#i dropped off somewhere near the end of season three and never got back to it

[all-that-jazz-93]

Finally watching Agents of Shield again for the first time in years

[lorebeth]

Hello. I was wondering if you could make a platonic Honkai Star Rail story with the reader being Jing Yuan's child and but they ended up running away to stay with their mother because they keep messing things up especially after Jing Yuan and the readers mother got divorced. it takes awhile but a few months later the reader suddenly returned to the Loufu because of some disaster where the reader had been living with their mother and Jing Yuan also wanted to talk the reader so he would finally be able to apologize to them especially after he accidentally saw the diary they kept on their computer. (I was kind of inspired by the first episode of The Owl House season three Thank To Them for this request but If you're not not comfortable with writing this that's completely alright and I wish you a good morning/afternoon or goodnight☺️)

I nearly cried bro I accidentally deleted everything I’m gonna sob but I rewrote it!!

IM SO SORRY IVE LITERALLY BEEN DEAD I SWEAR THE SECOND I WROTE FANFICS I GOT YHE MOST DEADLY COUGH OF MY LIFE I WAS SICK FOR THREE MONTHS STRAIGHT 😭😭😭 I HAD WHOOPING COUGH ISTG

My exams started a little while ago too and I had a request before this, I HOPE THIS IS GOOD ENOUGH AND IM SORRY ITS SO LATE OMG I DIDNT MEAN TO DROP OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH!!!

TW: mention of bad coping mechanisms - no outright mention of sh, yanqing and reader share a sibling bond, jing yuan is kinda ooc in my opinion… I genuinely think there’s a paragraph missing somewhere and a bunch of spelling mistakes so please bare with me 🙏🙏🙏 Yanqing referred to as brother multiple times near the end!!! 

It all started after the divorce. Your grades plummeted and your training sessions with your father became scarce. Your footing during combat was mediocre at best and you found yourself closing off from friends and even your own father.

He was worried about you from the beginning, never wanting you to be at the centre of the messy divorce especially during one of the most stressful weeks at the Luofu no doubt. The IPC had arrived on short notice and demanded immediate attention, leaving your father to worry about not only them but how you felt and your mental state too. 

How he showed his care however… It was not the best. He would make sure others spent time with you in his place, whenever you wanted to see him, you would be notified by a guard or one of his subordinates who would be tasked to hang out with you that he was unavailable and you wouldn’t see him until later. 

This did not make you feel better, instead you got into contact with your mother again, her reaching out and asking to spend time with you. You didn’t know how to feel and had mixed emotions but ultimately coming to the conclusion to give her a chance and slowly working up to a happier relationship with her again. Not only were you disappointed at your father but also your mother. 

She told you all about her new home and how it resembled the Luofu so much, how she would be delighted for you to join her one day. You liked that idea a lot! Especially since you had a feeling that your father’s subordinates didn’t want to babysit you anymore.

You worked on yourself and started training again, this time not with your father. The IPC had left weeks ago and promised to come back to settle matters with your father once and for all. You didn’t care about that though, you still hadn’t seen your father in a week up until the point of training.

“That’s right, Y/N!” Yanqing praised. He had become one of your closest companions and you both had a sibling-like bond: he knew you better than anyone else and you vice versa. He had become your pillar and knew all your secrets, even about the unhealthy coping you had developed and how to better maintain your emotions and habits during the tough days. 

Jing Yuan knew of you two’s training sessions and had guards keep him posted on your location at all times. He didn’t want to admit it, but he kept himself away from you at the fear of being neglectful and disappointing you again. He remembers the last time you both were in the same room, you had begged to play chess with him. He had pushed you away, saying;

“I’m busy, Y/N. Please go find someone else.” 

He in fact wasn’t that busy, he just couldn’t bare to see you and thought you were disappointed in him. He replayed that scenario in his head multiple times the entire week he’s gone without seeing you and at the back of his mind is the broken relationship with your mother. He cannot bring himself to forgive what he had done to your mother to make her leave, and he was worried you would eventually leave him as well. In desperate attempt, he would send you trinkets and clothing to try repair the missing attention he couldn’t give you, but you stopped taking them after a while. His heart couldn’t bare to see you upset at him, so he buried himself in his paper work. Surprising all those around him, especially Fu Xuan. She was extremely impressed and scared. She had no clue when he became so serious about his work and almost drowning himself in it. 

Fu Xuan knew it had to do with you. She was one of your mothers closest friends and knew that you went through one of the toughest situations of all, your parents both fighting for custody and ultimately putting you in the middle of their arguments. She also had to hang out with you in place of Jing Yuan sometimes, knowing exactly how you felt and being able to read you like an open book. She couldn’t help but feel angry at your father, cursing him and his stupidity. For a General, he sure was an idiot for denying you the love and attention you deserved, instead making others give it to you when you instead needed your father.

You fucked up. Earlier this morning in a final attempt to reconnect with your father, you walked in on a meeting of his. You had no clue he had visitors and you went everywhere in the house trying to look for him. He never let you get involved in meetings - stating you were too young and shouldn’t worry about such trivial matters. You tried to respect his wishes every time, knowing he was a well respected figure and you didn’t want to mess that up for him.

“So, this morning I received word from-“ the voice of your father stopped as you opened the door to his private study. His closest subordinates sitting around a table, waiting for him to finish his sentence. Everyone turned to look at you and you felt your face get hot, your knees wobble and tears prick your eyes. You screwed the fuck up. 

“I’m sorry! I was just-“ you couldn’t finish off the sentence, you felt your throat closing up in panic. You made eye contact with everyone, noticing pity and sympathy in their eyes. You hated it so much… But what caught you the most off guard was the hard expression on your fathers face. His eyes calculating and holding an emotion you couldn’t decipher. You wanted to explode on the spot.

Quickly and almost aggressively, you slammed the door behind you, shaking the hinges and wanting the ground to swallow you whole more than ever. 

The look in your fathers eyes. Was he disappointed with you? Did he have enough? Did he not love you anymore? Were you being too pushy about hanging out with him? Why was he looking at you so coldly? You wanted to cry and sob and forget about everything. Go back to the days before the divorce. You wanted everything to be the way it was. Going out with your mother and father, being showered with love and affection, being given small trinkets that your father said reminded him of both you and your mother. 

You felt yourself spiralling again. You needed to go see Yanqing and quick. 

“Oh Y/N…” Yanqing nearly pleaded with you. He knew that look on your face, your swollen eyes and your weak frown, he was immediately sympathetic and knew something bad happened between you and Jing Yuan. 

Yanqing himself considered Jing Yuan his father in a sense too and you his sibling, so he knew you well enough to grasp you and Jing Yuan’s connection. He also loved your mother as his own and the divorce hit him pretty harsh as well. But he understood they fought about you the most, and how helpless you felt. He never held that against you and tried his best to make sure you were safe and as happy as could be, but right now? What the hell happened?

“What happened? Do you want to talk about it?” He held you in his arms as you felt your tears never ending.

“I think father’s upset with me…” you couldn’t help inhale air with small hiccups and double takes, staining Yanqing’s shirt with your salty tears. You wanted to pry away and apologise but you felt too weak and mentally exhausted. You felt stupid and not worth it, not worth your father.

“I’m sure it was all a misunderstanding, Y/N! He loves you, of course he does!” Yanqing offered, he help you tighter and you felt all your emotions explode again, crying harder than before.

“You should have seen the look on his face- he stared and stared with that cold look!” you wrapped your arms around Yanqing’s back and clung onto him hopelessly. 

“I- N/N…” he started, only for you to cut him off.

“Y’know… I’ve been thinking about moving with mother…” you sniffled, having calmed down much more than before. You felt Yanqing freeze around you.

“W-what do you mean?” He uttered in disbelief.

You dropped your arms slowly and looked up at the young boy, wiping your tears and holding his hand in your own. 

“Let’s face it. Things haven’t been the same since the divorce. Father’s been avoiding me like the plague, sending everyone but him to come hang out with me. For Aeon’s sake, he didn’t even come to the park like we always used to on the First Full Moon of the month…” you whispered, emotion turning your voice hoarse and painful, as if thorns were tightening at your throat.

“But- but it could get better! I’m sure if I spoke to him, he’d understand!” Yanqing stared at you with determination in his eyes, his hope shining bright. 

“I don’t think it will. Not after today. I promise to come visit you, I swear it! I just- I don’t want to embarrass myself more in front of father than I already have. I don’t think he deserves that.” you state gently. 

For the first time in a few weeks, you felt excited. Not that hanging out with Yanqing and sending letters to your mother wasn’t fun, but you genuinely wanted some where new to explore, a different atmosphere away from the burden of trying to please a father who couldn’t even bother look you in the eyes. You needed a change of pace.

“I promise I’ll write you to everyday!” You beam at him. The boy looks at you with uncertainty in his gaze and sadness. After losing your mother, he didn’t want to lose you too. But he knew it would make you happier than ever. And plus, he loves reading your spelling mistakes. It’s a win-win in his book.

You had left nearly 3 months ago, keeping your promise and sending voice recordings to your brother and small videos here and there, as well as handwritten envelopes with flowers from the beautiful planet your mother came to. She had told you it’s history and how they had been rebuilding themselves as an Oasis in the making. Her mother, your grandmother came from this beautiful planet and you couldn’t help but notice how similar you looked to the natives here. You felt at home, much more than you ever did on the Luofu.

You hadn’t told you father about your departure, having opted to pack you bags immediately and call your mother, asking for a quick and easy way to travel to her home world. She accepted immediately and welcomed you with open arms.

You eventually told her why you left and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “That man wouldn’t know discipline and responsibility if it hit him with the entire Luofu itself! How he’s made it all these years is beyond me. I’m sorry you experienced that my love. I’m glad you’re with me now.” She would scoff at your father’s actions and always pat your head, getting ready to go to work or take you out during her days off. She would also help you record videos for Yanqing and would mention how she missed her son dearly, always calling him hers and asking if he’s been eating well, showing in her own way she cares.

You didn’t want to know about your father and Yanqing never told you, waiting only to tell you when you asked. Which never came.

Eventually, you had made friends with the locals, learned your native tongue and made sure that everyone was happy, having been placed to understudy your mother and work alongside her in the Guild to provide for the elders of the City. You also volunteered to as many soup kitchens as possible and helped with poverty wherever you could. Your mothers home was beautiful but the economy was rather poor, leading to the fittest to provide for the elders and young children. 

You returned home one day after a successful evening at the kitchen only to have received three distress signals from Yanqing and one from your father. You felt sick to your stomach and as if you were about to faint. 

Quickly you opened your signals and heard voice messages come through.

“Y/N! Please! You need to come back to the Luofu right now! It’s Jing Yuan! He’s- he’s been in critical condition since this evening!” 

“Please! Fu Xuan is panicking and it’s throwing me off… I- I don’t know what to do! Please…”

“He’s finally okay! He’s in a stable condition… it’s been hours! Please tell me you’re okay, Y/N! He’s been asking for you… Please return to the Luofu…” 

You didn’t dare open your father’s one. It was staring at you as if cornering you . Ready to eat you alive. 

“Y/N. You should return.” Your mother said beside your doorframe. She had heard everything and wanted to make sure you were okay. 

“I- but…?” You started, only to be met with your mother’s questioning gaze. You knew you should go visit your brother and father, Yanqing was worried and your father could have died. You had to see him. 

“Okay…” you couldn’t help but worry.

The air was different on the Luofu than your mother’s planet. It was crisp, almost as if there was electricity in the air, waiting to strike at any moment. 

As you made your way down the streets to your home, you felt a familiar presence and turned around to see Yanqing running at you full speed, nearly knocking you down ass first onto the pavement. 

“Y/NNN!!!!!” He nearly sobbed. It was endearing and a little too tight of a hug, but you reciprocated.

“Hey there, Yanqing! I’ve missed you.” You felt your eyes tear up. You had truly missed your brother and wanted him to be safe.

“I’ve missed you too. I really hope you’re happy. But..! Please- Jing Yuan- he’s been so tired and I’ve never seen him this restless. You have to go see him.” The boy stopped hugging you to stare at you with complete sadness. 

You felt as if your body was in fight or flight, wanting to drop kick your brother and run for the hills of your mothers home planet. But that would be uncivilised and you’d feel bad later.

“Okay…” you agreed with apprehension.

You had entered your father’s house. Everything was the same way it was when you left. The same colours, same tapestries, even the same stupid old vase you hated and wanted to break on multiple occasions at the ugliness of it. You truly didn’t miss this place one bit but at the same time missed all the memories and the unfulfilled promises. 

As you walked the final step of stairs and walked to the end of the hall, you were met with the door of your father’s bedroom. He had shared it once with your mother and you nearly sobbed at the sight of it. Last time you had been in his room was when you had a nightmare and wanted your mother, having snuck into the bed to be with her. 

You quickly pulled off the bandaid. Knocking softly three times and rethinking doing it again having garnered no reply.

Just as you brought your hand up to knock again, a hoarse voice spoke out. “Come in.”

You felt your stomach do summersaults and wanted to evaporate into thin air. But you had to pull the bandaid off completely, no? 

You opened the door gently and closed it behind you, walking to your father’s bed and having made eye contact with him half way through your walk. His eyes were glassy and he was in his bed with bandages all over his chest, arms and even one on his neck. You nearly broke into tears.

“Y/N…” he uttered softly. His gaze piercing yet soft. He missed you dearly and wanted to reach out desperately to apologise for how he treated you. But you weren’t here to hear his excuses.

 “Father…” you couldn’t hold it back and the tears started flowing again. Jing Yuan slowly rose up and took your hand to his chest, pulling your entire body towards him and laying you on his bed, kissing your forehead and holding you tight. You wrapped your arms around him and kept apologising, remembering how you had left without a word and wanting it all to have been a bad dream.

“You’re my child, Y/N. And I should have treated you better. I did not mean to chase you away or make you feel incompetent. I adore you and you are one of the only good things in my life. My life’s purpose.” He whispered into your hair.

