#i could spend hours on each of these ships but i shall spare you my friend

[if-you-like-pina-colada-s]

Hey ✨BROSKI✨ I have a question, it's alright if you don't wanna answer this because shippers are VICIOUS but what are your favorite ships?

(currently sleep-deprived it's 12:30 am where i'm at lol)

Bro fr, shippers are hella vicious in this fandom, but I'll still answer anyway 😌

My current OTP is Fruk (France/England). They are my number one. I just adore their dynamic. They're enemies. They're lovers. They're rivals. They're best friends. The probably had a restraining order on eachother at some point. Only to realize "well now who am I gonna gossip and commit arson with 🥺😔". They're divorced bitter exes. They're an old married couple. To me, they are like cookies and cream. Can't have one without the other.

Some of my other favorites include (but are not limited to)

Ameripan (America/Japan)

Canukr (Canada/Ukraine)

Rusame (Russia/America)

Gerita (Germany/Italy)

Prumano (Prussia/Romano)

Romechu (Rome/China)

These aren't in any specific order, and there are still plenty more I really love, I am a multishipper so the list does contain a lot of repeated names. These are just some of the main ones.

[writtenbygracewilliams]

Inspired by Kathani Sharma’s hatred of English tea and the fact Anthony is absolutely WHIPPED for this woman. Here is my ficlet. Thank you a million times over to my incredible beta @tofanasmuse ilysm.

Let me know what you think, send requests anytime, and free Palestine.

–Grace Williams xo

Word Count: 562 | Rating: General | Vibe: Fluff

Chai Love You

Kate Bridgerton still had little desire for Anthony to splash around his money on expensive gifts, despite her change in title. She appreciated living comfortably, sure, she would not deny that, but spending the family fortune on lavish clothes and hats was not something that brought her a great deal of joy.

Of course, to every rule there is an exception. They had barely stepped off the boat in Bombay, but Anthony could already see how Kate was settled in a way she never was in England. More than anything else, the flavours of this city and country were refueling Kate’s soul. Anthony tried to appreciate them, but his English palate recoiled from the amount of chili.

Anthony, like any respectable doting husband, insisted on shipping whatever spices Kate desired back to England. Unlike most gifts proffered by her husband, Kate welcomed this one most happily.

Now here Kate stands, one week past her honeymoon, as the only Bridgerton who knows how to turn on a stove, making herself chai long after everyone else has gone to bed.

“What are you doing?” Anthony asks softly, leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen.

“Oh,” Kate turns, slightly startled, “I didn’t mean to wake you when I got up. I’m making a pot of chai,” she looks back to the stove, lightly stirring the mixture of milk and spices.

“I’m most impressed you know how to,” he replies amusedly, pressing himself off the wall.

“You’re impressed I know how to make a drink native to my culture?” she raises an eyebrow.

“No, of course not,” he rushes to clarify, “that you know how to use the,” he spares a look combining embarrassment and disdain, “stove.”

“You cannot be serious,” she snorts unbecomingly, falling into uncontrollable laughter that is much too loud given the hour of night.

“Did the cook not make chai this afternoon?” Anthony huffs, resting against the table in the centre of the room.

“She did…” Kate says slowly.

“What is it, Viscountess? Lady of the household?”

“Evidently my written instructions were not clear enough. The chai the cook made was, for lack of a better descriptor, inadequate.”

“Would you like to hire a second cook? One who specialises in Indian cuisine?”

“That’s most thoughtful of you to offer,” Kate smiles, placing a terracotta cover over the flame once her chai finishes brewing. “If a household this large has always had only one cook, then I shall not change that. I will just have to teach the cook of my culture’s food.”

“And you will do a most excellent job, of that I am certain,” Anthony grins proudly.

“I will do my best, to teach a cook how to cook,” she hums bemusedly.

“Is your chai adequate, my love?” he asks fondly, watching each delicate movement of the cup to her lips.

“It is perfect,” she sighs happily, unsure how she went without it for so long during the last London season. The two months since they had left India was long enough.

“I shall see to it that we always have the ingredients you require on hand,” Anthony promises, bringing her empty hand to his lips.

“If the Bridgerton fortune is to go to a collection of spices you cannot pronounce, I will ensure it does not go to waste. I shall see to it that you learn to love chai.”

[reallystellacadente]

A Fresh Start

This was supposed to be part of a longer work that I won't describe because maybe it will eventually get written. But I'm testing the waters of this fandom again, working on various WIPs (AU story We Belong will be completed!!) and felt like I should just get this out there. It initially had an edgier title but I got distracted and forgot it.

Content warning for brief violence.

Find it on AO3 here. My epic take on the Quinn/SW story is here.

================================================

Two heavily bearded prisoners, one reeking of piss and shit, the other a bit better kept, were dragged before the magister’s desk.

He was a civilian advocate, a military retiree compelled to return when asked to serve in this role. His sole job: to pass judgment on errant military personnel. On occasion, his rulings were dictated from on high. He did both with all the brains and heart he could stomach.

And he did so from behind a simple wooden table behind a meter-high plasteel panel in a cold, steel gray room.

Today, it was two officers. He hated this part of the job. Because either they were guilty and a shame upon the service, or they were innocent and being framed to protect someone higher up who actually was guilty. So still, a shame upon the service.

Today, he had one of each. The first case was open and shut: A young lieutenant had gotten drunk and forced himself upon a barmaid. Normally, such a thing would be overlooked, since the young woman had not been severely injured, except she was the niece of a prominent Sith family. Human, but still Sith. He’d appealed, saying his drink had been spiked by a spiteful colleague. There was no way to prove it.

“Gorbinn, step forward.” The young man was clearly too weak to escape the guards holding him, so they dragged him to the front of the table. “You must stand to hear your fate, son.” The guards stood him up and then backed away.

“Jamith Gorbinn. The Military High Tribunal has reviewed your appeal. Your appeal has been denied. The sentence of death stands. It will be carried out immediately.”

The young man opened his mouth to protest, but one of the guards pointed his blaster at his head and fired before he could say anything. His body slammed forward to the duracrete floor and a pool of blood began to form.

A doctor walked slowly toward him, gave him a quick scan, and pronounced him dead.

The other officer somehow managed to pull himself up and the guards released their hold on him. He stayed in place, but stood up fully and attempted to straighten the dirty prison uniform he’d worn for the past three weeks. There was nothing he could do about the blood spatter on his left side. He assumed the magister would understand.

He’d last been given a clean uniform for his appeal hearing, brief and bewildering as it had been. He knew the process – all the arguments were laid out before the military court without the accused present, unlike the grueling court martial he’d been through the month before. Then the accused was brought in for a final statement, and questions if necessary. There had been none, but the officer had been certain that some of them looked upon him with pity and not scorn. It had been his only hope for these past weeks that somehow, his life might be spared.

Two young enlisted troops ran forward with a tarp and rolled the body onto it. The two guards who had escorted Gorbinn in lifted the body and dropped it onto the tarp, rolled it up and carried him away. One of the enlisted men went to the back of the room, just beyond the officer’s sight, and came back with a vibromop and a towel, and quickly removed any evidence of the justice that had just taken place.

Now it was obvious what the plasteel panel was for.

“Next. Prisoner Dorn-37652, step forward.”

Malavai Quinn, 27 years old, had been stripped of his captaincy and left without rank or even a name for the past three months since he’d taken it upon himself to countermand a moff’s misguided and cowardly orders. Reversing the retreat had saved hundreds of thousands of Imperial troops and hundreds of ships. It had been a glorious victory for the Empire, but it had come at a severe price to him personally.

He hadn’t regretted it until the court martial, when one of the judges remarked he had known Quinn’s father, who had died months earlier at Rhen Var, in service to Darth Mekhis. “You bring great shame upon a glorious military family,” she spat.

“I would not change what I have done, your honor. My actions were for the good of the Empire. We won the day and thous…”

“You disobeyed orders. There is no excuse.”

Quinn bowed his head and remained silent. The proceedings stretched on for three days, rather long for an Imperial court martial.

==

The young man bore a strong resemblance to his father, who the judge had researched while awaiting the decision he was to present as his own.

“Malavai Quinn. I have reviewed your appeal. The appeal of your death sentence has been approved, and the Military High Tribunal concurs. You will be returned to custody until such time as your final sentence has been determined and you are released.”

Quinn felt his stomach fall and then return. “Thank you, your honor. Sir.”

The judge rose slowly, picked up his datapad, and turned to leave. Quinn stood still, waiting for a formal dismissal.

“For the record, son, my granddaughter was at Druckenwell. She’s at home with her son now. I had no part in this decision, but I’m glad of it,” he said, turning his head back toward the defendant.

Quinn stood at attention and then nodded. “Sir, I may no longer be in service, but I am grateful nonetheless.” The two guards motioned toward Quinn, who followed them back.

As he retreated, Quinn figured he’d be dishonorably discharged, banished from Dromund Kaas and made to feel lucky he’d been left alive. There was nothing remaining for him here anyway. His mother had disowned him, whether she was still grieving for his father or worried about his sisters’ career and marriage chances, she hadn’t said. She was incensed he had refused an offer to simply leave the service without an official trial as part of a plea bargain. “You’re just being difficult, Malavai. You’re always difficult. You don’t think of anyone but yourself.”

“I’m thinking of the truth, Mother. It needs to be heard. Moff Broysc was …”

“I don’t care. Why should I? You don’t care. About anyone except yourself and your impossible standards. You’re worse than your father, and he’s a full colonel.” She brought a handkerchief to her eyes and mumbled into the cloth, “He was a full colonel.”

Quinn could never bear seeing her cry. “Mother, I’m sorry. I have to see this through.”

“Then you see it through alone. I’m done with you, Malavai. I have no need of a son who gives no thought to his family’s shame.”

And she cut the transmission. As a prisoner, Quinn had no way of contacting her, so he begged his advocate, who said they’d been unsuccessful at reaching her.

So this was it. Quinn followed the guards back to his cell. Two hours later, a fresh prison uniform was delivered and Quinn was ordered to the showers to clean up and shave.

He was escorted into a small workroom with a tabletop holo. A few minutes later, a large figure appeared and addressed him as “lieutenant.”

Quinn bowed, assuming he was addressing a Sith of some stature by the man’s dress and battle mask, and the high-end computer terminals behind him. “My lord, I have been stripped of my rank as a …”

“I know why you’re in there, Malavai Quinn. My name is Darth Baras. I have asked my master, Darth Vengean of the Dark Council, to spare your life in exchange for a new start with the military. You are to be transferred to Balmorra, where you will serve as my eyes and ears.

“Trust me, Quinn. Your talents will not be wasted.”

Quinn wasn’t sure what to say. He’d just been granted a new beginning. A humbling one, being returned to the rank of lieutenant when he was all but assured of a promotion to major before Druckenwell. And exiled to Balmorra, still a fresh warzone. But he was alive. And he was still Malavai Quinn.

He stood at attention, then bowed his head in deference. “Thank you my lord. I shall serve you faithfully for as long as I am required.”

The impassive metal face gave Quinn no clues as to the man behind it. It wasn’t even particularly frightening, like many Sith masks. His round figure likely meant the man was no fighter, or at least, had not been one recently.

“You will receive your official orders and a new uniform shortly. The shuttle to your new post leaves in two hours. You had best be on it. I will contact you again when I receive word you have arrived. Baras out.”

The holo went dark. Quinn was both elated and terrified. He was back in the service, his mind already calculating his newly possible futures: put on hold for a few months on Balmorra, a year at most, able to transfer back to a more relevant assignment after that. He’d be spending this time serving a Sith lord, a darth no less. As his father had done.

And look what that had gotten the man. Quinn vowed to do his father one better. Even disowned, he would make his family proud.

[teaspacebar]

war of hearts part v: drinks, family, and wanting

summary: cody has drinks with his boys, you have some family bonding time, and you and cody finally get a moment to yourselves.

words: 2.2k+

beta: @ambereyesandwine​

taglist (open): @morganas-pendragons​ @deathlessdays​ @obiorbenkenobi​  @painkiller80 @abovethyfold @the-lady-of-stars @my-own-oracle​

a/n: i love this part so much!! i’m bringing in more canon information to actually get a timeline down so you can see where in the clone wars story we are! i hope you all enjoy!

masterlist

When Cody went to 79’s – which was very little – he usually ended up in a shared booth with Wolffe, Rex, and Maverick. Each of the boys would spend time with their respective squad before eventually making their way to the back corner. It had the best view of the whole place and allowed them to keep eyes on their boys without hovering.

“You look jumpier than normal,” Rex commented, taking a sip from his beer.

“He’s waiting for the Commander,” Maverick replied, covering his chuckle with a cough at Cody’s glare.

Wolffe raised an eyebrow, “Yours?” At Maverick’s nod he continued, “She’s the one that stopped a civil war breakin’ out by teaching them how to make bread?” Cody tried to keep a smile off his face – he could picture the scene in his head. “She gave General Plo Koon a whole basket a’ baked goods the other day. Should’a seen her face when he said he can’t eat that kind a’ food.”

“She’s coming to 79’s, then? She’ll be recognized right away,” Rex said.

Maverick shrugged, “She doesn’t wear her robes much, plus the rest of my boys wouldn’t hesitate to start a fight if anyone gave her a hard time.”

Cody gave a quick nod in Maverick’s direction. He had grown comfortable with the Captain – the man had a good head on his shoulders and worked well with you – and Cody was glad to have the Juno Squadron looking out for you.

Cheers erupted from the bar, and Cody watched as several men crossed the room in the direction of the entrance. “Speak of the Jedi and they shall appear,” Wolffe leaned back into the booth.

Cody followed the moving figures until he saw your familiar form. You were wearing simple, black clothes – your robes gone, just like Maverick had said. He watched you glow, your smile shining so brightly he thought his chest might burst. You greeted the Juno boys, receiving hugs from Bailey and Ziggy. A drink was pushed into your hands by Flare, grin on his face. It took Cody a moment to realize that you were staring back at him. You broke the gaze momentarily to say something to Salem, who gave a nod in response.

“Aaaaand she’s coming over.” Rex clapped him on the shoulder, “I’m going to grab another drink.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Wolffe smirked, leaving the booth with Rex.

You came strolling up a few seconds later, “Did I scare the party away?”  

“It’s because you’re obviously intimidating,” Maverick answered, chuckling when you poked him in the side. “I’ll go make sure that Flare doesn’t start another fight.” He sent a wink at the two of you before heading to the center of the bar.

You slipped into the booth next to Cody, leg brushing his. “Hey,” you said softly, eyes catching his.

“Hi,” he murmured back. His heart leapt as you intertwined your hands underneath the table. You looked exhausted. “Everything alright?”

You nodded, swirling your drink in your hand, “Obi-Wan has had so many meetings with the Council recently. The Republic can’t seem to get anything done, but I can barely understand politics itself.”

“You’re stressed,” Cody offered. You hummed noncommittally, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You and Obi-Wan have more in common than differences I think.”

A snort escaped you, “Because we’re both stressed? There’s a war going on that I’m not sure we can win, there’s reason to be stressed.” You sighed, “Sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He pressed his lips to your hair, relishing in the small content sound that left your lips.

“I just want us to be able to just talk about things other than what we deal with every day.” You pulled away from him, smiling, “Like what were you and the boys talking about earlier?”

“Besides the war?” You rolled your eyes, giving him a pointed look as you swiped his drink from his hand. “It was ‘clone-talk’.”

“Mhm, right.” He loved the little perturbed look on your face. Your nose scrunched and your lips formed a perfect pout that he had the urge to kiss off.

No, he hadn’t kissed you again. Not since that night at the gala a month ago. And Cody was pretty sure the tension was getting to him. Any moment he had alone with you was interrupted. Not that there were many opportunities to be alone with you at all. Cody prided himself on being a patient man, but when it came to you, it was all thrown to the wind.

“Maybe I’ll go ask Wolffe, I can bribe him with more pastries.” Cody knew your threat wasn’t real because you snuggled up closer to his side.

“We should get you back to your room before you fall asleep at the table.”

“But I want to spend time with you,” your voice was muffled by his shirt.

“C’mon Pip, I’ll walk you and that’s how we’ll spend time together.” You pulled back quickly, blinking at him. Your mouth was open in a small ‘o’. “What?”

