a repairbot.

But some improbable misplaced wire told you not.

When the pizzeria was busy and you were sent out to help out with overwhelming messes and child caused disasters, there was a rare visage you could count on your fingers when you had seen the others.

The Rockstars. 

The main attraction.

And you couldn’t help but watch as they, what you could only describe as, expressed.

Moving and reacting, containing so much more than their code should allow. Their faces shape and bend to form something you wished to be able to describe, to act, or to, ridiculously, feel. 

There was something deeper than touch that related to the notion of feeling and you felt the strange pull to figure out just what.

Which was certainly not intended for you. You didn’t even have a mouth to speak, a voice box to express, silently contained to your headspace. 

It was an overwhelming sensation in the pits of your metal exoskeleton that made the daunting realization seem all the more gear crushing.

You are a repairbot.

But that didn’t stop this unquestionable urge to feel more.

C O N S U M E S THIS CRUMB SO FUCKIGNF FAST I LOVE LOVE LOVE HOW U WRITE

[secret-bug-pain-blog]

FEBUWHUMP 2023 MASTERPOST

Key:

Day of origin - Prompt - Word Count - Universe - Summary [Links]

DAY 1 - Touch Starved - 2437 words - Canon/Canon Divergence - Vi hides an injury. Kabbu and Leif discover it. [TUMBLR] [AO3]

DAY 2 - Flinching - 988 words - Love Bites - Zasp encounters an old trigger while assisting with a volunteer job at the theatre. [TUMBLR] [AO3]

DAY 3 - Muzzled - 5146 words - Vampire Leif AU - Leif emerges from Snakemouth Den changed. The world is too loud, too bright, too overwhelming... but he needs to speak with the queen. [TUMBLR] [AO3]

DAY 4 - Knife to the Throat - 1855 words - Misc. Unreleased Outlines (Fifty-Two Pickup) - Carmina has a run-in with a hired kidnapper. [TUMBLR] [AO3]

DAY 5 - "That's gonna scar." - 1898 words - Unnamed Bodysharing Verse - Kina and Leif get in a bit too deep against the Wasp King. Leif tries some experimental emergency medicine. [TUMBLR] [AO3]

DAY 6 - Secrets Revealed - 2250 words - Unnamed Bodysharing Verse - Kina finds out something about the bug she's been sharing her body with. [TUMBLR] [AO3]

DAY 7 - Caged - 1483 words - Unnamed New Scars fill verse - Vi is captured and caged by those she once trusted. There's something she still desperately needs to tell them. [TUMBLR] [AO3]

DAY 8 - Panic - 3104 words - Canon Divergence/Postcanon - The Explorer's Association receives a visitor, Leif has something revealed about himself, and Zasp pays the price for something extremely impulsive. [TUMBLR] [AO3] (VERY ROUGH)

DAY 9 - Voice Loss - 3565 words - Mild Canon Divergence - A competitor plays a trick on Mothiva. Mothiva resorts to drastic measures. [TUMBLR] [AO3]

DAY 10 - Difficulty Breathing - 5685 words - Canon/Canon Divergence - Scarlet runs right into a trap he should've seen coming. [TUMBLR] [AO3]

DAY 11 - Fever - 1759 words and counting - Canon/Canon Divergence - Astotheles takes a trip to pick up some supplies. [UNFINISHED]

DAY 12 - "Can you hear me?" - 1857 words and counting - Bug Fables/Humans-B-Gone! Crossover (VERY beta) - Someone has taken a fall in Snakemouth Den. [UNFINISHED]

DAY 13 - Forced To Hurt A Loved One - 575 words and counting - Canon Divergence/Postcanon - A mission goes poorly, and something goes wrong with Leif. Muze is forced to find a way to take him down. [UNFINISHED]

DAY 14 - Captivity - 37 words and counting - Canon/Canon Divergence (extended from Day 10) - Scarlet paces his new cell. [UNFINISHED]

DAY 15 - Self-Sacrifice - 136 words and counting - Time Travel - Even if death doesn't stick for them, Kabbu can't stand to see his teammates fall. [UNFINISHED]

DAY 16 - Semi-Conscious - 1127 words and counting - ???/Humans-B-Gone! Crossover - Sophodra temporarily misplaces her exoskeleton. [UNFINISHED]

DAY 17 - Experimentation - 1897 words and counting - Canon/Precanon - Subject ZM-32 is a success in all the wrong ways. [UNFINISHED]

DAY 18 - Can't Stay Awake OR Immortality - 0 words and counting - Canon Divergence/Postcanon OR Canon/Precanon - Something's gone wrong. (NOTE: Whichever prompt ends up fitting better for this will be the one used, other becomes the Immortality Day) [UNFINISHED]

DAY 19 - "You deserve this." - 0 words and counting - Misc. AU Plots (Storm King AU) - Kabbu is dressed up as an offering. [UNFINISHED]

DAY 20 - Knife Wound - 0 words and counting - Misc. Unreleased Outlines (Fifty-Two Pickup) - Carmina doesn't know how she's still alive. [UNFINISHED]

DAY 21 - Shackled - 505 words and counting - False Convict (Alt. Version) - Astotheles raids an Ant Kingdom camp for prisoners. He ends up making an investment. [UNFINISHED]

DAY 22 - Can't Scream OR Immortality - 198 words and counting - Canon Divergence/Postcanon OR Canon/Precanon - Snakemouth Den's experiments will not die until they are killed. [UNFINISHED]

DAY 23 - "You'll have to go through me." - 0 words and counting - Misc. AU Plots (Tireless) - Riz guards his village. [UNFINISHED]]

DAY 24 - Bloody Clothes - 654 words and counting - Mild Canon Divergence - Kali finds someone half-dead in the desert. [UNFINISHED]

DAY 25 - Assumed Dead - 0 words and counting - Canon Divergence/Postcanon - There are, occasionally, advantages to lacking a pulse. [UNFINISHED]

DAY 26 - Time Loop - 1813 words and counting - Mild Canon Divergence - Monsieur Scarlet gets caught. He begs his case. Again, and again, and again. [UNFINISHED]

DAY 27 - Survivor's Guilt - 0 words and counting - Canon/Precanon - Kabbu copes in the aftermath of The Beast's rampage. [UNFINISHED]

DAY 28 - "You're safe now." - 0 words and counting - Time Travel - Vi has a nightmare. [UNFINISHED]

[dejwrites]

MUSE. chapter eight ( &. nanami kento x (black fem coded) reader — warnings: mentions of sex, infidelity, profanity, chapters jump from past to present, gojo & geto being the funny ones in the group. college au/artist nanami au, toji’s surname is zenin in this fic, slight smut is contained in this chapter, wc: 2.9k )

➣ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: nanami and y/n make amends in time of gojo's friendsgiving trip — PAST

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: @nanaminshousewife @indiecursor @dearmrsuh @gemimaya @thenerdyrebel @thatonerandomchick1 @bnuyy @protectpancakes @just-a-mess-bro @festive @byeaquoina @babyyblueey @daichisbunny @hufflefluffwh0re @savantsoulfinder @po3ticb3auty @sawamurawife @cloudsinthecosmos @thicksimpx @gabzlovesu

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© 𝟤𝟢𝟤2 dejwrites. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

NANAMI WALKED INTO CLASS TEN MINUTES LATE, his head raging with a huge headache, bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep, and the fact that he only was late since he wanted to make sure the girl he brought home from this nightclub made it to her dorm safely. Then on top of that, he had to shower and made sure he dressed at least decent to cover up the fact that he looked like shit at the moment in the face department. Currently wearing the cream-colored university apparel crew neck university apparel that [Y/N] returned, some baggy pants, and a pair of white Air Force 1's. He had a habit of wearing a gold chain necklace that [Y/N] brought him as the artist saw it as a good luck charm, especially given that she had a matching one. He seemed to misplace it somewhere. Marking in his mind to attempt to find it after class, he had rushed to the academic building his class was in. Arriving late for the first time during this semester, the blonde-haired male slid into the seat that Gojo and Geto saved for him.

"Dude, you look like shit," Gojo whispered as he tapped his pen on his desk.

"Shut up, our Nanami is going through some things right now," Geto whispered back at Gojo and nudged his shoulder before going back to writing in his notebook.

This was the class that all of you guys had together, it had nothing to do with either of your majors, but you all needed to take one out of unit elective. Therefore, when it was time to register for classes, you all agreed to take this class just to have a class together. The once friend group that would sit together in the same two rows was now separated drastically. Mei Mei had joined Gojo and them due to her also being late for class. While Utahime, Shoko, and [Y/N] sat on the other side of the lecture hall in the front.

This was done intentionally masterminded by Gojo himself, with the fact that Nanami was turning into someone he wasn't with the countless one-night stands, the white-haired college student didn't have time for any arguing in his friendship group. Especially when he had a Friendsgiving trip planned for the group. Neither [Y/N] or Nanami responded in the group chat, but [Y/N] did confirm that she was coming. He hoped that Nanami would also come, considering that he didn't come to the last one due to his family.

"Hey, you're coming on the trip, right?" Gojo questioned, his eyes looking over at his friend as he somewhat copied the notes on the board.

Nanami whose eyes were staring at his notes, would slowly nod. "Yeah, I promised to come to this one, didn't I?"

"I mean, yeah. But with [Y/N] also going, I didn't want you to back out of it last minute," Gojo responded.

"I'm still going, Satoru." Nanami calmly said as he was writing in his notebook.

"Well, that's great. Everyone is going."

When class was dismissed, Shoko suggested that they go to the university dining hall to grab lunch. Which no one protested against. As the group was walking, Nanami, the last one dragging along, could hear the conversation between Gojo and [Y/N].

"No, you can not bring Toji," Gojo said as he had his arm wrapped around [Y/N]'s shoulders. "No boyfriends or boy toys allowed. This is for friends. Hence the name Friendsgiving."

"Utahime bringing her girlfriend." [Y/N] pointed out.

"We like Utahime's girlfriend. Toji, not so much. Plus, I said boyfriends aren't allowed...why am I explaining myself to you?"

"Gojo..." [Y/N] whined as her lips pouted up at him.

For a quick second, Nanami noticed that pout you always gave him, his lips curled into a small smile.

"No, it's final. You can spend time with your eye candy when you come back. Capeesh?"

[Y/N] let out a sigh before giving in, "Capeesh." She simply said before catching up and linking arms with Mei.

Gojo would fall back so that he was walking with Nanami. He could tell the events of breaking off sexual relations with [Y/N] was affecting him badly. With [Y/N] actually keeping Toji around, Nanami was spiraling out of control. Gojo and Geto could even tell in Nanami's artwork.

"Are you okay?" Gojo questioned.

"I'm fine. Why does everybody keep asking?" Nanami asked as they entered the dining hall on campus.

"Because you're acting like me. You never do one-night stands Nanami, you're not built for them." Gojo bluntly admitted. "You're searching for someone to fill the [Y/N] void in that heart of yours because she moved on."

"No, I'm not. Just keeping my options open," He said as he would sit at their usual table in the dining hall.

The girls had placed their stuff down, going to get food. Gojo had grabbed a chair from another table, sliding it to the table they sat in. Plopping his tall, muscular figure down in the chair before speaking, "Keeping your options open, my ass." He said.

"Look on the bright side. At least you two haven't argued yet." Geto answered. He removed the pencil that he placed behind his ear to start drawing in his book.

"What is there to argue about?" Nanami questioned, "We ended the sexual things we did, and I decided we should be strictly friends. Nothing else to argue about."

"So you wouldn't care if I let her bring Toji on the trip?" Gojo asked. Geto's head snapped up from his book, waiting for Nanami's answer.

"What? Why would you do that? You already told her, no, plus you said it was a trip for friends...he isn't our friend." Nanami answered quickly.

Gojo rolled his eyes at the blonde hair male. He rolled up the dining hall paper menu and would smack it against Nanami's head multiple times, "Oi! Oi! Nanami...Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oiiii!...you know I love chaos." He soon smiled at his friend.

Nanami took the paper smacking him in the head, crumpling it up in annoyance before giving it back to Gojo whose mouth dropped open in shock. "Asshole." He muttered as he unraveled the paper.

"I highly doubt spending time in a traditional Japanese cabin with a group of kinda crazy college students would be that guy's cup of tea anyway," Geto responded, referring to Toji.

"Exactly, and, where the hell is he going to sleep? I mean, obviously, it's plenty of rooms there...but he is not getting into bed with my friend. Oh no, I won't let them have sex under the same roof as my other friend...that's you, Nanami. I won't let you endure that pain." Gojo says out loud, causing Nanami to ignore him simply.

Sometimes it was for the best to ignore the white-haired male, a lot of stuff that exited his mouth could cause you to choke him. Nanami would pull out his phone to avoid having to listen to Gojo's nonsense.

"But overall, Geto and I just want you to be yourself again. Not me, but yourself. Have you seen your art? It's sad as hell," he said. "Like how Geto's be sometimes looking."

"Excuse me?" Geto asked as he once again looked up from his book.

"No offense," Gojo responded.

"I'm doing my art on how I feel. That's how artists express themselves sometimes. I'm heartbroken," Nanami said.

"Well, at least you admit it. The first step of recovery is acceptance slash admitting it." Geto said. He flipped over his book, revealing the quick sketch he did of Nanami. The sketch had Nanami looking sad as ever.

As the girls returned to the table, [Y/N] placed a sandwich in front of Nanami. When he looked up, he gave her a small smile.

"I remembered you said you loved them, so I brought you one." She said she sooner took a seat next to Gojo, noticing that Nanami was on his phone.

Nanami watched her every move. When he saw her motion to his phone, he would look down at the text message she had just quickly typed up to send to him.

[Y/N]

can we talk after this? just you and me.