“I- I should have been there when you were upset. I am sorry for neglecting you. I wish I had spoken to you more and kept the relationship.” He held you tighter, as if afraid you would disappear any minute.

“I’ve read your diary, Y/N.” You freeze. Oh shit. He started to pet your head and you feel tears blind your vision.

“Father- you weren’t..!” You can’t finish due to the hiccups taking over your body. He only pushes you away to look into your eyes carefully. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. You were never the reason me and your mother didn’t work out. You will forever be my top priority, and I am so sorry you felt otherwise. You are my child- my one true love. I will never stop fighting for you, nor your brother. Please, give me one last chance to prove to you my dear child.” His eyes were glassy and he had extreme eye bags, a curtesy of his non-existent sleep schedule. 

You didn’t know how to reply. Of course he still loved you, even after the lack of communication on his behalf and your insecurities leading up to the emotional turmoil in your relationship. 

“You’re my father. Of course I’ll always give you a second chance..” you whisper against him again.

You had a feeling that everything was going to be okay again.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Completely unedited and probably incoherent personal post that I didn't even try to justify writing about by connecting it to comedy in any way. Just needed to put it somewhere. Regular posting about comedians shall resume shortly.

A little while ago, I wrote about a friend of mine in a post, how we first became close 10 years ago, how we have been ever since, and at the end I said the connection between him and the actual topic of my post was a bit tenuous, I’d just taken any excuse to write about him because he was on my mind, I hadn’t heard from him in a while and was worried that he might be ruining his own life again. He does this sometimes. He’s very scatterbrained, he has almost no impulse control or organizational skills, sometimes I lose track of him and sometimes it means something’s gone wrong.

In that post I called him Rhod, because I don’t want to use his real name, and Rhod Gilbert reminds me of him, demanour-wise. Given the nature of this post, however, it feels weird to name him after any actual person again. So I’m going to call him Jacob. Because that isn’t his name but it also isn’t the name of anyone else in particular.

Like I said before, Jacob and I met in 2013 when I moved to a different city to compete on their university team, and he was there too. He was a little older than me, and a more successful wrestler than I was, he had stories of competing internationally that I was never quite good enough to get. I liked him, but I was also terrible at fitting in on the team where I didn’t know people, so I didn’t really get to know him or anyone else at first.

Long story short: end of the season, national championships, I’m in a quite important match, partway through I have a panic attack, the ref physically pulls me off the mat and drops me in my corner and says I have the three minutes of allotted injury time to get it together and be able to fight or I’ll forfeit, my actual coach is there but useless, the medical trainer is there but useless, Jacob is there as my teammate just to play backup/support to the actual coach, he immediately steps in, takes my hands, helps me breathe, gets me to bring what I’m aware of down from the entire arena full of screaming people down to just us, promises me I’ll be able to finish the match and won’t collapse again because he’ll be right there, I go back out and finish the match, I win, Jacob celebrates my win like he’s just won the championship, twelve hours later he and I are drunk in a hotel room at 3 AM and I’m telling him everything I think is wrong with the way our sport is run and he’s telling me how he ran away from home as a kid because his stepdad used to beat him up, because once you go through a moment like that one together, all emotional barriers are pretty much gone.

Years passed, I moved back to my home city and coached my home team, he moved to a bigger city and took a coaching job there, we lived five hours apart but saw each other almost every weekend at tournaments and talked on the phone regularly. We got elected to the provincial oversight board together and fought all our battles together to try to get rid of just the top few layers of corruption and predator protecting, mostly to no avail but we fucking tried. He saved my team thousands of dollars per year – and every one of those saved dollars meant my team was able to help more low-income athletes participate in the sport with their membership fees waived and their insurance/tournament fees covered – because when I told him it sucks that my team is full of athletes who don’t have the money for hotel rooms so even though we cover them as much as we can they can’t always afford to compete, Jacob told me that every time we compete near the major city where he lives, we should have our entire team bring sleeping bags and we can stay in the gym where he works. All of us – 20+ athletes and 4 or 5 coaches at most weekends – he let us spread out on the mats and all crash for free, any time we wanted. We sat in opposite corners from each other and took bets on whether my kids could beat up his kids. He got himself named coach of the provincial team and talked me into coming with him to big tournaments in the States to coach said provincial team, and I went even though I knew it would be a nightmare, and then the next year I went again even though I knew it had been a nightmare before, and by the end I told him that if I told him our friendship will not survive one more weekend like this and I will drown him in the Atlantic Ocean if he makes me sleep on another hotel room floor because he forgot to book enough rooms, but of course the next year I went again, one time I yelled at him in the middle of the night in the streets of Atlantic City because he was gambling in front of children “You know, I argue with people about you!” and he asked “What people?” and I said “People who think you’re not responsible enough to run a provincial team trip!”, because I do, people are always asking me why I’m so close with him even though he keeps doing incredibly stupid shit, and I can’t tell them it’s because he saved me one day in 2013, I just tell them he’s a good guy when you get to know him, I have defended him to a ludicrous degree, even when he didn’t make it easy, by doing things like gamble in front of children on a provincial team trip and then genuinely not know why I yelled at him in the street about it.

When he took an MMA fight in 2018, he was too nervous to tell his own people in case they came and possibly saw him lose, but he called me, and I drove 2.5 hours to theveorst small town I've ever seen, to see him fight in a cage they'd set up in a run-down dive bar-like building, where the guy nearly broke his nose but then Jacob got up and kicked the shit out of him, he won, and then we sat outside and I drank beer while he smoked a cigar and said he was glad I was there but I can't tell anyone what happened because it's too much pressure to live up to. And then he went and gambled all night because he does have quite a serious gambling problem. Though to be fair to him and not too sound too hypocritically condescending, I did then drink all night because I have a drinking problem. But at least I refrain from drinking in front of children. Anyway, that’s… that’s the short version of our relationship.

The last time I went so long without hearing from him, it was because he and his girlfriend had broken up, he ended up sleeping in his gym for a while, and then got kicked out of there due to some terrible decisions he made, which also meant losing his job, and had nowhere to go for a bit, though he did eventually end up back at a different gym and in a new apartment. During that time, I kept getting messages from mutual friends, from our old teammates, because people knew he’s fallen on hard times and kind of disappeared, and they knew I was close with him, and they texted me to ask if I knew if he was okay. And I didn’t. But eventually he started calling again, and he put things back together.

This year I didn’t hear from him for a few months. At first that was relatively normal; I’ll frequently send texts that don’t get answered because he sees a squirrel or something and then forgets about everything he was ever supposed to do before that moment. But he’ll usually reply to me if I follow up. And he usually calls me up every few weeks even if I don't contact him, more often if something’s actually going on. Sometimes less, it might be more like every few months sometimes. So I didn’t think much when the first text went unanswered, then a month later and I texted him again, still nothing. Then I heard from a couple of other people who know him, asking me if I know what’s going on with him, because they haven't heard from him lately. I didn’t know. I brought him up in a tenuously-related Tumblr post, because he was on my mind and writing about him made me feel a bit better, as I was worried he was ruining his own life again.

Well, we know the answer now. We have for a while, actually. A post appeared on Facebook a few weeks ago announced he’s having a baby. With a woman I’d never heard of. The last I heard there weren’t any women with whom he had a potential baby-creating relationship, though I don’t always keep track of those well.

It’s been over two weeks since that Facebook post went up and I haven’t messaged him. What the fuck are you supposed to say to a friend who’s proudly announced they’re having a kid, even though they definitely should not be having a kid? And this guy definitely should not be having a kid. It’s one of the worst ideas I can possibly imagine. I think almost no one should ever have a kid, but this guy really shouldn’t have a kid. Even my friends who think kids are mostly a good idea and most people should have them – even they think Jacob having a kid would be a disaster. And I know they think that, because they’re all messaging me asking what the fuck is going on with Jacob announcing that he’s having a child with a woman no one’s heard of. And I have to tell them I don’t know, I haven’t talked to him.

Because the thing is that if I send Jacob a text, 30% of the time I won’t hear back because he saw a squirrel. 10% of the time he texts me back. And 70% of the time, he calls me, anywhere from four seconds to ten days after I sent that text, to discuss that text via a vocal conversation.

I could figure out what to text him. It’s fucking weird, but if I put enough effort in, I could come up with some appropriate-sounding texts along the lines of “I see you are having a baby, that’s an interesting idea, what’s up?” But I couldn’t do a phone call. If I text him that and he calls me, I will have to maintain a tone of voice in a conversation that makes it seems like I think this is a reasonable idea. And I don’t know how to do that.

I’ve never had to do this with him before. More than that, our relationship has always been defined by us not having to do that with each other. If there’s a situation where I can’t be honest with anyone else, I can always be honest with Jacob. And I always know he’s being totally honest with me. I tell people that sometimes, when they ask me why I hang out with him even though he’s a mess, and I’m in my role as Jacob apologist. I say that actually, it’s very fucking relaxing to have a conversation with a guy who doesn’t have the psychological capacity to edit anything between his brain and his mouth. I never have to worry about where I stand with him or what he thinks of something, because he’ll just tell me. I never have to worry about editing what I say to him, because I know it can just be anything I'm thinking, even if that thing is "you're being a fucking idiot right now". I don't even realize how exhausting I find it to walk around avoiding saying what I think and guessing what other people think, until I talk to someone where I don't have to do that.

We’ve always been like that. When something horrible is happening and I have to spend all day around people who are letting it happen and at the end of it I feel like my mind is going to break from the effort it takes to pretend I think that’s fine, and I talk to my friends from my own team and they just say it’s a bit annoying but it’s not the end of the world, I call Jacob at the end of the day and whatever horrible furious things I think he understands. And he calls me and tells me how angry he gets and how fucked up everything is and I know he’s not covering anything up.

When my friend died a few years ago, the moment I heard the news, the very first thing I did was call Jacob. I didn’t even move. I found out via a text that came from someone who’d heard from the person who found the body. I read the text, and then didn’t even stand up, I just called Jacob. Didn’t think through the fact that in reaching out for someone to talk to, I’d also be putting myself in the position to have to break devastating news to someone who didn’t already know it, because the guy who died was a friend of Jacob’s too. They were competing at the same time and at about the same level. My friend who died used to tell stories in the pub about how wild things used to get on Team Canada trips with Jacob, when they were running around Europe and Asia together. Quite a bit more wild than just gambling in front of some kids in Atlantic City, it turns out.

Anyway, I called Jacob to tell him what happened, but he was at work, and then the reality of what I’d be doing to him hit me, and I said this can wait until he’s done because I can’t ruin his day. He could hear how upset I was, and just the week before I’d been on the phone with him while I was panicking about COVID, and he’d told me I can always call him if I’m having a panic attack and want someone to talk to, and I realized he thought that’s what this was, that I was calling to talk through anxiety and just didn’t want to burden him with that at work, so he told me it’s fine, he can take a break, just tell him what’s wrong. And I realized I wasn’t preparing him for the news properly, I was making him expect irrational anxiety and then I was going to drop something so much worse on him, and I didn’t know how to lay the groundwork so while he was telling me to calm down I just cut him off mid-sentence and said “[Guy’s name] is dead,” and I remember being shocked at how fast his voice turned from calm and reassuring to barely being able to speak through tears. The news had taken some time to hit me but it didn’t for Jacob, the very first words he said after I told him, he was already crying.

And in the few weeks that followed we talked a lot, and I realized why my instinct was to call him first, rather than my friends from my own team who’d been in those pubs with me and the guy who died. And it was because I didn’t trust myself to be appropriate enough for them. I told one of them that I couldn’t stop thinking about our other friend, who’d recently been kicked out of the group for trying to fuck a teenager, and how colossally unfair it was that he hadn’t died instead. I asked if she’d had any thoughts like that and she said… no, that’s a weird thing to be thinking right now, petty stuff like that doesn’t matter. I called up Jacob and told him the same thing and he sat on the phone with me and we made lists of people who deserved to die more than the guy who actually did.

A couple of years later, when a coach we both knew died, Jacob found out before I did, and he called me to break the news. We hadn’t been incredible close with that guy so it wasn’t anywhere near the same level of devastating grief, but we still knew and liked him, it was sad, we were sad together. A month later it came out that that guy had committed suicide because he was about to go to court for sexually abusing a teenage girl. Every other person I knew talked about how it was a weird mixed emotions situation, conflicting anger at him with it still being sad that he died, not knowing how to feel. Again I felt alienated, like I was the only one who had my reaction, which was: “He deserved to die and I’m glad he’s fucking dead.” I called up Jacob and told him about the reason for the guy’s death. First thing Jacob said was “Well the right thing happened then. It’s good that he died.”

This is a fucking weird set of examples. I swear Jacob and I have bonded over more than just agreeing that some people deserve to die. Those are just the first examples that come to mind because I’m trying to explain how much our relationship has been defined by him being the one person I can go to with my very worst thoughts and it’s okay because we can say anything to each other. And it turns out my thoughts about who deserves to really genuinely die are my worst ones. I can walk around all day listening to people say polite things about polite circumstances until I can’t stand the politeness anymore, and my friendship with Jacob is an escape where no one has to be polite.

Last spring, when my then-roommate tried to kick me out of my house and I was scared of where I’d live, and he had someone subletting for him whom I couldn’t stand being around for horrible petty reasons and she had a friend over that I couldn’t be around and I got home from work to find I couldn’t be in my own house, and all my other friends were off with their partners or wherever else and I couldn’t talk to them anyway because they’d tell me to just get over it and go home because it’s not worth getting so angry about, so I just walked off to a field and sat down to wait for my house to clear out so I could have somewhere to go, I called Jacob and told him all the most petty horrible reasons why I couldn’t go home, and he told me this sport is better with me in it and principles are worth having. And then he talked shit about a bunch of people from his own team who were annoying him until I forgot about my stuff. It was lovely. Two weeks later he called me when he'd been stuck outside his own living situation for similarly stupid reasons. And I talked shit with him as well.