“You’ve never called me that before.”

Oh. He hadn’t, had he? He had called you by your name, but never by the term of endearment that the Juno Squadron – and even General Skywalker and Commander Tano – called you.

He started to apologize, but you placed your hand over his lips, “You can say it. It’s nice. More than nice, actually.” You lowered your hand back into his. “Walk with me?”

He didn’t think he could ever say no to you.

-

“Ahsoka!”

Said Padawan yelped in surprise as you all but tackled her from behind. Laughter bubbled up between the both of you as she carried you on her back with ease. She let you down, ducking away before you could poke her in the side.

“I heard you’re heading to Ilum with the younglings?”

Ahsoka nodded, “Yep, we’re leaving in a few days. You and Master Kenobi are leaving tomorrow, right?”

“We think we’ve found a lead on Grievous,” you answered. “Which is the most good news Obi-Wan has had in a while with…Maul being back,” you had lowered your voice to a whisper.

“Anakin’s been a little weird too,” Ahsoka mumbled back.

“I’ve been a little what, Snips?”

The both of you turned to see Anakin exiting a room – which now made sense as to why Ahsoka was just lingering in the hallway – with an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed.

“She said that I am far better at Dejarik than you.” You sidled up to Anakin, nudging him with your shoulder.

Anakin snorted, “Right, I’m sure.”

“I beat Obi-Wan.” You blinked innocently.

“…you did?”

You gave Ahsoka a look, which made you both burst out into another round of laughter.

“Should I be worried you three are causing trouble?” Obi-Wan entered the hallway from the same room Anakin had been in.

“No, Master,” the three of you responded, similar grins on your faces.

-

You were pacing the small length of the escape pod, unaware of two pairs of eyes that were on you. Ahsoka had been kidnapped by pirates. You knew that she could take care of herself, but you cared for the other Padawan like she was your younger sister. But the younglings were stranded – alone – without help.

Which the two men watching you knew set you on edge.

Obi-Wan spoke up first, “We will go after her as soon as we are picked up.” You felt the calm that he was pushing in your direction, and you let it wash over you. You spared a glance at Cody, who still had his helmet on. As you finally sat down next to him, his gloved hand brushed against yours. It was his way of checking in, to let you know that he was there even though he couldn’t be more obvious about it since your older brother figure who was also his commanding officer was less than three feet away from you.

“Thank you, Master.” You sent a small smile toward the Jedi.

Obi-Wan was always wonderful to you. You remembered a little from when you were a youngling yourself. It was always when Master Qui-Gon would visit. Obi-Wan would join him at times and you liked it when he read to you.

It had surprised you when he had bumped into you – or you, into him – at the Jedi Archives just a few years ago. It had surprised you even greater when he had taken you on as his Padawan. You were grateful for reasons you could not even begin to explain to him. One of which was also in the escape pod with you. There were so many moments you had wanted to talk to Obi-Wan about everything with Cody, but you had seen what he thought about Anakin’s feelings for Padme. You weren’t sure if Obi-Wan knew about their very real relationship and just chose to ignore it, or if he was in denial. Not that Anakin was great about hiding it.

“They’ll be able to get us in about an hour,” Obi-Wan said, leaning back in his seat.

“You didn’t happen to bring a game of Dejarik with you? Maybe they stowed one away in here?” You grinned as both men gave you a questioning look. “I may have told Anakin that I beat you at it.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, “Of course you did.”

“I beat you at Dejarik,” Cody pointed out.

You whined, “Yes but I beat all of the boys except for Maverick.” You pouted for a moment – the boys were glad that they had diverted your attention away from the stranded children – before your mischievous grin was back on your face. “So, when do I get to see the two of you play?”

-

A light ‘beep’ from your comms had you jumping up from your bed and unlocking the door. It slid open to reveal a de-armored Cody standing out in the hallway on the Republic Rescue Cruiser that had picked you up. You were in-route back to Coruscant with Ahsoka and the younglings in tow – all safe and sound. You had found a vacant room on the ship that gave you a bit of distance from everyone else. After spending some time with the younglings, you had sent Cody a message to meet you there later. Which was why he was in front of you now.

You grabbed his hand, pulling him inside with a soft, “Hello.”

“I slipped away as soon as I could, we never usually–” He was cut off by you kissing the Force out of him, his back pressed against the now closed door. His hands landed on your waist, a small moan leaving his lips. He pulled his head away, ignoring the small pain that goes through his skull as it hits the door, “Pip.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” you demanded, grabbing his face with your hands to draw his lips back to yours. You needed him. It had been something you were figuring out since your first kiss. Every time his hands brushed up against you or he sent you one of his crooked smiles, heat would crawl up your neck and make its home in your cheeks.

You knew that you loved Cody.

But wanting him was an entirely different battle.

And not one that you were worried about losing as you were ready to devour him. Cody gasped, and you realized the energy that was pulsating in the room. It was like how you felt in that small closet, no space between you – except this time Cody was feeling it with you. “Okay?” You mumbled against his lips, afraid to overwhelm him. His only response was to grab the backs of your thighs and lift you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. You giggled, kissing him sweetly. He carried you to the small bed, sitting on it so you could straddle him. He ran a hand through your hair, running his thumb down the side of your face. His warm eyes were gentle, hard lines of his face softened into something that was just for you.

“I thought we were going to talk about it before we did anything else,” the words left his lips and you could tell he was almost disappointed in himself. You sighed, knowing that the logical part of his brain was correct. Everything with him just felt right. You started to lift yourself from his lap, but he tugged you back down.

You quirked an eyebrow, “If we’re going to talk, I can’t be sitting on you.”

Cody narrowed his eyes playfully, and you enjoyed the lightness that seemed to envelop him. “Am I that distracting?”

“Yes, Cody.” He finally let go, allowing you to get up and sit beside him on the bed. You looked at him expectantly.

“I-uh,” he cleared his throat, “you and me, we’re–”

“I care about you,” you said simply. It was the truth. There was much more to that, but you understood that Cody wasn’t great with words about feelings. “And I know that there are a bunch of regulations and expectations. But I care about you and I don’t want to lose this.” You touched his scar with the tips of your fingers, and Cody leaned into your hand.

“We’ll look out for each other,” Cody provided.

“Like we always do,” you finished, a yawn escaping you.

“You should sleep.” The deadpan look on your face had him chuckling and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You easily switch from sitting to laying on the bed, “Stay with me?”

He was right.

He couldn’t say no to you.

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 35

Warning, if it hasn’t been obvious in the movies there is Nazi symbolism within the First Order. I will expand on this much more throughout the story. If this is something that bothers you, please just exit the story. The author does not condone any Nazi ideals, this is just for fictional uses only.

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 35: From Sleep to Sleep

You awoke, you still felt like crap, like your sleep did nothing to reset your equilibrium. You didn’t even know why you were getting up today. Kylo was gone and the health committee was finished, unless the lieutenant had some sort of miraculous new task for you, there was nothing for you to do until your tutoring session with the general.

You felt as if gravity was working against you when you tried to get up from the bed, but eventually, you got there. Your limbs felt as if the whole weight of the galaxy was holding you down. But you went through your morning routine but it seemed to take longer than usual because you really didn’t want to go anywhere.

You made your way to the living room and greeted the lieutenant and went through the motions of breakfast. You ordered, it came, and you ate.

“Shall I go over today’s schedule ma’am,” asked the lieutenant putting his coffee down.

“Yes, please.”

“You have nothing on your schedule until your tutoring lesson. It has been requested by the Supreme Leader that you find something to fill your morning. He has arranged for you to have dinner with the allegiant general and Captian Phasma.”

“Captain Phasma is still onboard? I thought she would have left with the Supreme Leader.”

“No, he took Commander Pyre with him.”

“Is there anything in particular that the Supreme Leader has expressed that he would like me to do or did he just leave it as I needed to find something to fill my time?”

“He has expressed that you are not to leave the ship as he has taken the Knights of Ren with him.”

“Is that until he comes back or just this morning?”

“Until tomorrow, he has a special project for you that Captain Phasma will assist you with.”

Great so you were stuck onboard and you were supposed to figure out what to do. It rather frustrated you that he told or messaged the lieutenant things instead of talking to you. All in all, you were rather unhappy with the whole situation. Being left behind with no word on to when he was supposed to be back, no real direction, you were beginning to wonder if this is what the rest of your life was going to look like.

“What do you suggest that I do lieutenant?”

“You could always spend some time on the bridge? Or we could go down to one of the stormtrooper training areas and you could watch them train?”

“Why don’t we watch the ‘troopers I feel like that might be more exciting to watch.”

You then followed the lieutenant to one of the lower levels that you had only been to the day previously. You made your way to a large room where many small groups of ‘troopers were training on various things like hand to hand combat, sparing with staffs, firearm training, and exercises. They were in various states of dress, some in armor, some without, some with a mix depending on what they were doing.

In the middle of the room, you could see the chrome ‘trooper captain herself. She seemed to be observing things as she went. She had an officer next to her making notes on a data pad. You felt a bit sorry for the man as she seemed to be talking fast, barking out orders, and moving quickly around the room, he could barely keep up.

You and the lieutenant set up shop near the ‘troopers doing target practice. You watched as they fired weird colored lights at the targets which then seemed to cause burn marks on the targets, you wondered if this was for target practice or did they not use actual bullets.

“Lieutenant, what are they using to shoot the targets with?”

“Blasters ma’am, they fire intense plasma energy.”

“You don’t use guns? Like rifles?” You had supposed that they still used traditional guns, but since they seemed to be advanced in so many areas, this was different too.

You hadn’t noticed the silver fighting woman come up near you until she spoke, “Slugthrowers are outdated technology, they are only useful against a lightsaber, but even then if the sword wielder is competent enough they are not at all effective.”

“So the ‘trooper army has no use for them,” you ask her.

“No. Unless it is the only thing available in a skirmish. They do not offer much stability to ground forces as they need to be reloaded too often.  A blaster should be able to fire at hundreds of targets before needing any sort of maintenance.”

“Will you teach me how to use one?”

At this question the silver captain lifted her head, in a way of approval, before she responded with; “I will have to ask the Supreme Leader if he wishes for you to be trained with a blaster. I do know that he wishes that you are never to need one and that you are always guarded. But I am more of a realist, I think there would be no harm in teaching you how to shoot.” With that, she nodded to you and moved on in her inspection of the floor.

You were there for two shift changes of “trooper training before the lieutenant notified you that it was lunchtime. You were reluctant to leave as that meant that you were closer to your tutoring session, and trying to cram more information into your brain. You and the lieutenant took lunch back in your chambers as you had had enough of being a spectacle for random First Order personnel for one morning. By the time you were finished, you wished you could take a nap, but you had to learn things about your new life.

You met up with the general in your usual conference room. He droned on about some seemingly important aspects of what the Empire did right, but you were not in the mood for a history lesson. You weren’t in the mood to hear anything about the First Order, all you wanted to do was take a nap. He wrapped up, the lieutenant once again sent you word for word notes on the general’s lecture. The general then gave you a farewell greeting for the moment as he was to see you in an hour and a half for dinner.

You went back to your chambers and dismissed the lieutenant for the evening, you felt bad as he had been spending so much time with you the last two days, he hadn’t had time to see whatever friends he had on board. Come to think of it you had yet to speak with your friends in almost a week. You were certain that sometime in the next few days you would beg Phasma to escort you to see them.

Once again when your head hit Kylo’s pillow you dreamed of nothing but nightmares. Ones tinted in red and blue glows, what they meant you hadn’t a clue.

You awoke an hour later, still not feeling anywhere a bit refreshed. You were getting sick of it, but you carried on anyway. You made your way to your bathroom to fix yourself up, your hair was a bit of a mess from sleeping so you tried to put it in place. You went back into your room and noticed that the flowers that had been by your side table all week were now dead and black. You were quite sure they were still beautiful that morning but you carried them to the living room not knowing how to best dispose of them. Figuring that the general or captain might be able to help with that.

You putz around waiting for them to arrive, checking messages on your phone apparently Scott had texted you wondering when you would be back to work, as far as you knew you weren’t going back to work. You were hoping that someone would be able to message the Jerk and tell him you were not coming back to work because you sure as hell weren’t.

After you were done checking various messages the doorbell rang. You went to answer and greeted the general and the blonde woman you now knew to be Captain Phasma. She looked odd in a regular officer’s uniform, you had only seen her in workout gear and her armor, in both she seemed rather natural, but the uniform seems out of place.

They both entered and immediately noticed the dead flowers on the coffee table. “M’lady is there a reason why these are here, has someone sent them to you,” asked the captain.

“Not like this, they were fine the other morning, but they turned black seemingly overnight and I need to get rid of them, but I don’t know how best to do that.”

The general looked puzzled, “I can have someone look into this for you m’lady, there is no reason why they should have turned black.”

That was a bit concerning, you had assumed that it had something to do with the ship, but unfortunately, it seemed like that wasn’t the case.

You made your way to the dining room and you all ordered, the captain and general seemed rather comfortable in each other's presence, like old friends.

“The lieutenant told me that the Supreme Leader has a special project for me and that you are to accompany me. Can you tell me what that special project is, or am I to be surprised tomorrow?”

The captain cocked an eyebrow at you and said with a smirk, “You will find out tomorrow, but I believe your planet has dubbed it as women’s work or something like that.”

Oh, great was he sending you grocery shopping, or were you now to clean his clothes instead of having them sent off. You were not in the mood for something like that.

“The captain has informed me that you were down at the ‘trooper training facilities this morning,” said Hux.

“Yes, I rather enjoyed watching them train. I even asked her to train me to shoot, but she said she would have to ask the Supreme Leader if that is something he would like me to do.”

They both shared an amused look before the captain said, “I think it would do her some good. More benefits than harm, who knows it even help with marital disputes further down the line.”

This caused the general to choke a bit on his drink. He then gave a full belly laugh before saying, “When that day comes I hope that we will have a ship strong enough to handle it. And for me to be somewhere else in the galaxy, I don’t need to be caught in that crossfire.”

You didn’t fully understand the situation, you knew Kylo had something of a temper, but would your relationship come to blows, or in this case blasts? You hoped to never find out.

You decided to change the subject, “So how long have you two known each other?”

“Phasma is my oldest friend, who is still left alive. She is the only person on board that I trust with my life,” said Hux.

“The feeling is mutual, but I will follow orders until my death,” said Phasma.

You could tell that there was definitely a long history between them, you hoped that one day they might feel the same about you. Right now the people on board were ordered to protect you through Kylo, but you were pretty sure none of them cared enough about you to feel the way the general and captain did with each other. You weren’t even sure if there was anyone who felt that way towards you, although you were on a ship full of people, in a galaxy filled with people you felt alone.

The general took the flowers with him on his way out after dinner, you told them you would see them both tomorrow. You made your way to Kylo’s bed and curled up, hoping that a black dreamless sleep would take you.

[therainroguefanfiction]

❉ 139 Dreams (Baiyang Zhang) Annoyance

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Slice of Life, Angst, Fluff, School, Friendship

Word Count: 2,323

Pairing: Reader x Baiyang

World: The Prince of Tennis Match ~ Tennis Juniors

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

You glanced at your watch and sighed, picking up your school bag before leaving the coffee shop. Baiyang was supposed to meet up with you so you could discuss your history project, but two hours have passed and he still hadn’t shown up. You knew he took tennis seriously, but he had promised to meet with you and you knew for a fact that practice had already ended.

You frowned as you walked down the quiet street, the moon glowing down on you. Only one person knew about your true feelings for Baiyang, but your friends certainly weren’t opposed to shipping the two of you together, something that he always vehemently denied. You knew he was a reserved person by nature, preferring to keep his feelings to himself, but you were beginning to think he just didn’t like you – not even as a friend.

When the teacher had announced the partners for the project, he had been visibly upset, even going so far as to question the pairing, but the teacher was firm in her decision. After that, you caught him after school to arrange a meeting time to start working on it but it took some prodding on your end before he finally agreed. You made him promise to be there but, thinking back on it, you realized he probably only agreed to get you to leave him alone.