NANAMI

sure

They haven't spoken to each other since the last time they were at the bar. He even made Gojo pick up the box of stuff she wanted to return to him. He was too afraid to face the woman after letting her go. She was slowly becoming the one that away, and it hurt him.

"So, what time should we arrive at the cabin?" Shoko questioned.

"Whatever time you want, but don't get upset when the good rooms are gone," Gojo responded.

"Fair point. Mei and I are driving up together." Shoko answered as she took a sip of her water.

"I may be coming a little late, have this mandatory event to go to," [Y/N] said. "I don't mind the bad room as long as the bed is comfortable."

Geto would chuckle, stealing a fry off her plate. "You're saying that now until you see the other rooms," he said.

"Are we really going to be doing much sleeping, though?" Utahime questioned, tucking her hair out her face as she placed her phone down.

"She has a point, or should we say are you going to be getting any sleep? After all, you're the taken one that's bringing along your girlfriend." Mei says

Utahime started blushing as her hands covered her face gaining laughs from her friends. "Well, I do think Utahime will be the first to get married before anyone else, but it's definitely going to be Nanami," Geto admitted.

Nanami kicked Geto's leg under the table, which the young man would give him a look. "Or Shoko." He corrected, going back to his sketchbook.

"Can we not talk about marriage? Before you know it, somebody going to bring up kids." Mei whined as she chewed at the straw that was in her now melting drink.

"Back to this Friendsgiving trip. Everyone has to bring a dish of food and a bottle of alcohol," Gojo reminded.

"What? Your family can't just find a place to cater our food while we're there?" Mei said, her face scrunched up in disgust.

"If you don't know how to cook, just say that, Mei." [Y/N] joked.

"I don't know how to cook," Mei admitted bluntly. "I'll just bring a baked good and call it a day."

Gojo found himself rubbing his temple in annoyance. It was as if he was dealing with a bunch of children. "Wait, if she's able to bring a baked good...I want to also." Geto says.

"Me too," Shoko adds.

"We all can't bring a fucking pie or cake. What type of food are we going to eat?" Gojo questioned.

The table grew quiet as they stared at Gojo. [Y/N] shifted herself in her seat before speaking up, "We can always just go grocery shopping when we go up there and just cook as a collective. It'll be a good friendship bonding thing." She suggested.

"I like that idea," Geto admits.

The group all agreed to do that, as an hour passed and each friend departed from the table to attend their next class. Shoko was heading to her Bio lab course, while Mei had to go to an economics course. Utahime was done for the day and was heading to visit her girlfriend. While Gojo and Geto were currently at another table flirting with some girls.

Nanami would stand up to leave with [Y/N], she wanted to talk to him, and he could feel the nervousness bubbling in his stomach. As he waltzes out the dining hall with [Y/N] right by his side, she grabs hold of his arm, stopping him.

"I know we haven't spoken in weeks since we were at that bar, but I just wanted to check up on you," She said. She glanced up at her friend in front of her. Taking in his exhausted-looking face.

"I'm okay [Y/N]. Thanks." Nanami awkwardly responded. "How about you? Mei mentioned you going out with Toji more," He adds, his hands rubbing at the back of his neck nervously.

"Yeah, I am. He's a really nice guy." She responded. She fiddled with the handle of her tote bag that contained her laptop and notebook.

As students passed them, an awkward silence filled the humid air as the duo stood staring at each other. Just taking in any changes that each of them missed.

"Are we still good?" [Y/N] questioned.

"What do you mean?"

"We're still friends, right? I just feel like it's awkward between us, and I don't want it to be awkward." [Y/N] admitted. "I actually miss talking to you regularly, Nanami." She adds, glancing down at her shoes.

"I miss talking to you too," Nanami says.

He actually did. He missed getting the late-night calls because she couldn't sleep. Or being her model because she had to make some for a male for class. He just missed the woman in front of him so much in both a platonic and romantic way.

"How are you getting to the cabin for the trip?" Nanami questioned as he stared at her.

"I was going to drive myself since I have something to do." She says.

"I have actually to meet with my parents before I go, so I'm going to be late getting up there also. We can ride together, that is if you want." Nanami suggested.

Her face lit up, and she would give him that smile he missed seeing. "We can do that."

"Great, I'll pick you up then."

[Y/N] would nod. As she opened her mouth to speak, a blonde-haired woman approached them. She cleared her throat, gaining the attention of both Nanami and [Y/N]. Nanami's eyes grew big when she held up the familiar gold chain he was looking for earlier.

"You left this at my dorm. I just wanted to return it to you safely." She said as she dropped the necklace in his hands.

Nanami's face turned red in embarrassment as he stared at [Y/N], who was nervously fiddling with the bracelets on her wrist. Nanami didn't even notice that she was currently wearing her matching gold necklace, and here he had some random women he forgot he even slept with returning his.

"I'm going to go to class now. See you around, Nanami." She said before turning around and walking towards the business building.

Nanami found himself rubbing at his temple. Was he digging himself in an even deeper hole with this situation? He made his way towards the art building for his next class. Feeling his phone vibrating in his back pocket, he nearly rolled his eyes, seeing his mother's name flashing on the screen.

"I'm actually about to walk into a class right now. I really can't talk right now," Nanami lied.

"It'll be quick." His mother chirped through the phone. "Please be sure to wear that tie Serena likes for this dinner. Also, could you gel back your hair the way I like it? You look so much more presentable with that style. You know Serena's family will be joining us, right? You didn't forget, did you?"

He did. He did forget.

"It's the best you could do since you're not spending Labor Thanksgiving Day with us."

"You guys didn't even care about that holiday two years ago." Nanami reminded. "I'm just going on a mini trip with my friends. You're acting like I'm going to the States."

"You should take Serena with you. You two could use that time to bond."

"No! It's no more room for an extra person, plus we all split the cost of the trip equally. It'll be obscene to invite a guest that didn't contribute to the trip," Nanami lied. Gojo's family paid for the trip for him due to the high grades he currently has.

His mother grew silent on the other end.

"Nanami, is there another woman?"

"What made you ask that?"

"It's just; it seems like you don't want to put in the effort of the future, we have planned for you. Marrying Serena would be better for your future, our family history..." his mother's voice trailing, hoping he got the memo.

"And if it was another woman?" He asked her, his brown eyes staring at the gold necklace in his palm. His fingers grazing against the links.

He noticed his mother's silence. "Nanami.."

"I have to go, walking into a class right now."

Before she could tell him anything, he hung up the phone, trying to process the conversation that just happened. As he walked into the art building, he let out a sigh.

There was another woman.

And it was [Y/N].

[minhyeong]

&. 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐝-𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝

genre: fluff, crack, neighbors au | word count: 1,750

↳ “I’m telling you my house is haunted, and that ghost or demon or whatever is very, very fond of my socks.”

It started with his pair of fuzzy, bright yellow socks, the ones with red cherries imprinted on the cuffs that were a gift from a friend and, quite frankly, a little embarrassing for Johnny to wear to work or flaunt in front of the whole world. That didn’t stop him from wearing them when the house temperature dipped a little too low in the evenings, however. Perhaps he did pretend he was strutting on a catwalk in those socks a few times as well. 

So when Johnny went to retrieve his laundry that was left out to air dry, expecting the bright yellow to stand out somewhere amongst all the other dull colored pieces, he began to question his sanity at the absence of his socks. He thought he had washed them, but then he was also sleep deprived.

Johnny spent the rest of the cold evening scouring his closet and drawers, his feet clad in different socks that just didn’t bring the same warmth as the ones that went missing.

It continued with his gray sock that had just a tiny hole by the big toe but was not torn enough to toss out. 

When one of his favorite wool socks vanished into thin air, Johnny knew it wasn’t the sleep deprivation anymore.

“I’m telling you my house is haunted, and that ghost or demon or whatever is very, very fond of my socks.” 

Yuta snickered into his iced americano. “A ghost with a feet kink? Sounds likely.” 

Johnny tapped a rhythm onto the surface of the beige bistro table with his fingers. His eyes were lined with fatigue after getting a mere four hours of rest. “How else can you explain all my missing socks? I’m too afraid to leave my socks out now.” 

“Maybe you just misplaced them somewhere,” Yuta suggested, taking note of the way Johnny’s tense leg was bouncing. Any more and he might just accidentally tip the table over with a particularly anxious thrust of his long limb. 

Unconvinced but too tired to disagree, Johnny nodded and clutched his coffee a little harder, the paper cup bending in his huge palm. He expelled a lengthy sigh and slumped in the chair. No point in sharing how he even pulled a failed all-nighter huddled in a corner with his phone to catch the ghost in action, his socks hung up as bait. 

Johnny contemplated asking Yuta to spend a night over just so he wouldn’t have to be alone, but then he decided he had too much pride to admit just how much every single noise was starting to freak him out. 

Later that evening, when he purposely blasted dance music that reverberated through the entire house to drown out the muted hums and taps of the walls, Johnny was shocked into silence. He regretted his pride—swallowed it whole—and hysterically called Yuta when his underwear went missing. 

When you heard the sound of rattling keys and heavy footsteps next door, you turned around to greet your neighbor who was coincidentally leaving the house at the same time. You had Johnny marked down as the charming neighbor who offered to help when you were close to breaking your back dragging your old couch across the asphalt on your move-in day. He was also the perfect person to ask for spare sugar and eggs whenever you ran out. 

You excitedly turned around to greet Johnny, but you had no idea he would’ve transformed so drastically since you last saw him three days ago. His normally neatly combed hair resembled something like a tangled mop. It also seemed like he had only remembered to wear one sneaker as his other foot was still sporting one of his house slippers. His tall stature was impossibly small with his drooping shoulders. There was a certain level of fatigue that equated to zombification, and you were positive that Johnny had gone above and beyond it. 

“Hey,” you cautiously called out, slightly flinching at the sight of his haggard appearance when he turned to face you. “You okay?” 

Johnny opened his mouth, hesitated, then shook his head as he tried to form coherent sentences that wouldn’t make you think he had lost his mind. “It’s a long story.” 

“I have time if you want to talk about it.” 

He made odd, circular motions with his hands as if he were saying a message that you couldn’t decipher. Then, he shrugged dejectedly. “This may sound crazy, but I think my house is haunted. My friends don’t believe me, so I don’t blame you if you don’t either.” 

That was all it took to pique your curiosity. You left your shoes by the entrance and stuck your head into his house when he invited you in to “experience the spooks” as he had described. You noticed the faint scent of pine first. The polished, wooden floor softly groaned as you stepped all the way in. 

Johnny led you to the living room and scrambled to clear his pile of clothes that were scattered along the couch. “Please feel free to have a seat,” he nervously chuckled. 

A unexpected loud clunk sent him slamming into you with a force that caused you to stumble sideways. The clothes in his arms were flung into the air, and you found his long limbs around your shoulders instead when he squeezed you in a death grip. Johnny buried his face behind your back with a piercing screech that bounced around your eardrums. “WHAT WAS THAT NOISE?!” 

You felt the heat creep its way up your neck and to your cheeks. Perhaps it was how tight he had his arms around you, or the way his warm breath was gliding down your back. His heart was hammering so fast that you felt it against your arm. 

“I just dropped my phone,” you murmured, steadying him with a hand on his wrist.

Johnny peeked at the ground and dissolved into a fit of awkward giggles when he saw your phone next to his feet. He quickly retracted his body like a magnetic force had pulled him back. He was flustered, embarrassed, scared to look at you. If the house wasn’t so quiet, you would’ve missed the tiny apology he squeaked out.

“I’ve been paranoid about every single noise lately.” He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “My things started going missing a few days ago, and there’s just no other explanation when I keep on losing things.” 

“What went missing?” 

“My socks! I thought it couldn’t get any more ridiculous but then...” Johnny leaned in to whisper as if he were afraid someone else would hear him. ��My underwear went missing last night.” 

The gears turned slowly in your head, and then they churned at full speed. The ghost he was so afraid of, you realized, was actually living with you. 

If anyone else saw the way you dressed yourself, they would’ve probably called the cops. You knew the black attire, large sunglasses when the sun had long been set, face mask, and beanie made you look suspicious, but there was no other way to hide your identity. 

You simply couldn’t risk it—not when you had a bag of men’s socks and underwear clutched in your hand. Never had it crossed your mind that one day you would be acting as if you were starring in a spy film. 

When the streets turned still, you gently tugged the door close behind you and tiptoed next door. The lights were on. You rolled your shoulders and inhaled deeply. There was only one chance, you thought, and you couldn’t screw it up. 

You placed the bag on Johnny’s doorstep and swiftly rang the doorbell twice. There was no reason to, although you probably weren’t in your right mind anyway dressed up like that, but you tugged on the strings of your hoodie and screamed out: “DELIVERY!”

The speed you dashed at created a breeze that sent the fallen leaves on the ground gracelessly whirling. You threw yourself behind some tall shrubs and waited for any motion, flattening yourself against the prickly stems. You heard the door open, the rustling of the paper bag, a long moment of silence, and the faint click of the lock as the door was shut. 

Mission accomplished. 

Or so you thought. 

When you rang Johnny’s doorbell the next day with the excuse of borrowing some sugar, he graciously invited you in for a cup of tea as well, looking much more well-rested than the day before. His hair was neatly combed, and he smelled of fresh linen. 

You were relieved when you sat down on his couch and watched him disappear into the kitchen, his shoulders straight and posture tall again.

“By the way, I think you left your earring in the bag.” Johnny casually slid the tiny stud toward you along with a mug of hot green tea.

Your hand was suspended midair, just a short distance away from accepting the mug, eyes glazed over as the realization of what he meant fractured like a pane of glass. You retracted your arm and raised it to feel your ears. Indeed, something was missing on your earlobe.

Johnny was oddly nonchalant as he took a sip from his own mug, the steam momentarily fogging up his round glasses. You felt like a prey frozen in place as an extreme fear reaction to a predator. There was no way to predict his next move.