This is what we do. We’re honest with each other. But I’ve learned in the last few years that that’s a big thing that changes when you go from your twenties to your thirties. In my twenties, my friendships were mainly based around me and some guys making fun of each other and making jokes about everything each other did. You know, basic juvenile and sometimes probably problematic – but successful – ways to bond. But when you get older, your friends start making serious, long-term decisions, and you’re not allowed to make fun of those because those are for real. And while there can be some nebulous difficulty in working out what is and isn’t fair game, the two hard and fast rules is you are never ever allowed to question their choice of serious romantic partner, or their choice to have kids. You just can’t.

I don’t fully understand all the rules around that – I just know that serious adult relationships have rules about how people outside the relationship are not allowed to know too much about it and are definitely not allowed to think it’s a bad idea, and if those people break that rule, they have to be cut off for the sake of the relationship. So because I know I’m not great at intuitively knowing where the line is (you know, autism), I try to err on the side of caution, and whenever my friends get into serious relationships, I just stop ever asking them anything about that side of their life, and if they volunteer a story about it, I just nod and say “Oh cool” and say absolutely nothing else and express no opinion whatsoever, no matter how much I’m thinking “This seems like a terrible idea.” But that’s so fucking awkward, it is anywhere from really annoying to outright psychologically painful to have to hang out with someone while constantly avoiding saying what I’m thinking, so I end up spending less and less time with that person, until they eventually break up, and then I’m allowed to say “Oh yeah, that seemed like a terrible idea,” and then we can be friends again. Until they find someone new and the cycle repeats.

But this was never an issue with Jacob. I never felt like there was something I couldn’t say to him. It was such a big deal to feel like there was nothing I couldn’t say to him, and nothing he couldn’t say to me. Not that he always did tell me every single thing that happened to him, or vice-versa. He doesn’t know I have a Tumblr blog and have tried stand-up comedy. I didn’t know he’d impregnated someone, at least until I saw it on Facebook. We’ve both got our own stuff going on, it's normal in our ten-year friendship to go months without talking. But I’ve always felt like I could say anything to him, and if I haven’t, it’s just because it hasn’t come up.

When a friend gets a partner and then we slowly drift apart until they break up – that’s not going to happen here. Jacob is never, ever going to not have that kid. That’s forever. And I know that is not what matters in this situation, at all. What matters is that this is going to do – whatever it’s going to do – to his life. What matters is a kid is going to be born to a guy who is not equipped to raise a kid. That’s what matters. That’s what I’ve been talking about with my friends, as we discuss what the fuck Jacob is thinking, and I apologize to them for not having the Jacob-based inside information I’d normally have, because I haven’t spoken to him.

I can’t tell them that I’m worried about the fact that a permanent barrier has gone up in a friendship I thought would always be there, because I’d look like a terrible person, for even considering that in the face of these much more important things. And that’s why instead, I am putting that concern on my Tumblr blog. It’s not even the classic case of “My friend’s having a kid and I’m worried they won’t have time for me anymore.” I mean, that is a huge issue in most cases, but probably not really here. Jacob and I have always had a long-distance friendship that can ebb and flow and be picked up where it left off. He could still do that with a kid, it’s not about that. It’s that I’m never going to be able to have a fully honest conversation with him again, he’s going to become just another person I have to bite my tongue around, and pretend I think this terrible idea is a good one. I’ve spent years outright telling him when I think he’s being a fucking idiot, but now he’s done the one thing I’m not allowed to question.

Even though you can't fucking do that. You just can't. You can't mess around with bad decisions when there's an innocent kid involved. I realize it's horrifically selfish of me to be worried about my friendship when the real problem is a kid. Why the fuck is the one decision no one's allowed to question, a decision this big and important and such a huge problem if someone gets it wrong? I know it's my worst opinion that no one should have a kidcunless they're incredibly prepared for every eventuality, which he is definitely not and almost no one else is either, but he's even less than most people, he's always been my friend who makes dumb decisions and I defend him and apologize for him because I love him despite his flaws and he accepts mine too. But if you're going to live like that, you can't involve an innocent kid.

[writingsbychlo]

mistletoe magic | stiles stilinski

word count; 10,490

summary; stiles learns that his cute neighbour might be a witch after accidentally getting her spellbooks delivered to him instead.

notes; I know a witch!au isn’t a huge au for stiles, because he’s had evident races of magic throughout the series anyway, but just enjoy it!

warnings; smut, unprotected sex, use of magic

It had been a pretty regular Monday morning for Stiles.

At six sharp, he’d been up and awake, barely functional but stumbling through his apartment and clicking on the coffee machine, before hopping into the shower for a quick wash. When he’d emerged, the machine had just finished grinding, as always, his routine functioning like a well-oiled machine now, and he’d moved it all across into a to-go cup and left it on the counter before going to get dressed.

He’d stumbled around to find his school books and shove them into a bag, eaten two cinnamon pop tarts that had burned the tips of his fingers when he’d grabbed them straight from the toaster, and had still been chewing as he shoved his keys in his pocket and sipped at his coffee, straight into the elevator at twenty to seven.

It was a fifteen-minute walk across campus to his early morning lecture on a Monday, leaving him with a few minutes to spare, in case he saw the sweet older lady from two floors down and wanted to say ‘hi’, or the cute neighbour who lived across the hall that always made him fall over his own feet, or maybe even the kid who delivers newspapers and is always falling off of his bike. He made it on time, took some great notes, and was feeling a little more alive and welcome into his day.

At exactly ten past one, he’d been home, having gone to the library to get some study in and find his new books, and get lunch at the diner he always ate at after classes, a cheeseburger and curly fries, and grabbed his letters and a parcel from the mail slot with his housing number printed on, tucking the package under his arm and heading upstairs and back to his flat, ready to flick through his bills.

All according to plan. One year and four months away at university and he knew every day like he’d been doing it for a decade, so he was only half-way to the kitchen when he remembered the package he was clutching under his arm, coming to a complete halt, throwing the usual assortment of envelopes away to the counter, and producing the neatly wrapped bundle.

He didn’t question it, not even bothering to look at the front, figuring it was just an early delivery on the textbooks that he wasn’t expecting to get here for another three weeks, finger slipping under the folds of the brown paper and tearing it away, fingers dancing over the covers of the books, before his brows were furrowing once again.

These were definitely not his ‘intro to psychological profiling’ textbooks.

Beautiful swirls in gold, carved into dark leather across the front, Latin words he didn’t understand before he was opening the cover, brushing off a layer of dust and letting one brow arch up. The text inside was English - though, no modern - and paper that he was cautious to take care of, simply from what appeared to be the age of it, stained and worn, finger marks clear on the corner from being passed down through generations. It was handwritten, drawings in old ink that had leaked onto the paper a little, rough and coarse, and labelled doodles with names he had never heard of before.

At a glance, he would assume it to be some kind of witchcraft.

He felt on edge, suddenly. He’d left Beacon Hills to come to somewhere that no supernatural would follow, where things like werewolves were still a myth, something to be laughed at, and he swallowed thickly, looking around his apartment as though someone was going to jump out. He loved his friends, he really did, and he didn’t so much mind the supernatural when he was with them all because they protected him, but alone out here, he and his bat didn’t stand a chance.

Now, it was Christmas, he knew this from the poor excuse of a tree up in his living room, and the snow outside, and the fact that for the last six weeks, his usual mochas had been a gingerbread-spiced mocha, on the insistence of the barista who served him whenever he ventured into the little coffee shop joint, and he was growing find of it. So, he tried to be optimistic, in the spirit of festivities and all that, and texted the group chat, waiting to see if any of them had sent him the books as a present, maybe even his father or Melissa. He even texted Parrish.

Except, they all said no, and now, he was stumped. Then, as he was being extra nosey and flicking through the book, he came across a page marked with a small slip of card, the item falling out, and he cursed, having no idea which page it came from, but as he picked up the piece of paper, one of the questions in his puzzle finally gained another piece towards the jigsaw.

‘(Y/N), the spell you’re looking for is here, but be careful, it’s a strong one.’

So, the books are for his hot neighbour, the next number up from his, and it now made sense as to why he had these books - they were a mistake. It opened a new question, however, as to why you would be getting them.

He had absolutely no patience, barley remembering to flick the catch on his door so that he’d be able to get back inside, before he was striding across the hall in one, two steps, and knocking on the wood. He could hear you shuffling around inside, the soft and muffled notes of the classic rock music you’d been listening to getting turned right down to low. It only took you a further few seconds until you were opening the door, but it felt like years to him with his impatience, fingers tapping against the books agitatedly, biting the nail of the other thumb, and his foot was tapping against the floor.

When you opened the door, though, he felt like it was too soon, like he wasn’t prepared for what to say, his breath hitching in his throat as his heart leapt in his chest, eyes sweeping down along your body and widening at your bare legs, only a t-shirt hanging on your frame, rising up to reveal the edge of a pair of white lace panties as you opened the door, and he forced his eyes back up to yours, wincing as he bit down a little too harshly on his nail, and pulled it from his mouth, shaking it as his dropped to his side.

“Hey, neighbour.”

“H-Hi. Hello. Yes, hi.” He already wanted to die a little bit, he hadn't stuttered this much in front of a pretty girl since junior year in high school, even Lydia had lost this effect on him, and college really had been a growing experience for him. He’d had a fair few hook-ups, and experimented, and he wasn’t shy about flirting when he wanted to, but you always through hi right back through loops, like he was still that kid with a buzzcut.

“What can I do for you, four-A?”

“Stiles. My name is Stiles.” He waited for the usual reaction, the cringe, the eyebrows shooting up, the scowl, something to indicate that you had actually heard the pronunciation, but you only smiled a little wider.

“I know. After I introduced myself and you fell over and didn’t give me your name, I checked the mail in your post-slot. I was curious. There was a lot addressed to Mieczysłav, but then one with a handwritten address to Stiles.” You shrugged, leaning against the doorframe, and crossing your arms, and while you might seem casual, at least his degree was coming in useful for something, as your body language read an entirely different reaction, insecurity and worry rolling off of you in invisible waves of tells.

He rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, laughing slightly. “That sounds like something I would do.”

Silence fell between you both for a second, and he couldn't help but stare, taking in every detail of your face, the way your lower lip was a little reddened, and he figured you must have been nibbling on it while working, and your hair was messy, an attempt to pin it back that seemed to have come loose and entirely ineffective, presumably from dancing, because you looked a little flushed. When you raised your brows at him a little, he realised you were waiting for him to explain himself, why he was on your doorstep, and he flushed with embarrassment shaking his head clear.

“I got your spellbooks by mistake.” He held them out, eyes widening even more, before his jaw was dropping open. “Book. Regular books. Not spell books, because that would imply magic, right? And, that’s dumb. Just regular books. I didn’t look at them, at all, not even a little bit, I promise.”

“You don’t believe in magic, then?” You took them from him, a coy smile on your lips, and you placed them down on the counter beside the door, pushing a bowl of potpourri getting pushed aside, along with your car keys and what looked like an incense burner.

“Do you?”

He was testing the water, seeing where your mind was at, and as a whistling came from your kitchen, you glanced back over to the kettle on the hob, and he thought this conversation might be about to come to an end. “Well, I think there’s always a little magic in life, even if people don’t notice it. You have to believe in magic to be able to see it. It’s like the supernatural that way.”

“And, you believe in the supernatural, huh?” He felt bad for the way he said it, because it was mocking, but he had to be sure that you weren’t messing with him, or spying on him, he had to try and find out who you were, but you only looked away as the whistling got louder, opening the door a little more and waving him inside as you walked away, and he stumbled after you and closed the door before his mind had even caught up with the movement of his feet.

Your apartment was littered with plants. The windowsills were lined with them, all brought green and blooming, even though he was sure it wasn’t the right season, and there was even a set of cactuses along a shelf near the corridor. There was a homey feel to your place, almost earthy, neutral tones and soft accents, a smell that was so calming he felt his own muscles begin to relax, and the music had changed from classic rock to some country song he was sure he’d heard in a movie somewhere but couldn't quite place it, and he followed you to the kitchen.

Rows of cookbooks and recipe folders stacked up on top of a lower cupboard, and he swallowed thickly, averting his gaze from the way your lace panties hugged your ass deliciously as you reached up for a mug, bringing back two, and pouring them both full of the herbal concoction you’d been making. On a mismatching saucer, you offered it to him, and he sniffed it carefully, but remembered his manners, mumbling a ‘thank you’, because his mother raised his right, even if he was a little suspicious of you.

“Relax, Stiles, if I was going to poison you, I wouldn’t be giving you tea made of Valerian and Lemon Balm. Do you want any honey, honey?” You grinned a little at your joke, but he shook his head, watching as you stirred a spoonful of the sticky sweetener into your own, and taking a tentative sip after blowing on the surface. It wasn’t all that bad, he had to admit, and he found his tensions slipping away a little. “It’s for relaxing, and helping with sleep.”

“It’s good.” You smiled, blowing lightly on your own, and he decided that he could busy himself by checking out your posters. An interesting arrangement, one was a band poster, the other was a chart with the phases of the moon, a third with diagrams of plants and little facts underneath, and the fourth, with symbols and drawing he didn’t quite understand. “So, you’re really embracing that whole witch thing, then?”

“Well, seeing as I am a witch, I would think it’s only appropriate.” He tried to hide his grin behind his mug, shaking his head a little, not believing that they really existed, and you didn’t miss the glint in his eyes, clearly, because there was a playful kind of offence flashing across your face. “You can’t tell me you think I’m insane, not when there’s so much of the supernatural all over you, Stiles.”

“The supernatural? Really?”

“So, you’re not the emissary to a pack of werewolves?” You challenged, his jaw dropping at the accuracy of it, and it was your turn to laugh at him. “It’s literally stitched into your aura, I sensed another supernatural the second you walked into the building.”

“I just associate with a lot of ‘em, but I’m not supernatural myself.”