‘Maybe I should just do it myself…’ your frown deepened as you entered your house.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

“You’re kidding.” Changyi, your best friend, frowned at you. “I can’t believe you waited for two hours. I would have left after fifteen minutes!”

You smiled at her as you pulled out your notebook from your bag, setting it on your desk. “It’s alright, I pushed him into it, so it makes sense that he didn’t show.”

“It’s still rude,” she huffed in annoyance, folding her arms over her chest. “He could have at least called!”

“He probably doesn’t have my number.”

“Why do you keep making excuses for him, Y/N?” She groaned. “There’s no shame in calling him out for being a jerk!”

You frowned at the notebook, scribbling down ideas for the project, but none of them really clicked. Rain was gently pelting the window beside your desk, the morning sky dark and dreary. It did little to inspire you.

“Ugh, don’t tell me you’re gonna do it by yourself and let him skate by.” Her eyes narrowed at you. “Y/N, that’s -”

The shrill sound of the bell cut off her words, followed by Qiao Chen and Baiyang rushing into the room. Changyi glared at the latter, shooting out of her seat. “Oi, Baiyang!”

“Changyi, don’t!” You hissed, grabbing at her arm and trying to tug her back down.

Baiyang narrowed his eyes at her, clearly annoyed. The entire class had gone silent, looking between the two second-years, wondering what was going to happen. The teacher stepped into the room before Changyi could reply, clearing her throat.

“Is there a problem here?”

You tugged on her arm again and she huffed, finally falling back down. The boys exchanged a look before heading to their own desks.

“Now, before we begin class, I want to hear what each of you has chosen for your upcoming project.” Aiko-sensei clapped her hands with a smile. “Qiao Chen, Zhang Baiyang. Since you both came in late, let’s start with you both, shall we?”

Chen stood up, offering a goofy grin to his partner. “We’ve decided on Lionel Sternberger, the creator of the cheeseburger!”

The class laughed at his enthusiasm and Aiko-sensei smiled. “Excellent. Baiyang?”

You felt eyes boring into you and you lowered your head, feeling your heart pick up speed. Did he expect you to answer for him? The thought annoyed you.

When he didn’t answer, Aiko-sensei sighed. “It’s been two days, you should have at least chosen your subject. Work harder, both of you. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You responded softly, lowering your head further. Why didn’t you just choose whatever popped into your head? You should have but, for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to do so without your partner’s input.

When the teacher turned her back to the class, Changyi slid a piece of paper on your desk, ‘Ask for a new partner! >[‘

You frowned at the note, turning your attention back to the window. ‘Maybe I should…’

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

When class ended, you quickly packed up your things and left the room, choosing to spend your lunch period at the library. You had spent all morning pondering your options and had decided that it would be easier just to fight through the project, even if it meant preparing it alone. The hardest part, in your opinion, was choosing a point in history to write about.

You headed for the history section at the back of the library, running your fingers along the spines of the books. World leaders, inventors, philosophers… each person great in their own right, but none appealing to you. ‘Oh, what’s this?’ Curious, you pulled down a book called The Cat Who Ruled the Town by May Nakamura. It was a children’s book and quite short, but the story was adorable. Content with your choice, you headed back down the aisle but stopped short when a thought struck you.

How would Baiyang feel when you presented a history report about a cat? You assumed he wouldn’t be very happy about it. Embarrassed, even. Shaking your head, you returned the book to the shelf with a frown. ‘He’d hate me for sure. Back to square one, I guess.’

The rest of your lunch break was spent in the history section, pulling out a random book to read the synopsis on the back before returning it to its place. Several other students visited the section, but they knew exactly what they needed, spending less than a couple of minutes there. The warning bell finally rang and you sighed, leaving the library feeling defeated.

‘Maybe I should just take the bad grade for not doing the project.’ You pondered that thought for a moment before shaking your head. ‘No, I can’t do that. If Baiyang gets a bad grade, he’ll be removed from the first team and he’ll blame me for it. A teenager can’t handle this much responsibility, ugh!’

A hand roughly grabbed your shoulder and you nearly jumped out of your skin, whipping around to face the chest of none other than Baiyang himself. Your eyes slowly trailed up, meeting his hard stare. He grunted, “After school, meet me at the tennis courts.”

Your eyes followed him as he stepped around you, continuing on to class. Your head tilted to the side. For a moment, you thought of all the shonen anime you had seen and you wondered if he wanted to challenge you to a fight, but that seemed quite silly. This wasn’t an anime, after all.

Another hand landed on your shoulder, much softer this time, but you still jumped, hand over your racing heart. Changyi giggled at your reaction, “Didn’t mean to scare you, Y/N. Sorry!”

“It’s okay.”  You let out a puff of air, mentally ordering your heart to calm itself.

“So~ I heard what Baiyang said.”

“Oh yeah?”

She nodded. “The way I see it, one of two things will happen this afternoon. Number one – the shonen anime route. Or number two – the shojo anime route.”

You wanted to laugh at how the two of you seemed to share the same brain.

“If it goes the shonen route,” she continued with excitement. “He’s going to challenge you to some kind of fight to settle your differences!”

“That seems highly unlikely.”

“Well, given the context, it’ll probably be a tennis match rather than a fistfight or anything.”

“But I don’t know how to play tennis, remember?”

She waved you off. “The shojo route is where it gets really interesting. He’s going to confess to you!”

You hummed thoughtfully, holding your chin. “Confess his sins?”

“No!” She smacked her forehead before giving you a pointed look. “His undying love!”

The word love bounced around your brain and you could imagine Baiyang telling you that he loved you. Your face grew hot and you quickly waved your hand, closing your eyes. “Impossible, impossible! There’s no way he’d ever do that.”

But Changyi didn’t miss the steam practically rolling off your heated face, making her laugh.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

You took a deep breath to calm your nerves, tightening your grip on your school bag. Baiyang had ordered you to meet him at the courts, but he hadn’t said whether or not you were actually allowed to be there. Plus, it would probably raise questions with his teammates. ‘Should I just wait here instead?’

“Excuse me?”

You turned around, coming face-to-chest with Chi Dayong, vice-captain of the tennis team. A bead of nervous sweat rolled down your cheek as you looked up at him. ‘Why are these guys so damn tall? More importantly… he’s even cuter up close! Don’t blush, don’t blush!’

He smiled kindly and the world seemed to get a bit brighter. “May I help you?”

“Oh, umm…” you realized you had been staring at his beautiful face and red spread across your face to the tips of your ears. “I -”

A strong hand wrapped around your wrist and Baiyang didn’t spare a word as he pulled you away from the handsome boy and the tennis courts. You remained silent, chewing on your bottom lip as he continued toward the school gate.

Finally, you forced yourself to speak, but your voice was soft and unsure. “Won’t you get into trouble for skipping practice?”

He glanced at you over his shoulder. “Coach says it’s important.”

“Oh.” Your eyes moved to rest on his hand, still wrapped tightly around your wrist. ‘His hand is so big and warm.’

Silence settled between the two of you as the school grew smaller until you couldn’t see it anymore. You considered asking him where he was taking you, but he seemed calm at the moment and you didn’t want to ruin that. How often did you get one-on-one time with him where he didn’t act like he was annoyed by your very existence?

Baiyang came to a stop two blocks down from the cafe where you were originally supposed to meet, his gaze moving to the alleyway you both stood in front of. He seemed to be having an internal debate with himself.

You frowned at his back, “Bai -”

Mreow.

Your ears perked up at the sound and you turned your own gaze down the alley.

Mre~ow.

You pulled your arm from his grasp and slowly stepped down the alley, eyes scanning the cramped space, looking behind garbage bags and overflowing trash bins for the source of the sound.

Mreow.

You caught movement from the corner of your eye, noticing the head of a small tabby kitten peeking out from behind a cardboard box. With a smile, you squatted down, holding out your hand as you spoke softly to the creature, “It’s okay, sweety. I won’t hurt you.”

The kitten hesitated, ears twitching at the sound of your voice.

Baiyang came to squat down beside you, holding his hand out beside your own, little pieces of dry cat food resting against his palm. The kitten sniffed the air, its nose twitched cutely before he cautiously stepped out from behind the box. His striped tail swished behind him as he approached the food, glancing at the two of you before finally taking the food, gobbling it up like there was no tomorrow.

‘Poor thing, he must be starving.’ You frowned, resisting the urge to reach out and pet him. ‘…wait a minute.’ Your gaze shifted to the male at your side, surprised by the soft smile playing on his lips. “Baiyang, why are you carrying around dry cat food with you?”

His body tensed beside you but he kept quiet, the smile quickly being replaced with a frown. When the food was gone, the kitten started rubbing its head against his hand, purring contently. You slowly reached forward, fingers brushing against the damp orange fur.

“I didn’t forget.” Baiyang suddenly grunted as his thick fingers stretched at the kitten’s ears.

“What?”

“Our meeting at the cafe. I didn’t forget.”

“Oh.” You frowned, feeling your heart skip painfully. “Does that mean you didn’t want to meet with me? You could have just said so…”

“No, that’s not -” He struggled to properly express what he wanted to say, his cheeks dusted with color. “I was on the way, but… I got distracted.”

It took a minute, but as you glanced between him and the kitten, realization struck you and you had to stop yourself from awwing at him. You had never realized he could be so soft. With a smile, you told him, “Given the circumstances, I guess I can forgive you.”

He glanced at you with a frown. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stand you up.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad that you don’t hate me.”

Baiyang’s eyes widened in surprise. “You thought I hated you?”

You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly, avoiding his gaze. “Kind of… You always seem so annoyed around me, so I just assumed…”

“I could never hate you.” He scowled, refusing to turn his gaze away from the kitten. “And you’ve never once annoyed me. I… enjoy being around you.”

The words were so soft, you questioned if you had heard him right, but judging from the red dusting his cheeks, you were sure that you hadn’t misheard him. With a smile, you told him, “I enjoy being around you, too. But next time, maybe text me and let me know.”

“I need your number for that.” Baiyang’s dark eyes met yours and you grinned, pulling your phone from your pocket.

“I guess we should solve that problem, huh?”

He smiled softly at you, making an already beautiful man look that much more so.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

[worryinglyinnocent]

So, at 5am this morning in the throes of insomnia, I had an idea for a Bleak House fanfic. As you do. Because man, it’s depressing, and I like making things happy. 

The idea is insanely long and convoluted, much like Bleak House itself, and I shall likely never ever write it, but I wanted to get the idea down anyway. 

So voila! Worry’s Bleak House idea. It is 300% more queer and, unfortunately, 1000% more historically inaccurate. 

Under the cut because it’s so ridiculously long. Apparently, my brain likes to be detailed when I can’t sleep.

So! We begin way way back before the book/ TV series begins. Please note I’m working primarily from the 2005 TV series. 

Honoria Barbary finds out she’s pregnant. James Hawdon is MIA likely dead. The only other person who knows about the pregnancy is her sister Frances, who Does Not Approve. 

Honoria decides, in the wisdom of blind panic, to run away, eventually making her way to Bleak House. The Jarndyce family are acquainted with the Barbarys (John Jarndyce is friends with Frances through Lawrence Boythorn but was never as close to Honoria). 

I’m not sure on canon timelines, but this is all happening circa 20 years prior to canon beginning, going from Esther’s canon age. Anyway, John Jarndyce has yet to inherit Bleak House from his uncle, and the place stands mostly empty, with just a skeleton staff keeping it looked after, since Uncle Jarndyce spends most of his time in London obsessing over the Jarndyce & Jarndyce chancery case. 

The housekeeper takes pity on Honoria - who is passing herself off as a young widow and calling herself Mrs Hawdon - and takes her in, giving her bed and board in exchange for working in the kitchen. This poses something of a problem as a) Honoria is having a difficult pregnancy and isn’t in the best of health having run away, and b) she’s an upper class lady and hasn’t done a day’s work in her life. The housekeeper (let’s call her Mrs Potts), quickly recognises this and reluctantly, Honoria shares her full story. Mrs P, being a kindly soul, agrees to keep the secret. 

Time passes. Esther is born. Frances believes that the disappeared-without-trace Honoria is likely dead by now; since she does not have to care for Esther, she marries Lawrence Boythorn. Uncle Jarndyce commits suicide and John Jarndyce inherits Bleak House, returning there and intending to make it his primary residence. 

Honoria, who knows John and knows he’ll recognise her, has another mad panic moment, but manages to avoid running away since she has a child to look after now. Mrs P attempts to hide her from John as best she can, but ultimately, the truth outs. John is shocked to say the least (he’d been told Honoria had died after a sudden illness), but nonetheless agrees to keep her secret and promises not to tell Frances. 

Time passes. Honoria works her way up through the household and takes over from Mrs P as housekeeper when the latter retires. John pays for Esther’s education with a view to her becoming a governess, but the best laid plans of mice and men and all that, because there are Plot Points at work here. 

Namely, the one (1) scene that we got of Honoria and John interacting in the TV series made me ship them. 

John and Honoria get closer and eventually marry, and a few months later John becomes guardian to Richard and Ada. Esther, now John’s stepdaughter, becomes Ada’s companion and the two ladies begin to fall for each other.

Whilst this is going on, Honoria finds out that James may indeed still be alive after recognising his handwriting on legal documents like in canon. (Tulkinghorn and Kenge both use Snagsby as a stationer so it’s perfectly plausible that James could have copied papers for Kenge which end up with John and Honoria sees them that way, as opposed to copying papers for Tulkinghorn that then go to Sir Leicester that she sees as in canon. I do sometimes think things through properly...) However, unlike in canon, since John knows about her past relationship with James, there’s no subterfuge going on and they set out to see if they can find him, figuring that Esther deserves to know her birth father if nothing else. 

Off they all go to London - Richard’s supposed to be starting to study medicine there anyway - where who should enter the scene but Allan Woodcourt. He helps them find James, thankfully before he carks it this time, and Oh God THE ANGST.

Ahem. 

Richard stays in London and Allan promises to keep an eye on him and be a friend. Naturally, as these things are wont to do and because I generally always end up pairing the spares, Allan ends up as a bit more than a friend. 

Meanwhile, we’re back to Bleak House, where James is being nursed back to health by Honoria, both of them in a rather delicate mental state since each thought the other one dead for nigh-on twenty years, and there’s the small fact that Honoria is married and genuinely loves her husband, but James is the first love she’s never forgotten and the father of her child.

(Ada and Esther are still going strong in the background, by the way. Everyone in the house is pretending they’re just gal pals.)

John offers James a position as his secretary once he’s recovered, and tells Honoria (in slightly more delicate language than me) that if she and James want to have an affair, he’ll turn a blind eye as long as they’re discreet about it. 

Honoria isn’t exactly happy about this because she loves both of them, and in the end, after much angst and many conversations, a tentative but successful polyamorous relationship between the three commences. 

Back to Ada and Esther and Rick and Allan. This being Dickensian times, they’re not exactly on the best footing for having proper relationships, but taking a leaf out of Honoria, John and James’s book, they decide that marriage is the way forward. Ada and Richard marry, as do Esther and Allan, and they end up living very close by to each other, allowing both ‘forbidden’ relationships to continue undisturbed. (Although interestingly, female homosexuality was never technically illegal in Victorian times because Queen Victoria didn’t believe it was possible and scratched out all mention of it in the bill that made male homosexuality illegal.)

And there we have it. It took me over an hour to type that, God help me if I do decide to write the blessed thing...

[upstartpoodle]

G/E + 9 and/or 20 :D

Thanks for the ask! Sorry this has taken so long (pretty sure it was still summer when I got all these ha). If there’s one thing that’s to be said for this lockdown, it’s that it’s given me a bit of a kick up the arse in terms of actually getting down to writing stuff.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and that it’s worth the wait ha    

*****

George x Elizabeth + in a public place

The Assembly Rooms in Bath were awash with laughter and gaiety and glimmers of bright, expensive fabrics like a flock of dainty, colourful birds milling and chattering amongst the branches of a tree, and Lady Elizabeth Warleggan, dressed lavishly in one of her finest dark red gowns and being entertained to the company of a seemingly innumerable amount of fashionable wives to equally fashionable gentlemen, could not help but feel that each and every one such person of whom the town could boast was somehow conspiring to keep her apart from her husband. George, it had seemed to her, had barely been able to step through the door into the ballroom before he had been ushered reluctantly into the card room by a veritable throng of tiresome businessmen, keen to discuss any number of matters which they had assured him his wife would surely find tedious and uninteresting. He had gone with an apologetic glance over his shoulder, and she knew that he would most likely find some way of extricating himself from them as soon as he could. George had no particular fondness for the green cloth as her first husband had–at least, none beyond its being a suitably gentlemanly pursuit, and a means over which one might conduct one’s business–and he had little patience for it now that there were many more agreeable ways with which he wished to spend his time.