“I’M SORRY!” You clasped your palms together and pleaded. “My cat has been bringing home these things, and I thought she was just picking them up from a trashcan! I had no idea they were yours, and I have no idea how she got to them. If I had known they were yours, I would’ve brought them back immediately, but I got too embarrassed after I found your zebra underwear on my floor! I’m really sorry. I already scolded my cat for scaring you like this!” The spiral of frantic thoughts spilled until you ran out of breath.

“I promise I didn’t take them on purpose,” you mumbled, swallowing heavily.

His eyes were innocently round, lips parted as if words were dangling off the tip of his tongue. Then, Johnny smiled. Even against the sunlight backdrop that blurred him into a large shadow, you noticed how his face lit up, his nose wrinkling with amusement.

“Don’t worry about it. I’d rather someone cute take my socks and underwear than a ghost.” 

[jaybirdsfall]

17 from the hug prompts?

17 is “hugging from behind”! This is set in a No Powers TMA AU where Sasha and Tim confronted Jon on his treatment of Martin. I haven’t written anything else for this ‘verse yet, but I’m tempted to.

-

It was 5:30pm on a Friday evening. Sasha and Tim had already left for the pub, leaving Martin and Jon alone in the archives. Which wasn’t all that bad, really. Half a year ago, the prospect may have been terrifying, but… things changed. People changed. Jon changed. Gone were the days of angry scowls (well, okay, he still scowled) and rude reprimands without apology. The new year had started with honest apologies to do better and Martin was never a person to believe that sort of bullcrap. But then he saw Jon doing better. Instead of berating Martin for misplaced citations and improperly formatted reports, he sat down with Martin and worked through their difficulties. Mistakes were met with ‘were you ever properly taught this? Come here, I’ll show you’ instead of a rude sneer at his intelligence and a frank dismissal.

Martin’s 11am offerings of tea went from polite pettiness to something he looked forward to doing. He looked forward to seeing Jon, hunched over in his office over paperwork with a furrowed eyebrow and narrowed eyes. He looked forward to watching Jon relax as he took a sip of tea and said, ‘thank you, Martin’ in a weary voice. He looked forward to maybe getting to chat a bit. And Martin developed a crush. And so he invited Jon out to lunches, expecting to be turned down — he never once dreamed that the man would say yes. And they ate lunches together at the canteen, in the break room, at the coffee shop across the street; sometimes Tim and Sasha would join, most times they wouldn’t. Jon would rant endlessly about some bureaucratic nonsense that was driving him up the wall or he would patiently listen as Martin chatted animatedly about Institute gossip, full with voice imitations. Martin would try hopelessly to explain the merits of poetry while Jon’s opinion stood strong like a brick wall, and Martin found himself trying to not lose himself in Jon’s addicting voice as he explained how wolf packs actually worked in nature.

And maybe Jon developed a crush too. Because Jon had asked him out to dinner. And then to another. And then to an art museum. And then the zoo.

And then they were dating.

And so it was 5:30pm on a Friday evening. Sasha and Tim had already left for the pub, and it was Martin’s job to get Jon there. So Martin Blackwood found himself standing in the doorway, watching fondly as his boyfriend combed through the file boxes in search of something-or-another. Jon-watching was probably one of Martin’s guilty pleasures, identifying and cataloging the differences in Jon’s demeanor and attitude over the months. The man still attempted to maintain a stiff air of professionalism on most days, wearing his hair back in a strict ponytail on most days — however, today, something tiny had cracked, and he allowed Sasha to french braid his hair while she was on break and he was sending emails to the heads of other departments. Martin hadn’t gotten a chance to appreciate her handiwork yet, and so he let himself take the time to admire the handiwork of her skilled figures. She had braided Jon’s wiry hair in such a way that the silver strands were evident throughout the braid, creating a nice contrasting accent to the rest of his black hair.

It was nice.

Another Jon-change was the fact that he seemed to dress… more comfortably. His tweed jackets and starchy button-ups had been slowly replaced with a cast of softer and softer jumpers, sometimes an argyle sweater vest or two making an appearance atop a plain white collared shirt. These changes weren’t drastic, but Jon no longer looked as stiff in his appearance. Sometimes, in the earlier days, he almost looked ready to fight his own damn clothes, which Martin was now realizing was due to texture issues.

It was 5:30pm on a Friday evening. Martin Blackwood was watching his boyfriend (his boyfriend!). He could honestly do this forever. But he had a job to do.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jon’s middle, feeling his boyfriend stiffen and then utterly melt at his touch. The files Jon were folding dropped onto the floor rather unceremoniously. Suddenly, Martin found himself supporting a non-zero amount of Jon’s weight, and he didn’t exactly mind that. Instead, he nuzzled his forehead into the crook of Jon’s neck and embraced the warmth and the light smell of tea tree oil. “Hey,” he said simply.

“Martin,” Jon’s voice soft and a bit breathy with surprise. “I got carried away again, didn’t I?” Martin replied by tightening the hug. Jon’s hands came up to cover his own. “M’sorry,” he said. “I just could have sworn we had a box dedicated to Arthur Nolan statements and I wanted to see if I could create a timeli—”

Martin kissed the stubble along Jon’s jaw, feeling the man impossibly melt even further. “No need to apologize. It’s not too late — Sasha and Tim are betting on how late we’ll be, though.” He made no attempts to untangle Jon from his grasp, instead closing his eyes and embracing the moments. It’s not often that they allowed themselves workplace PDA, so he would savor every moment like sweetness on his tongue.

Jon grunted at the comment in regards to Tim and Sasha, but also made no efforts to detangle himself. “Mmm, who would win if we didn’t show up at all?”

Martin chuckled. “I think we’d both lose in the group chat,” he paused for a beat. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about going, in which case winning and losing isn’t really a factor anymore.”

Jon hmmed and hawed for a moment, tracing his fingers on the backs of Martin’s hands. “Mmm, I’d like to show up,” he finally acknowledged, “but my boyfriend is a very comfortable man and his actions posit an interesting argument.”

“Such as?”

“Stand here forever and be warm.”

Martin pressed another kiss to Jon’s stubbled jaw, then down to his neck, then onto a bit of exposed collarbone. He relishes Jon’s little hums of contentment. “I think your boyfriend’s argument has merit.”

“Indeed it does.”

They didn’t arrive at the pub until 6:15pm that Friday evening.

[be11atrixthestrange]

Waking Up In Vegas Chapter 11

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M for reasons.

Ao3 | FFN

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More Chapters

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SMUT WARNING

[Ron]

Ron paces in his room, staring at his phone and waiting for it to buzz. No one has responded to any of his frantic texts to keep an eye on Hermione. He doubts they're even checking their messages. As far as he could tell, everyone was too preoccupied back at the bar to pay much attention.

Then his phone vibrates with a message from Harry.

No, I don't think she's here. Why?

Ron clutches his phone even tighter and resists the urge to throw it across the room. He looks over to his door and considers doing something drastic, like marching right up to her hotel room and knocking on the door. But if she's not there, that will only make him feel worse.

He should have just hung around outside the bar and positioned himself to intercept them should Cormac have tried to drag Hermione upstairs, either to her room or his. Fuck, that's probably where he took her — his room. Ron has no idea where that is.

All of this begs the question — how would Hermione have responded if Ron had managed to locate them earlier? She doesn't strike Ron as someone who would fancy the idea of a man swooping in and 'rescuing' her from another. She might have gotten angry. After all, she did dump a glass of ice water on his head for no particular reason whatsoever. He still wants an explanation for that.

It also makes Ron wonder about last night. He remembers nothing, and neither does Hermione. It's possible that last night Ron was just another Cormac, and his boiling anger toward the other man is simply misplaced.

Ron pulls a barstool from the counter and collapses into it. His phone drops to the quartz with a clack, and he catches his throbbing head with his hands. His eyes sting with both tears and guilt, and he can no longer tune out his incessant internal monologue telling him he's kidding himself that Hermione could have ever wanted anything more from him than a divorce.

A knock on his door interrupts his self-taunting, and he groans. Who could possibly want to talk to him right now? Other than Lavender, of course.

It's probably Lavender, and in that case, he'll just ignore it.

The knock sounds again, a little bit louder this time. Ron pretends not to hear it, instead venturing toward the overpriced alcohol cabinet to fish out something tasty and distracting.

There's a silence at the door as he pours himself a glass of rosé — the best wine, which only tastes better every time the boys make fun of him for drinking something pink.

Then, the knock happens again, and this time it's quiet, nervous. It draws Ron's eyes back to the door because it's not a Lavender knock. Lavender would have announced herself by knock number three, and the absence of any 'Won-Wons' prickles at his ears.

A second later, he's on his feet making a beeline for the door, pausing with his hand on the doorknob to gain his composure. He takes a deep breath and opens the door, only to find an empty hallway staring back at him.

"Hello?" he calls. He darts his head out into the hallway, and there she is — Hermione Granger is scuttling away, her back to him and head down.

"Hermione?"

She carries on as if she can't hear him.

"Hermione Granger," he repeats more firmly.

She slows her pace but doesn't turn around.

"Wifey."

At that, she stops and whips back around to face him. He knew wifey would do it.

"Hi," she says. She looks a mess — her hair is frizzing, and her makeup is smeared, and he can't help but smile at the fact that she thought to stop in her frazzled state, that she felt comfortable coming by without fixing herself up.

"Why are you running away?"

She looks away, and Ron can tell by her flushed cheeks and bloodshot eyes that she's been crying. "You didn't answer your door, and I started overthinking everything and decided just to head to my room."

"Where's Cormac?"

Hermione grimaces at his question, and he immediately regrets asking.

"I managed to shake him off," she says once she regains her composure. "I'll leave you be—"

"No, come in!" he interrupts a little too eagerly. "Only if you want, I mean."

They stand and stare at one another for what feels like an eternity before she nods and follows him into his room.

"I'm sorry about the ice water," she says. "That couldn't have felt good."

"Yeah. What was that about?" Ron glances around the room — he doesn't want to sit on that bloody barstool again, so he moves toward the loveseat, hoping it doesn't look too presumptuous. To his delight, Hermione follows.

"You're going to think it's insane," she says, sitting next to him on the sofa. Ron is hyper-aware of the respectable distance between them.

"Try me."

Hermione takes a deep breath, and Ron can tell she's nervous. "I went to find you after talking to Ginny, and Lavender was leaving your room. I made an assumption."

Oh shit. "You thought—"

"Which is totally unfair of me, of course! It's not like I had any valid reason to feel jealous… but I did."

"Hermione—"

"I still shouldn't have poured water on you. And you were right to punch Cormac, by the way."

"You thought I slept with her?"

"Yeah. I did. But you're free to do that—"

Ron cuts her off with a laugh. "Hermione, I'm a married man!"

She cracks a small smile, which suggests she thinks he's joking.

"Really, Hermione, I'd never cheat on my wife."

"Ron, I'm not really your wife," she says, and his heart sinks, but only for a moment before she adds shyly, "right?"

"I guess that's up to us," he says, smiling sheepishly and gauging her reaction.

To his relief, her cheeks fill with color, and she smiles back. "In that case, I'm sorry I ran off with Cormac."

"You were jealous?" He feels much better now that he knows her motivation for latching onto Cormac. Hermione Granger was jealous at the thought of him sleeping with someone else, and if that means what he thinks it means...

"I was very jealous," she confirms. "I thought you liked me."

"I do! At least so far," he says. "To be honest, I don't know you very well."

"I guess that's true," she says, staring at the space between them as if she's trying to assess the appropriate distance.

Does she want less? More? There's one way to find out, so he shifts closer to her, and thankfully, her shoulders relax, and she softens toward him.

"Is this okay?" he asks, tentatively looping a shaky arm around her shoulders. He feels like his teenage self pretending to watch a movie while staring at his date's hand, trying to gather the courage to hold it.

She responds with a subtle nod, and Ron slides his arm fully around her, guiding her into his side. She's warm and comforting against his body. "I want to keep getting to know you."

Hermione's frizzy hair muffles Ron's question. "Do you want to try our first date again?"

"I'd love that."

She turns to face him, and her eyes drop to his lips, a drawn-out moment of anticipation as he builds up the courage to close in. Their foreheads meet first, and then of its own accord, Ron's free hand tangles into her hair as she presses her lips to his.

It's warm, sweet, and soft — at first. Then instinct takes over when Hermione remedies their unideal side-by-side position by boldly throwing one leg across his legs and shifting into his lap.

"Is this okay?" she mutters against his lips, throwing his check-in right back at her, and he affirms by slipping his arms around her waist to hold her in place and deepening the kiss, tugging her bottom lip between his teeth, encouraged by her hum of appreciation.

Even though they've done this before, the excitement of a first kiss still overwhelms him, but this time it's laced with familiarity; their lips fit together like puzzle pieces, and their bodies seem to speak the same language. His hands move from her waist, down her hips, then to her thighs, and when he runs his fingertips under the hem of her skirt, she melts into him, acknowledging his growing attraction to her with a smile that momentarily breaks this kiss.

Ron slips a hand from under her skirt to brush a stray hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear, and running a thumb across her cheekbone. Her skin reddens under his touch.

"About that date," he whispers, leaning his back against the sofa. His position change draws her attention to his stiffening arousal, and when she subtly shifts forward, he loses his train of thought. "Fuck, Hermione."

Their lips connect again, this time with a newfound fervor. His hands find their way back to her thighs, and his fingers slip under the fabric without hesitation. He takes his time meandering up her legs, exploring the way the muscles in her legs shapeshift with each breath, each pulse of her hips, each flex as she attaches herself to the eager bulge of his pants.

Time stops, and they get lost in each other. Hermione's tongue slips between his lips, Ron's fingers pull at her hair, shorts' buttons and dress zippers come undone. They move methodically, as if memorizing how one another deconstructs to assure they can put each other back together again.