“You sure about that?” He stilled, memories flashing behind his eyes of a time when he once was, and you seemed to pick up on the slightly sour mood he’d taken on, then again, he wasn’t really sure where your abilities lay, being that Scott or Derek would have simply sniffed it out on him. Your hand on his arm snapped him back to the moment, fingers squeezing lightly at his bicep. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“There was a possibility, once, but it’s gone. There’s a dark chapter in my past, and the spark I was told I once had disappeared when I got through it.”

It went quiet again after that, your fingers slipping down from his arm to take his, and you placed your cup down, the steaming brew barely touched, but he followed suit, letting himself be pulled along as you directed him back to the living room. You were distracting him, it was an obvious ploy, but he was excited to learn, and he let the sadness of remembering his possession fade away as the thrill of new knowledge took over. “I can tell you have a lot of questions, so, what do you want to know first?”

He rubbed at his chin, settling down onto the couch at the edge of the room, finding it surprisingly comfortable, and you were busying yourself around him, a little water jug in your hand as you nurtured the abundance of houseplants you owned. “How did you know about my pack? And how much do you know about them?”

“It’s in your aura, I suppose. I can just pick up hints of different things when you’re around. The wolves are obvious, I’ve been around a lot of wolves. I also get death, and I've never met a banshee, but I assume that’s what it is. I knew you were the emissary because you’re the only magic in there, I would sense other traces on you, and there’s something else I can’t quite place.” Your face screwed up a little bit as you thought about it, nose wrinkling adorably before shrugging. “Like a werewolf, but not quite. I can’t get it.”

“She’s a werecoyote.”

You paused your pouring, turning to look at him, eyes flicking lightly around his being, before smiling slightly to yourself, and going back to your task. “Huh. Interesting.”

“Have you been a witch your whole life?”

“Since the day I was born, but I didn’t know or start practising until I was older. It just kinda’ happens, comes out of nowhere at a certain age, you start to realise you have abilities.” You had moved onto using a dropper to give little drips of water to cacti and succulents, standing on a small step stool as you did.

“Do you have to go to a school, like Harry Potter? Do you have a wand?”

You laughed at that, a genuine and hearty laugh, and you finished up your tasks, legs folding underneath yourself and you smirked a little at him as you sat down and got comfortable. “You wish, Stilinski. It’s not like that, it's more of an earthly connection than magic. It’s why my plants are so healthy. I can brew stuff, make little potions-” You motioned a hand over the jars lining the shelves on the walls, his eyes scanning over each one, picking out the neatly written titles across the fronts. “-I can cast very light spells, but it’s not the sort of thing where you can curse people, or teleport.���

“So, you can’t curse people to turn into frogs?”

“No, unfortunately not.” He was sure your giggle was the sweetest he’d ever heard, and he dared to twist himself around a little more, inching slightly closer to you across the couch. “I can do some stuff, like make your skin break out or give you a rash that won’t go away until I let it, and I can even give you headaches and such, but I don’t like to dabble in that sort of stuff. I much prefer protection charms.”

“Protection charms?” His heart skipped a little beat at the way your face lit up as you nodded, and he was intrigued, interest piqued. “I could use one of those, y’know, I’m incredibly clumsy and often get into supernatural trouble when I’m home. Hasn’t been so bad since I got here. Will you make me one?”

Your eyes left him, bottom lip nibbled between your teeth, and for a second he had worried he’d messed up, unsure on how witch spellcasting etiquette worked, but then you were moving across the room, opening up the cabinet on the other side of the room, and inside the doors and wooden frame hung what must be close to a thirty different decorative charms. Some were dreamcatchers or garlands hanging on the inside of the door, others were handcrafted little ornaments sitting on the shelves and filling them up, and your fingers were flittering over them all.

When you found what you were looking for, you lifted it out, a dream catcher that was bright and colourful and a little odd-looking, before bringing it back over to him, and presenting him with it cautiously. “You already made me one?”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t let the cute guy from across the hall get any more injuries. I watched you fall over five times in your first week living here. You’re really clumsy.”

He felt heat rush to his cheeks, and yet he couldn't help the goofy grin that travelled across his features, not mentioning the fact that he noticed you sitting considerably closer to home when you took your seat once again. He was embarrassed for two reasons, the first being that you had noticed his innate penchant for ridiculous injuries, but more overwhelmingly, the second being that you still thought he was cute. College might have helped him bloom a little, but when he had a crush, he was still a bumbling mess, and he didn’t know quite how to respond.

He busied himself with taking in the details of the dreamcatcher. Somehow, despite this being the first real conversation that the two of you had ever had, passing and fleeting chats in the halls and elevator not counting, you had managed to capture his entire essence, he could already tell. The strings were made of wool, chunky and all different colours, a mix of yellows and blues, woven in together and tangled in strange patterns, but beautiful nonetheless, and the little accents were what made it complete.

A button that had fallen off of one of his flannels, he recognised the distinctive wooden piece, and it was woven into the design, along with a blue ribbon in the same colour of the jeep that was tied in a bow, and a wooden twig tangled in it. Dangling on more pieces of wool from the bottom was a keyring he was sure he’d lost after leaving it downstairs overnight, the Yoda on it looking cleaner than he remembered, and you must've cleaned it. There was also a black feather, and a sprig of some kind of dried herb that he didn't recognise, but enjoyed the smell anyway.

It was intricate and personal, and he felt chuffed just to know that you’d made one for him, a little security and peace washing over him to know that someone was out here looking after him, completely unmaliciously, simply because you wanted to.

“This is incredible.” You let out a breath of relief, he recognised it in the way your body slumped a little, and he placed it down carefully on the coffee table beside you both, reaching out to take your hand in his, and daring to lace your fingers together and squeeze in gratitude, and you held onto him yourself, gaze dropping down to your connected hands. In a bold move of your own, you lifted your other hand, holding onto his with both of yours, and his thumb lifted out to brush lightly over your skin. “You’re the reason I don’t get papercuts and splinters anymore.”

“And you are very welcome for that.” You teased him back, and an easy kind of harmony fell between you both, your presence being more comfortable simply having only just really begun to meet you than he ever had been with someone new. It was strange, to feel so relaxed and at home with you, the way you put his fears at ease and soothed every worry without even trying, making him feel welcome and accepted, like he’d known you for years, not just shy of an hour. “Will you tell me about your pack?”

“You really want to know?” He couldn’t mask his surprise, and you nodded, excitement gleaming in your eyes, and he felt a surge of pride swell up in his system at the idea of getting to boast about his friends completely honestly for the first time in his life. There was no threat, he wasn’t showing off their skills as a way to try and ward off a threat or intimidate someone, but he simply wanted everyone else to be as awed by them as he was, and he didn’t have to hide any supernatural secrets from you. “Shall I start at the beginning?”

“Is it a long story?”

“Very long.” He confirmed, a shy laugh leaving you, before you were shifting again.

“How about I go and make us some fresh tea, then?” You were on your feet, wandering away to the kitchen as soon as he’d offered his affirmations of the idea, and he decided to follow after you, already beginning to blather about Peter Hale.

Hours seemed to pass by, as he spoke to you, two more pots of tea being made, and you’d broken out your snack-store for him, before the two of you had ordered pizza. He’d made himself at home, too, keys and phone sitting abandoned on the table, shoes kicked off on the floor, and feet stretched out along the couch. You were sitting at the opposite end, your legs stretched out in his direction, and one of his hands was sitting on your ankle, fingers drawing patterns on the soft skin there absentmindedly as his other hand was used to gesture wildly around himself.

He told you it all, confessing right from the beginning as he encountered Derek Hale, who liked to lurk in the woods, which had made you crack up as he told you about how the man was basically now the alpha, even if Scott was officially the alpha, and he’d told you about Jackson’s kanima phase, which had made you crack up even more as you claimed he deserved it.

You’d been shocked by his homicidal English teacher, and comforted him when he spilled his heart to you over the nogitsune incident he hated to think about, accepting your hush happily, and revelling in the smell of your hair when you’d pressed in close to him, before retreating to your seat.

He told you all about the benefactor and the dread doctors, and about Allison’s death, which he still blamed himself for when he was on a low day, and you’d used your thumb to clear away the tear that had fallen from his cheek, leaving him blushing and breathless for a second when you’d pressed a light kiss to his cheekbone just after.

You had scooted closer to him and stayed there near the end of his tales, tucked under his arm, playing with his fingers over your shoulders as he rambled about how alone he’d felt while taken by the Wild Hunt, thoughts that he’d always kept locked up in his own mind, never having shared with another person before.

“You really got the short end of the ‘supernatural encounters’ stick then, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart, that is the understatement of the century.” You lifted your head from his shoulder, your feet nudging together on the coffee table, the reindeer themed fluffy socks on your feet playing with the patchy and worn door knitted socks he’d had for years, worn to keep warm during the winter, even though your apartment was nice and toasty, the heaters running and the radiators on, and it was much cosier than his place had ever been.

The Christmas lights on a timer had come on, flickering around the place once the light had started fading, hours flashing by in the blink of an eye, a hazy glow cast over the apartment and creating a whole new range of shadows. “Do you want me to make charms for your friends?”

He watched you for a moment longer, trying to discern whether you were serious, and when he caught no gesture of ill-will, or hesitation, or hidden-motives, he smiled. “You’d do that?”

“Seems like you all need it.”

He shrugged a little, smiling when you rested your forehead against his, fingers playing together still, but feet stilling in their game of footsie. “I can’t believe I waited this long to get to know you. You’re, like, the coolest chick I’ve ever met.”

His eyes fluttered closed, he couldn't’ help it, noses bumping together as you both simply drowned in the moment, in what the moment was leading up to, where you both knew this was going but were revelling in the simple but exhilarating tension that was crackling with electricity in the millimetres of space between your lips and his. You were so close to him that he could feel it more than hear it when you whispered some words he didn’t quite understand, your breath fanning over his face in a dreamy sigh, and it took his hazed brain a second to catch up, before he was pulling back just enough to catch your eyes, one hand coming up to rest over your cheek as he turned to face you fully.

“Oh, my God. Did you just cast a spell?”

“Look up.” He was hesitant to pull back much further, but did so anyway, and he chuckled slightly as he spotted the little green plant beginning to sprout from the ceiling. Vines were still strengthening along the beam, and the leaves were beginning to form right before his eyes, white berries hanging between the green stems, and Stiles shook his head, in complete awe as he looked at it.

You were staring up to, eyes focused on the plant as it bloomed and he assumed you were concentrating on its development, but he couldn't hold back anymore, two hands on your cheeks, pulling your face back to his, and your lips barely parted to speak before his mouth was colliding with your own. A squeak left you, and he wanted to grin at being able illicit such a sound from you, but the temptation to kiss was just enough for him to contain himself. When your mind finally caught up, you were kissing him back just as eagerly, a soft sigh leaving you. “You are fucking adorable.”

The words were whispered into your mouth, he felt you shake with a soft laugh under his hold, before you were holding onto him just as tightly in return. One of your hands wrapped around his wrists, the other sliding over his bicep to his shoulder, before slipping down underneath, and smoothing over the front of his chest. He puffed out a little under your touch, pulling away for a quick breath, groaning slightly at the way your nails dug into his skin as he did, and then, he was diving right back into you.

Your hand slipped down to rest over his heart, the organ thudding under your hand, and he felt like it was going to burst right out of his chest, but as he pressed a little further into you, a shock like an electrocution was racing right through his body, a kind of jolt that was thoroughly exhilarating, and he pulled away, eyes wide as he stared at you.

You looked just as shocked as he expected he did too, his hands dropped down as he watched sparks and electricity crackle between your fingers and his, your brows raising at him. “Thought you said you had no magic left after.. y’know..”

He couldn’t drag his eyes away from it, your fingers weaving with his, a loud snapping sounding as a particularly bright flare went off, and he flinched a little, jaw dropping and a whine slipping from him as you contained it all the sight disappeared before his eyes. “So, there really are sparks flying between us, huh?”

He regretted the words the moment he’d said them, expecting to see on your face the same kind he’d always gotten from Malia or Lydia when he made those kinds of cheesy puns that only he enjoyed, even Scott daring to fix him with a bored or blank look, and Derek would simply glare, but much to his surprise, you laughed. It was fond, with a roll of your eyes and a huff to preempt it, but you laughed nonetheless, and he felt himself somehow manage to brighten even further. “That was cheesy.”

“I know.” He beamed, shifting a little, hands sinking down to your hips to pull you closer to himself as he settled back into the couch, and your hand pressed to the cushions beside his head, the other one coming up to weave into his hair lightly.

“I loved it. I am quite a fan of puns.”

“That’s good, because I usually have a lot of them.” He leaned up, daring himself to be bold enough to close that gap once again, and he could feel your lashes tickling his cheeks as you nuzzled into him a little more. “If I kiss you again, will those sparks happen this time, too?”

“If I stop controlling it, they will.”

“Stop controlling it, sweetheart.” He felt you move to nod your affirmations, but dipped his head in time, proud of his own reflexes as he caught your lips, feeling the hand in his hair tighten, and he was so glad he’d decided to grow it out all those years ago, because right now, he was losing all sense of himself in the way your nails would scratch across his scalp, or the delicious burning that flared over his skin for a split second when you pulled on his hair, before you were rubbing it softly, fingers working in tandem timing with your lips, teasing over his own.

That same feeling took up, a sparking that felt like fireworks, like energy surging through him, escaping at his fingertips in every place that he touched you, one palm smoothing along your back to somewhere that was definitely too lose to be respectable, as the other held onto your cheek still. You were taking control, your tongue darting out to trace over his lower lip, bribing him to part them but he needed no convincing, letting your tongue meet his own only a second after you’d made the request, equally breathy and needy noises escaping you both at the slow and wet drag of the muscles over one another.

His lungs were burning, lips beginning to sting as his assault on your mouth continued, his neck straining to hold this angle, and yet the more you kissed him, the more that the hazy feeling of getting to be with you like this raced through his body was the more he became addicted to needing more, chasing a high that he didn’t even know he wanted until now, like an addict finding his next hit.