Still, this stay in Bath was not entirely intended for pleasure. The Warleggans’ empire was ever expanding and, with connections spanning all the way to London, it was only natural that they sought to cultivate stronger roots in the industries of the closer county of Somerset. Unfortunately, that meant that George had spent large swathes of their trip meting with such dreary men as those who had plotted to abscond with him that evening, and much of the rest buried up to his eyes in papers and accounts and ledgers and all manners of other things which tended to keep him awake and working up until the small hours of the morning. Elizabeth, however, had made him promise to spare a little time to enjoy himself, and for her. It was rather lonely without him, even with the children to keep her company, and so she had hopes that evening of having to him to herself for at least a little while. After all, she hadn’t imagined they would be so notorious here as they were in Cornwall–surely there had been no risk of them attracting so much attention as to be kept apart for the entire night?

In that, she was beginning to realise as she sipped delicately on what she thought must have been her third cup of punch, she had been foolishly optimistic. As it turned out, a rich, self-made man–a member of parliament and a recently knighted baronet no less–could hardly remain unharrassed for long in a place such as Bath. And nor, it seemed, could his wife. Just as the men had seemed so keen to herd her husband away, the ladies–who had been deprived of the gossip surrounding George’s receiving of his title when they had been in London for the occasion some months earlier due to the briefness of their stay on account of Ursula being too young to travel, and not wishing to be away from the children for long–thronged about her like a pack of sharks that had scented blood. The comparison was, perhaps, a little uncharitable–indeed, she generally found a number of her current companions to be rather agreeable–but she was not in the mood to be entirely fair when, several hours into her evening, she had yet to even claim a single dance with the man she had married.

She eventually managed to extricate herself from the company of the ladies by accepting the invitation of a distinguished gentleman to the dancefloor. She danced a few more sets after that but, although each gentleman was charming company in his own way, none were the man with whom she truly wished to dance. After the fourth set, she demurely excused herself from her partner and, before she could be waylaid by any other who wished to converse with her, headed out of the ballroom and out in search of her missing husband.

She found him in an empty corridor which led, circuitously, away from the card room, striding briskly along with a look of deep consternation upon his handsome face. When he caught sight of her, however, his expression lit up and he smiled that soft smile which she knew he reserved entirely for her and the children.

“Ah, there you are, my dear. My apologies fo-mmmppfff.” He was cut off mid-sentence as Elizabeth, unable to resist the sudden impulse when he looked at her so warmly after so long having been deprived of his company, took him by the hand, pulled him into a nearby alcove and, pinning him determinedly against the wall, pressed her lips firmly against his. His yelp of surprise was swallowed by the kiss, and he stared at her with blatant, undisguised shock as she pulled back. “Elizabeth!”

“Yes, George?” Elizabeth replied impishly. Something which she could not quite put her finger on had brought out a mischief in her that, had she been there to witness it, her late mother would no doubt have said was entirely inappropriate for a lady of her station. Come the next morning, she thought, she would no doubt suspect that the blame lay with the punch she had had earlier.

“Elizabeth, I–we cannot–” George stumbled inelegantly over his words, the scandalised look on his face doing little but to encourage that streak of mischief she felt growing in her. “We are in public!”

Under normal circumstances, Elizabeth would have entirely agreed with him, but as it was, she simply made a point of glancing to and fro along the empty corridor.

“Who is there to see us?” she countered, eyebrow raised.

“Somebody might stumble upon us at any moment!”

“In which case, they shall see a wife kissing her husband,” Elizabeth replied, leaning forward to press another gentle, chaste kiss to his lips. “This is Bath. I imagine there are far more exciting and salacious scandals happening here by the hour. Now, I trust you have made your escape from those associates of yours?” she added with a wry smile.

George huffed.

“Just about,” he replied, lips pursed in a way that told her he was repressing a smile. “Though I seem only to have escaped one capture to fall straight into another.”

He glanced down pointedly to where she was leaning against him, keeping him pinned against the wall. Elizabeth grinned.

“Is that so objectionable?,” she asked, shifting so that she could nuzzle against his temple, placing a whispering kiss to the soft curls found there. Despite himself, he leaned into her touch like a contented cat. “Perhaps I might allow you to bargain for your freedom.”

“Oh?” George’s voice was more amused than it was disgruntled. “And what does her ladyship desire in return for such generosity?”

Elizabeth tilted her head to the side, pretending to consider.

“A dance shall suffice,” she said. “And perhaps then we might return home early? I confess I have not enjoyed this evening as much as I thought, and I am sure we could better entertain ourselves in the privacy of our own home,” she added with a coy smile.

George blushed a soft pink at the suggestion, and it was all she could do to resist the urge to kiss him again.

“If that is what you wish, my dear” he said, head dipping in that peculiar, slightly shy way of his. With a smile, she leaned forward for one last kiss, this time pressed to the high arch of his cheekbone, before she stepped back to allow him to right himself, fingers still intertwined with his.

“It is,” she said. “Now, my love, I think it is time we went to the dance, do you not?”

Send me a ship and a number and I will write a kiss

[this-is-a-podcast-fanblog]