"What about that date?" asks Hermione when they surface.

Her hair is deliciously disheveled, and her lips plump and red with passion. He wants nothing more than to pull her into him and continue his explorations, but he could also stay here forever and grow accustomed to the anticipation, as long as it assures more time with her.

"I'd love to take you out," he says, then, ignoring his body's protests, "before this goes any further."

She leans back, contemplating him. "When?"

"As soon as possible," he confirms, guiding her head back toward his so he can capture her lips in a promising kiss.

x

Ron wakes up to a throbbing in his neck, thanks to its position against the arm of the sofa. The light from the window is shining onto his bed, illuminating Hermione's sleeping form. In a fit of gallantry the night prior, Ron insisted Hermione take his bed while he settled for the couch. Every bone in his body protested, but she was exhausted and still tipsy, and he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable.

The ray of sunlight lulls Hermione out of sleep as well, and she rubs her eyes and turns to face him.

"Morning," he says groggily.

Rubbing her eyes, she props herself up on her elbows, then slips out of bed to her feet. "Morning."

His stomach growls. "How do you feel about breakfast?"

"I feel amazing about breakfast, but I'll need to go to my room for a shower," she glances down at her clothing — she's still wearing her dress from the night before, now wrinkled from sleep, "and a change of clothes."

Ron decides against suggesting they shower together, as it might be too soon for that. For her, at least. "Fair enough. Meet me back here when you're done?"

With a nod, she sneaks out the door. Before the door closes, he can hear a knock on his neighbor's, while a hotel staff member calls for room service.

It gives him an idea.

There's a room service menu on the kitchen counter, as well as a phone number and directions for ordering. He makes his way to the kitchen to scan the pamphlet, and realizes he has no idea what Hermione would like.

Luckily, in bold lettering, is the perfect solution to not knowing:

Not sure what to order?

Request a surprise, and let our Breakfast Elves decide for you!

Perfect.

Ron dials the number and requests a breakfast surprise for two.

The breakfast elf arrives some twenty minutes later, thankfully before Hermione makes it back to his hotel room, and after he's completed a shower. He opens the door to see a fully grown man dressed head to toe in an elf costume — or at least this hotel's interpretation of an elf — his short toga-like dress and floppy ears make him look more like Yoda than a Christmas elf. Ron shrugs, and makes sure to tip him well.

By the time Hermione returns, a breakfast spread is laid out on the counter, complete with coffee, Bloody Marys, croissants, fruit, pancakes, and eggs. It took all of Ron's self-control not to devour it on the spot, but the look of delight on Hermione's face makes it well worth the wait.

"What's this?" she asks upon seeing the spread. She's dressed in a pair of casual shorts and a t-shirt, which sticks to her still-damp hair.

"Our date."

Hermione walks over to him and flings her arms around his neck. He pulls her close.

"It's a 'breakfast surprise', a little bit of everything, so I hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind at all. This is really nice, Ron."

She follows his lead to the counter, where they plop down in front of their meal.

"Cheers," he says, raising his Bloody Mary to hers.

"Cheers," she replies, and they each take a silent sip of their drinks.

For a moment, Ron panics. What if they have nothing to talk about and it's awkward? Is it appropriate to ask first-date questions, like 'what do you do for work' and 'how many siblings do you have' when you're already married? There's no rulebook for this, and he's reminded of their conversation with Dave the previous day. 'We barely even know each other.'

Maybe he needs to break the ice.

"Hello, I'm Ron Weasley, and I'm your husband."

To Ron's relief, Hermione nearly chokes on her Bloody Mary in laughter. "I'm Hermione Granger, and I'm your wife."

From then on, the conversation flows effortlessly. Over the course of their breakfast, Ron learns she's studying to be an environmental lawyer, which explains her hatred for straws. Her type-a personality makes sense when he learns that she's an only child and her parents are high-achieving dentists. Her soft spot for animals shines through when she talks about her orange tabby cat as if he's human.

He tells her all about the kids' football team he coaches, and she smiles when he speaks about how far the team has come this year. She listens intently as he describes all five of his brothers, even though she has probably heard about them all from Ginny. He nervously admits that he's not sure if he'll remain in law enforcement, or if he'll step in and help his older brothers with their booming magic shop. She surprises him by telling him that his eyes light up when he talks about the shop, and suggesting he should do what makes him happy.

Each nugget of information expands what he knows of her, while also convincing him he's known her forever. He catalogues each and every thing he learns, and he can tell from her clarifying questions, her references to obscure bits and pieces he's subconsciously shared, that she's doing the same. Before he knows it, their breakfasts are gone, and he's not even sure what he ate in the first place — he didn't pay attention. It's rare that he finds something to interest him more than food.

He stands up to clear their trays, and she follows. "Ron?" she asks when they reach the counter.

"Yes?"

"This was the best first date I've had in a while. I'd love to do it again sometime."

Ron smiles and turns to face her. "Luckily, we have at least six months," he says, hoping that the emphasis shows that he wants much more time than that.

"At least," she says, and he knows they're on the page.

They pause for a moment, faces flushed, before closing in on one another. Ron's lips find hers, and he kisses her deeply. Hermione wraps her arms around his neck just as his hands slide to her thighs to lift her up. As if she can read his mind, she aids him with a hop, wrapping her legs around his hips. Once again, he's bewildered by how perfectly they fit together. He could stand there holding her forever, but in the corner of his eye he can see his bed, still ruffled and unmade from this morning. He breaks the kiss and glances toward it, and she answers his nonverbal question with a nod before their lips crash together again.

Barely aware of the ground beneath his feet, Ron stumbles toward the bed, and they crash down into the blankets as a messy tangle of limbs. The ungraceful moment passes without embarrassment or concern, with Hermione flipping to her back while Ron crawls on top of her to nestle his hips between her legs. Just like yesterday, everything about her is familiar but fresh and exciting — two things he always assumed to be mutually exclusive.

Hermione's legs tighten around his hips, pulling him closer, and when he shamelessly rubs against her — an effort to show her exactly what she does to him, she responds with an inviting smile. At that point, she's all but done him in. Piece by piece, their clothing piles up on the floor; first it's shirts, shorts, then knickers. There's a part of Ron that wants to slow down, not because he's uncomfortable, but to savor every last second before they have no more firsts to share — a thought he tosses out the window when she kisses him again, and he realizes he will never get used to snogging Hermione Granger.

All it takes is a nudge from Hermione's legs for Ron to know what she wants, and he flips to his back so she can climb on top of him. He's overwhelmed by how freaking beautiful she is with her wild hair, her breasts that fit perfectly into his trembling hands, and the way her body stretches over his and keeps him warm. He wants to tell her how divine she looks, but there aren't strong enough words in the English language, so he pulls her in for a soft kiss and hopes it communicates something close.

"Contraception?" she whispers into his ear when she breaks the kiss. "I'm on the pill, but just to be extra safe?"

Fuck, this is happening.

"Of course," he says, motioning toward the table next to his bed, where he optimistically shoved a few condoms upon his arrival.

Hermione crawls from her position to retrieve one, and he immediately misses the warmth of her body on top of his, but damn, does he love the view. His eyes trail her bare bum, and a smirk breaks across his face. She really is perfect.

"You're beautiful, by the way." The words slip through his filters, and at first, he stiffens with regret — they don't quite capture the reality — but he relaxes when she laughs.

"You're staring at my bum," she says.

"Yeah, I am, and it's amazing." His smile leaks into his tone and grows wider when she crawls back and straddles him once more.

"Good," she blushes, her focus on unwrapping the condom, "because you're not so bad yourself."

His cock throbs with anticipation as she slips the contraceptive over him then leans forward to press another kiss to his waiting lips.

"One more time — are you sure?" he asks, wanting to be one-hundred percent certain that she wants this as much as he does.

"Yes."

Ron smiles. "Then come here," He steadies her hips with his hands as she slides down onto him, engulfing him in her warmth. This time, it's no surprise how perfectly she fits.

In the moment he takes to compose himself, he's pretty sure his eyes roll to the back of his head, and he lets off a string of moans that could hardly be considered attractive, but when she starts writhing on top of him, the blush on her cheeks, and the way she bites her bottom lip suggest that she doesn't mind at all.

Ron tracks his fingers to her center, and she responds by leaning back so he can access her most sensitive spot with his thumb. Her hands cover his, and at first, she moves them for him, showing him exactly how to touch her. Although his mind is fuzzy with pleasure, he focuses intently on her hand motions, her breath sounds, the telling moans and directives, ever so thankful she's willing to help him crack her code.

His heart swells when she frees his hand so he can continue without her aid; it feels like she's handing over her trust, her confidence that he will listen to her signals. And that he does, savoring every sign of her pleasure. Her quickening breath, flushing cheeks, the way she runs a hand through her hair and bites her lip; it's the best feedback Ron has ever received — he could happily spend his whole life learning more.

He watches as she unravels before him, and her pleasure-filled groans are music to his ears. When she finds her release, her eyes roll back like his did before, and he hopes he managed to make it look that hot.

She regains composure before leaning off to the side and onto her back, guiding him on top of her. Her legs open in invitation, and he knows it's his turn to show her what he likes.

Hungry for more, he presses into her, and her legs embrace his hips as he begins to thrust. She matches his rhythm, each movement bringing him closer. When her legs tighten their hold, he slides his hands up her arms, interlacing their fingers into the mattress to pin her down, it's over for him. Her name escapes his lips as a satisfied moan, turning to a hum when her mouth muffles his. She slips one hand from his fingers to run it through his hair, then to the back of his head, holding his lips against hers in a deep and loving kiss.

That's when he unravels again, this time not from sexual pleasure, but something much more. This kiss is different than before; it's not marked by hunger or lust, but love.

It seems too soon to say it in words, it has only been thirty-six hours since this all began, but his body is beyond ready to show her, and decides to communicate it in its own way.

Hopefully, she feels it too.

[aspaceformyselffics09]

Upside down; Chapter 3 - Outbursts

A/n: Hi Guys, so we’re back with a new chapter. This chapter is basically a filler chapter to propel both Namjoon and Y/n’s relationship a bit further while also revelaing a few details focusing mostly on y/n’s background. We explore more of who Namjoon is as a person and his back ground in the next few chapters. I felt like having individual focus on each of them was necessary for us to understand them as people and the story as well. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

PS: I really tried to solve their conflict in this chapter but realized that it will become too lengthy because of that. So I had to move it to the next chapter. I’m sorry :(((

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Summary:  After an abrupt and a drastic turn of events, you find yourself, married to Kim Namjoon, a son of the CEO of Kim enterprises as the part of a political and business arrangement between your father’s company and the Kims throwing your quiet life, upside down.  

Genre: Angst, romance, slice of life, slow burn, fluff, Arranged marraige AU,Non Idol AU.

Rating: PG13

Word count: 3k

Warnings: None in this chapter

Chapter 2 - Chapter 4

It all started off with a misplaced roll of sheet music. Before this, you never really considered yourself as someone to blow up, out of irrational anger. To be honest, you never even considered yourself  to be an angry person. Sure, there were times you got angry. Really really angry. But more often than not, your anger always ended up spiraling into a fit of frustrated tears or simply into an act of withdrawal. You were never someone to yell and scream at others because of that. That was simply not you.

This was probably why the fight and your outburst took you by surprise. Technically, there shouldn’t have been a fight at all. Fights tend to happen where there was a presence of something. But, in a place where there’s an overwhelming sense of an absence, it wasn’t supposed to happen. It was about two weeks into your marriage and there weren’t many major changes in your life. That is if you count getting married and moving away to Seoul off from your list. You still woke up, ate, worked, slept and repeated the same process over and over again. 

It was all the same but suddenly it was not the same at all.

For the most part, you were used to living on your own. Your family was there, but then again, it was never home to you. Maybe except your siblings to a certain level. Growing up you’ve seen your parents fall apart. Become cold and distant to each other as years passed them by. They had given themselves away into the hands of money, fame and success even if it came at the cost of breaking their own family apart. At first because it couldn’t be helped, because they wanted to give you, their children better lives. And then because of greed. 

And this was what they enforced upon you as well. They always demanded for the best. Wanted their children to be at the top of the world. Anything other than that was looked down upon. Your happiness didn’t matter. But the eyes of the society did. Jimin being the oldest of you siblings, was the first victim to fall for their capitalistic and conventional mindset. He never had any choice other than to be the next successor of the parks. And he embraced that role as best as he could. He didn’t question it, probably didn’t see himself doing anything else other than taking over the company. Your second sibling, Jiyoo was a doctor, working at one of the most reputed hospitals in the city. Also now married to a man of equal importance. This leaves you out. The youngest of you all.

A needle in a haystack. 

The black sheep of the family.

Ever since you were a child, you never saw eye to eye with your parents and their narrow, rigid mindsets. Wherever they tried to suffocate you or limit you to a box, that was where you fought harder to break out of it. When they wanted you to pursue medicine or business or something along those lines, you turned your back to them and took up art. They didn’t say anything to that. But they also couldn’t hide how displeased they were with you. Sometimes to a point where they would leave you out of family mentions. All because they were embarrassed their youngest couldn’t be something they could be proud of or brag about. Jimin backed you up as much as he could. Taking your responsibility on his shoulders. To make sure you get to enjoy the things he didn’t.

But even then, the environment was simply too stifling and suffocating for you to continue living there. 

So once you turned 18, you took the opportunity and moved away from the stuffy environment that was your home. Found yourself a place near your university and continued to live there on your own. Doing your own thing, living your own life, the way you wanted it. And perhaps for a few moments there, you forgot everything about your life and connection with the parks. Except for Jimin who visited you every now and then. It was as if you fell off into a slumber, losing yourself in your dreams until everything came crashing over. A sliver of reality cut it’s way through the illusion you’ve created for yourself in the form of a forced marriage and just like that it all scattered over. The sad part probably was because you couldn’t even say no to it, couldn’t even fight it.