You seemed to pick up on it all, as though you’d read all of his thoughts, because the second he’d had the lingering thoughts, you were settling yourself across his lap, a leg on either side of his own as you seated yourself down, and he couldn't help the way his hips bucked up a little to meet you, or the way his hand slid down fully to rest on your ass.

After all, as much as he’d gone through the make him grow up emotionally, physically he was still a horny-teen college boy, and you were one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, sitting half-naked in his lap and sucking on his lower lap while doing something with your tongue that was making him feel like he couldn't even breathe properly for how aroused he was.

Maybe you could feel the growing erection underneath of you, maybe you couldn't, but he’d stopped caring about being embarrassed around you about three hours ago when he’d had to tell you all about the time he’d once dropped a condom in Coach’s class in front of the entire classroom, and you’d laughed so much your face had gone red and you’d hidden it form him by pressing into his shoulder.

You were something he felt like he was dreaming up, like any moment now he’d wake up in a small puddle of his own drool with his face pressed into the desk of his lecture hall, the lights turned out and another note left by his kind professor to get more sleep at home, and to lock up when he left, before you were giggling a little at him, pulling away and stealing a few more pecks as you did, and he wondered if you really could read his mind, heat flushing his cheeks.

“Are you reading my mind or something?”

He felt stupid even as he mumbled te words, especially when it only seemed to heighten your entertainment, but you shook your head. “I can’t read your mind, I can just kinda’ sense your mood, I guess. It’s the connection, you were clearly thinking something funny, and I don’t know what it was, but I got a sudden rush of amusement.”

“That’s pretty fucking incredible.” He whispered, letting you peck his mouth a few more times, simply sitting there with puckered lips as he tried not to smile too much, before he was tucking hair away behind your ears and finally you were opening your eyes, and at this point, he really should learn to stop being surprised by new developments with you. “Holy shit, your eyes are glowing!”

“So are yours.” You winked, the bright purple being a shade that was so captivating and beautiful on you that he couldn’t look away, even when you leaned away from him to grab his phone, raising it up to snap a picture for him, and forcing his gaze down to it. Much like you’d said, his eyes were beginning to hint in with a faint purple, the neon shading beginning to drip into his irises and take over from the usual golden-brown that resided there. “You never made out with another witch before?”

He pinched at your ass for your cheeky comment, taking his phone and throwing it away to the side, grinning when you yelped at his painless attack. “I didn’t even know witches really existed before today. Besides, what makes you think I'm one? I had a spark once, but as I said, that died out. Nothing truly magical.”

“I don’t know, you’re having a pretty strong connection with me right now, aren’t you?” Your arms looped around his neck, snuggling in a little closer to him, and he bit back a groan as you shuffled in his lap. “I think you’re underestimating yourself, you just don’t know how to tap into your magic, you have to believe in it to see it.”

“You really think so?”

He was vulnerable and he knew it showed, he’d gone his entire life being unsure as to where all his energy and twitching came from, as to why he’d always felt a draw to the earth; the preserve and the woods, and justice and balance, and why he’d somehow fit into a supernatural world with far more elegance and ease than he ever had the normal one, and maybe this was the explanation. “I really do, Stiles.”

“Will you teach me?”

“I would love to.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, and then to the spot below your ear, before flicking his tongue out a little to drag over the sensitive patch that lay there, before moving down your neck. He didn’t want to mark you without your consent, he wasn’t sure what was going to come of all of this and where it would go, but he was more than happy to lick and bite lightly at your skin, finding the sweet spot that made your hips roll down into his own and a sound of need and desperation to leave you that was like music to his ears, before his hips were bucking up to meet you once again.

“Y’know when you said that you could feel what I was feeling?”

“Uh-huh?” You were distracted, your reply seeming somewhat faded and distant, and he chuckled lightly, before making his way back up to your mouth now that you’d both had a chance to catch your breaths once again.

“Does that mean everything?”

“Are you asking if I know just how much you want to fuck me right now? Because yes, I do know.” He choked a little on his breath, your hand in his hair pulling his head back so that you could meet his gaze, your lower lip held between you teeth, flesh going a darker pink, and he longed to be the one biting that lip for you. “Trust me, the sentiment is returned.”

“It is?”

“Oh, yeah.” He wasn’t used to women being so confident with wanting him, being so unashamed of it, or of even wanting him at all. Most of his hook-ups had been slightly drunk make-outs and sloppy grinding, or booty calls and meetings in closets at parties. He got more action than he ever did in high school, he’d finally grown into his limbs and his looks, but that didn’t take away the surprise that still happened every time someone as pretty as you even offered him the time of day.

“Like, right here? Right now?”

“Been thinking about how much I want to ride you on my couch for like an hour and a half, now.” Stiles couldn’t stop the moan that bubbled up in his throat, lips parting as you ran a finger over his swollen lips, a cheeky glint flashing over purple eyes as you looked at him.

“You might just be perfect for me.”

“I like the sound of that.”

A toothy smile was offered to you, before he was pulling you back in towards him, hands slipping down to lay resting on your thighs as soon as your lips had found his once again. The heat seemed to have passed, and while the kiss was still completely intoxicating, there was something a little more tender about it, too. It wasn’t nearly as rushed and frantic, the sloppy kisses you’d shared as you learned one another’s ticks had passed, and as your lips worked slowly with his own, Stiles found that he much preferred this kind of kiss.

This was the kind of kiss that he could picture himself sharing with you in many settings. A sleepy, early morning kiss, when you were still between the land of consciousness and the realm of unconsciousness. Or, late nights, when he’d fall asleep while studying, and he would let you drag him to his feet and to bed. Or, simply when he would finish a lecture, or get you coffee, or meet you for dinner. The point was, Stiles already knew he wanted to kiss you at all times of the day, and to hold onto you, and to watch you brew little spells at the stove while holding onto you from behind.

Your lips were wet when you pulled away, eyes sparkling as you looked at him, a bright shade of royal purple, like silk and rich violet on flower petals, and you looked utterly ethereal. “Do you have any idea just how beautiful you are?”

“You’re sweet-talking me.” You teased, bumping the tip of your nose against his, and he shook his head.

“No, I’m not, I’m just being honest with you. I’ve been into you for a long time, even if I didn’t quite have my mind in the right place to actually say it.” You huffed out a little laugh, your eyes averting from his own so that you could try and hide your bashful little expression, but he didn’t miss it.

“Well, I’ve been admiring you a little, too. I should’ve had my deliveries sent to you sooner, if I knew it was going to end like this.” As if to punctuate your words, you rolled your hips down into his, reminding him of the solid erection pressing into his jeans, his fingers digging a little firmer into your skin, and he pushed your shirt up higher, the soft cotton of your panties revealed to him.

“These are just fucking sinful. Do you normally wander around your house in underwear and band-tees?” He tugged at it a little, before daring to tuck his hand underneath the fabric, trailing up, and a poorly-concealed groan left him as he found no further obstructions, fingers closing over one of your breasts, squeezing lightly as he palmed at your chest. “Well, clearly not all of your underwear.”

“I tend to, I keep it warm in here, for all the plants.” Your back arched up into his hand, one of your own closing over his outside of your shirt, as your other held onto his shoulder, fingers leaving crescent-moon shaped marks he was sure, and the rocking of your hips into his own only seemed to increase.

“I’d love to see you in one of my flannels sometime, just like this.”

“Give me your shirt and you’ll see it sooner than you think.” You teased, his brows raising, before he was pulling his hands back just long enough to lean into you, stripping the garment off as best as he could, leaving him in a thin black t-shirt as you took the item from him. He wanted to whine out as you stood up, choosing instead to replace the pressure of your core over his with his hand instead, palming at his cock through the thick denim, and you grinned as you watched him, yet he didn’t feel the slightest bit embarrassed.

You stood before him, draping his shirt across his spread knees as he slumped further into the cushions, getting himself comfortable and popping the button on his jeans, swollen lower lip being nibbled as you played with the hem of your shirt. Your hips were swinging to the beat of the song, and then, you raised the garment up and over your head, letting it drop away to the carpet, his jaw dropping as he looked at you.

You picked up his flannel, pulling it up your arms, and leaving it open at the front, just barely covering your tits. You were an angel and also the devil, tempting him to do so many wrong things. Stretching his hands out toward you, he beckoned you back into his lap, an act you were more than happy to take as you bounded over to him, a pep on your few short steps, before you were settling back into his lap.

“Perfect.”

He let his hands find the flaps of the flannel, pulling it open wide enough to be able to admire your tits fully, letting you push your hair back away from your shoulders for his unobstructed view. Sealing one hand around your waist, he dragged you up closer, until you were almost pressed to him fully, before dipping his head down. His tongue dragged over a hardened nipple, taking the taut peak into his mouth and sucking harshly, as your hand wound into his hair. You tugged, roughly, a groan that vibrated along your entire body leaving him and making you shiver, and you made the prettiest little noises above him.

He switches sides, making sure to give the other half of your chest that same kind of attention, leaving wet marks and stinging watches along your skin that would become bright purple marks in the morning to match the colour of your eyes, and he just hoped you kept him around long enough to see them when they did become beautiful and prominent. He wanted to see his good work, he wanted to see the way he got to mark you up and leave his touch all over your body.

“Stiles..”

“I do love how you sound moaning my name, princess, but I’m not sure how much longer I can last when you're making noises like that and grinding yourself all over my cock like this.” You grinned, letting him kiss his way back up your chest and throat until he was taking your lips with his own. Your hands were moving down, tugging at his zipper as far as it would go, hid hips bucking up into his hand as he felt you drag a nail along his covered erection, breathy sounds between you both when you pulled away.

He only had to lift himself up for a moment, before you were tugging at his jeans, helping him to get them just far enough down his thighs for his boxers to be able to follow. His cock was throbbing, painfully hard and desperate for you, leaking precum along his skin, and he gave himself some form of relief. You were watching him, eyes wide as he pumped his length in one hand, the other dipping under your skirt rubbing over your core, and you bundled up your shirt for him.

“Y’know, all those times I thought about us, a quick fuck on your couch wasn’t how I had wanted our first time to be, but then again, I didn’t expect the cute chick across the hall to be a witch, wither, so..”

He used his thumb to drag your panties to the side, your sodden folds revealed to him, and he slipped two fingers into your dripping core with ease. “I’ll let you take it slow next time, I swear, but right now, I’d really like it if you’d fuck me.”

He could only nod, heart skipping a beat at the promise of another time. Your legs shifted, muscles clenching as he forced himself to take his touch away from your core and bringing his fingers up to his mouth, sucking your sweet essence from the thin digits. As you leaned over him, he was sure to line himself up, and then, you were sinking down onto him, your forehead flailing to his as your mouth fell open, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“You’re so fucking big.”

“You’re so fucking tight.” He whispered the words, a little breathless and hanging on the edge of his orgasm already, and you seemed just as close, because as you finally sank all the way down and settled into his lap again, he could feel every pulse within your walls as you hugged around him.

It took him a moment, staving off his climax so that he didn’t come just from getting to feel you like this, and you looped your arms around his neck gently to find your purchase. Your nails were scratching lightly at the hairs at the base of his neck, his flannel once again flapping around you, panties pushed to the side to let him have access to your centre, and it was deliciously filthy.

Once you were settled, you circled your hips, a test movement, pleasure spiking in both of your systems and it felt like the temperature in the room was shooting upwards. Stiles could already feel sweat beginning to bead along his skin in a thin layer, and you pressed yourself in closer to him. Each time you shifted your hips you were moving a little more, every rock of your body into his, you were pulling yourself up just a little higher to be able to drop yourself back down onto his cock, stretching and squeezing around him.

You felt like velvet, slick and warm as you sheathed around him. You were precise and deliberate, and he couldn't help the wonton sounds that were leaving you with every drop down onto his cock, before you were taking him up to see stars every time, leaving the both of you resting in the clouds. Panted breaths, a scream in the back of your throat that tried to break out each time as you gave him broken moans of his name, picking up your pace further and further each time.

Once you were stable above him, you were moving with purpose, fast and quick as you rode him, gaining more confidence each time, and he was gripping you so tightly that there would be fingerprints all over your hips in the morning. He helped you go, lifting you up each time, only to pull you back down into his lap, thrusting up with a weak effort to meet you, but feeling you go wild each time. That same energy was back, crackling with more force, surging through him like nothing he had ever felt.

Stiles was in college, he was away from home and the weight of being the Sheriff’s kid for the first time, and he had experimented. He’d gotten drunk, and high, and hungover, but this was a whole new kind of thrill; it was like lighting up with fireworks and adrenaline all at once, like creating a bond with another person, and a tingling spread throughout his entire body as your magic bonded with his own. He hadn't felt this kind of singing in his blood since the day he’d managed to finish the circle with the mountain ash back when he was only sixteen, or breaking through the wild hunt barrier at almost eighteen.

These kind of thrills were rare for him, but they’d never been this strong, and as the two of you moved as one in the most intimate way that two people could, your mouth coming up to claim his as you silenced yourself and him, growing louder and more desperate as you went, he felt that final high beginning to build.

“‘M so close, honey.” His voice had taken on that same kind of scratchy rasp that he had in the mornings before he even broke into his day, “Oh, God, keep goin’.”

He knew his words were beginning to grow slurred, and he could barely buck his hips up into you. As everything within his body began to light up, he felt like all of his muscles were going lifeless, his body going boneless, because the heat was consuming him. He couldn't hold it back, he’d been waiting for so long to feel you this way, and his lips could barely even move back against your own as he went slack-jawed, exploding within your tight heat.

The send that he was shooting over the edge, you were following right after him, crying out his name into his mouth as you kept going against him, until you couldn't clumping down into his body as you trembled, and Stiles felt as though you’d milked absolutely everything from him that he had to offer. There was a crackling along his skin from everywhere that your fingertips smoothed over, sliding down from his shoulders so that you could press your cheek to the spot instead, fanning breaths rushing over his neck as you tried to catch your breath, racing heart just like his was.