Juniverse Retail AU

this post was too good not to turn into a fic, so I got permission from @acadieum and @rae-kl and went off.

~~~

He’s at that point in his shift where nothing is real, his feet have lost feeling, and every single soccer mom with fake blonde hair has decided to descend on his location at once. 

“No,” exclaims the woman in front of him, rapping her long-nailed hands down onto the counter, “I told you, I can only use products that are gluten free, vegan, free of dyes and parabens, free of natural pigments, and lack fiber.” Her roots need to meet this perfect touch-up Juno just got in stock. He could give her so much help if she’d just be nice and let him. 

“Yeah, lady, this is a Sephora.” Juno rubs his eyes and resists the urge to look at the clock. “Everything we’ve got in here has dye or natural pigments. If you don’t like what we’ve got, check Lush at the other end of the mall.”

The woman huffs, props up her sunglasses. “I want to speak to your manager.”

“I am the manager.”

She storms out, already whipping out her cellphone to give his location a bad review. Juno doesn’t care. He honestly doesn’t care about anything at this point.

“Cheer up, boss!” says Rita over the Rita-sized box she’s carrying to the dumpster. The front reads Unleash Your Inner Artist palettes. “We only got two hours left!”

Juno huffs. “Yep. Two hours.” He can see someone winding through the aisles towards his help desk. Instantly he is awash with that rush of overwhelming rage that fills him whenever he has to actually do his job and assist someone. I am so not paid enough for this.  “Hey, how can I.... help you...”

The person standing in front of Juno’s counter is the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. His dark brown eyes are expertly framed with green eyeshadow, his full lips lined with a matte color just a few shades darker than his tan skin. He arches one stunning brow and Juno almost melts. “Excuse me,” says the man. “Do you happen to have this foundation in shade 290?”

It’s the most seductive thing anyone’s ever said to him. “Uh, uh maybe,” stammers Juno, “Let me check in the back?”

“Thank you. I would appreciate that.” 

Thank you, I would appreciate that. God, his voice is so hot. Juno grabs a bottle from the back room and brings it back. “That’s $35,” he says. 

“Alright.” The man reaches into his purse for a credit card but doesn’t hand it over just yet. Instead, his eyes sweep once over Juno’s face. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” he says. 

“Yeah, uh, I used to be one of the makeover artists, but just got moved to manager, not sure how.” He laughs and then wishes he hadn’t. A blush creeps over his face, but the man is smiling. 

“I see. Are you here every day?”

“Pretty much. We’re short on managers right now.” 

“Ah.” He hands over his card. “Well, maybe I’ll see you again sometime...” His eyes dart down to the nametag. “Juno.” 

Juno is as much of a mess as a red lipstick spilled in a white Valentino bag. “Uh, uh yeah! Maybe! That’d be great, so here’s your receipt, have a nice day? Have a nice day.” He drops the receipt. “God, I’m sorry. Hey, uh, what’s your name?”

“Call me Rose.” Rose picks up the receipt and tucks it neatly into his bag. “All my friends do.” 

And he saunters away, taking most of Juno’s heart with him. 

Rose visits again a few days later. He says he’s just picking up a bottle of nail polish, but ends up standing by the shelf as Juno restocks. They chat for half an hour. After Rose is gone, Juno realizes he must have counted inventory wrong, because the shelf he just filled with what was supposed to be twenty blending sponges is only nineteen blending sponges. 

But he thinks nothing more of it after he gets another sponge from storage, and the next day Rose visits again. And again, a few days after that. They talk about makeup at first, but then about themselves, and the things they like, and the way they live. 

“I’m just doing this to pay rent, save up some cash.” Juno explains. “I wanna go back to school, get a degree in criminal justice.”

“I didn’t take you for a lawyer.”

“I was thinking more like a detective, actually. Private investigator or something. How about you?”

“Oh, I’m between jobs at the moment.” Rose doesn’t quite meet his eyes on that line. He’s a man of mystery just as much as he’s a man of glitter highlighter. And damn he kills that glitter highlighter. 

It’s nice, for a while, having someone to visit him at work and someone he can flirt with when shifts get slow. But then a few problems arise. 

The first is that Juno gets distracted by Rose, and doesn’t service his other customers as well. Which is fine, because he has other employees and, thank god, he has Rita, and all of them are very capable of handling the store without Juno. But they complain about it plenty. 

The next problem is brought to his attention by Rita herself: “Boss, have you ever noticed that this tall guy uses a new credit card each time he comes in here... an’ none of ‘em have the name Rose?”

And once he notices that, he notices another problem: makeup goes missing when Rose visits him. Like, a lot of makeup.

“That’s nice eyeliner you’ve got today,” Juno tells Rose. “It’s Maybelline?”

“Maybe.”

“Neat. On a totally unrelated note, half of our Maybelline shipping vanished last week.”

“Hmm, how unusual,” muses Rose with a straight face. “You know Juno, I’ve been thinking...”

He doesn’t get to say what he’s been thinking, because at that moment a screaming toddler smashing up the perfume aisle demands a manager’s attention. 

The next time Juno sees Rose, he’s wearing dark red nail polish the same color as the ones Juno was reshelving last time they spoke. But he’s brought Juno a smoothie from the mall cafeteria, and there’s a smile on his gorgeous face, and Juno decides to let it slide. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Rose says. “Perhaps one day we could meet up outside of your work.” 

Juno’s heart flip-flops. “Oh?”

“Certainly. I could - well. Buy you lunch, for example - because you see, Juno...” He fidgets with a spare thread on his jacket. “I’d like to spend time with you, somewhere that isn’t also full of flouresents and stress.”

Juno laughs a little at that. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “I’ll think about it.” 

Rose grins, those sharp teeth flashing behind black lips. Juno’s pretty sure he’s just signed up for a date with a criminal. 

“May I ask you something?” asks Rose one day while Juno’s filling in ledgers. The store is closed, but Juno can’t bring himself to kick Rose out. 

“Shoot.”

“Do you like working here?” 

He snorts. “Want the honest answer or the cute one?”

“I’d hope you can always be honest with me.” 

Juno thinks about that for a moment. He sets down the pen and turns his head to see Rose’s eyes better. “I don’t like it,” he says, “that the only way I can pay my rent is to come to this store and give up a small piece of my humanity. You know?”

Rose nods, like he really does know. “I...I may have an idea,” he says. There’s caution in his words. “In my line of work, I’m, shall we say, self-employed. Reliant on myself for financial stability. But recently I’ve begun to consider taking on a partner. I wondered if you would be interested.”

It’s all he can do not to say “Hell yes” and sign up there on the spot. Instead he ducks back to the ledger to hide his blush and says, “Oh yeah? What’s your line of work?” 

“I suppose I can tell you more when I take you out to lunch.” And Rose winks with his eyeliner wings sharp enough to cut. 

They don’t end up going out to lunch. 

“Did you hear?” asks Rita as soon as Juno walks into the door for his shift the next day. She drags him to the back room, practically bouncing foot to foot; and once they’re out of earshot of the customers, she says, “Your friend Mistah Rose got ARRESTED!”

“Wh-what?”

“Yeah! Mall cops nabbed ‘im with five thousand dollars of designer merch after he left visiting you yesterday! An’ you wanna know the real kicker?” She leans in closer. “He got away. No one knows where he is now!”

“Oh.” Juno’s not entirely sure how he’s supposed to process all of this information at once. “That’s... I wish I could say that’s surprising.” 

What he means is, he wishes he could say he isn’t crushed. 

He was right about Rose, but it’s worse. He might never see Rose again. And it’s still worse: they came so, so close to having something, it’s just so unfair.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go tell the others!” Rita skips off, leaving Juno alone with his emotions, office files, and a clutter of still-boxed makeup. He sits down at his desk, just to think for a minute before going onto the floor. 

And that’s when he sees the note. 

“Juno: 

By this point you’ve likely uncovered the truth. What you haven’t surmised from the security footage and accounts of your workers, I will trust to your inner detective to piece together. 

Where do I begin? You are wasted as a makeup manager. The world deserves to be seen by you, and suddenly I wonder if I could be the person to show it to you, even if I am no longer the person you think I am. If you still want to take me up on my previous offer, hold out hope. I’m sure we’ll meet again.

I’ll be counting down the minutes until we do.

Signed,

Peter Nureyev

Master Thief.”

And sealed with a red lipstick kiss. 

[collecting-stories]

Nightmares - Sigurd Ragnarsson

@flokidottir-imagines-br : So, can you please write something really fluffy for Sigurd, late-night conversation with his pregnant girlfriend?

Nightmares | Sigurd Ragnarsson x reader

Sigurd was not his brothers or his father. He was not cut out for the viking life, he had no desire to travel the seas of the world in search of riches or kingdoms or powers. If he could live the way that he truly wanted he thought that he might be done with his brothers. That he would pack his belongings and shed his name, no longer would he allow himself to be Sigurd Ragnarsson or even Sigurd, Snake in Eye. He would be just another traveller on the road, weaving lore for people to listen to and playing music that they could be eased by. He wanted to go places but not for personal glory or the fame of title.  

He could not have that life though. Perhaps he could still live as a farmer somewhere, a coward who hides from the ships and refuses to go near the fjord in fear he could be swept to far away places. But he couldn’t run from his name then. He would be the greatest disappointment that Ragnar Lothbrok had even fathered. Weaker than his brothers. His mind was plagued by thoughts of dying in battle or dying at sea or dying simply from the diease that Hvitserk said existed in those places. Terrible illnesses that the gods thrust upon their people who in turn infected the viking ships until all the men were sick and their families were sick and villages died.  

Nothing could quiet those voices. Nothing could ease his mind. He’d tried some herbal remedy that he’d seen a healer use in the village but he was still riddled with an uneasy stomach and nightmares that kept him awake for hours. He tried walking around the village at night, letting the cold, salty air of the fjord wash over him as he strolled barefoot along the banks. But being so close to the water only made him feel worse and he imagined it infested with sirens and monsters that pulled him down into the black depth, smothering him beneath the surface. He tried sitting in the field and playing his music but his hands forgot the melody and he stopped more times than he started.  

Sigurd had always been troubled by the thought of becoming a viking but the nightmares and the insomnia and the gripping fear that he tried to hide were more prominent now than they had been before. As if they had grown in size within a few short months. And they had. Because so had you. He had not yet proposed marriage as he had not yet decided whether he could provide you with a worthy life but you had fallen pregnant just five months ago. As you started to show so too did Sigurd’s insecurities and doubts about himself and his future. You had grown accustomed to waking in the morning to an empty bed, you companion already outside, shivering in the cold as he sat on the bench near the door, trying to talk himself into boarding a ship. He was no viking.  

On the first night of your sixth month you laid down and pretended to fall asleep, listening for the sound of Sigurd’s even breathing. When you were sure he had nodded off you sat up, quiet so as to not wake him earlier than he would wake himself. It went just as you knew it would, he slept only an hour peacefully and then he began to toss and turn until finally he sat upright. He was so distraught over his dream he didn’t even notice that you were awake, sitting up in bed, as he leaned over, pressing his head to his knees.  

“Sigurd,” Your hand on his back startled him and he shot up, looking over at you with eyes that were almost wild. He was still disoriented from his dream.  

“You’re alive.” He breathed, almost hysteric as he sat on his knees and gathered your face in his hands and kissed you. “And the baby is healthy.”

“So says the seer.” You replied, holding his wrists to pull his hands from your face, “Sigurd, it was only a dream.”

“It was so real. I was on the ship with my brothers and there was a terrible sickness. I thought I was okay, that the gods had spared me but then you fell ill. I cannot go with them, I cannot be gone from you for even a moment’s time. The baby will come soon and I must be here to make sure you are alright.” He spoke frantically and as he did you attempted to guide him toward you. He moved easily, still pliable from sleep. Sigurd laid against you, head rested against your breast and arms around your stomach. The sound of your heart beating eased him somewhat and you petted his hair lovingly.  

“Ubbe has said that you are not expected on the raid.” You reassured him. Raids took months, they were long and tiring and the travel was not for the faint of heart. While you knew Sigurd would’ve been fine and the ship might’ve been home in time you had still appealed to Ubbe to let your love stay with you.  

“I do not ever wish to go.” Sigurd admitted. “I have been sick over it. I cannot give you a life to be proud of under the name Ragnarsson but it is not in my heart to be a viking. If I were to go I would never be happy.”

“Then I see no reason for you to leave.”  

“I cannot be selfish.” Sigurd lifted his head to look up at you, “I cannot trade the happiness of my family for my own. You would be ridiculed, the wife of a man who’s father, the legendary Ragnar Lothbrok, a king, is nothing more than a farmer.”  

“My happiness has nothing to do with the name of your father or your title here in Kattegat. My happiness is yours Sigurd and I would gladly spend my years in the field with you if that would be what you truly want.” You replied.  

“I think of the ships leaving everyday and I’m terrified. The gods did not make me for the voyage, I am not Hvitserk or Ubbe or Bjorn. I cannot withstand the armies that they face and I do not wish to die in battle so that I may be raised in Valhalla...gods forgive me for saying so. I just wish to be here, with you and our children in our home until we are old and sick of each other.” Sigurd laid his head back down and let you brush through his hair, closing his eyes.  

“Then we shall do that. Though,” you kissed his head, “let us not get sick of each other.”

“I do not believe we shall.”

“Sigurd,” you called to him before he could fall completely back to sleep. “You mustn’t let these things haunt you the way they do. You are not so alone that you have to walk the streets by yourself to get rid of your nightmares, not when I am right beside you having worries of my own. We must meet them together.”

“I will come to you first.” He promised, eased out of his own terrors for the night and reassured by the sound of your heart beating steady beneath his cheek.  

-

I’ve never written Sigurd before and I haven’t written Vikings in a spell but here is this! 

taglist: @breathlesssouls @lif3snotouttogetyou @demonhunter1616 @flowers-in-your-hayr @alwaysadreamingoptimist @ms-allenbrown  @arses21434 @glopsifum @aeflenpath @moose-squirrel-asstiel @vikingalexthedane @another-life-addict @born-in-19-96 @naaladareia @mysticthinking @thinkingsofamadwoman @mixedwiththemoon @titty-teetee  @queenmissfit @marvelismylifffe @iluvmesomemarvelndc @absentmindeduniverse @his-paradox 

[trash-the-tozier]

Maybe 4 and 21 + Kaspbrough for the cliché thing? We need content of this ship so please

oh yes friend, we definitely need more kaspbrough content! ask for and you shall receive. (sorry this is so late, i happen to have fallen ill and wrote this whole thing in a feverish stupor at like 1am last night BUT i’m satisfied with it so)

words: 2.3k | ao3warnings: mentions of myra? lolprompt: 4. Kissing in the rain and getting soaked before running inside laughing21. Blind date set up by friends

send me a cliche prompt (list here: x) and a pairing and i’ll write a drabble!

“I’ve had it. Had it! I’m fucking done! I’m over it!” Eddie’s voice was sharp, his hand movements sharper; it was a good thing that Richie had moved around behind him and taken the glass from his hand, or he would have spilled his gin and tonic all over himself and the floor. 

“Over what, Eddie?” Beverly asked, smiling more in amusement than sympathy, though there was sympathy in her voice. Her overly patient tone made Bill grin a little, and Eddie threw himself onto the couch, not unlike a child, bumping hard into Stan as he did, who looked disgruntled but didn’t move away. 

“Being single.” 

They were all at Ben and Beverly’s, and all at least a little drunk. It wasn’t the usual time of year that they all met up, usually choosing to do so around birthdays–and always on New Year’s–but Richie had flooded the group chat with whiny voice messages about wanting to see them all, and miraculously, all of them were free to meet up, so they had. Ben and Beverly had the nicest place, the engaged couple living in the penthouse suite of a building that Ben had designed in New York. The place was incredibly fancy, but had homey, comfortable touches to it that had relaxed Bill as soon as he stepped in. 

“You’re ready, you think?” Mike asked, his eyebrows drawn together in concern. He had a wrinkle in his forehead from making that expression so often over the years, and Eddie nodded resolutely. Eddie had gotten divorced a little less than a year ago, and while Richie had thrown a rather distasteful party for him after hearing the news, Bill knew that all of the Losers were glad that he’d been able to recognize how unhealthy his marriage had been and escape it on his own. 

“I need a man.” Eddie said, his face one of sheer determination, Richie wolf-whistling loudly, both in response and in agreement. 

“What kind of man?” Ben asked. He was grinning, but that wasn’t a surprise; Ben loved love. “Anyone in mind?” 

“Fuck, I don’t know.” 

“A bro?” Stan asked, and the entire group burst into laughter. The incorporation of “bro” into Eddie’s vocabulary had been–and still was–the funniest discovery of them all when the Losers had met up again as adults after so long. They all liked patronizing him with it, but hearing Stan say it was possibly even funnier.

“Fuck you.” Eddie said, but he was a bit drowsy now, his voice going a bit pouty and cute, and Bill felt a smile grow on his face despite himself as he watched him, Eddie resting a little bit against Stan’s shoulder.

“You know Eddie, I might be able to find a guy for you. I think he’d be up for a date with you. A friend of mine.” Beverly said. Her tone was careful, and thoughtful. She glanced at Bill for a moment, almost as though asking his opinion–not that Bill had one to offer, he didn’t know who she was thinking about–before glancing down at Ben. She was perched on the armrest of the chair Ben was sitting in, and Ben looked back at her before shrugging his shoulders. 

“Dude, Bev, hook me up too.” Richie said from behind the bar. He wasn’t actually mixing any drinks, as all of them had declared themselves done with drinking for the night, instead tapping against the counter when he got the urge and chewing on ice. Beverly laughed. 

“Anyone else want a hookup?” She asked, Mike raising a hand resignedly, Bill doing the same. Beverly began to laugh, meeting Bill’s eyes again as she brought her drink to her lips. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The Losers planned on staying in New York for a total of five days, and on day three, while out exploring the city, Bill got a text from Beverly. 

From: Bev M.got you a date tonight!! semi-fancy restaurant. 7:00pm. The reservation is under my name. I’ll text u the address!!!

Oh. What? Bill simply stood there, staring at his phone screen. He hadn’t thought she was serious, when she’d asked for hookups. But here he was, with a date tonight. He would have kept standing there in his bewilderment if someone hadn’t bumped into his shoulder, making him realize that he was stock still in the middle of a New York City sidewalk, and he began back to his hotel room. He had to start getting ready. 

The restaurant was fifteen minutes away, so Bill left his hotel room with thirty minutes to spare, navigation turned on and cell phone in hand. He hadn’t really brought any fancy clothes on the trip with him, but he hadn’t had the time or the energy for a full shopping trip, so he was making do with some light blue slacks and a plain white dress shirt, hoping that the fact that the shirt was tucked in and that the leather shoes and the leather belt matched was enough to pull the whole look together. 

He arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early, but when he told the host the name his reservation was under, he gave a curt nod, telling Bill that the other half of his party was there already, and asking him to “follow me, please”. Bill felt the first thrum of nerves in his chest, reaching up to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt, wondering if he should unbutton a few–having two popped open was too many, right?–when the host stopped, and Bill stopped, and his date looked up at him. 

“…the fuck, bro?”

Eddie. Eddie was sitting there, staring up at him. He looked and sounded stunned, and Bill was sure he had an equally stunned look on his own face. But Eddie… Eddie was dressed very nicely, in a red dress shirt and black suit jacket, his hair styled, and it completely threw Bill for a moment. He looked incredible. 

“Are… Are you sure this is the right table?” Bill asked. “For the reservation?”

The host looked annoyed. “Party of two for Beverly Marsh at seven, correct?” He asked. Bill nodded, seeing Eddie also nod in the corner of his eye. “I assure you sir, this is the proper table. Please.” He gestured to the chair, and at a loss for what else to do, Bill sat. 

“A server will be with you shortly.” The man told them both, before whisking himself away. 

The silence between them was heavy for a moment, slightly tense and very unsure, before Bill decided to shake himself out of it. This was Eddie, the same Eddie he’d known since childhood. No reason to act strange. 

“You clean up really nice, Eds.”

“Oh, shut up.” Eddie answered, not looking at him, though there was a pink dusting across his cheeks, visible in the romantically dim lighting of the restaurant, that told Bill he’d liked the compliment anyway. “What the hell was Bev thinking?”

“This is probably just a joke.” Bill said. It was the only thing that made sense to him. He wasn’t sure why she would set him up with Eddie, someone she’d said she had an actual date for, but still. Maybe her original plan had fallen through. Maybe she’d been messing with them the entire time. Or maybe not.

“Richie and Stanley had better not be hiding around a goddamn bush somewhere, with a fucking camera or something.” Eddie said, glancing around for a moment, the idea of it making Bill laugh. He found he wouldn’t mind some footage of this night, sneakily taken on Richie Tozier’s phone or not. Eddie really, really looked good. 

Take a picture. The familiar phrase crossed his mind, usually reserved for men gawking at pretty girls. It’ll last longer.

“Joke or not, Beverly and Ben are the ones paying.” Bill pointed out, picking up his menu. “We might as well have a nice dinner, right? The food looks really good.” 

Eddie gave the proposal a thought for a moment before nodding. They both ordered shortly after, and once Eddie gave his heavily modified order to their poor waiter, who was writing all the allergies and substitutions down as quickly as she could, he seemed to relax. That had Bill relaxing in turn—once a leader, always a leader, never able to fully sit back if one of his own was in distress—and they began to talk. 

Bill always forgot how nice it was to spend time with Eddie until he was actually doing it. They’d spent a lot of time together as kids, the two of them friends before anyone else in the Losers Club. And often, when they were together, they weren’t doing anything specific, just being in each other’s company; doing homework together, reading side by side, Bill telling Eddie a story he’d thought up to write. Eddie was the first one to hear about his dreams of being a author, and the first one to support him with them. 

Despite all of the familiarity, it still felt like a date, too. There was a slight, underlying sense of anticipation, of anxiousness. There was Eddie, still acting himself, but with a thread of self-consciousness to his movements and his words. Bill, unable not to linger for what might be a moment too long whenever their eyes met. 

Two hours and over a hundred dollars out of Beverly’s pocket later—she was a fashion designer, she could take it—they left the restaurant and broke out onto the street. They were staying at the same apartment, walking in that direction together. A few drops began to fall, Bill glancing up. The weather app on his phone hadn’t said anything about rain, but there the clouds were. Eddie, of course—Eddie, always prepared—reached into an inside pocket of his suit jacket, opening up a compact umbrella. Bill ducked under it, Eddie accommodating him without Bill having to ask, and being so close had Bill noticing two things: Eddie smelled incredibly good, and Eddie was a solid two inches taller than him.

“Fuck.” Bill muttered, having to glance up to look at Eddie’s face. The word was more to himself, but Eddie was close enough to hear, and laughed. 

“Don’t worry about it, you’ll always be Big Bill to me.” Eddie said. Rain was steadily coming down harder. “It wasn’t really a height title anyway; it’s just you, you know?”

“Me?”

“Being a leader, being strong, being fast, being brave, all that shit.” 

“You’re brave too.” Bill said; he couldn’t help it. “What you did, leaving Myra—I’m proud of you. I don’t know if I ever said that.”

Eddie took the words at a nod, seeming to think them over, his lips scrunching as he did; seeming to taste them in his mouth. 

“You were always the bravest of us, Bill. You can not argue—” He must have seen Bill’s mouth open in the corner of his eye— “Because you have no idea—you have no idea how cool I thought you were.”

“Oh, were. Ouch” Past tense. Bill had to laugh a bit. “That hurts, Eds.”

Eddie stopped to laugh when he realized the backhanded sort of compliment, seemingly too caught up in nostalgia to notice it at first. 

“Please, you can’t pretend you didn’t have a fucking soft spot for me.”

They weren’t walking anymore, very close together under Eddie’s tiny umbrella. While not completely empty, the rain had emptied the streets enough for them to be left to talk without blocking the sidewalk. 

“How could I not?” Bill asked back. “You, you…”

Eddie always had this look, when they were kids, a look that had been so plain and open that Bill couldn’t have missed it if he tried. And he didn’t try, unable to help but bask in it instead—a look that told him that Eddie thought Bill had been the one to hang the moon. The expression was covered up more as they got older, taken over by teenage self-awareness, but still peeking through every now and then. Now that they’d grown, Bill figured that the look was gone, that Eddie’s admiration of him had to have faded. 

But it was here, now, also mixed with adoration as Eddie looked down at him, so plain and so open and full, and all Bill wanted to do was kiss him. So he did. 

Eddie’s grip slackened on the umbrella and a moment later it was swept away, but that didn’t matter in the slightest because Eddie’s hands were on his face, kissing him back. 

That energy that Eddie had, that energy always under the surface; Bill could feel it as Eddie kissed him, as Eddie pressed as close as possible, but the kiss wasn’t hard, or harsh, or fast. It was soft, as gentle as Eddie was timid, but as sincere as Eddie was brave. 

Rain was falling down around them, down on them, but Bill didn’t notice it until they broke apart, the drops big and cold and heavy on their cheeks and shoulders and in their hair. Bill found he didn’t care, either, about getting wet; his hand found the back of Eddie’s neck, still wanting to be close, smiling as he felt Eddie’s forehead rest against his own.

“You know Bill, of all the times I imagined kissing you, I never imagined having to lean down to do it.” Eddie told him, and Bill burst into laughter. 

“Fuck you.” He said, Eddie laughing too, the two of them having to lean away to avoid knocking heads. The umbrella was completely gone to the wind now, and with light touches and even lighter hearts, made a mad and laughing dash towards Bill’s hotel room. The rain might have been cold, but it was the warmest Bill had felt in a long time. 

[psqqa]

makeste replied to your post “i can’t say i came out of bnha with a whole lot of Shipping Thoughts,...”

I would read all of these but especially 2 and 3 and especially especially 5 omg. or a version of number 8 where Shouto interrupts their usual 30 minutes of silence and good vibes by asking Momo for advice about his love life because of number 5. and he asks her because he knows she's in a polyamorous relationship with Jirou and Kaminari, which happened due to the band AU, and something something but I'm sure there's a way to fit the rest of it in there too lol

ok omg yes we can do this. hmmm ok so it’s eri’s.........13th birthday??? i have no idea how old she’s supposed to be in canon. but let’s say that in seven years or so she’ll be turning 13. (oh okay the wiki tells me she’s 6 so bang fucking on fuck yeah!! wow that’s a first.)

anyway, it’s eri’s 13th birthday and because it’s eri’s 13th birthday it has to be The Greatest 13th Birthday Party In The World because mirio’s baby girl is a teenager now and that needs celebratin!!!!

and THAT means Getting The Band Back Together because that was an Important Moment in the development of eri’s happiness and safety and joy and she’ll need that energy going into adolescence.

it also means asking aizawa to cater because like he’s a chef or something in his spare time right? ‘you should ask literally anyone else’ says aizawa, ‘that is not the kind of cooking i do. it is in fact virtually the antithesis of the cooking i do.’ but eri gives him her Big Doe Eye Look Of Awe all ‘you can cook and you’ll make food for me???’ so now he has to do it. it’s perfectly rational ok.

(hmm ok this turned into a whole thing, so let’s throw that under a cut)

so that’s happening and casa momokamijirou is now band practice central. which means some Domestic Fucking OT3 Shenanigans. progress on this is discussed during the weekly breakfast and todoroki offers to be part of the tech crew again. he also recently worked a case with inasa. which is a thing that keeps happening every few months somehow despite being on opposite ends of the country, and he’s like ‘yo you know airbending would make for some cool effects. i’ll see if i can rope him in somehow. it shouldn’t be hard, he does like kids.’

inasa is successfully roped in. tech crew planning occurs. ‘wow inasa sure is enthusiastic about this’ todoroki thinks to himself one day while he eats cold soba in his office at 4 pm because villains have no respect for reasonable lunch hours. there is some more contemplation on inasa’s enthusiasm around children and also todoroki and then his brain makes on small step for mankind but one giant leap for todoroki and goes ‘wait.’ he spends roughly the next 20 minutes blinking rapidly at the framed silver age all might poster he’s got hanging on his office wall because he can be a bit of a petty bitch like that. there is a further amount of blinking that happens over the next 48 hours.

halfway through his next breakfast with momo he puts down his natto and says ‘kaminari is a bit of a flirt, right?’ which prompts some blinking from momo as well. she puts down her natto as well. 

‘i suppose?’ she says. ‘i would characterize it more as spirited affability, though.’ 

todoroki considers this briefly and nods. that is a fair assessment. ‘how did you know that the.....spirited affability aimed at you was different from the spirited affability aimed at the rest of the world?’ 

momo blinks at him again. ‘he told me.’ she says. ‘and kyouka.’ she smiles. ‘he knows us quite well, after all. he knew we needed the help.’

todoroki returns her smile because he is happy for her happiness but then he frowns because that doesn’t exactly help him. 

‘........has someone been aiming.......spirited affability at you as well?’ momo asks, catching on.

todoroki nods. ‘i came to the realization a few days ago that over the course of our acquaintance yoarashi inasa has been......particularly spirited in his affability towards me. i’m struggling to figure out what that means.’ 

momo smiles. ‘what would you like it to mean?’ 

todoroki frowns more deeply. ‘i’m not sure,’ he admits, ‘but i suppose the amount of thought i’ve put towards means i would like it to mean something.’ 

momo nods. ‘perhaps you should ask, then. in my experience direct communication is crucial to the success of any relationship.’ 

todoroki nods and smiles. ‘perhaps i shall.’ he says. 

‘would you like me to ask denki for his thoughts?’ momo asks. ‘he is admittedly better at this than i am.’ 

todoroki considers this. ‘i think i would prefer to ask him myself, if i decide i need the help, if that’s alright.’ 

'of course,’ momo says and they go back to their natto and their silence and their good vibes.

bakugou attends therapy. bakugou attends a yoga session. bakugou takes up jazz drumming. bakugou calls his mom. bakugou buys a birthday present for eri. each step of the way he thinks to himself ‘time to show these assholes how it’s motherfucking DONE!!’ then he thinks on the 45 minutes his therapist spent explaining the trap of external validation like he was some kind of idiot who hadn’t read up on this shit before starting therapy. he’s a model fucking therapy patient. he’s rocking this shit. he considers that again. he acknowledges briefly that she may have had some kind of point. bakugou goes to band practice and fucking obliterates each and every count in. John Bonham fucking wishes he could count off as good as bakugou does.

momo comes home for another band practice to find that kaminari, who is not my self-insert but who is in this moment embodying my spirit, has locked bakugou in the quirk-killing space momo has been experimentally building, and has been playing Learnalilgivinanlovin at him on repeat for the past few hours. ‘yeah he’s like a million times better than he was when we first met, but he was just telling me about how he’s going to win the yoga session his therapist suggested he go to, so like, i think he could do with some reinforcement of the concept.’

‘todoroki may come to you for advice at some point soon,’ momo says. ‘if he does be nice. if he doesn’t, don’t push it.’

kaminari grins that big grin of his. ‘you know me, yaomomo, i’m always nice!’

momo says nothing.

kaminari’s grin falters. ‘aren’t i? momo? momo, i’m nice person! momo!!’

momo smiles. ‘you are. that’s what i love about you.’ and leaves him blushing in her wake.

jirou, on the other hand, is holed up with tokoyami in her Music Room, introducing him to the Great Hits of early 2000s goth rock. tokoyami looks pretty rapturous as some guy dissolves into feathers on screen. he asks her for the tabs. she hands them over as if she had been expecting this. momo’s sure she had. it’s what she loves about her. she leaves them to it.

the birthday party happens. aizawa looks like he’s aged about 15 years but the food is delivered and it is delicious. eri shyly asks him if he’ll do her hair once more ‘for old time’s sake’. he smiles and those 15 years return to him. eri’s hair looks great. 

the band comes out. eri is surprised and thrilled. she asks if she can sit on mirio’s shoulders again like she did the first time. mirio looks like he’s about to vibrate into the sun with joy and says yes, of course.

the band is a hit. everyone dances, including toshinori, who is dragged into some kind of jive by ashido and he rocks it. and then has to immediately sit down for 20 minutes. but it’s good, it’s fine, he’s happy. eri’s happy. mirio’s happy. midoriya fucking cries into his plate of birthday cake he’s so happy. 

todoroki drags inasa off to the side at some point to ask him about the thing. momo was correct, of course, and he resolves to tell her this at their next breakfast he thinks as he too smiles happily and dances (awkwardly. with inasa. it’s great.)

it’s a friday night, but crime never sleeps, so a number of them have to get home to sleep so they can work in the morning. the rest remain to help clean up because ‘that’s what heroes do!!’ and as mirio picks up garbage, he looks over to where eri and kirishima are sorting things into recyclable and non-recyclable trash, laughing together at whatever story kirishima is telling, and mirio’s done it, he’s a professional hero, he saves people every day, but this right here is the most heroic he’s ever felt.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Thirty-Two: Find the Solution ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto, Hatake Kakashi, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, alcohol, vulgarity ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

Having a few spare minutes before class, Sasuke idly goes over his homework for first period, dark eyes half-lidded and trying to catch any last-minute mistakes. So far, it all seems in order.

“Sasuke...Sasuke!”

“What is it, Naruto?”

The blond stumbles to his desk, the one just in front of his best friend, lurching into his seat with a panicked smile. His clothes are wrinkled and hair mussed. It’s like he just got out of bed… “Hey, uh...did you - did you finish last night’s homework?”

...does he really need to ask? Sasuke looks up over the brim of his held-aloft paper. “Of course I did.”

“Well...could I maybe just -?”

“No.”

“But -!”

“There’s not nearly enough time for you to copy the entire assignment...besides, maybe I’m a little tired of you copying me. What does it matter, anyway? If you just copy my work, you won’t actually learn it, and come test time, you’ll fail.” The Uchiha deadpans, squinting slightly. “You think the teacher doesn’t notice that pattern…? Maybe you should spend less time running around with those delinquent friends of yours after curfew and start doing your homework.”

“Hey, my friends aren’t delinquents!”

“Oh? What happened to the graffiti? The property damage? The sneaking into parents’ liquor cabinets? Because I highly doubt that’s all stopped on a dime.”

The tips of Naruto’s ears burn bright red, bristling with a hint of temper.

“Something tells me the son of the superintendent would face some pretty harsh punishments if his father found out…”

“Sasuke…”

“He can only make the troubled youth argument so many times, what with adulthood hurtling at you like a train. And what would your mother think?”

“OI!” Grabbing Sasuke by the shirt collar, Naruto lifts him straight out of his chair, a foot planted in his own. Around them, other students gasp and holler in surprise. “Shut yer trap!”

Sasuke just stares at him, scowling. “If I didn’t just prove my point...you wouldn’t have a reason to get so angry…!”

“I SAID SHUT IT!”

“All right boys, that’s enough.” Walking into the room nonchalantly, their first period teacher waves a hand. “Naruto, put Sasuke down. Sasuke, stop taunting Naruto. Can we have one day where it doesn’t start with a near-brawl?”

Mouth cut in a deep frown, blond brows furrowed sharply, Naruto breathes harshly through his nose. “...fine.” With a small shove, he releases his classmate and sits in one movement.

Resting hands atop his podium, Kakashi glances between them, looking thoughtful. “...actually, you know what? I think we’ve had enough pattern established, we need to do a little something about this.”

“Wait, what -?”

“I’m going to give you both detention.”

Sasuke bristles. “I didn’t -!”

“Ah ah ah, no arguing. I’ll talk to you both after class, and we’ll work something out. But I’m getting a little old to be dealing with your...shenanigans as often as I am. Maybe thinking that over this morning will get it through your heads, hm?”

Naruto doesn’t even answer, arms folded atop his desk and propping up his chin.

“Tch…” Aggravated, but doing his best to swallow his temper for now, Sasuke collapses back into his seat.

“First thing’s first: hand in your assignments, please. We’ll see how well you all did on that essay on chapters ten through fifteen. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of...interesting theories to keep me busy reading them tonight.”

Sasuke passes his up the row, noting that Naruto doesn’t even have a partially completed paper to turn in. Counting the stack he receives, Kakashi gives a brief glance to the blond before just sighing and moving on.

The rest of class passes like any other day - reading, discussion, debate...the usual. Sasuke doesn’t bother attempting to chime in, instead leaning his chin into a palm, elbow propped atop his desk and glaring out the window. Leave it to Naruto and his temper to drag him into trouble…

Once the hour block is over, the rest of their classmates file out, and the pair approach Kakashi’s desk. He leans back in his chair, a leg atop a knee, fingers woven. “...now, I’ll make this brief. Starting tomorrow, I’m moving you two apart. Naruto, you’ll be front and center...it’s clear you need space from Sasuke, and more proximity to your lessons.”

The blond just pouts.

“You’ll be spending some extra time with me for the rest of the week after your last class. Maybe then you’ll have papers to turn in. And you,” he goes on, turning to Sasuke. “It’s clear you need a little...interpersonal skill development. So you’ll also be spending some time here after school...but a little differently. I want you to tutor another student.”

“...what?”

“Any subject you want, but it’s clear you need practice in interacting with your fellow classmates.”

“More like I need practice getting away from him.”

“And you will. But your antagonizing nature isn’t going to get you very far. Stop lording yourself over someone you deem beneath you.”

They both then go to argue, but stop at a raised hand.