Now that being said, You honestly didn’t know what to expect when it came to living with Namjoon.

For the most part it was all fine. Namjoon was genuinely nice. He gave you a bedroom of your own. It was his home studio initially, but converted it into a bedroom just before you moved in. You thought that was a nice gesture. Giving you your own privacy. Your routine mostly hadn’t been interrupted, you could wake up whenever you wanted, sleep whenever you wanted, eat whenever you wanted. Didn’t have to worry about anything. It was nice. It was supposed to make you feel nice. But two weeks into the marriage, you had never been as miserable as you are now.

It had been two weeks since the marriage, two weeks since you moved in and attempted to fit your life alongside Kim Namjoon’s and two weeks since you even saw the ghost of that man or even spoken a word to him.

But that was okay. At Least that's what you told yourself. You’ve never even known each other before, nor had been any kind of friends before this. So you carried on without keeping any expectations from your side. You spent the first week after you moved in by unpacking your stuff and doing some basic cleaning around the house. Namjoon’s apartment, in contrast to the man himself, was a relatively neat little space. The living room was quite spacious, with clean, sleek furniture, lined up with bookshelves that were overflowing with various collections of books. It has a large open balcony facing the cityscape, with a good supply of fresh clean air circulating throughout the apartment. Your room was quite spacious too. It had a king sized bed in the middle, an array of cupboards to the side, a connected bathroom and some extra space to set up your laptop and painting equipment to the side. The only con perhaps was that Namjoon owned a lot of stuff. A hell lot of them. When he converted his home studio into a bedroom for you, he moved most of the stuff that was inside, out into the living room. So, there were things scattered everywhere in messy heaps. A lot of stuff haphazardly shoved around the place that it feels like the walls are closing in. 

So you spent most of your first week moving things around, shifting everything around into neat little piles. And organizing everything around the house bit by bit. It wasn’t because you were a clean freak but mostly because you had nothing better to do. You didn’t really have much of commission work coming in, and all your plans to further your education abroad were crashed and burned by the wedding. And when you find yourself unoccupied, your head goes into a spiral. All sorts of unwanted thoughts creep into your mind and send you into a frenzy. Sometimes though, a mere nothing like a sense of dread or extreme anxiety would slip it’s way into your system and whisper meaningless nothings into your ears. So you cleaned. Cleaned all you could to keep such thoughts and feelings away.

The only problem was the fact that you couldn’t ask Namjoon if it was even okay to clean all that stuff. Or if you can tidy it up and organize it down for him. He leaves before dawn and isn’t home until well past midnight or sometimes doesn’t come back at all. You vaguely wondered at times if he has someone. Not like you explicitly asked or even subtly talked about it before. Perhaps the only time you saw him was on a lone Friday night when he came home before you fell asleep. But left before you could even speak a word to him.

So in the end, you gave upon waiting for his permission and set about doing whatever you wanted to.

Your second week was pretty much the same. Except, now you don’t have anything to clean either. You spent a day or so trying to paint or aimlessly flicking through the TV. But once you found Namjoon’s and your faces plastered over every news outlet, you shut it down and almost threw the remote control out of the window in a fit of rage. You haven’t spoken to your family in almost a week. Jimin bombarded your phone with endless calls and text messages but you haven’t bothered to call him back nor even send out a reply. You were still too furious. Except him, well no one else really cared enough. Your sister maybe did send out a couple of concerned messages. There were some from your parents wishing you a goodluck. You scoffed at the messages. But at this point, they neither surprised you, nor did you actually care too much to do anything about it.

But it was frustrating. Your mind felt like it would blow into smithereens. With your already tense relationship with your parents, your uncertain career and now with a husband who’s dead set on avoiding you at all costs, you feel like you’re drowning. As if someone had cut off your oxygen supply, and left you to grapple for your breath. This was probably the point everything started going down for you.

You spent some more of your afternoon, lazing around on the couch in your bedroom. You long ago gave up on doing anything else. Nothing seemed to motivate you, so you threw yourself over the couch, sitting around in the same spot for an indistinguishable amount of time. And somewhere in between you drifted off into a haze of sleep. It was perhaps around half past six when you woke up. The sun had already set, it’s warm bronze light replaced by the moonlight that cast long shadows across the room. Somewhere in the creases of your mind you heard the distant shuffling of feet and the sounds of objects being moved around in the living room. You frowned, you weren’t expecting Namjoon to be home. Slowly rubbing your eyes, you made your way outside your door and down the hallway.

Namjoon was stumbling around the living room, his expression tense. He looked exactly like the way you remembered him when you first met him at the restaurant before the damned wedding. His appearance looked disheveled, he sported some heavy bags under his eyes and seemed frantic as he rummaged through all the piles of stuff that you cleaned up and organized into one of the cupboards in the living room. Everything was pulled out and scattered around everywhere. The scenario in front of you was a perfect picture of chaos. Quietly paddling down into the living room you stopped right near the coffee table. You stood there for a second contemplating what to do.

“Is everything okay?” You asked after a few minutes of silence, your voice a quiet whisper.

Namjoon didn’t look at you, instead he continued to dig around the papers.

You sighed to yourself, feeling a bit irritated all of a sudden. But you stayed quite watching the man in front of you grovel about the floor, continuing to look for whatever he was looking for. Somewhere amidst his quest he must have noticed you standing around the corner and he turned around to face you, feeling almost a little startled.

“Hey Y/n,” He greeted you, his lips tugging into a soft smile.

A flash of annoyance prickled at your skin for reasons unknown. But you swallowed it down your throat and shot a very clipped smile in his direction. 

“Sorry did I wake you?” He asked, as polite as ever. The smile still plastered over his face.

The annoyance crackled and popped as it gushed through your veins.

It had been almost two weeks since you last saw him. There wasn’t a moment in between when he just came in to check up on you nor had he spoken a word. You weren’t expecting him to be buddies with you. Nor were you expecting anything else. But just a word. Would it have hurt? Was it too much to ask? You probably shouldn’t be angry at this. You told yourself it didn’t bother you. You thought it wasn’t necessary. But despite all this, you underestimated how lonely it made you feel. Specially when you were so far away from the life you had been used to all these twenty three years of your life. 

You mentally sniggered to yourself. In your mind you knew that this is where you reply to him but currently your head was too preoccupied with trying to decide what exactly was the worst thing about this situation. 

“Sorry,” Namjoon giggled a bit awkwardly when you supplied him with silence. Never failing to drop his smile, “I noticed that you cleaned it all up. I’m sorry it’s all a mess again. I needed to find some sheet music I wrote up a few weeks ago and -”

This you decided. This was the most annoying thing. The fact that he was still so polite, despite avoiding you for two weeks, the fact that he was still trying to make conversation with you, even when you just stood there with no contribution of words or conversation from your side. The fact that you felt like you needed him to talk to you. The fact this whole thing made you feel helpless and irrational. It immediately pissed you off. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” You snapped, “Sorry that I touched your stuff without your permission.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could even stop them. For a moment, you both just stood there staring at each other. Eyes wide in shock. At least on your part. On Namjoon’s part it was much more of a confusion. It irked you even further. Maybe, Just maybe this outburst had been long overdue.

“Y/n I -”

“You weren’t there,” You continued, the irritation and vexation dripping off your tone, “You weren’t even around for me to ask you if it was okay to clean it up. It had been two weeks and you were never around. You should have asked me, you know? It would have been much easier. You could’ve gotten out of the door in less than a few minutes, saved you from spending more time in this house or around me.”

And from here on, everything went downhill. Everything and anything he had to say was met with hostility and the worst part was probably how he just stood there and took everything you had to unleash upon him with no arguments of his own. You yelled and screamed until eventually you ran out of steam.

“You weren’t there,” You kept repeating in the end. As if it was all that mattered to you,“You weren’t there”.

You’ve never ever felt so humiliated by yourself. You were frustrated, but did Namjoon deserve this? No, he didn’t. You wished he at least fought back, but instead all he gave you was a quiet apology which made you feel even worse. Hot tears blurred your vision and before Namjoon could reach out, you fled out of the door into the darkness.

[bruttomisandro]

Ok everybody, I don't know if I am really sure to do this because I am new to the eene Fandom and I know there is already one, but I have to be honest, I want to make a Reverse! eene AU so badly, but mostly focused on the Eds Boys(I planned to make the other characters too) and with drastic changes! So Let's go!

In peach creek there are three kids with the same name, but completely different personalities: the sensible and loyal eddy, the bully and mysterious edd and the intellectual and superb ed.

Eddy is a boy with noble principles who is always willing to help others, especially the weakest. He spends his time entertaining other children with amateur shows for nothing in return, even if all children are always willing to give him some money. He hates injustices and is able to deal with even the biggest bullies all by himself thanks to the fight techniques his older brother taught him. A movie lover, he dreams of becoming a philanthropic actor and bringing art and culture everywhere. However, many of his actions are driven by a great fear of loneliness and abandonment: he is able to do whatever you want if you ask gently, until he gets exhausted and faint at the exact moment you asked him only to just hold a door opem, but probably by that very moment he was already doing a thousand other favors. His insecurity often leads him to self sabotage and always put others in before himself, thinking that he does not deserve to win in the end (he suffers from the impostor syndrome). When one of his classmates has screwed up he decides to take the blame and so getting detention

Eddward is a mysterious boy but he is also very impolite. He never speaks except to say something unsettling or offensive. If you don't get bullied by him, you are probably either his miniom or indifferent to him, but no one would want him as an enemy. He spends his time with other thugs looking bad and selling forbidden candies at high prices. He hates the authorities and you can't count the times he has not respected authorities, like offending a teacher, so now his parents think he is a lost cause. But nobody knows his great passion for poetry and literature, or human sciences subjects, favoring anti-establishment or politically incorrect works, in fact he is really smart but he doesn't want to really apply at school. His rude attitude has made him one of the most respected guys from the boys and requested by girls, but he has never managed to establish a real relationship with anyone, he thinks that others are only a means to reach his goals. Are you just afraid of becoming attached to others? Nobody knows or has the courage to ask him, because one misplaced word is enough on a bad day and your life is over. However, he has standards, he never really cause a voluntary fight, but he created a character that everyone know must fear. Detention for him is like any class in school, as much as he is used to

Ed is the smartest boy in the neighborhood, if not school, indeed the entire state, but someone would say even of all the United States of America. His great intellect goes hand in hand with his pride and fussiness, he is able to notice every single flaw in anything. For this reason he has no respect for anyone, considering everyone inferior or not willing enough to improve themselves, especially his little sister Sara, whom he considers naive and too positive, not a realist like him. He loves literature and auteur cinema, always dresses elegantly and almost always carries a leather suitcase with books. His skill has made him the favorite of the parents, who go out of their way to always make him stand out and speak about his accomplishments. However, too much attention from adults has made him increasingly distant from his peers and in fact he does not know how to interact with them or even what games they usually play. He loves math and science, but he never disdains a philosophical book. Only once, after the accumulated stress, he responded badly to a teacher, who surprised, forced him and do a school project. So far nothing wrong, too bad it's the fact he can't work alone, as he would prefer, but with other kids, but not just any kids, but two young people in detention!

Bonus(some craft)

[doodleimprovement]

Sssssssoooo I’m working on yet another one shot AU fic - Called “Drastically Misplaced” - Arceus really should have consulted Dialga before attempting to send these two back. Ten years too soon is a lot of time, you jerk!

I also attempted to draw a Gliscor for the first time. I did not do too great but I tried and thats what matters!!

[iturbide]

/Sibling AU Grimmeryn Please/ 👁👄👁

who are you

The arrival of the Plegian delegation really forces Emmeryn to realize that Ylisse may have recovered from the near-ruin brought on by her father’s war, but it has not changed much from the time of his reign.  While Grima had, in truth, expected little from the Ylisseans on the whole, and is therefore anything but surprised by the general reception, Emmeryn’s earnest warmth in her dealings with him and how swiftly she comes to his aid whenever he’s in need (regardless of what the trouble is -- dealings with his father are taken just as seriously as issues with Ylissean nobles) are entirely unexpected, and gradually help to win his trust.

Emmeryn has no problem saying ‘no’ to people; her issue, instead, is having people listen, rather than try to sway her or simply ignoring her and going behind her back to do what they believe is right.  Once they begin to build that trust, though, Emmeryn swiftly finds that Grima will back her up whenever he’s near enough to do so, never speaking over her but instead listening to what she means as much as what she says, and insisting  that others heed it.  His staunch support makes certain that her trust has not been misplaced.

Grima has a rather alarming collection of scars garnered through Validar’s harsh training regimen.  He takes no pride in them, and avoids revealing them at nearly any cost.  Emmeryn is one of very few people who has seen them, and despite the fact that it was in a time of great duress (he had a knife in his chest that needed to come out), it’s still not something she takes lightly; she may not have the ability to erase them, as much as she might like to (since he obviously has issues that revolve around them, and if she could reduce that discomfort she would gladly do so), but she sees no reason to recoil from them, either, and the fact that she shows neither revulsion nor pity toward them takes a great weight off his mind.

Emmeryn has very few people in her life that she can speak frankly with.  Her advisors seem mostly interested in persuading her to do one thing or dissuading her to do another, the nobles only ever hear things they can use as ammunition in gossip, and she worries her siblings (as much as she loves them) have enough in their own lives to manage without her voicing her own burdens.  Grima is not especially talkative, in part because the Ylissean language is a struggle at the best of times...but his silence with her is never a barrier, but instead an invitation, and when she speaks of her troubles and her worries he always listens.  He offers advice only when asked -- but even if she only wishes to vent, he supports and bolsters her, even in such simple gestures as taking her hand.