You didn’t even bother to move from him, letting him throb within your walls with each flutter you made and each shift, and if you kept it up, he was sure he’d be ready for a second round, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he had that in him. Resting his head back against the edge of the couch, he let you lift yourself up and off of him finally, your legs shaking as you stood, offering him a weak smile as he took in your through fucked out state, before taking wobbly steps away from him, and disappearing down the hall.

He heard a door close, assuming you’d gone to the bathroom, and he leaned over to the coffee table to snatch up a few tissues, to clean himself up with, before sorting himself out too. He did the bare minimum, not even bothering to do up his jeans once he had them pulled back up, but he stretched out along the length of the couch to lay down, an arm popped under his head, and a little laugh on his lips as he did.

He took a moment to glance around, not missing the way that the plants all seemed to be blooming particularly beautifully, seeming more alive than ever. As he lifted up a hand before his face, rubbing his forefinger and thumb together, a spark travelled between the tips, and he felt a little in awe just at the sight of it.

“It's pretty incredible, right?”

He startled, jumping a little, before turning to look at you and propping himself up on his elbows as you lingered in the doorway. You had changed, your hair pulled back and out of your face, missing a few odd strands and you’d buttoned up his flannel along your body, mismatched and hanging unevenly, but still adorable. You took slower steps over to him, waiting for a second as you stood beside him, before he was lifting his arms and making it clear to you that you could lay with him, a smile gracing both of your faces as you flattened yourself along him, cheek pressed over his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist.

“You like feeling your magic, then?”

He lifted his palm, holding it to yours and admiring the final dying flares he saw, as the energy began to dissipate and absorb into his body and yours fully. “I’m not used to feeling special myself. I’ve always been a behind the scenes, research, kinda’ guy. I’m not used to being one of the main players.”

“Oh, hush. You told me your story, you were most definitely a key player, Stiles.” He shrugged under you, letting you cross your arms over his chest and prop your chin on them.

“Yeah, but I never really felt that way, and now I feel like I have something to offer.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips over his jaw with a sweet kiss, and he felt like he could most definitely get used to this feeling. Can I meet them?”

“My pack?”

You nodded, seeming a little shy now, and joy raced through him at the fact that you saw enough of a future with him to want to meet his friends an get to know them, and to once again be able to be completely open and honest with everyone, never having to hide anything from anyone, and being able to let you fully and wholly into his life. It was a surprise, because the more he’d thought about his future late at night when lying alone in his bed, he was so sure he’d never be able to really settle down, because he could never let someone in on his life in every single way, but with you, that wasn’t a problem.

“I would absolutely love that.”

“Really?” You were studying him carefully, trying to ensure that he was telling the truth, and he gave you the most honey look that he possibly could, before lifting his head to meet your lips as he leaned in.

Soft and delicate, like a kiss that was shared between deep romance and longtime lovers, and he rested a hand on your cheek, holding you to him, and rolling you to the side, to sandwich you between the couch and his body Your thigh came up to rest over his legs, his palm slipping from your face to rest on your leg, drawing patterns on the skin until you pulled away to breathe, lips detaching from his as you whined a little. You stayed close, though, a soft look etched onto your features;

“I just want to meet a few more supernatural people, and get to know others who I don’t have to hide from.”

“Well, you definitely don’t have to hide from them, and you’ll love them, just as much as they’ll love you. We’re a pretty odd group, you’ll fit right in.”

“You’re right about that ‘odd bunch’ thing. I’ve never met a banshee, or a - what did you call it? - werecoyote.” That was an undeniable truth, your head coming back down to rest on his chest as he shrugged, unable to deny that you were right. “Your wolves sound nice, too. All the other wolves I’ve met have been overly territorial and closed off.”

“Well, Derek used to be like that, but we’ve pulled him around a little. He is still broody, though.” You laughed at his joke, a sound that made his heart burst open slightly and bleed with affection, all for you, as you continued to take more and more pieces of his heart with every act, and he was falling in love with you faster than he’d ever known was possible. “Don’t take notice of any of his lurking, by the way, it’s his twisted way of showing concern and care.”

“I’ll remember that, and if I ever catch him hiding behind a tree, I’ll know that it’s real friendship.”

“He does that, I’m serious, don’t underestimate him. I think my dad arrested him for stalking, once.”

“I think your dad would be who I am most scared to meet.” A fond tone in your voice, before he was pressing a kiss to your forehead, humming under his breath.

“He’ll love you the most, don’t worry.”

Silence fell between you both then, and he busied himself with tracing illegible drawings into your skin, simply enjoying feeling so close to you. It was irrationally domestic, and you were the final piece in his college life and college experience that was missing. Despite not being a  wolf, he was unequivocally part of a wolf pack, and being surrounded so closely by such a tight-knit group of friends for those years had made him dependent on company and reliability, and he had been feeling so alone since leaving for college.

Scott had Malia, Lydia had rekindled things with Jordan, and even Derek had been (begrudgingly, to begin) hooked up with a deputy by his father, and they’d been on a few dates.

The last time he’d been home, he’d felt like a fifth, seventh, or was it ninth wheel, when Liam and Hayden were taken into account? He had been feeling awfully lonely lately, and he was glad to finally find someone that fit him perfectly, matching him like a glove.

“When I do introduce you to my friends, my pack, y’know, and my dad..”

You lifted your head, a little crease across your cheek from the fold in his shirt, and he rubbed the spot with his thumb gently, an attempt to remove the mark. “Yeah?”

“What should I introduce you as?”

“A witch.” You deadpanned, and he knew immediately that you’d clearly know exactly what he meant, but were playing with him, and he pouted, fixing you with a mock glare, before you were laughing to yourself over your joke, something so undeniably cute that he couldn't even pretend to be mad about it. “What do you want to introduce me as?”

Nudging your jaw a little with his, he puckered his lips, tempting you down to kiss him, and you were more than happy to press a series of sweet and short kisses to his lips. “I’d really like to formally claim you to be my girlfriend?”

He mumbled the words into your mouth, feeling your lips flick up at the edges in a smile as you gave him a kiss that was a little more firm, a little more loving and powerful, before whispering your reply; “Then we’re on the same page, because I’d like to introduce you to my coven back home as my boyfriend.”

“You have a coven?” He pulled back, a gasp of shock, and you giggled at him.

“That I do. Maybe I should tell you about them?”

“You absolutely should.” He insisted, his craving for knowledge taking over, and he couldn't have been more glad to whatever deity was watching over benevolently that he’d taken the choice to stay the first time knowledge had been offered, because it had led him to where he was now.

“It might take all night, maybe you should go and get a change of clothes. Get comfortable.”

“Is that an invitation to stay the night?” You only nodded, letting him roll you back over onto your back as he kissed at your neck. “I’ll buy you take out if you cuddle me later?”

“Cuddling and dinner? Glad I get to call you my boyfriend, now.”

“Not nearly as glad as I am to call you my girlfriend. My little witch.” His lips sealed over yours, silencing your laughs against his mouth as you teased him for the nickname, and he pinched a little at your sides. The mistletoe overhead grew a little more, a few of the berries dropping away and bouncing off of his back as the plant became bolder, just like the rest, that energy beginning to grow once again, as you got lost in each other’s touch.

[writingonsaturn]

Better Unsaid

a/n okay this has been all over the place!! it was originally going to be a blurb and darker and closer to smutty (so keep your eyes out for that??? lol), but then I made it softer and the concept got away from me and it got soooo much longer than expected lmao and i still dont love where it ended so maybe part 2?? i have the idea i just dont know lol 

summary: Reader is a princess and Anakin has been her guard during the most public season for the past two years (not the most logical thing but just go with it lol, it gets explained better in the fic) and after a near death experience the two are conveniently forced into a....

ONE BED TROPE ONE BED TROPE *cough cough* ONE BED TROPE WITH ONE PERSON HAVING TO WAKE UP THE OTHER BC THEYRE HAVING A NIGHTMARE,, :)))))))

  --

His smugness is the only thing about him I can consider ‘ugly’. And because I am so desperate to not have feeling for Anakin, the Jedi who has been assigned to protect me through coronation season (which lasts for most of winter), for the last two coronation seasons, I hold onto my distaste for that side of him. Which is why I suppress my laugh as he waits for my reaction with that confident smile. 

“Come on, that was funny.” 

Rolling my eyes, I let myself sit on my bed. I can’t tell if he’s actually funny or if my evening has been so boring that his sense of humor has started to become appealing to me due to comparison. In short, the suitor I was forced to spend an entire evening with lacked personality so much I’m starting to find Anakin funny.

“You’re much more entertaining than this evening’s suitor.” 

Anakin’s expression shifts slightly, his assured grin dropping slightly. “Another miss?” 

“You have no idea.” I relax slightly, taking a moment to be glad that I completed my father’s request and now I can just enjoy the time I have with Anakin. “I know my father’s desperate to make sure my marriage is useful for our people and that he worries about this selection process because he always thought my mother would be here to help, but sometimes I wish he wouldn’t rush it so much. It feels like all he wants me for is to marry me off in exchange of finance or weaponry or something diplomatic.” 

“You’re more than that.” His response is so soft I think I might have missed it if I needed it less. I curse myself for feeling so validated by him. His words shouldn’t mean anything to me. After all, he could easily just be saying that because agreeing with my father will just make me more unpleasant to be around. 

I smile politely while avoiding his eyes. I keep my hands on either side of me, fighting the urge to fidget. “Thank you, Anakin.” My words sound weak in my own ears, so I’m sure he notices my shift in mood. “I’m tired today, I think I’m going to go to bed early.” Normally, I’d be able to shrug off these kinds of things, but the beginning of Coronation Season makes me irritable. The anniversary of my mother’s death hits me harder each year. 

“Y/n.” My name comes out so velvety I can’t find it in myself to interrupt him. “You are more than someone meant to be used as some kind of royal currency, and I mean that as more than just a...friend.” 

I let his last word linger. We’ve tried so many titles that never seem to fit right. He’s the chosen one, one of the most powerful Jedi to exist, and the Jedi assigned to protect me each Coronation Season because that’s when my mother was assassinated. He’s my guard, but we’ve spent too many nights laughing together and talking about everything and anything. And I guess now he’s my friend, even though sometimes when he looks at me in a certain way or sits too close to me or reaches for my hand to guide me somewhere I can’t breathe right. 

“Anakin, you know I love when you’re here, even though sometimes you drive me insane. And I appreciate your kindness, but your words can’t change the truth. That’s how my father sees me and he’s not exactly wrong. I’m not a son, I haven’t been raised to lead an army or lead much, and--” 

“I’ve seen you in meeting after meeting, convention after convention. I’ve witnessed the way you handle real problems and I know how you care about your people. You’d make a great leader, you don’t need a husband to be valuable.” 

My chest swells, feelings I never let myself think about mixing with thoughts of Anakin that I’ve spent so long trying to avoid. “That settles it, you’re my favorite person.” 

He grins, the look warm enough to melt the odd lump in my throat. I fight down a smile as he steps forward. “And I wasn’t before?” 

“I take it back--your head’s big enough without the additional praise.” 

Rolling my eyes, I lean back slightly in order to recreate the distance he so easily destroyed. “And I thought you had finally warmed up to me, princess.” 

The use of my title makes me skeptical. The last time Anakin used it was when he was trying to ease me so that I’d walk around the palace garden so he had an excuse to do the same. It was beyond late and I was half asleep, but he had os much energy he was desperate and just needed to do one more thing. I felt bad that his schedule revolved so heavily around mine (and when he softens his eyes and says please, I’m left incapable of saying the word ‘no’) so I agreed. 

“What do you want?” 

Anakin dramatically clutches a hand over his heart. He throws his head back slightly as if he’s just taken a fatal blow. “When did you turn so cynical? I’ve been back for three days and I’m starting to believe you’re a different person now.” 

Yeah...he’s definitely getting ready to ask for something that’s more trouble than it’s worth. Then again, everything with him seems to be worth it in some capacity. Even if it’s just that one smile he gets when he’s truly content and doesn’t think anyone’s looking. 

“Mhm,” I mumble, still fighting a grin, “so you’re not going to ask me anything?” 

His lips part slightly as he exhales. I watch the way his eyes narrow at my victorious expression. “I don’t have anything to ask of you, but I do have a small request. A request so small you won’t have to do anything but say yes.”

Suspicious. Too easy. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“You just said I was your favorite person. Remember that.” 

I’m too tired for his coyness. I’d rather him make his ridiculous request now so that I can be in bed within the hour. Though I can’t pretend I don’t normally feel better after letting him drag me along on whatever ‘adventure’ he just needed to complete while also not letting me out of his sight. I used to tell him that I wouldn’t tell anyone if I wasn’t under supervision for an hour or two a day, but he dismissed the idea immediately. That’s been the cornerstone of everything. 

“What is it?” 

He sighs once, tilting his head slightly. The way his eyes soften tells me he’s already won at least half the battle. “They still haven’t caught the attempted--” Anakin pauses, something behind his eyes darkening. I know what he’s remembering. Last night, an assassin had gotten closer than they ever had. I had almost been shot in the garden, Anakin had barely pushed me to the ground in time. A fact he’s been beating himself up for since, especially considering that no one has been able to find my attempted killer yet. “They were so close to you. They were within palace limits and they disappeared like they never existed. Who’s to say they don’t work here and are waiting for the next moment you’re exposed? Who’s to say they aren’t here tonight, waiting for me to retire for the night?” 

I didn’t realize how my near death experience had been so personal to him. He, like everyone else, was beyond frantic after it happened. But my father put an end to verbal worry before it could truly begin. He said the best thing we could do was act like everything was fine as the assailant was searched for. Anakin hadn’t been particularly cheery after my father instructed the guards to focus their search on known enemies instead of prioritizing venting the staff closest to me. I comforted him as best as I could, but he didn’t feel like speaking about it and I had to worry about the suitor meeting my father wouldn’t let me cancel. 