“...not that Naruto is - in fact, he’s not. You both have your faults. Best you learn how to deal with them now before we ship you off into the real world, hm? Because I promise you, this punishment is light. And if you two keep heading the way you’re headed...it will only get worse. So, let’s nip it in the bud, shall we? I’ll see you both after classes today. Naruto, prepare for some reading. Sasuke...be thinking about what subject you’ll be helping a fellow student with. Now get going - if you’re late, just have your teacher phone me. I’ll get you off the hook.”

With that, the pair take their leave, shooting each other dirty looks. “Nice going, jackass. Now we’re both suffering because of your temper,” Sasuke growls.

“Yeah? Like it wasn’t your high-and-mighty attitude that set if off in the first place, ya bastard? Shove off…”

Thankfully the rest of their mornings are spent apart in different classes. And Sasuke spends all of his dreading the last bell. Tutoring someone? Is Kakashi serious…? He’s never done that sort of thing, he doesn’t know how! And knowing his luck, he’ll end up with some moron that won’t know anything about anything.

But at least by the end of the day, he’s made up his mind. He’ll do math. Simple math. Surely some algebra will be easy enough to explain to someone, right? While all his subjects are relatively easy for him...he’d rather keep it to something with one set answer. Read the problem, find the solution. A to B, and...well, whatever steps end up in between.

Naruto’s already seated at a desk when he arrives, Kakashi sat atop his own with a foot in a chair. “Ah, there you are. Found a subject?”

“...algebra.”

“Good, good - there’s a study hall in the library every day after class! Go find someone who needs it, and bring them back here. I’ll be supervising.”

Expression anything but elated, Sasuke does as asked. He’d had no idea there was a study hall...he always goes straight home after class. Working his way in, he glances around, seeing various groups and pairs seated at the tables within.

A senior girl glances to him, asking what he needs. “I, uh…” Ugh, how embarrassing… “...I’ve got a temporary detention assignment to tutor someone in algebra. Mr. Hatake wants it in his room, though.”

“Oh, perfect! You know, we’re always looking for more tutors! Let me ask and see who’d like to go with you - wait right here.”

Watching her go, Sasuke sighs. He doesn’t even get to pick them? Great. Leaning against the wall beside the door, there’s about a minute of quiet before she comes back, another girl in tow. “Here we are! This is Hinata Hyūga. She came here looking for algebra help. Think that will work?”

He gives her an appraising look. There’s a vague recognition - they’re in the same year, he remembers. And her body language looks reserved. Quiet. Hopefully she’ll be tolerable. “...sure.”

“All right! Thanks so much for lending a hand.”

Wanting to retort that he doesn’t have any choice, Sasuke swallows down the words and instead mutters, “C’mon” before opening the door.

“...so...where are we going?”

“Mr. Hatake’s literature classroom. Naruto got my ass in trouble, so I have to tutor someone in his room every day for a week.” He doesn’t elaborate any further.

“Oh...so just until Friday?”

“Yup.”

“You won’t - y-you won’t keep going after that?”

“I doubt it. I have my own studies to tend to.”

“Oh...t-that makes sense.”

Dark eyes give her a glance. Sure, she looked quiet, but stuttering, too? Maybe he should have got someone a little less...nervous.

“Well...I still appreciate the help. I had to miss a few weeks of class, so...I’m pretty behind.”

“How come?”

“I...I was sick.”

The reply sounds fabricated, and Sasuke perks a brow...but doesn’t pry. “...well, okay then. We’ll see how far you can get in a week. Then someone else can take over.”

He opens the door for her, earning a look up from Kakashi. “Hello there, Hinata!”

“Hello, Mr. Hatake.”

“Here to help Sasuke learn some manners?”

Her head tilts, clearly confused as said Uchiha just scowls and moves to the opposite corner of the room. “C’mon, let’s get started.”

There’s a brief pause...and then she follows. “What, um...what did he mean by that…?”

“Naruto wanted to copy my homework. I said no, told him to do his own, and to stop being an idiot after school. He got mad, tried to start a fight...and we both got in trouble. Now Kakashi thinks I need some interpersonal practice.”

Large pale eyes blink, clearly not expecting his explanation. “I...I-I see.”

“In short, let’s just...sit and do some math, okay? The sooner we get through this week, the sooner I can get back to my own damn schedule…”

There’s a slight wilt of her brow...but then she sits in the desk beside him. “So...I missed eight whole chapters while I was...sick. I’ve started the first one, but um...I haven’t gotten very far.”

“That’s okay. We’ll just...do what we have to.”

It doesn’t take Sasuke long to realize...he got very lucky with her. She’s quiet, yeah...but attentive, watching his pen and glancing up to listen to his lesson. Her handwriting is neat, if not a little small...and though she asks plenty of questions, they manage to move pretty quickly. It’s clear she’s not dumb...she just fell behind because she was...sick.

He’s really tempted to ask, but...well, that would be showing interest. And he’s not interested. All Sasuke wants is to get through these five hours without any additional stress or lost time.

With their desks put side by side, and the two of them poring over the same book...he can’t help but eventually realize they’re leaned in rather close together. Hinata has to do so in order to see his demonstrations, and he to check her work. More often than not, their shoulders brush.

...and he can smell her shampoo. Something with lavender in it…it’s actually really -

Okay, whoa, hold up.

No. No!

He actually sits up and back as it hits him, taking a deep breath and furrowing his brow. Thankfully she doesn’t notice, in the middle of attempting a problem and hunched over her paper.

Staring at her as though she’s suddenly sprouted a second head, Sasuke blinks. He...he didn’t just think that, right? He doesn’t even really know this girl! Sure, they’ve probably spoken once or twice, but...otherwise they’re practically strangers. And since when did he start smelling people’s hair?

...well, granted, most people can’t get that close to him. He doesn’t let them. But...well, it’s a little unavoidable at the moment. And for some reason it just hadn’t really...come to his attention. He hadn’t noticed. How did he not notice? He’s so particular about his space!

“...uh, Sasuke…?”

Eyes snapping to her face, he sees her looking to him. “...done?”

“Yeah.”

This time, he scoots her paper toward him, maintaining a little distance and glancing over cautiously before looking over her process. Another one done right. “...looks good.” Back over slides the paper.

“All right you three. I think that’s enough for tonight. Same time, same place tomorrow...until Friday. Thank you again, Hinata, for letting Sasuke torture you.”

She gives a sheepish smile. “Oh, t-that’s okay. We’re making good progress!”

“Oh? Good. Hopefully in more than one regard.”

Ignoring the man, Sasuke takes up his bag, moving his desk back into place before abandoning the room at top speed.

Something’s wrong with him.

“Sasuke, w-wait!”

He gives her a glance as she jogs to catch up.

“Um...I know maybe you won’t want to, since this is...temporary. But would it be okay if - if I emailed you when I get stuck? I’ll try not to, but -”

“Yeah, that’d be fine.”

“...o-oh!”

Taking out a pen, he scribbles his address along the corner of her notebook. “I keep my email open when I’m home, anyway.”

“Thank you so much! Hopefully I won’t have to bother you - I-I’ll try not to. Um...see you tomorrow!” Waving, she jogs ahead and out of sight.

...what...did he just do?

Watching her go, he has to restrain himself from slapping a palm to his brow. He didn’t even hesitate! He just...gave it to her! Told her it was fine! It’s not fine!

...is it?

“Better get headed home, Sasuke. Don’t forget: you’ve got five more chapters to read and report on by Friday.”

Startling at Kakashi’s voice beside him, Sasuke dusts pink in reflexive embarrassment at being caught off-guard. “Y-yeah, just...whatever.”

“See you tomorrow!”

Scowling, Sasuke stuffs hands in his pockets and actually turns around to find another exit. He doesn’t want to run into her again. Not today.

….the hell is wrong with you, Sasuke?

     All right, here we go into February! And with a rather longer-than-usual piece, huzzah!      Poor Sasuke, getting dragged into trouble...though to be fair, he WAS the one who started it...even if he had a point. But hey, it seems that maybe he's not as upset about his punishment now as when he started ;3c Maybe this week won't be so bad!      But yeah, that'll do it for today! Thanks for reading!

[lit-works]

More Untitled Daredevil fanfic. Pt.4, i think?

I have no idea what time it is when i return to the apartment. My muscles ache and all i can think about is collapsing in bed, leaving my costume on.

I awaken sometime the next day to the clatter of garbage truck hydraulics and cans being tossed cavalierly on the sidewalk. The apartment is empty, i guess that it's nearly noon.

It's not the first time I've missed the morning. I smell coffee in the kitchen, made fresh hours ago. After a quick shower, where i discover a few scrapes and bruises i didn't know i had, i get dressed. I toss my spare costume into my attache case--it may be a while before i get back to the apartment.

By the time i make it to the drop-in center, Karen is already having lunch. To my surprise, Foggy Nelson is with her.

"Nice to see you up at last." Karen says.

"Hi, Matt," Foggy adds, his voice tentative. Once we were best friends--partners. But Foggy made it clear which side he stood on concerning my current legal status.

"Good to see you, Foggy." i say, walking over to my desk.

"Matt, Foggy says that subpoena--" I hold up my hand.

"I don't want any lectures about the injunction. Not today. Not--"

"Matt," Foggy says, "This is something you can't ignore. They'll drag you into court, cite you for contempt--"

I stand up. "Don't quote the law to me, Foggy. The law is one thing. This," i snap, picking up the crumpled subpoena from where it sat the day before. "Is harassment, and here's where it belongs." i toss it into the corner, and it bounces to the floor next to the trash can.

I sense Foggy turn to Karen. They're closer now. Closer than ever before. They both think I'm out of control.

"I tried, Karen," he says, and walks out of the door with Karen following. She returns, exasperated.

"That was clever. Why don't you just alienate anyone who's ever tried to help you?"

"I suppose you'd like me to just give up? Walk right out of here, too? Spend years trying to clear my name--"

She walks over to the small laptop on her desk. "You'd better listen to this. It was on the news this morning."

"Why? What is...?"

"This city cannot--must not--become a breeding ground for vigilante groups of any stripe, costumed or not--"

Alex Wriley, a young, rich candidate for mayor. Running on a platform that includes shipping every costumed crime-fighter to Lower Slobovia or the Negative Zone. And he's doing real well with the voters, real well.

"--streets to be safe, under the protection of a properly trained and armed law enforcement department."

"Doesn't he know we work with them, for Chris'sake?! What's--"

"Wait," Karen says, "It gets worse."

His speech over, Wriley takes questions from the reporters.

"Mister Wriley, what about last night's reports that the Daredevil was seen fleeing a burning building? There are rumors of an extortion racket to get special protection."

I almost feel Wriley gloating.

"Precisely my point. Is Daredevil working for the side of the law and order, or is he just another freelance thug? Hands open to the highest bidder? I think my campaign will find the truth!" Karen clicks off the video.

"That lousy--"

"Matt, you're going to have to be careful. This Wriley is after you. He's got money. He's powerful."

I start to explain to Karen about the trap--but hold my tongue. There'll be time for talking later, when i know what's really going on.

"Right," i say, "Now, how about a trip to Staten island? Can Martin hold down the fort?"

Martin, my all-purpose file clerk, secretary, and hot-shot investigator is dealing with a crowd of people out front.

"Sure, he'll moan and groan, but love it."

"You can drive," i say smiling. "I could use another forty winks."

The ride is quiet, almost serene, and I'm glad when we reach the Nature Preserve.

"So peaceful," i say, stepping out of the car. "Hardly a breeze. I can pick up gull sounds from the shore. Smells pretty nice, too."

Karen takes my hand. "The factory is over here, over that hill."

I turn, straining to pick up anything unusual.

"Seems empty. Shall we go closer?" i ask.

"Sure, let's drive..."

"No." i give her hand a squeeze. "Let's walk. There's a path ahead. Some kind of opening."

"Yes, but--"

"I don't want to announce our arrival." I pull her along, leaving behind the gently wooded area of the nature preserve, following a makeshift trail up a scruffy hill.

"God," Karen says. "What a mess!"

I can make out the rough outline of the buildings, some gutted, some intact, a few completely gone, leaving only empty, gaping foundations.

"Must be an ugly sight." i say. Then i smell it. Something foul, noxious. It seems to scar my nostrils and burn as it enters my lungs. "There's something wrong here."

Then i hear the sound if a truck entering the property from a distance.

"Someone's coming." Karen says.

Above the roar of the truck, i sense three people, their heartbeats, the rhythm of their breathing. One of them is, yes, familiar. It's quite clear, in fact, that i met him last night--and he got away from me. That won't happen again.

"Can you see where they're headed?" i ask Karen.

"To one of the buildings, one that looks fairly intact."

"Then that's where we're headed."

Karen grabs my arm. "Matt, shouldn't we call the police and let--"

"Let them what? We're trespassing as it is, Karen. The only evidence we've got is a little old lady and my radioactive nostrils. If you want to help change the situation, then we have to see what's going on."

She nods, and i sense her trust, her faith in me, lapsing. Just another battle I'll have to fight to win back her confidence--her love.

The back of the building abuts the river. I hear the water moving back and forth, splashing onto the sharp rocks.

"Do you hear anything?" karen asks.

"Yeah, lots. There are voices, machinery, and--"

"There's a window, Matt. Hoist me up?"

"My pleasure." i reach down and pick up Karen, quickly raising her to look inside.

"A bit higher."

"I can't fly, Karen."

"That's good. I can...oh, Matt! This is terrible. This is..."

"What's the big piece of machinery, Karen? It's growing louder."

"It's digging into the ground, and there are stacks of barrels ready to be rolled into the hole. Matt, she was right, she--"

I turn, picking up the faintest footfall coming around the corner of the building. I lower Karen and try to get ready.

"Matt, what the--"

But behind me there's another sound, and i find myself between two thugs.

I might be out if costume, but I'm not about to let that slow me down. With a speed that startled the two goons, i send my hands out, using precision moves that are made possible only by boxer's reflexes.

Perfect shot--if smashing another humans jaw could ever be described that way.

Lately, i winder whether Karen is right, thinking that i like the violence...need it.

I catch the goon at my left on the chin, and he flies backward, cartoon-style. With time to spare, i cuff the other on the side of the face. Not hard enough to knock him out, but with plenty of force to send him tumbling to the ground.

Now, to just find out who these lovelies work for.

The air is suddenly filled with a high-pitch siren.

"What is it?" Karen asks.

Then i sense the two guards scrambling to their feet, running away.

"I've got to catch up to them." i say.

Karen holds me back, trying to keep me from the danger she now fears i live for.

I pull away, turn and begin running.

The sandy ground offers little support for my feet, especially when I'm wearing my clod-hopper city shoes. If only there were time to change into my costume.

The truck is already moving down the road and the two guys who attacked me climb onto the back as it pulls away. I run as fast as i can, ignoring the growing oxygen debt in my body, until it seems as if a successful leap might send me onto the back of the truck.

Despite the inelegance of my leap, I'm amazed to find that my hands close around the back panel of the truck. With one kick, i climb over.

"Hi, boys. Mind if i catch a ride?" the two thugs seem disturbed by my appearance.

"What's with the glasses--are you blind?"

"Why, are you making faces at me?" I reply.

I hear them separate, slowly moving towards the front of the truck, then they come at me. I crouch, ready to dispose of them quickly, when the truck suddenly barrels over a curb. Sending me crashing into the side wall.

Then they're on me, eager to take advantage of their lucky break. One of them closes his hand firmly around my windpipe, while the other digs into his back pocket for something.

No time for fooling around.

The truck lurched to the left--the driver doesn't seem concerned about what he's driving over. His two accomplices are jostled by the bump, and i move quickly to grab both of them, placing them in simple but effective headlocks. I squeeze just enough to let them know i might be stronger than they imagine.

"Ow." one of them yelps over the truck's engine.

"Where's this heap headed?" I yell. "Come on, guys, let's make this easy."

A small window leading to the cabin opens, and a pudgy face with pinholes for eyes looks back at me.

Then, suddenly, the entire floor of the truck flips upwards, like some kind of garbage truck. That's what it is, hauling toxic waste and dumping it where no one can see. No, no one would ever know about it until it's too late.

The three of us start sliding backwards. I let go of the thugs, but not in time to grab on and stop my fall out of the truck. I land on my feet, while the two henchmen tumble awkwardly in the sand. When they stand up, i grab them by their collars.

"I hate to get unfriendly again. Now, tell me where that truck is going."

They look at each other, then one of them begins jabbering away. "It's heading--" but he doesn't finish his sentence. He screams and the other one joins on, both of them reaching for the backs of their heads, before crumpling into the sand.

I kneel, trying to sense their heartbeats, their breathing, but get nothing.

Karen runs over to me, "Are they...?"

"Dead."

"But how? You didn't do anything?"

I feel behind one of the men's necks, find a small protrusion, and pull it out.

"Here it is." i say, handing the small device to Karen. "Radio operated, I guess. Guaranteed to keep people in line. Nasty, very nasty."

"But who'd use such a device?"

"Someone big, powerful, and unless I'm wrong, new to this town."

"Well, I've got the license plate number, we'll call the police and--"

I put my hand in Karen's shoulder. "You'll call the police. Later. After you've taken me to Brooklyn."

[osmw1]

Dimension Wave  Chapter 17 — 'kay

“… Full Harpoon.”

The sinister-looking Treant falls over defeated by that attack skill. Sheryl’s weapon of choice is a harpoon—a fitting choice for combat on the open seas and for spearfishing as well. I think it’s categorized as a spear, but maybe harpoons are a subcategory or something. Since joining our party, Sheryl leveled up four times to level 10 now.

“We’ve got about 500 of those Treant’s Wood already, right?” “Yes, but some of which are not of the best quality, so we should keep at it.”

Our whole party were unanimous in that we should use the best quality mats, even if we need to spend a little more money.

“I got Alto—one of my acquaintances—to take care of the cloths.”

Strong Cloth is apparently crafted from the Sewing skill. Getting 100 of them means needing a lot of both money and labor. When I asked him, all Alto had to say is to give him some time and he can fulfill it. He really is a slick merchant.

“And the iron too. We’ve gotta be very careful in picking our supply. There’s a lot of crappy iron lately.” “What dost thou knowest, Miss Kizuna?”

It’s because they’re smelted from Empty Cans. Now it’s all comparatively trash since they’ve sourced more iron ore.

“N-Nothing in particular. Anyway, we’ve just about got all of the required mats, right?” “… yep.”

Sheryl nods. It’s been a whole day since we’ve met her at the stall. Our method to defeating Treants begin with Shouko engaging them and I just simply chop ‘em down. They’re not strong monsters by any standards. It’s just that killing 500 of them is quite a lot. We had no choice though. Alto says that not many other crafting professions need Treant’s Wood, so you can’t really find much for sale either. Luckily, over the past two weeks, it seems like Sheryl has been tirelessly slaying Treants whenever she had the time to spare. Her low level sure didn’t make her work quick, but at least her weapon is good on them.

“Alright, then. Let’s get some more wood and head back to the First for the time being.” “‘kay.” “I was just thinking… you keep saying ‘‘kay’. Is that just how you normally speak or something?” “Yep.” “… are you speaking like that on purpose?” “Not really.” “Not that I’ve anything against it or anything.” “‘kay.”