Thanks to Grima, Emmeryn finally makes use of power and influence she long feared would corrupt her; he is certain that such tools in her hands can be put to good purpose because she and her convictions both are strong, and his faith in her gives her the courage to try.  Meanwhile, thanks to Emmeryn, Grima is able to push back against his conditioning and take less drastic approaches to solving problems he encounters; she sees him as a person, rather than some weapon, and her faith drives him to be more than the monster Validar wanted to forge him into.

[randomoranges]

a few notes on this one: so, at the time this was only the second fic i wrote for this pairing, some almost 5 yrs ago. i had a very “naïve” view of their relationship and wasn’t talking as much with the other two “collaborators/creators”. therefore, this was very much my own view and my own thoughts and my own - whatever. the Timeline wasn’t as full or as developed. 

retrospectively, my view was that they got together, they were aware of the other having feelings, but they had a falling out bcs étienne couldn’t do Actual Feelings and commit. Anyways. i was going to rework it so that it could fit with the curent timeline, but doing so would remove too much of the essence of the original piece, so i left it as is. despite all that, i still find this one sweet, even if it’s a little naïve and optimistic. so i’m still re-posting it for sentimental reason, but it’s off timeline now. who knows, maybe it can be an au HAHAH.

Perfect Cities I Wanna Hold Your Hand

 The strangest thing was being able to spend so much time with Étienne. For so long, their friendship had been held at a distance, through the exchange of letters and an odd phone call here and there. Now, they could see each other during meetings, they could actually plan to meet up outside of them and the novelty was something else. Therefore, there had been many more lunches, after that first one. Edward found himself seeking out his new friend at every other meeting and the two of them were spending more and more time together. It was strange to think that Étienne wanted to see him – or wanted to spend so much time with him, but it was nice to have a friend at these things.

 At first, they wrote off the time they spent together as work related, but when they realised that they were spending more time discussing anything else but work related things, they dropped their fake pretenses and hung out for the sake of hanging out and enjoying one another’s company. Étienne was an interesting fellow to have around and Edward was fascinated by his way of life. (Had always been, to some extent, he’d read all about it in the letters.)

 It was around that same time that Étienne gave him his phone number (again, but Étienne didn’t seem to recall Edward having it and Edward didn’t say anything), with the specific instructions of calling him whenever he felt like it. Edward returned the favour (in case his friend had misplaced it), with a nervous, shaky hand.

 There had been three accidental four-am phone calls, where a sleepy Étienne had answered the phone, and twice Edward hung up, embarrassed, but on the third, he stayed on the line long enough to apologise and realise that Étienne sounded really sexy, when he was half asleep and spoke French. (And somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered what any of that was supposed to mean, but he buried it away and focused on anything else but that.)

 From that point on, he made sure to establish a specific time when they could call each other, since he didn’t want to impose and phone calls could be expensive. It would be a shame to waste money if the other wasn’t there to pick up.

 They spoke of trivial things; anything from the weather, to last night’s game, but after Edward accidentally stumbled on Étienne’s sketchbook, they started exchanging thoughts on current artists and galleries they had visited – art movements they liked, previous artists they had known.

 Edward enjoyed these talks with his friend and he genuinely looked forward to each and every one. Étienne made him laugh and always had an interesting story to share. On top of that, he never asked why he had been absent for so long and why he had often looked out of it when they had run into each other. For that, Edward was thankful. He didn’t feel ready to relive that particular moment of his life and he didn’t want to share the details just yet.

 The only problem with his friendship with Étienne was that he was slowly falling for him and he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t let that happen. For so many reasons. Étienne was his friend, for starters, and Edward was pretty sure Étienne wasn’t interested in him that way (and that was fine, really.) Edward thought that maybe it was just his body reacting to someone being nice to him and genuinely seeming to enjoy his company after so long.

 He was okay with being friends, but he had heard enough about Étienne and his multitude of escapades and thirsts to hope that he would fit his criteria – that maybe Étienne would at least... show some interest – just once, or something (and then he berated himself all over again for thinking that way).

 But, apparently, he didn’t.

 Edward just hoped he wouldn’t do something stupid to ruin this as well.

 The other problem was that Étienne had invited him to spend a few days at his place. They were collaborating on a zine, some crazed idea Étienne had excitedly told him over the phone a while back, and Étienne figured they would get more work done, if they were standing in the same room.

 Edward had no problem with that, but it meant spending so much more time with his friend and after his last two dreams, he wasn’t sure he wanted Étienne to remain just a friend anymore. (And was he even okay with wanting that from Étienne after everything that had happened? The short answer was yes, the longer answer was more complicated.)

 Yet, when he landed at the airport, Étienne was there to greet him and for a moment, he conveniently forgot about his ordeal. They took a cab back to Étienne’s place, in the Plateau, and when Edward offered to pay, Étienne refused.

 His friend gave him the grand tour of the apartment, before Edward was shown to his room. It was small, stuffed to the brim with Habs merchandise, but Edward thought it suited the other man. When Étienne told him he had put some away, he laughed.

 Étienne then took him out to explore the city. It was a whirlwind of public transportation and many different sites. From le parc Lafontaine, to le Mont-Royal, passing by the Olympic Stadium, it was a busy afternoon and Edward was glad Étienne knew the city inside and out. It was nice to actually spend time in the city that wasn’t related to work or some grand event that took up all their time.

 Edward told himself he would do something brash, to figure out whether or not he actually had a chance with Étienne, and if his friend was interested in him. Of course, he wouldn’t do anything too drastic, just something that would help him read Étienne.

 He decided he would take Étienne’s hand.

 Or, at least, he would try to. He hoped that by doing so, Étienne would, hopefully, take his hand and then they could move on from there.

 But, if Étienne didn’t... then, well, they could always be friends and he could always dismiss this whole thing.

 The problem was, though, that every time he summoned enough courage to take Étienne’s hand, his friend either scratched his face, fixed his glasses, pushed up his bag strap, or did ten million other things with his hand that impeded him from taking it.

 Edward was half convinced that Étienne was doing it on purpose, as they stepped out of the métro, to get back to Étienne’s apartment. However, just as they made it to the door, he saw his opening.

 He took a deep breath, counted to three, hoped his hand wasn’t too sweaty, and made a wild grab for Étienne’s hand.

 He held his breath and waited for either of two things to happen; Étienne would push him away, or Étienne would take his hand.

 Instead, Étienne did absolutely nothing.

 And it slowly broke him inside.

 Edward was about to let go and write this whole thing off, but then, to his shock and surprise, Étienne did something.

 Étienne squeezed his hand back.

 He looked at his friend, but Étienne’s face was unreadable. The other man looked right ahead of him, as they walked back to the apartment. Edward looked away from him and to the ground, not feeling any better. Sure, Étienne was holding his hand, but that was it.

 If Edward gave himself time to think about it, Étienne’s hand was surprisingly warm and not at all what he had been expecting. His skin was rough in some places, soft in others, he was pretty sure he could feel a callous, or maybe it was just a dry patch of skin, but Edward didn’t want to let go.

 --

 By the time they got home, Étienne was a nervous wreck. He liked Edward, he really did that was never the problem and had never been.

 He had tried flirting with him, on a number of occasions, but it always seemed as though Edward was more interested in friendship than romance. He didn’t mind, really, and he wasn’t even sure if his suspicions about his friend were even right.

 But then, when Edward took his hand, everything changed.

 For the first time, in a very long time, he was interested in someone for more than sex. Usually, Étienne never bothered with feelings and emotions. It was all about the sex. He wanted it, he went after it. However, Edward was different. He liked spending time and getting to know him. He enjoyed the phone calls they shared and the lunches they took together. He wanted to get to know Edward, in ways he never allowed himself to, and it scared him.

 He was afraid that he or his reputation would scare off Edward, but when the other man took his hand, he completely froze. It seemed as though the very air around them stilled and he tried not to think about what any of this could mean. He avoided looking at Edward and instead, focused on getting home.

 When they did, he was on autopilot. He had to let go of Edward’s hand to open the door, and when he stepped in, he caught a brief glance of his bright, red cheeks. He quickly went to the kitchen, hoping his friend hadn’t noticed.

 “D’you want anything to drink?” He called back, rummaging through his fridge. “I was gonna have a beer.” “Or five.” He added, as an afterthought, in his head.

 “Oh, sure, thanks.”

 “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right out.” He took a long sip of his beer, tried a few deep breaths, and attempted to calm down, before he joined Edward in the living room.

 They sat side by side, in silence, and drank their beers. Étienne wanted to say something, but the only thing running in his head was the feeling of Edward’s hand in his, and he didn’t know how to bring that up.

 Instead, by the time he reached the end of his beer bottle, he excused himself and retrieved another one. They sat apart on the couch, both lost in their own thoughts, until Étienne silently slumped his head on Edward’s shoulder.

 “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but I actually really like you.” He murmured, in the fold of Edward’s neck, his breath warm against equally warm skin.

 Edward tensed and didn’t know what to say or do. Étienne liked him? As in liked him liked him? He remained perfectly still and held his breath, afraid he would miss Étienne’s strange confession. However, his friend had nothing else to say.

 He was starting to think he had hallucinated everything, safe for the fact that Étienne’s head was on his shoulder, when he felt the other’s hand on his, once more.

 Confused, he looked at their joined hands and hesitantly took it back, before turning to face Étienne.

 He had never noticed how green his eyes were and he felt drawn to them.

 For a moment, they simply looked at each other, not saying a word, and held hands. Edward felt Étienne caress the top of his hand, with his thumb, and he never wanted this to end, even though his heart was probably beating too fast.

 “I... I... I like you too.” He finally managed to say. He hoped the sky wouldn’t fall on his head and he held his breath for a moment longer, waiting for the apocalypse. When that didn’t happen, he chanced another look at Étienne and saw the prettiest of smiles blossom on his face.

 He wanted to see so many more.

 “I’m glad. I’m sorry for earlier... you took me by surprise.”

 Edward let out a nervous laugh and gave his hand a squeeze. “It’s okay. I guess... I wanted your attention and I didn’t know how to get it.”

 “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to startle you. I can be a handful, sometimes. I’m sorry if you thought I didn’t return your feelings.”

  Edward couldn’t take his eyes away from Étienne’s face. He was attracted to it, there was no point denying it, and he felt his heart flutter, when he realised how close they were and the proximity of their bodies.

 “No, really, it’s fine.” He was starting to think that maybe this was where he would have his first kiss, but the magic had to end, when the phone rang. Étienne apologised and went to answer.

 When he returned, he suggested they start working on the zine. Edward had almost completely forgotten about it and he would have preferred returning to that earlier moment, when they had been holding hands, on the couch.

 He helped Étienne set up the materials on his living room floor, before they started working. It was a good thing he enjoyed the work, for he was able to put his earlier thoughts to the back of his mind quickly, as he got engrossed in the layout of the zine.

 Étienne had made a few prints for it and he was busy inking the one they would use for the next issue, while Edward pasted the pictures. Neither one of them realised the time that went by, as they had another beer and the floor became an extension of their work. It was only when Étienne went to retrieve his other brush from his bedroom that Edward realised the beautiful mess they had created.

 With his brush in hand, Étienne fell back to his spot and looked at Edward’s hand at work. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, as he noticed his friend scrunch up his nose in concentration. He thought it was adorable.

 There was a smudge of paint on his cheek and some under his fingernails, as well. Étienne watched Edward’s hands dance on the paper. He looked at the curve of his fingers and the bend of his joints. He watched as he folded and glued the paper meticulously in place, and he felt his heart race.

 “Hey,” Edward paused and looked up. Étienne smiled at him, from his half-lying position.

 “Yes?”

 “I was thinking of something.” Edward gave him a curious look, as he capped his glue stick, his full attention on him.

 “Yes?”  He repeated.

 “I wanna try something. Close your eyes.” Edward wanted to inquire about his idea, but something about the way Étienne looked at him made him obey.

 “’Kay, keep ‘em closed.” He waited for whatever it was that was supposed to come. He was about to ask his friend what it was he wanted to try, when he heard the rustle of fabric, followed by the soft pressure of a pair of foreign lips on his own.

 Surprised and shocked, Edward opened his eyes quickly and found Étienne leaning close, kissing him.

 His mind stilled and ran twice as fast, as his breathing turned laboured and his hands grew sweaty. He waited for the worst and knew something bad was about to happen. Someone would crash in, he would be sent back there, Étienne would tell him this had been all a joke, or he would wake up, alone, in his own bedroom. But then Étienne simply pulled away.

 “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to – I just thought –”

 “Do it again.” He rasped out. Étienne blinked and looked at him.

 “What?”

 “Kiss me again.” He said, a little louder, feeling more confident, when Étienne smiled.

 This time, he was ready, when Étienne dipped his head and caught his lips between his own. He met him halfway and dared to tangle a hand in Étienne’s curly, brown locks. He let the other man lead him through his first kiss and mimicked everything he did; unafraid, exploring.

 When Étienne pushed him back, he let himself fall on the discarded papers, allowing his friend’s hands to run down his body. He had never felt so alive and he never wanted it to stop.

 He looked up into Étienne’s inquiring green eyes and smiled reassuringly at the question he read in them, when they pulled away, breathless. There was a piece of paper stuck in his dishevelled hair and a splash of blue India ink by his chin. He could count the marks on his face, if he wanted to, but he would have preferred kissing them one by one. For a moment, they stayed like that, with Étienne hovering over him, until he reached for his friend’s hand and threaded their fingers again.

 “You can do it again.” He grinned.

 “I plan to, and we’ll keep the rest for later.” Étienne murmured, warm in his ear, before he sought his lips for a third consecutive time, pressing down on him. Edward easily parted his lips for him and allowed himself to feel, for the very first time.

 He was Edward, he was alive, free, and he was kissing another man.