“Anakin, you’re right next door to me.” I have to fight the urge to reach for him. “I was fine because of you, and I will be fine because of you.” 

He sighs once, his expression not easing. “And if the person is silent? The attacker could easily work in the palace, but no one wanted to direct the search inwards.” His words are more strained than I’ve ever heard them be. “I think it’d be smart for me to stay in here. I know you’ve refused having a guard stay in your room or outside your door, but...” Anakin sighs. “Your safety would be more assured.” 

Him staying in my room? The only line I’ve ever been allowed to draw, and I’m actually considering letting that go. If he seemed even slightly less sad, I wouldn’t even consider it. It’s not a good idea. I’m already too attached to him. “Anakin--” 

“I’d feel more assured.” 

Damn him. Stupid, extremely sweet Anakin who makes saying no to him impossible. I stretch my arm forward, letting my hand squeezes his forearm gently. “There’s no reason to not feel assured.” He doesn’t ease, the cloudiness behind his eyes remains stubborn. “You’re still worried.” No reaction, the haze that’s taken him isn’t letting go. “Fine--but tell no one or my father is going to take to posting guards at my door every night.” 

...I guess there are worse ways to spend a night. Which is kind of a problem since I’m trying to...enjoy Anakin less. Ugh, I even sound dumb in my head. “I promise, princess.” 

Ugh, he’s adorable. “You’re intolerable.” I stand from he foot of my bed and pull back the covers on my bed. He doesn’t reply, something dark still playing for him. I watch him move to face the door. Wait--is he doing what I think he’s doing? “No, you’re not going to stand there all night. You need sleep.” He has the audacity to give me an annoyed look. “I already didn’t want to do this so now you have to listen to my conditions.” 

He raises an eyebrow, his lips pressing together oddly. He’s trying to gauge something from my expression, perhaps he’s looking for buttons to press to get his way. I guess I look as stubborn as I feel because instead of arguing he just sits on the floor. What? I watch him cautiously, trying to figure out if this is some weird argument trick. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What you asked.”

And just like that I’ve put myself in a position that I will no doubt regret terribly the second common sense returns to me. There’s no way to deny that Anakin and I are closer than we probably should be. We’ve felt like friends first since the day we first met. I can’t think of any reason to not offer to let him sleep in my bed except those stupid budding feelings I refuse to label. 

It’s not like I actually like him. I can’t--I’m going to be married to some nobleman and he’s prohibited from ever forming attachments. I’m not even sure if we’re allowed to be friends. Having actual feelings for him would be so, so pointless. It would just lead to heartache and the ruining of the one genuine relationship I have. I’m just a tiny bit confused right now because he’s objectively really attractive and he’s always there for me. Always there to make a joke after a particularly rough meeting. Always there to offer me a supportive smile. Always there to humble me when I teeter on acting like my father. 

Anyone’s heart would flutter at that, so it doesn’t mean anything. And if it does, I need to squash any budding feelings now before I mess things up. Which is why I should keep him at arm’s length until I get it together. But is that fair to him? And what if doing that is making things worse? What if it’s just reinforcing the idea of having feelings? 

This is ridiculous. I’m going to get over this if it kills me. It’s just a bed and it’s only sleeping. I’m meant to be able to lead an entire union and I can’t sleep next to someone and act normal?” “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.” 

The second the words leave my mouth I regret it all. What’s wrong with me? Did I seriously think I’d be okay?

I hear his soft exhale, “I’ll be fine. I’ve slept in worse places than on your marble floor.” 

His voice sounds so weighted I can’t help but feel bad for not noticing that he’s still bothered. Whether he’s upset about his near miss or the fact that my father didn’t take his advice, I don’t know. But something’s wrong. The easy thing to do would be to just let him sleep it off. The smart thing to do would be to leave him alone until tomorrow. 

I think of all the times that I’ve been upset and Anakin had refused to let me go to sleep angry or sad or overwhelmed. “I know, but it’s really not a big deal. It’s not like we don’t know each other. I mean, last Coronation Season you buttoned me into more gowns than my handmaid. And I owe you for saving me from one of the worst suitors I’ve ever had.” 

“I’m starting to think we need to develop some kind of signal.” 

The tiny bit of lightness that’s returned to his voice makes all of my internal struggle feel worth it. “You always seem to know.” 

“That’s because when you’re reaching your limit, that one line appears between your eyebrows.”

I didn’t realize I had such a tell. I try to remember the way that the suitor drawled on and on about how amazing he was and how he couldn’t wait for the day he had a bride to bear his children and plan (tedious) social events. My hand moves to my forehead, trying to feel the crease Anakin mentioned. Can everyone tell when I’m growing tired? Am I that transparent? 

Anakin’s slight laugh steals my attention. He’s facing me again, his elbow holding his head up on the foot of my bed. “What are you doing?” 

“I don’t--I don’t think i get a crease between my eyebrows when I’m irritated.” 

I hear him stand. I don’t realize he’s approaching me until he’s so close I could touch him without even needing. to stretch. “No, when you’re irritated you raise your eyebrows slightly, because that’s when you’re at your most sarcastic.” 

“Really?” 

The corner of his mouth tugs upwards. “Just like that.” I force myself to keep my expression blank. “When you’re reaching your limit, your eyebrows crease here.” His finger taps the space between my brows so gently I almost don’t realize what he’s doing. “And when you’re trying not to laugh--which is often, because you refuse to admit that I’m funny--you press your lips together in a way that forms a dimple here.” The knuckle of his pointer finger brushes against the bottom of my cheek. 

I bite my tongue to fight the warmth spreading across my face. “I didn’t realize i was so transparent.”

“I can’t always tell what you’re thinking.” 

“I’ll take it.” Maybe if I was less tired, I’d argue a little more. “You know you’re not that difficult to read either.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, I can tell when you’re just being stubborn for the sake of it. I can see it in your eyes and you’re doing it right now.” 

His expression harshens slightly before softening. “Y/n--” 

“I’m not wrong.” 

He sighs once, stepping back. I watch him pace around my bed before taking a seat on the edge of my other side of the bed. “Are you happy now?” 

“Happy that I won? Absolutely.” 

Anakin halfheartedly glares at me. “Careful, add a crown and a robe that trails down a throne and I’d feel like I was speaking to your father.” 

“Careful, another side comment like that and I’ll ‘accidentally’ kick you off the bed in the middle of the night.” 

“Not if I kick you off the bed first.” 

I trace a thoughtless pattern on the fabric of my bedsheets. “What are you? Twelve?” 

“I’m older than you.” 

“Barely.” I continue the thoughtless pattern tracing as I fight the sleep from my eyes. “Your comebacks are usually more creative than that.” 

He exhales, relaxing slightly as he rests his back against a pillow. “I’m tired, like you claimed to be.” His eyes flutter slightly, a bit of his exhaustion showing. “Go to sleep.” 

I should. I’m too old to think I can put off a tomorrow I don’t want by just staying up. This is stupid. I’m too old to think I can put off the anniversary of my mother’s death by going to bed. She had been taken from us on castle grounds, killed by a revolutionist who viewed my mother as a class traitor. I still remember the way she slumped to the ground, her blood staining the snow beneath her. I remember the way the guards were so busy chasing her killer no one thought to keep me away from the body. 

“Y/n?” 

I scratch the back of my arm in hopes of banishing my thoughts. “Yes?” 

“You’re being quiet.” 

“You said to go to sleep, that tends to be a quiet thing.” 

I can feel his eyes on me. “Since when do you listen to me?” Not trusting myself to actually reply, I only offer him a hum of acknowledgement. “I know you’re not half asleep.” 

Folding my hands on my lap, I avoid his gaze. “It’s tomorrow.” 

I don’t know why I trust him to understand my vague response, but I do. His silence stretches over us like a thin blanket on a cold night. Maybe he doesn’t understand what I’m implying. I can always correct him tomorrow, when my eyelids are no longer as heavy as my heart. The more seconds that pass in total silence, the more I think that maybe he’s fallen asleep. 

I wouldn’t be surprised, Anakin has seemed tired recently, like some additional weight he won’t share with anyone has been thrust onto his shoulders. A small part of me rolls in guilt. I need to be a better friend, just because I’m suddenly a little too aware of him doesn’t mean I can shrug him off and ignore him. 

My hand almost flinches away from the feeling of something surprisingly warm touching my pinky. When I realize that it’s just Anakin and that the contact was probably accidental, I force myself to ease. It’s not like we’ve never touched before, I don’t understand why I’m making it weird. Sitting in my bed in the dark doesn’t change anything. His hand turns slightly, pressing into mine a little more assuredly. Biting my tongue, I turn my hand slightly, exposing my palm. And just like that, our fingers intertwine. 

“She would have been proud of you.” His voice comes out so low I barely register the words. 

The words shouldn’t mean much to me--he never knew my mother and has no way to know what she wanted me to be.--and yet I find comfort in them. I smile, turning my head towards him. “You didn’t even know her.” 

He rolls his eyes slightly, relaxing further before squeezing my hand once. “Who wouldn’t be proud of you? You’re kind and smart and decent to be around when you’re not telling me what to do.” 

My heart swells in my chest so much I’m surprised it doesn’t burst. Could he be cuter? “Yeah...now I’m sure you’re my favorite person.” 

“Now you’re sure?” 

The smugness in his voice has me rolling my eyes. “Don’t make me regret saying that.” 

“Maybe in the morning,” he says easily, “now go to sleep. There’s nothing worse than escorting you from meeting to meeting while you’re tired.” 

“I’m not that bad.” Even in this darkness, I can make out the way he raises an eyebrow. “Shut up--I’m going to sleep, but not because of you.” 

He lets out a slight huff. “You’re impossible.” 

The desire to respond to his comment is not enough for me to win the fight against the weight of my eyelids. The moment my eyes shut, I feel powerless to anything that isn’t sleep. I let myself fall into a weightless sleep, my only tether being the Anakin’s fingers around mine. 

--

A distant noise yanks me from my sleep. I’m too drowsy to do anything but register the sound. I hear another similar...whine? cry? I can’t tell and I’m too asleep to figure it out. I almost fall asleep again, but a third distressed sound keeps me from it. I wipe my eyes lazily with the back of my hand as I try to sit up. 

Squinting, I make out a figure on my bed. It takes me a moment to remember Anakin and how I fell asleep. Our hands are still together and no light is peering through my window so it can’t be that long since I fell asleep. Another disgruntled sound carries itself throughout the room. I shift slightly, leaning over Anakin cautiously. 

Golden brown curls are beginning to stick to his forehead and his eyebrows are drawn together sharply. He’s having a nightmare.  I shift even further forward before cautiously placing a hand on his shoulder before squeezing him gently. 

“Anakin,” I whisper, “it’s not--it’s not real.” His eyebrows draw together even more harshly. I shake him a little more stubbornly. “Anakin, wake up--you’re having a ni--”

 My forearm is grabbed so suddenly I barely register it before I feel my back shoved into my mattress. I blink twice. His dark eyes are frantic and the look on his face is far from the gentle, easygoing expression I’m used to. He’s breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling from above me. I swallow a slight panic and something I don’t understand as I try to keep my eyes on his face and my thoughts away from how close he is. Anakin pries his fingers from my forearm one by one until only his palm is touching me. 

“Y/n, I--” 

“It’s okay.” Honestly, I’m more worried about his uneven breathing than the way he grabbed me. I can’t imagine everything he’s been through or how justified his nightmares are. Anakin moves his hand away from me. I don’t sit up until he’s off of me and sitting with his back against my headboard. “It’s okay--I just--you were having a nightmare and I thought I should wake you.” He doesn’t react. I turn my body further, keeping my back straight. Anakin doesn’t move, and the longer he stays still, the more I feel like I should say something else. “Do you want talk about it? Or do--do you want to talk about something else? Or go to sleep? Or get some water? Or--” The far off look behind his eyes silences me. I scoot forward slightly. “You’re okay, Anakin, I promise.” 

His head turns at that, his eyes searching mine for something I don’t understand. “I thought...” He cuts himself off by swallowing once. 

I shift a little more, trying to find anything normal in his expression. “Thought what?” 

Anakin’s hand is on my arm so quickly I don’t even register his movement. I let his fingers press into my skin. He’s holding onto me like I’m a figment of a dream and he’s beginning to wake up. “I thought I’d failed.” He exhales, the sound heavy. “Failed you and that you’d--I  thought I had lost you.” 

A lump rises in my throat, thick and unmoving. Cautiously, I place my hand over the one still gripping my shoulder like a lifeline. “You didn’t. Nothing happened, it was just a dream.” 

His gaze falls to the ground before he repeats the last of my words. “Just a dream.” There’s a hollowness to his voice I don’t understand. 

I exhale, carefully running my thumb over his knuckles. “Yes.” He doesn’t say anything but his expression hardens again. I let us sit there like that for a long minute. “I promise.” 

“You can’t promise things like that.”

I sigh, unsure of where to go from here. “Bad dreams are only bad dreams.” He doesn’t reply. “I think you should try to get some more sleep.” 

Anakin is unresponsive. I shift back, but before I can transition from almost being on top of him to just sitting next to him, he pulls on my arm to keep in place. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” 

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.” 

“You almost died today, y/n. I was right there and if I had been a second later--” 

“But you weren’t.” He doesn’t ease. “You were there and I was fine. Don’t torment yourself over what could have been. You’ll drive yourself crazy.” 

“If anything ever happened to y--” 

“It’s not going to,” I whisper, ignoring the way his hold on my arm tightens even further, “Especially this time a year when I have a pretty good gau--” 

He tilts his head slightly, eyebrows drawing together and a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Pretty good? Really?” 

“Someone needs to watch your ego, chosen one.” This time when he tries for a smile, the look has some strength behind it. Relief pools in my stomach. “Now get some sleep, tomorrow’s a busy day and when you’re sleepy you’re beyond irritable.”  