That’s just the way she is. I don’t know whether to describe it as curt or to say she’s bad at speaking, but maybe it’s a form of communication disorder different from Yamikage’s. If you chat with her, she seems pretty normal. You get what her point is, but it takes a little more effort to do so. Well, all the other players are looking for the Third City. Anyone who’s looking to venture out to sea now is probably at least a little odd. … birds of a feather, you could say.

“… what?”

Whoops. She caught me staring. What excuse do I have?

“Oh, nothing.” “‘kay.” “Anyway, just a bit more to go.” “Yep. Kizuna, thanks.” “It’s not just me, y’know? It’s a team effort. That includes you too, Sheryl.” “… ‘kay.”

What? That “‘kay” sounded a little more dejected than usual. I guess saying thanks all of a sudden can be embarrassing. Shouko and Yamikage are both showing shining snickers which probably has something to do with making fun of me. I’ve gotta somehow fix that problem.

Anyway, what comes next happens two days after we’ve assembled all the materials. We’ve sourced good iron from Romina. And aside from relying on Alto, I also ran between the First and Second looking for some good Strong Cloth. They’ve been very helpful, but it left my wallet a little skimp.

Name/ Kizuna†Exceed Race/ Spirit Energy/ 26,430 Mana/ 4,300 Serin/ 16,040

Skills/ Energy Production VIII, Mana Production V, Fishing Mastery IV, Gutting Mastery III, Cleaver I, Speed Gutting I, Night Vision I, Transmutation I

Unlocked Skills/ Energy Production IX, Mana Production VI, Fishing Mastery V, Cleaver II, Helmsmanship I, Naval Combat I, City Travelling I

I’ve unlocked yet more skills; I guess it’s the fruit of my daily labor. But it’s not like I plan to acquire more skills right now though.

In any case, while I was running back and forth between the two cities, the three of them went hunting together. It wasn’t only to help Sheryl grind; the monsters at sea are damn strong. Shouko and Yamikage’s combat-oriented skills mesh well with Sheryl’s crafting and naval combat style. Still, Sheryl needs more levels to be prepared for what’s coming up next.

And without me there grinding with them, they don’t need to worry about that requirement either. All three of them are so uniquely specced out. You can’t help but think of us as a party of oddballs.

“… Kizuna, and everyone else too, sign this.”

While I was lost in thought of our skills and builds, Sheryl stood in front of the materials and handed us a piece of paper. I have to say that this feels a little sketchy, but it really isn’t.

“What’s this?” “This is a deed of joint ownership, isn’t it?” “I have heard not of such a thing.”

That’s an ex-frontliner for you. Shouko knows the ins and outs of everything. A deed of joint ownership. It’s a title deed for anything that’s high-valued to equally split the ownership between each person. In our case, it’s for the ownership of “Ship”. Nobody other than us four can put the ship in their inventory. And if the ship is to be sold, it’ll require the signature of all owners. The money received for it would be equally split between us four too. It’s really like the real thing IRL.

“Wow… I didn’t know there’s something like this.”

Well, it makes sense. If someone were to snatch something valuable and run away with it, it’d piss everyone else off. The craftsmen understand the frustration as well, I’m sure. Anyway, the three of us might be a little ignorant of the details, but we can tell that Sheryl is serious about heading to the sea.

This really makes my heart race. I don’t know what’ll happen out there, but I feel like the four of us can take on the sea.

“Alright, lemme put my name down then.”

On the piece of paper was Sheryl’s name already and as soon as took ahold of it, my name was printed on there too. I thought I had to type in my name manually. I passed it to Shouko beside me and afterwards, she passed it to Yamikage. With that, everyone’s name is on the contract.

“The ship, then, I’ll start working on it. I’ll contact you when it’s done. Do whatever in the meantime.”

Sheryl walks up to the pile of materials, fires her skill up, and begins building the boat. It probably doesn’t take too much time, but according to Alto, it takes a few hours if someone were to try to craft it at home. Since the boat is made to fit four and have enough space to move around in, it should be pretty accommodating instead of fitting perfectly. That’s maybe why we have time to go off and do our own stuff right now. But just watching her make it is tough. Someone like me with no skills in boatbuilding should get out of her way. I’ll put some faith in Sheryl and try to relax.

“So, Kizuna, Yamikage, what shall we do now?” “I have already mended my equipment the other day, so your faithful shadow has no needs.” “I was hoping to watch her build our ship.” “What a splendid idea! Well, then, let us give Sheryl our support.”

We stand far enough to not get in Sheryl’s way of building our boat but close enough to gaze at her working.

“…”

As always, she lacks much expression. but she took a quick glance at us with a weird look. Ugh… it’s my fault. I’m not physically in her way but I bet we’re messing with her head. No surprise there. W-Well, I’m sure she thinks that we’re all buds together in the same party, right? Maybe we’re getting a little too chummy too quickly, but still. In any case, I prayed.

Please, I pray that our presence will not negatively affect how the ship turns out…

contents: /prologue/ /ch001/ /ch002/ /ch003/ /ch004/ /ch005/ /ch006/ /ch007/ /ch008/ /ch009/ /ch010/ /ch011/ /ch012/ /ch013/ /ch014/ /ch015/ /ch016/ /ch017/ /next/

(how about leaving a tip for me?)

[dantesunbreaker]

NSFW: Blitz x Jäger (College AU)

@thefishychicken Finally finished this for you! Sorry if it isn’t as good as you were hoing for... this is my first time writing a ship. But I still hope that you enjoy it!

Music blares at an obnoxious level from the speakers sporadically dispersed throughout the entire building, which combined with the drunk ramblings and shouting of party goers makes it near impossible to even hear one's own thoughts. It is the last party to celebrate the end of another term at the university. But it isn’t just the end of any term, it is the final term of the year. Summer is just around the corner. That means everyone will leave campus and return to their own home town until fall rolls around once again. So Jäger thinks that he and Blitz will spend as many of these last few days together as they can. Not seeing each other for a few months will no doubt be hard. Jäger wants to make sure he can still remember the details of his lover even when he is a few hours drive away, alone in the solitude of his own bed.

Yet Jäger finds himself standing alone in the middle of a room full of strangers while Blitz hops from group to group, acting as if he has known everyone for ages. They both arrived together nearly an hour ago, yet Jäger doesn’t think he has spent more than five minutes with Blitz. He isn’t the type that thinks he needs his boyfriend’s constant attention, but it still hurts that Blitz chooses to spend their limited time together with strangers instead. It also doesn’t help that Jäger isn’t the most comfortable in such social events. Put him in a room full of his closest friends and he won’t shut up, but in a room full of strangers he tends to freeze up and stumble over his words.

But here he is, standing in the center of a room full of strangers. Blitz isn’t even in sight anymore, having wandered so far off that Jäger has lost track of him. Perhaps it was a mistake coming to this party. Figuring that he has nothing better to do given that he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself by trying to talk with people, Jäger goes over to the drink table. A large bowl of ruby red punch rests in the center. No doubt it is spiked. Either way, Jäger grabs a plastic cup and fills it to the brim before chugging half of it at once. His suspicion is confirmed when vodka is the most prominent flavor that he can taste. So he finishes the other half of his drink and fills his cup all the way back up. He isn’t stopping at just two either.

“Marius, what are you doing over here by yourself?” Blitz finds the other man with an arm propped against a wall, head resting against it with a drink still in hand nearly an hour later. When Jäger begins to sway as he tries to turn, Blitz has to place a hand on his shoulder to keep him standing. “Are you drunk? What’s going on here?”

Jäger pulls out of Blitz’s grip, spilling the rest of his drink over his torso in the process, but it seems he is already too drunk to care. A few steps backward are taken before he finds himself steady on his feet again. Once he is though, he sets a firm and harsh gaze on the other German.

“Maybe I am drunk. Why does it matter to you?” his words are somewhat slurred, making it almost difficult for Blitz to understand him. Jäger then closes his eyes for a moment, leaning against the wall against in attempt to make the world stop spinning. “You were so busy chatting with all your good friends, so I thought I might as well have my own fun.”

A frown pulls at Blitz’s lips. Guilt begins to eat at him as he thinks about how he left Jäger by himself while he left to be a social butterfly, all the while knowing that this wasn’t a comfortable environment for Jäger in the first place. Blitz is the one that wanted to come to the party, and the one that practically begged and bribed Jäger to join him. It seems though it was only so that he could ditch him as soon as they walked through the door. Somehow, someway, Blitz knows that he has to make it up to his lover. Right now though, he needs to get the drunk away from the party and safely home.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” the younger of the two moves to grab the drunk man’s arm to throw around his shoulder, but once again Jäger tries to push him away. It is far weaker this time, as if he wants it, but still wants to make it a challenge.

“But I’m not finished yet. I still want to drink more,” Jäger whines as he pushes off the wall and nearly tumbles to the ground, luckily managing to catch himself. This time he doesn’t resist as Blitz grabs him gently by the shoulders.

“No, you’ve had enough Marius,” Blitz throws one of Jäger’s arms over his shoulders and wraps his own around the other man’s waist as he helps him walk. It is like carrying dead weight. “I’m going to take you home and get you into bed. You just need to sleep this off.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t get anymore protests. Only some drunk babbling is heard as Blitz leads his boyfriend outside towards the parking lot. Jäger was the one to drive them here, so it is his car, and the keys are still in his pocket.

“Which pocket are the keys in?” Blitz asks as he props Jäger up against the side of the car. “You are in no condition to drive.”

“Left front pocket,” it surprises Blitz a bit how Jäger manages to sound rather sober in the moment, keeping himself steady as Blitz begins to reach into the pocket of his jeans. On any other occasion he would take advantage of the situation and make some corny comment about getting into his pants. But now isn’t the time.

With the keys in hand, Blitz unlocks the vehicle and pulls open the passenger side door. Still silent, Jäger lets himself be ushered into the seat. He doesn’t even make a single protest as Blitz reaches across his chest to buckle him in. At this point Jäger is just tired and ready to be home, ready for this night to be over with already. Sensing his desperation to get home, Blitz wastes no time in getting into the driver’s seat of the car and pulling out into the street. For a while, it stays silent in the car. It makes Blitz feel a bit unnerved, and he feels the need to say something. He wants to make things up to Jäger.

“I’m so sorry,” he starts, sparing a glance to his side to watch the other man. “It wasn’t my intention to just abandon you like that. You know how I am though, I tend to get so caught up in conversation,” Blitz trails off as he looks back at the road in front of him. “Please talk to me.”

“I’m going to miss you when you are gone,” Jäger sighs as he leans his head against his window. Now that he is away from all the excitement of the party the pleasant buzz of alcohol is replaced with only the nausea it brings. “Just.. I don’t want this to be something that ends as soon as you leave for the summer. I don’t want us to just be something to pass the time during school. When you are gone, I don’t want you to forget about me.”

“Of course not!” Blitz almost runs a red light in his shocked state. How could Jäger think he would simply forget about him while he was away. “I love you Marius. No matter the distance between us, I will still feel that way.”

A sigh is all that he gets from Jäger. When Blitz looks to the side once again, he sees that Jäger has closed his eyes, likely already asleep. Drool is even dripping down his chin to his shirt. It shouldn’t surprise him really. Jäger has always been the first one out whenever they drank. When morning comes, Blitz will make sure to prove his affection and they will continue their conversation.

Upon reaching Jäger’s small on-campus housing, Blitz parks the car and goes to get the other man from the other side. As expected Jäger is asleep, not even phased as he is lifted out of his seat and into a pair of strong arms. Blitz carries his lover up the stairs and into the apartment as if the man weighed as light as a feather. It doesn’t even bring a sweat to his skin as he switches to holding him up with one arm so that he can open the door.

Once he reaches the bedroom, Blitz lowers Jäger onto the plush mattress with more care than he has ever demonstrated in the whole time they had been together. The front of Jäger’s shirt  sports a large dark spot from a combination of alcohol and his own saliva. Obviously he can’t be left to sleep like that. First though, Blitz kneels down at the foot of the bed to untie his boyfriend’s sneakers. Pulling them off, he goes and sets them beside the doorway as he sees Jäger always do. Socks come off too, instantly being tossed into the hamper resting against the wall. Getting the shirt off is a bit more difficult when the person you are trying to undress is asleep Blitz finds. Somehow he manages after struggling to hold Jäger upright as he tried pulling the shirt up over his head. Going an extra step, Blitz even wipes down Jäger’s torso with a damp washcloth to clean up any vodka that soaked through his t-shirt.

Satisfied that Jäger shall be cozy and comfortable through the night as he pulls the blankets up over his shoulders, Blitz finally allows himself a chance to relax again. Stripping himself down to only his jeans, he gives a soft sigh and sits on the other side of the bed. Glancing over his shoulder at Jäger, he contemplates whether or not he should sleep in the bed or move to the couch for the night. In the end, his body decides for him as he can’t help but sink into the comfort of the mattress. Throwing care out the window, he scoots across the bed and throws an arm over Jäger’s waist.

Morning eventually rolls around, the sun filtering in through the window shades and into Jäger’s eyes in a way that rudely awakens him. To his utter and pleasant surprise, he isn’t suffering from the major hangover he expected. Even better, he finds as he sits up that someone has taken the time to get him at least somewhat cleaned up.

“Oh good, you are awake,” Jäger looks up to see Blitz standing at the doorway with a tray of food in his hands. It appears that Blitz is still shirtless, just as himself. “Are you hungry? I made you some breakfast.”

Unable to form words in the moment, Jäger simply nods. Giving him a half smile, Blitz walks around the side of the bed and lowers the tray onto the nightstand. When Jäger doesn’t make any sign of discontent Blitz goes to the other side of the bed and sits down beside him. For a few seconds they simply sit there in silence, aside from the sound of Jäger lightly nibbling on the toast on his plate.

“I’m really sorry about last night,” Blitz watches Jäger from the corner of his eyes as he nervously twiddles his thumbs, afraid that he may have caused some sort of permanent damage to their relationship. The last thing he wants is any trouble between them. “I should have known better and stayed with you. But I promise to never do it again,” there is a clear desperation in his tone that causes Jäger to set aside his plate and turn to Blitz.

“It isn’t just your fault,” he looks at the younger German as he gives a soft sigh. “I shouldn’t have overreacted as I did. You deserved to have your own fun too. So I’m sorry too,” there is a smile on Jäger’s face then that excites Blitz. “But I think I know of a way that we can make it up to each other. Come here.”

Blitz doesn’t need to be told twice before he is crawling across the bed eagerly towards his boyfriend. Leaning up he presses their lips firmly together as he situates their bodies so that he is kneeling between Jäger’s thighs. Wanting all the focus to be on Jäger, Blitz pulls the other man’s hands away when he tries to reach out and touch him. It seems to be alright with Jäger as well, seeing as he grabs fistfuls of the sheets instead. Yet Blitz allows himself free range to trail over Jäger’s chest. The groan Jäger makes as Blitz tweaks one of his nipples is music to his ears. So he does it again just for good measure. With how often they are intimate with each other, it really doesn’t take long before both of them are straining against the harsh fabric of their jeans.

“Let me get these off you, ja?” Blitz asks in a clear teasing manner as he pulls away from Jäger’s lips, hands dipping between them to pull at the waist of Jäger’s jeans. Deliberately, he makes sure to drag his palm over the bulge beneath him.

“Come on, just take them off already,” Jäger whines as he fidgets about, sheets still gripped tight in his fists. He is staying good and not reaching out to touch Blitz, or to force him to do want he wants.

Thankfully, he seems to take mercy as he unzips Jäger’s jeans and begins to drag them down his hips. As he pulls, he lifts Jäger’s hips so he can pull the pants down his legs on completely off. Much to the surprise of Blitz, Jäger  isn’t wearing anything beneath his jeans.

“Look, I was hoping last night would lead to something more,” Jäger mutters as he sees the questioning look in his boyfriend’s eyes. “I wanted it to be easy access in case there was a closet quickie.”

All Blitz can do is chuckle as he lowers his now nude lover back onto the bed. “Well I’m sorry we didn’t get to have your quickie, but I’ll make it up to you,” Blitz assures as he works his own pants off, his cock bobbing slightly as it is released from the confines of his clothing.

He gives himself a few lazy strokes as he kneels back down, gazing down at Jäger’s body. While Blitz isn’t breaking any records with length, he more than makes up for it in girth, which is far more preferred. Jäger grabs the bottle of lube that he keeps in the drawer of his nightstand and passes it over to Blitz before propping his legs up on his thighs. With how frequently Jäger bottoms, Blitz doesn’t need to give him much prep work. Instead, he just spreads a good deal of lube onto the tip of his cock and lines himself up with Jäger’s entrance. Just as he pushes past the loosened ring of muscle, Blitz leans forward and locks lips with Jäger.

“I love you,” he whispers against Jäger’s lips as he draws his hips back, rocking them forward slightly until he hits the right spot inside him. “When I’m gone I want you to still remember how this cock feels inside you. You’re going to remember how good I can make you feel, and how much you love when I kiss you like this,” to prove his point he kisses Jäger, forcing his tongue into the other man’s mouth.

Every stroke of Blitz’s cock is precisely aimed so that it hits Jäger’s prostate as he glides forward and when he pulls back. Blitz is right, this is exactly what Jäger is going to be thinking about when he is alone in his own bed back home. Soon it is getting hard to hold back from crashing over the edge.

“I love you too,” Jäger pants as they part lips again, trying to last until Blitz finishes. It is hard to keep going if he is the first to cum rather than Blitz. “But I’m so close. Please tell me you are almost there.”

It doesn’t seems that he needs the warning because Blitz speeds up his thrusts, yet also loses his rhythm. Seconds later his hand is stroking Jäger’s cock as he spurts inside of him with a few more well placed rolls of his hips. Jäger clenches around him, prolonging his orgasm as he focuses on letting himself go. With the wet slide of Blitz’s hand around him and the way he still manages to keep brushing against his prostate, it isn’t hard. Soon he is cumming all over the chest of the man above him, some of it even landing on his own lower abdomen. As Blitz pulls out of him, Jäger collapses bonelessly against the mattress with a smile full of bliss on his face. He doesn’t even notice as Blitz walks out of the room without even bothering to get dressed again.

“I’m really going to miss you too, you know,” a few seconds later Blitz returns with another washcloth, having already wiped himself clean of Jäger’s cum. Kneeling on the bed, he cleans him again just as he had the night before. “I’ll be thinking of you too when you are gone.” With his chest being clean, Blitz lies back down beside his boyfriend and pulls him in for a hug. Sleeping in a bit longer doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.