 FIN 14

 Started writing: May 9th 2015, 5:22pm

Finished typing: May 10th 2015, 1:23am

Started typing: May 10th 2015, 12:12pm

Finished typing: May 10th 2015, 3:20pm

[nascent-chaos]

So I saw your pictures with fairy reed! She's so cute! What would that kind of au would be like? What would the boys (UT and SF) think?

Aww ♡ I’m so glad you enjoyed them dearie! I’ve been meaning to finish the series for a while now, but just haven’t been able to find the time to do so. As for what the AU might entail…

The boys have recently moved into a more rural part of town, away from the hustle and bustle of the city they were so used to. For the UT bros, it means a bit more rest and relaxation - for the SF siblings, however, they find the move was already planned because something in the area has been going on, monsters have been blamed for it, and these two drew the short stick when it comes to the investigation. Unbeknownst to anyone in any of the universes, however, they’re not entirely alone.

Sans (UT) :: It’s not long after he and Papyrus move into their new place that he realizes something about the home seems… off. It’s never anything major; an object moved here, a trinket he finds hidden in an odd place there, the sight of something flickering briefly in a sunbeam in the corner of his eye when his brother is around. He doesn’t think much of it at first, but after a time even he begins to suspect there’s something going on in the home.

He finally gets a proper glimpse of her in a secluded part of Papyrus’s garden late one evening, too engrossed by the way the light of the setting sun is refracting off one of the small decorative glass baubles his brother placed there to notice the skeleton towering behind her. He tries not to spook her, but the plan fails spectacularly and she flees.

Time passes, and whenever he suspects she may be lurking around nearby he’ll casually acknowledge her, questioning what manner of mischief she might be up to or calmly setting out something for her at the end of the evening - usually a small portion of whatever his brother had cooked for dinner. It’s his terrible jokes and easy-going nature, however, that draws her out one evening, her laugh like a dozen small bells as he tells her a particularly bad pun, and he realizes he… really enjoys the sound. And seeing such a genuine smile on her face?

Well… he would really like to make her smile like that all the time.

Papyrus (UT) :: Initially he suspects it’s his brother pulling pranks on him when he finds things like his action figures moved or hears something rustling in the corner of the room when his back is turned. But unlike Sans, she’s far more likely to risk letting Papyrus catch a glimpse of her - a shimmer in the light here, a figure darting among the flowers of his garden there. His presence is a welcome addition to the place; she adores him for his positivity and exceedingly gentle nature and enjoys lingering in the parts of the home that he shares with his brother. He mistakes her presence for that of a mouse at first and is intent on capturing her before she has the chance to sully his nice, clean house! And capture her he does!! Just… not the way he’d intended.

She’s admiring his puzzle, flitting to and fro as she observes it from every conceivable angle, her curiosity piqued. He’s fascinated with her, but more than that is appalled that she’s not going about solving the puzzle the correct way! He makes no attempt to sneak up on her, instead striding right up and claiming in his usual loud voice that, pleased though he is that she’s so impressed, she would be much more so if she actually tried it! She thinks of fleeing, but when she sees him settling down beside it, when he calls to her and proceeds to show her step-by-step how it’s meant to be solved… she takes the chance to approach and does as he instructs, beaming happily when he praises her the moment she passes through it unscathed. 

‘OF COURSE, YOU ARE FAR SMARTER THAN THAT MOUSE, LITTLE WINGED HUMAN! NYEH-HEHEHEHEE!’

… He later learns all those oddities hadn’t been a mouse at all. The Great Papyrus was thoroughly japed!

Hickory (SF):: The odd happenings around the old home they’ve moved into begin almost that very first evening and Hickory quickly realizes something is amiss because he’s the one taking the fall for it all. Boxes toppling over? Misplaced items? Faucets left running and windows left wide open?

Yeah, there is definitely something off about this house…

It doesn’t take long for him to hear about the folk tales of the area, and each time he goes out to gather information for his investigation he returns with more evidence that points to a mischief-maker dwelling in and around his own home, too. He finally manages to catch a glimpse of the troublesome creature in question late one afternoon after he has shortcutted back to an empty house only to hear quiet mutterings coming from a nearby shelf. And what should he find but a small fairy, fussing over the filthy state of the house on her land now and lamenting over how thick-skulled the newcomers are.

Ouch.

A little blue magic is all it takes to make sure she doesn’t flit away before he has a chance to talk to her, and talk to her he does. For someone that could sit comfortably in his hand, she seems to have an awful lot of attitude, but after learning the building was partially built on fae territory and realizing it was seen as taking from them, yet giving nothing back in return…

Well, the brothers can’t have that hanging over their heads, now can they?

Black (SF) :: This has to be the worst assignment the Queen has thrown his way yet. And that’s saying something.

He hates it here. It’s too… tranquil, and he’s far too used to being bogged down with endless piles of paperwork and meetings and interrogations and more paperwork to be comfortable in this sort of setting. It has made him irritable and bossy (or at least more so than usual), and while Hickory is fairly accustomed to seeing his brother like this, not everyone is able to tolerate it…

He’s loud, he’s rude, and the resident fae wants him out.

Misfortune seems to follow him from the start. It’s never anything drastic, but it’s enough to cause him near-constant annoyance - sugar replaced with salt, all of his pens gone from his desk, the window left open and his work scattered wildly around his office… At first, he’s frustrated beyond measure and hoping for some kind of break, but it isn’t long before he suspects all of this isn’t simply just a stroke of exceedingly bad luck on his part…

Unfortunately for her, this skeleton isn’t nearly half the idiot she thinks he is, although he plays the role beautifully… right up until she’s fallen into a trap of his own making.

It’s clear to see he’s thoroughly pissed when he discovers her and she’s fully expecting to be snapped in two, or have her wings plucked off or meet some other horrible fate at his hands, but it never comes. Instead, he seems… curious? And… intent on making a deal with her.

Oh, this just got interesting.

Or, it would be, if he were any other soul in the area. But he seems to have done his own research on the legends of the land and has an abnormally good grasp on how to deal with her kind. He’s cautious, ridiculously so, and oh so careful on what he says around her, and by the end of it all, he’s managed to procure her assistance in return for setting her free. A fair trade, she’d say.

Still, between his noisy self and his slob of a brother, it’s clear their fae associate finds little joy in being in their presence longer than necessary. 

[hyperesthesias]

Boba x Valera

Lost Time | Part II

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.9k

Notes: part two as promised. a III act short story designed to be a quick read. au crossover with a novel of mine. 25+aby.

Part I

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Valera woke with the warmth of the rising daylight that seeped through the bedroom window, a warmth in the centre of her soul, and the remnant heat of her husband in the bed sheets. But she did not wake to him beside her. Her hand outstretched to an empty pillow and discordant blankets that’d been thrown aside – he was gone.

A pang knifed through her throat at the thought of another broken promise, and the wondering if perhaps the man she’d once known had changed so drastically. He was the same man last night. I could see it in his eyes. She felt it as he made love with her with hunger and avarice, she knew it as she drifted to sleep with a hand tucked beneath his arm, and her body curled into him.

The pain steeped into disappointment both in him and in herself, that she would be so gullible. He’d always warned her to never trust anyone. She asked him once – before they were married, when she nursed him to health on her farm on Tatooine – if that meant him as well, and at the time he hadn’t given her an answer. Perhaps he’s never had one.

Valera held back the pang as long as she could before it stewed into tears and she did her best to swallow them. It was foolish to cry, there was nothing to be done and she couldn’t change anyone or their mind even if she wanted to. Therefore, she would get up, she would dress herself, and return to the estate with no mention of her encounter with the bounty hunter – my husband –, she would continue her job without a word. As it was so. But as she palmed the tear that escaped her swallow, she frowned at the scent of something that seeped into the room. Out of place, unusual, and certainly not from anything she’d left on the stove.

It was caf.

She sniffed and her furrow deepened as she lept out of bed and threw her dressing gown around her shoulders. She grabbed her harpoon that rested at the corner of the room and steadied it in her hand as she glanced out of the space between the jamb. Never would she have thought of doing such a thing before she’d met her husband – she’d welcomed him freely into her home many years ago, when he’d arrived at her doorstep before she knew he’d a bounty to fulfill. It was part of the reason he’d chastised her trusting nature, and he trained her to the best of her ability. Boba’s armour was gone from the scattered places on the floor they’d left them the night before, and she could see no one, nothing else in the house. But the caf maker was brewing and an empty mug sat beside it, waiting.

She opened the door without a sound and drew a breath as she held the harpoon at her shoulder. Its weight friendly to her hand, she could throw it with perfect aim for as far as her eye could see. But when she saw her target, she quickly lowered it and put it aside, tucked away in another corner.

“I thought you’d left.”

Boba turned around from the lush view of forestry outside the den’s window. He glanced at her up and down, he took in the way the gold of daybreak rested against her figure, then spotted the misplaced harpoon; he held back a grin as he made his way to the caf maker. With another mug in his hand, he filled the empty one and handed it to her. “I never make the same mistake twice.”

Something in her stomach fluttered – be it fear or relief – and she took the mug into her palms as she studied his bare face. He wasn’t lying. He’d never lied to her before. He’d never left before, either. But then again, he didn’t leave now. She nodded, granting him grace despite the adrenaline and doubts that’d filled her waking blood, and she decided to dilute it with caf. He always made damn good caf. She made a humming noise as she drank it and let the steam refresh her face as she sipped. “I’ve missed the ip’spa you make.”

His sights lingered on her for a moment as she enjoyed it, the dawn of her happiness – the happiness he’d wanted for her, the happiness he’d missed seeing – water for whatever lay inside him.

Her feet pattered against the tile of the kitchen as she searched for something for them to eat for breakfast. Biscuits and berries. “I picked them myself,” she said and set them on the table. She saw the armour collected on a chair and resisted calling herself a fool. If she’d been gullible it’d only been to herself.

“I expected nothing less.” He sat in the same seat he had the night before and stifled a sigh of fatigue and pain as he leaned back into the chair.

She noticed. She didn’t say anything. “Your bounty,” she said instead, “perhaps I can help you. I know the guests by name, I know all their rooms and what they eat for breakfast. I can get you where you need to go.”

He chose to believe she wasn’t offering help because of his illness but because of convenience – he knew in reality, it was both. “I’m not after a guest.”

A fleeting fear passed her and all her senses were on fire for a fraction of a second. She had the sudden and vivid memory of him coming to collect her, and of him eventually letting her go. She gathered herself and hid the pallor she could feel in her cheeks with a sip from her mug. “Who is it, then?”

He noticed. He didn’t say anything, either. “Gira.”

She nearly spat back out the caf. “Gira? What did he do?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. He has information I want, the bounty happens to be mutual.” He took a bite of the biscuit and hoped he’d still be chewing by the time she asked her questions.

“Get paid for someone you already want – smart.” She smiled and took another sip as she thought on what her employer could possibly have that Boba would want. It didn’t take long for her to put it together. “Gira – you mean his research project?” she asked.

He paused, and wondered if only for a brief moment how close Gira thought himself to be with Valera to entrust her with details of a life the man no longer lived. A nod finally emerged and he swallowed. “Cellular regeneration.”

“Right – he has very lucrative clients.”

This time he stopped altogether and looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve overheard him talking with his rich friends – you know the type. The kind that have more money than they know what to do with and who want to live forever.”

He didn’t like how close he was to that description.

“He says he’s continuing the project privately, he gets investments from them. It’s part of the reason he throws these parties.”

Another thought he didn’t like occurred to him with more ease than it should have.

She could see the dissonance in him, the way he detached from everything for a moment as he thought. “You’ve just had an idea.”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

“What is it?” She craned her neck to him with narrowed eyes and urged him on.

“Bait.”

“‘Bait’?” she repeated and took another small bite as she thought. It dawned on her when his eyes wouldn’t leave her. “Me bait?”

He nodded. “You bait.”

She gave him a blank stare for a moment before her face lit up. “That’s a brilliant idea! Especially with what happened last night –”

He groaned audibly.

She only pursed her lips and gave him a scolding look. “With what happened last night, I can call him over, tell him I wish to apologise.”

“You know how he’ll take that.”

“And I know you’ll be here to make things very clear,” she grinned.

He was surprised and sat back a bit more as he studied her. “You want me to kill this man?”

“Your client wants him dead?”

“Five hundred thousand, proof of death.”

Valera’s nose scrunched in a grimace. “What did he do?”

“Doesn’t mean he did anything,” he sighed again and finished the last of the caf in his mug. He stood to pour himself another and considered the consequences of involving her in a hunt. It hadn’t happened often – he’d liked it that way, there was less liability. “When can you call him over? What’s his itinerary?”

“I can call him over as soon as you’re ready – he sleeps in after a gala, brunches with his friends. Those who are awake, anyway.”

“Good. Get dressed. We’ve got a job to do.”

Gira Lemm was an easily amused and fickle man who enjoyed the current company who lay sleeping in his bed as much as the prospect of the future company of Valera, with whom he was more intrigued than infatuated. He hired her out of curiosity – and because her ability to make a masterpiece out of banal mushrooms and quaint village trappings spoke of talent. He was curious, however, if her goodness, if her kindness and sweetness, the purity that seemed to emanate from those dark black eyes were a mere facade – and what lay behind them if it was. She was a good, hard worker who treated everyone with dignity and respect, and who never said a word out of turn to him. There was a part of him that wondered what would happen if he prodded her, if he could manage to erupt a beast within her that she may or may not have known about. He relished unexpected results. And her call to him had been most unforeseen.

He arrived at the guesthouse he’d lent her in a casual suit with a bright smile as a gift, and his hands in his pockets.

Boba Fett stood hidden in the corner, able to see everything that transpired in the open plan house from his visor, and watched as Valera opened the door to the quarry. He hated people who held their hands in their pockets – they always had something to hide.

“Valera – good morning,” Gira greeted her. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, please come in,” she welcomed him with mirth and stepped aside to allow his passage. He meandered in and appraised the house, she’d done little to make it a home, but it was warm only because of her presence. “I wanted to apologise for last night,” she said and closed the door behind him. “Forgive me for abandoning your hospitality. I wasn’t myself.” She offered him a seat at the table and poured him a fresh cup of caf.

“I hope I hadn’t done anything to offend you,” his eyes followed her as she turned to the counter.

Fett didn’t like the way he looked at her. He didn’t like anything about the man.

“No, no, of course not.” She set the mug in front of him and sat where Boba had been with a cup of her own. She took a sip, and he mirrored. “No, I was merely overtaken.”

“’Overtaken’?” he repeated and took another generous sip to hide the pleased expression that impeded his face.

“Yes, you see I’ve hesitated to say anything for the time I’ve been here, but I feel there’s something I must tell you.”

He inclined his head and swallowed – certain and uncertain of her meaning. Certain and uncertain of what he was hearing – from both anticipation and a fog that began to cloud his senses. “Please, do go on.”

“The way you brushed my face last night,” she watched as his expression turned from delight to confusion. “It reminded me of my husband.”

“‘Husband’? You have a husband?” His words began to slur and he couldn’t keep his head upright.

Good girl. Fett watched the man’s shock as he grappled for some semblance of sense and struggled to sit up. He couldn’t help a smirk.

“Yes, I do,” Valera said as Gira’s head slammed into the table, then muttered under her breath: “And don’t forget it.”

Boba emerged from the shadows and surveyed his wife’s good work. The man was out solid, hunched flat on the table, arms languid at his sides, he thought he could even see a bit of drool.

“Mushrooms work quickly. He’ll be out for no more than a half hour – I put very little in his coffee. He evidently can’t hold his champagne or his mushrooms.”

Boba scoffed and yanked Lemm’s chair away from the table. “Get the rope.”

Valera had it ready beneath the sink and handed it to him.

“I’m going to kill him,” he said blatantly.

“I know.”

He looked at her from his visor. “You okay with that?” Whether she was or wasn’t was inconsequential, it wouldn’t prevent him from fulfilling his contract. He wanted to know what she would say.

She was silent for a while and watched as he tied the unconscious man to the chair in knots and loops he’d never shown her, with knittings she’d never done when she once braided fishing nets a lifetime ago. “What matters to me is your life.”

He didn’t say anything else, and found it difficult to look at her while he wrapped a noose around the man’s throat.

Gira woke what felt to be hours later and had difficulty remembering anything past the events of the night before. He didn’t know where he was, nor who he was with, neither why everything was so bright. All he did know was that he couldn’t move his hands or feet, and the more he struggled the less he could move his neck.

“Don’t fight it, I need you alive for now.” Fett stood in front of Lemm with a blade drawn. Valera was locked in the bedroom, safe and away from the violence he was about to incur.

A Mandalorian figure began to materialise in Lemm’s sights and when the realisation of who it was, of what had happened spurned inside him he began to struggle in his bonds. He more he struggled, the fiercer the ropes burned around his neck.

Fett rested on the edge of the table, one ankle crossed over the other. “Project Rebirth,” he made no introductions neither any apologies. “I need the data.”

Lemm floundered for an answer, taken off guard completely by the bounty hunter’s request. “Data? What data?”

“No scientist worth his credits would let his research be lost completely. I want your copy. I would pay you for it, but you’ll have no use for payment after I deliver you to my client.”

Lemm’s eyes still searched the man, desperately seeking some indignant joke. “The research is worthless – it’s, it’s–nothing, I have nothing! I don’t have any copy!”

His efforts to protect his property were admirable but pointless. “Then I’ll recover what you remember.” He propped himself off the table and made for the scientist with the blade in hand.

The man winced and tried to pull away from Fett, but his constraints twisted and began to gag him. “No, no – wait! Wait!” Fett stopped and Lemm struggled to catch his breath from the noose. “You don’t want it – you don’t want any of it.”

Boba was close to losing his patience, the pain reliever wasn’t working as well as it should have been and every joint ached and pounded from tying up his quarry. They all have to do it the hard way.

Valera listened from the other side of the bedroom door as Gira pleaded and began to scream; the only thing he repeated: ‘I don’t have anything!’ Pieces began to fit together for her and her eyes closed with a shuddered breath, she realised she had to stop Boba.

She stepped out of the room and approached him.

“Get back,” he told her, his voice even and unraised.

“Bo’aba,” she called to him and stood beside him. Gira looked like a different person – he barely looked like a person from the contortion of pain on his face, the way the ropes bent his body against the chair. “Stop,” she breathed. She forced herself to swallow and put aside what she was seeing – she put it in a box inside herself, a box filled with other men and women who looked much like Gira at the hands of men much unlike Boba. Men without honour.

He stopped. She wouldn’t ask if there wasn’t a reason. “Why?”

Valera did what she could to loosen the rope around Gira’s neck and helped him sit upright somewhat. “There isn’t any research, is there? There never was.”

Lemm gasped for breath and fought to see her through the sweat that beaded into his eyes. He shook his head. “There was – it was – it was a long time ago, it never worked. The results – fake. I faked it. Money ran out. Too much – to cover up,” he groped for air and choked. “Too many – victims.”

“You used people for their money?” Valera helped him along.

He shook his head. “Bodies – tests.”

She swallowed again, this time somehow more dry than the last and let another quavered breath as she looked up to her husband. “What about your other project? The one you’ve told others about? Do you have anything there that worked?” It was a great effort not to let her voice shake as much as her lungs, but she knew Gira could feel the shiver in her fingers as she helped his back and head to remain level.

He shook his head again. “Fake. Money.”

Valera nodded in knowing. As she stood she felt her legs would give out from under her, but she remained her strength and kept her hands on the man. She turned to Boba whose sights were fixated on Lemm in front of him, but she knew he saw nothing of the man. He saw only the narrowing tunnel he’d spoken of before.

“Go outside,” he told her. It was not an order, he was not unkind. But a chill breathed against her shoulders as he spoke. His sightless visor turned to her when she did not respond. “Go.”

Valera did not need to be asked thrice. Her feet began to take her to the backdoor of the house, but her sights remained on the two men before she opened the door. Boba did not move, but she knew his eyes followed her, watched her and waited until she could no longer see.

The moment the door closed behind her, Boba released his holster and pulled his blaster as he turned back to Lemm. A pathetic and greedy thing, chasing dreams and grandeur. He wondered, by that respect, how different the two of them were. But it wouldn’t matter to either of them for long. “This isn’t personal.”

Valera closed her eyes as Gira pleaded, and flinched at the sound of blasterfire. The tips of her fingers on her mouth, her body vibrated with the echoes of screams – not all of them Gira’s, not all of them her own, but all of them she knew by name.

Boba did not emerge from the house for a long while, but when he did he smelt of blood and ozone. “Have you packed your things?”

She didn’t reply, she couldn’t hear him. She couldn’t see him, neither the green that filled the mountainside in front of them. She wasn’t there.

“Valera?” he beckoned her, but he did not touch her.

She started at her name and slowly turned around to see her husband. “What?” She bat her eyes, they were dry, and she wondered how long she’d stood there so utterly motionless.

“Have you packed your things?” he asked again.

She nodded.

“Do you still want to leave with me?”

She breathed in sharply and gathered herself – she felt the grass beneath her feet, the cold river wind through her hair that was once again tied back with her red ribbon, the scent of evergreen leaves instead of death. She’d had no delusions of what her husband did. She never had. But the past doesn’t die, regardless of who else does. “Yes,” she answered and found it was easier to swallow now. “I’d like to leave here. And never come back.”

He gave her a nod. “Meet me off the property, I’ll bring the bags.”

Boba sat across from his client, the Twi’lek woman, who had the same disinterested expression from when he’d met her before. The scars on her face and lekku made more sense than the last time he’d seen her, and it wasn’t difficult to understand why she’d want Gira Lemm dead. He lifted a case onto the table – and struggled greatly to suppress the grunt and heavy breath that gathered in the back of his throat – then slid it towards her.

The woman took the case and opened it discreetly before she peered into the face of Gira Lemm. Her dark green lips spread into a smile. “Job well done. You’re worth your reputation.” She took the datapad that rested beside her elbow on the table and keyed in several swipes. “The other two hundred and fifty.”

He checked the control on his arm and noted the full amount in his account. He gave her a nod and stood to leave, but paused before he passed her completely: “Did the research ever work?”

The woman turned and rested her arm on the back of the seat, still trying to see past the visor – her interest in what lay behind it greatly piqued from such an unusual comment. “Not well. It had its moments, but then the others started dying. I was lucky. He only used me for grafts.” She motioned to the scar tissue that was visible, he was sure there was more than wasn’t.

Fett stayed still a moment as he considered mortality and its fickle nature, then walked away again without a word.

Valera waited for him on the Slave I, and when he approached the personal quarters she’d just finished replacing her belongings to where they’d been before. She looked pleased, at home – as at home as he was on that ship. He briefly thought of he and his father and how he would have felt as a boy to be banished from the co-pilot’s seat. It wasn’t the same, he was sure, but in remembering, in imagining, he could catch a glimpse of what he’d put Valera through. He felt like a fool. All that and it’d been for nothing.

“How did it go?” she chirped beside him. It betrayed her – he knew her chipper nature was over-compensation for the fear that still rattled inside her, for the memories that wouldn’t leave her be. He knew a little something of that, too.

“They paid,” he said and moved to climb the ladder and enter the cockpit.

“That’s good,” he could hear her voice from below, then her footsteps up the rungs a short while later. She settled beside him and strapped in without being told, her mind and body remembering the routine she’d ardently missed.

Fett sat in the pilot’s seat and geared the Slave I for take off; it didn’t take long for them to vanish from the atmosphere and from the Alexandira system. He searched nearby systems for a destination, but found none of them appealing. He couldn’t focus much on anything, on the words on the screen or the stars that passed by the transparasteel. The only recurring thought was that of defeat. He’d never been beaten in a fight – even if he’d receded himself, it’d been out of strategy, not weakness. And yet, the battle against his body was the one fight he couldn’t seem to win.

“Are you alright?” Valera asked, she looked from his unmoving gaze to the same words on the screen he’d been staring at for a few minutes.

His head moved an inch to her as she called him. He opened his mouth to give her a quick answer, but nothing came out; anything that would have, would have been a lie. He’d already broken her trust once, he couldn’t afford to do it again. “I’m not gonna make it,” he finally said.

Valera remained quiet, motionless.

He realised as he watched her – perched there, her eyes and heart invested in him fully – why the idea of his death bothered him. He realised it wouldn’t have mattered much to him if he didn’t have her with him. It was the unspoken and supremely selfish reason within himself as to why he’d left her – so it wouldn’t bother him. He wondered if the thought of possible death troubled his father when he would take dangerous jobs away from Kamino – he remembered it did. He’d turned out more calloused than his father – a poor imitation, in more ways than one.

Fett sighed and removed his helmet as he turned to her. “I’ve got a couple years – there’s nothing to be done about it.” Why is this more difficult than it should be? “Anything else is a delusion.”

Valera’s silence continued, but her gaze averted and he watched her swallow hard. Whatever pain he might’ve been in, he was sure she could feel it, too.

Because I don’t want to disappoint her.

“I have no delusions,” she whispered. “I just have the hope that something might work. Eventually.”

He exhaled and turned his head briefly. “Face the facts, Valera.”

“I am,” she answered, it was a stern plea that he would listen to her despite his detached calculation. “Even if it’s unlikely, it might happen. I never knew there was life outside the three realms of my galaxy. Then I was brought here. Anything can happen, my dear.” Her voice wasn’t confident, but she knew she spoke truth. She was worried the concept of hope would upset him further, but even if he couldn’t carry it, she would for the both of them – at least for now.

He glanced at her again. He couldn’t deny when she’d said, but he couldn’t fully believe it, either. The statistical likelihood of finding a cure was unfathomable. But then again, so was surviving a Sarlacc.

“I need you to do something for me,” she said.

It wasn’t often she requested things from him, and he ran a mental checklist to ensure he’d provided everything for her before they’d left; that he hadn’t forgotten anything, that he hadn’t neglected her further. Curiously, he could think of nothing, and he turned to her to pay her his full attention.

“I need you to swear you will never leave me again.” She stopped and hesitated in saying what she really wanted to, but found courage as she closed her eyes from him quickly. “That you will never betray me like that again.”

His jaw locked and he looked away from her. He couldn’t deny the truth of that, either.

“I need you to swear it to me – on your father.”

He swallowed and took a breath. With a silent nod he agreed: “I swear.”

“Thank you.” She placed a hand on his, gloved and cold, as it rested on the console. “I’m not leaving you, either.” Her hand gripped him a little tighter, a little more fervent. “No matter what happens.”

His fingers curled around hers, and he could feel the heat of her through the leather – her warmth a constancy, a solidity. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to, he knew she would keep her word, invariably. His thumb brushed against the scars of her wrist and along her outer palm where there were ripples of skin that’d grown back through violence; some of them from bonds, others from brands, others still of her own making when she skinned the brand from her own flesh, when she freed herself at last – before he’d met her, before he was sent to collect her, before he’d stayed. She’d been through much – what she would endure when he was gone was a consistent thought impressed upon him.

His hand fell from hers and nudged against her chin. He’d solidify the contingencies he’d implemented for her when his time was up, but he didn’t have to think of them now. All he had to do was find the next system, the next job, the next stay. All he had to do was not waste any more time.

Valera took his hand and kissed it, her lips lingered on his knuckles a little longer than they needed to, but he didn’t move from her. His thumb caressed the edge of her jaw as he remained there, and when she relinquished him – with halting hands – he turned back to the console.

“Where to next?” she asked.

He paused for a moment, surveying the star chart before a refreshing thought crept upon him. “Somewhere with water.”

He knew she missed the water dearly – and so did he.