Anakin lets me pull away enough to lay down, but he doesn’t follow. Not for a long second. When he does, his movements are impossibly rigid. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as carefully as I can manage. 

“Y/n?” 

I regret turning my head immediately. I didn’t realize how close he was. It would take no effort from me to make our lips meet. Wait--why am I thinking of that? I’m not allowed to think of stuff like that...especially not about him. 

“Yes?”

He lets out a breath before moving his hand. I don’t understand his hesitation until I feel his hand cupping my cheek gently. “What if next time I’m not enough? What if next time I lose you because I’m not strong enough?” 

I never thought my death would be such a personal thing to him. Sure, I knew that we had some kind of bond, some kind of friendship, and that my death would bring sadness. But I never imagined I’d matter enough to him that thoughts of my death would be frightening enough to slip into his subconscious and become a thing of nightmares. 

“You are enough. Nothing is going to happen to me and if it does it’s not going to be because of you.” Anakin’s lips press together in a way that implies serious uncertainty. His thumb brushes across my cheek so unexpectedly I almost ask him what he’s doing. The intensity behind his eyes is enough to burn me. “Was your dream really that bad?” 

He lets out an uncertain breath as his eyebrows draw together. I don’t miss the way his jaw clenches. “It’s more than the dream. I...y/n, princess,” he tacts on, a hint of humor returning to him, “you’re more than a mission to me.” 

The admission is so soft I can’t help but smile. “I know, Anakin, we’re--” 

“You’re more than a friend to me.” I don’t know if my blood freezes in my veins or if my lungs don’t contract when they should or if my heart literally skips a beat, but I know something in me completely stops at his words. “I--” 

“Don’t say it.” I don’t know how I managed to cut him off so sharply and I’m a little disappointed when I do, but it’s the right thing to do. Thought of the code that’s so important to him have clouded half the immense shock and joy swelling in my chest. “What you’re trying to say...I um, I want to say the same.” I try to drop my gaze but he tilts my head up slightly with his hand. “But we shouldn’t, you know that.” 

"You want to us to pretend that nothing’s different? You want me to escort you from meetings with one suitor to the next every Coronation Season until you’re married off?” 

“No, I’m not saying that. The point is that I’m not saying anything.” His eyebrows draw together in uncertainty. “Isn’t it enough for now, for both of us to just know? If we say it...that could mean bad things for you. And I don’t want to be a bad thing for you.” 

“You could never be.”

It’d be so easy to believe him. To believe him and to let him say what I never imagined I’d be able to hear and damn the consequences of tomorrow. “Can we just refrain from verbally saying anything until you’re sure?” 

“I’m sure right now. I’ve been sure since the first time we ever walked in the garden together. The night after the first Coronation Ball I escorted you to.” 

I remember that night well. The way he hadn’t scolded me for needing air or taking off my uncomfortably high heels to walk in the grass. “If you mean it, you won’t say it yet. I refuse to get in the way of what you’re meant for.”

His thumb runs my cheek entirely, stopping at the corner of my mouth. “Are you capable of not disagreeing with me?” 

Rolling my eyes slightly, I place my hand over his. “Probably not.” 

Anakin exhales, his playful irritation clear in the sound. “You’re impossible when you’re tired.” 

“I am not tired.” 

“I can see the sleep in your eyes.” 

“I can see it in yours too.” 

He pauses, eyebrows drawn together cautiously. “I’ll go to sleep if you do.”

He must be more tired than I thought if he’s compromising with me so quickly. “Deal.” 

Neither of us close our eyes for a long second, we just watch each other with wide eyes. It still doesn’t feel like he’s eased, but he’s come back to me so much more than he was earlier. I’ll make sure to check how he’s feeling in the morning. The first morning after we’ve...I don’t know. 

I’m trying really hard not to get excited because anything that’s been not said could be taken back so easily. That’s the point--but it’s hard not to let my heart get ahead of my rationality. I’ll just take the good for what it is for now and tomorrow we can figure out the rest. Even though he’s not allowed to form attachments and my father really wants to marry me off to foreign royalty.

Tomorrow. This can begin to be solved tomorrow. My eyes shut and I let myself roll fully onto my back. The second I’m comfortably settled, I feel Anakin shift against the bed. I’m too tired to open my eyes until I feel a weight placed against my chest. 

I open my eyes on instinct, less surprised than I should be when I see Anakin’s head resting against my chest. Before I can speak, I feel his arm rest against my side. “Anakin,” I breathe, my hand moving to smooth his hair out of his face the way I’ve wanted to for so long. “What did we just talk about?” 

“You said not to say anything,” he mumbles comfortably, “I’m not saying anything.” ...It is kind of the ideal compromise. Especially since I’m too tired to find reason and he feels so warm. “I can feel you overthinking. Go back to smoothing my hair before I have to rise and stand at your door so that your handmaid comes to wake you. Something tells me she’d be glad for the excuse to get rid of me.” 

That might be the most dramatic thing I’ve ever heard him say. Selma is the most patient woman in the palace. “Selma would never report anything involving me, I can’t believe you don’t like her. She’s the sweetest woman I’ve ever met.”  

“She’s the one that doesn’t like me,” he says, “she always watches me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m planning on stealing you away.” 

Too tired to fight my smile, I go back to smoothing his hair out with my fingers. After a moment, he lets out an exhale that relaxes his entire body. “Goodnight, princess.” 

“Goodnight.” The word is barely a mumble as I feel sleep tug against me for the second time tonight. 

It’s strange, but my excitement doesn’t diminish my tiredness, it just makes the prospect of rest feel so much fuller. Safer. Because there’s so much to sort out and grieve but it’s okay, because we have the time and everything feels okay because Anakin is here, right beneath my fingertips. 

[maraudersftw]

Claudia — this prompt!!!!!!! 💕✨

1. Two characters haven’t seen each other for a while, one keeps rambling about something insignificant and the other one kisses them because “Shut up you’re rambling just kiss me.”

Omg, M, so excited to receive this from you! 😂💜 And I had a blast writing it, so obviously it got long (1.5k words). Thanks for the prompt. Hope you enjoy!

Glittering Darkness

The Butterbeer is a slide of warm froth down his throat, easing up frozen insides brought on by the biting January cold. He smiles, grin stupid on face, hazel eyes bright behind glasses, and listens to Sirius yammer on about Quidditch and teams and players—

“The Canons don’t stand a fucking chance this season, mate,” Sirius repeats for the thousandth time that week, to the audience of Remus’s rolling eyes, Peter’s enraptured gaze and James’s dazed attention. “I have my bet on the Arrows. I mean, have you seen Crossby’s performance lately? Not missed a single bloody snitch so far in. That’s gotta be some kind of record, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it? Oi, Prongs!” he snaps, brows instantly furrowed at not receiving James’s immediate response, no matter that Peter’s vehement nodding probably dislodges the boy’s neck. “Someone throw a Confundus at you? That’s a dumb expression on your face, if I’ve seen one.”

James sighs, leans back, embraces the lovely chatter of his peers around The Three Broomsticks. “I’m just having a good day.”

The boys are instantly suspicious, each choosing to express such emotion with a varying degree of subtlety.

“How come?” Sirius asks, sounding almost put off at not being privy to the answer already.

“Well, I get to spend such a lovely afternoon with you lads. What more could I want?”

“To get laid,” says Sirius, a phrase that is followed immediately by Peter’s loud snort of laughter.

“By a very specific person,” Remus can’t help but add, amusement quirking his mouth in that typical way of his.

“Nonsense,” he waves off, another gulp of Butterbeer tossed back. “I’m perfectly content.”

“Okay, I take it back. It has to be a cheering charm,” Sirius ponders solemnly, just as a group of familiar Gryffindors enters The Three Broomsticks, huddling together as they brush off snow from thick robes and gloves.

Such a sight is by no means a rarity, given that the pub has already been crawling with Hogwarts students since the start of day. But James’s eyes are quick to lock onto a very specific person, a flash of red hair, pink cheeks, bright, bright laughter. No one around him seems to notice the tectonic plates shifting under their feet, nor the way that colour splashes, vibrant and sudden, painting the world afresh. No, they carry on with their conversations and snark as if air hasn’t suddenly become easier to draw in, as if her mere presence hasn’t literally lit up the room. He supposes, after a second of reflection, that she’s indeed his personal cheering charm.

Lily nods to the girls—Mary, Dorcas, Marlene—and points to a booth somewhere at the back. He can’t be arsed to check the exact location; not when it means taking his eyes off a much better alternative. But instead of moving away with them as they take their seats, Lily, curiously enough, breaks off from the group, face blank, easy grace and gait as she meanders off to the loo. Her eyes don’t travel to him, not once.

And yet, James spots that minuscule quirk of lips right before she disappears from view.

Oh.

Very well then.

He’s instantly on his feet, wooden chair scraping back with a loud groan, cutting off Remus mid-speculation as to the reason behind James’s jolly disposition. Three heads turn to him; curious, amused, perhaps even a little concerned.

“Um, you okay, mate?”

“Brilliant,” James replies, feels a thrum of excitement shiver through him, and wonders if it’s openly visible. “Perfectly brilliant. I just need to take a leak.”

“Well, alright, Mr Potter, you’re excused.” Remus laughs.

He takes the time to roll his eyes, but not the effort to dim his smile. It’s probable he looks like a complete loon on a sugar rush, but James truly has never cared about anything less. “Yeah, yeah, have your chuckles, Mr Moony. We’ll see who’s laughing by the end of the day.”

“I genuinely have no idea what you mean, and you sound completely unthreatening with that ridiculous beaming going on.”

James scoffs, walks away from another bout of laughter. “Fuck off.”

The hallway leading to the loos remains mercifully empty; luck that he doesn’t take for granted thanks to the crowd spilling inside the pub. With a quick manoeuvre honed over years of efficient marauding, he pulls out a shrunken invisibility cloak from his robes, enlarges it to its normal size, and disappears beneath the silvery material, feeling its strange softness like a second skin. And then he flattens himself against the wall, scooting around until he’s strategically placed within an alcove near the entrance to the girls’ lavatory—far away enough to give a wide berth to anyone he doesn’t want to alert, but near enough for an encounter with his target.

His target, who he presumes is not nearly as unsuspecting as she’d let on.

It takes only about ten seconds or so before he sees the swish of her robes, witnesses the easy smile on her face as Lily rounds the corner, nose teased red from cold, freckles scattered like stars, and finds the walls of his chest tighten like concrete slabs at the sight.

In a flash of movement, he’s got a hand wrapped around her wrist, sliding to her waist, yanking her firmly against his body without so much as a whispered greeting. Lily’s impulsive screech of surprise dies down the instant the cloak falls over her head, enveloping them both. The tension of her muscles melts away beneath his fingertips, and she’s quick to plant her hands on his chest, brush indelicately closer, space shrinking enough that he tastes the mint on her breath when she speaks.

“Rather indecent of you to accost me like this, Potter.”

He bends down, appreciates the excited gleam in the green of her eyes. His thumb finds her nape, massages gently. “I had something very important to discuss with you.”

“Mm,” Lily purrs. “That’s better. How may I help you?”

“You see,” he starts, chokes slightly when she grinds against him purposefully. “You see, I was just leaving the castle this morning, ready for a lovely outing with my mates, when a witch who looked remarkably like you all but shoved me into a broom closet, declared her undying love for me, and then snogged me into oblivion. And well, you’ve got to understand what that sort of thing does to a bloke’s mental state.”

“Huh,” she remarks, lets her upper lip slide over his bottom one, nothing but a ghost of touch. “I don’t know much about undying love proclamations, but do go on about this snogging into oblivion business, please.”

James drops his head, sucks on the pulse that jumps beneath the skin of her neck. “Oblivion. Abyss. A whole lot of glittering darkness,” he confesses. “And since this witch resembled you—”

“Remarkably,” she moans, soft.

“Remarkably, of course—I thought it only proper to inform you of such an occurrence, y’know, for reputation’s sake. You’ve got that Head Girl image to maintain. Can’t have imposters of you running around making out with the Head Boy. Doesn’t look too good, to be honest. And I’m saying this purely out of selflessness, of course. If, on the other hand, you were to shed some light on this act and admit to...I don’t know...a lack of an imposter, it would mean a whole other thing—”

Lily slams him back against the wall, hand shoving his chest, mouth dangerously close to his. “Shut up, you’re rambling.” She smirks. “Just kiss me.”

And almost as if unable to sustain any patience to allow him to follow the directive, her lips crush over his in a kiss that somehow burns through his every molecule, scorching the very skin he wears, rivalling even the best kiss he’s ever had in his life, which was, incidentally, shared with the same person naught but two hours ago. Lily’s hand curls over his collar, twisting the fabric, giving her purchase to devour him alive. He reciprocates with a tightening grip on her waist, tilting her jaw, slipping his tongue inside to brush over the warm wetness of hers. A mad rush of breath, of gliding mouths and hands and softly uttered moans passes between them, the air under the cloak sweltering despite the cold outside.

Eventually, James wrenches himself away long enough to get the word out; her name. “Lily.”

“Mm,” she manages, lips on his cheek.

“I’m going to need you to spell it out for me.”

The breathless sincerity of his tone gives her pause, and she pulls back, eyes dark and confused. “What?”

“Do you,” he swallows past the cowardice, the thump of his heart. “Is this happening for real? You actually want...me?”

A beat passes, a long one, and Lily stares and stares and stares. Eventually, a smile spills, and he’s reminded of that abyss; glittering endlessly. “Yeah, James. I want you. Wholly. Fully.” She kisses him again, trails the honey on his lips. “I’m just letting you enjoy this outing with the boys, because once we’re back at the castle…”

She’s trailed off, left him to articulate thoughts. “What then?”

Lily grins, glint of teeth so cruelly delicious that it steals his breath, especially when accompanied by the roll of her hips. “I’ll let you fill in the blank.”

[solomonish]

How To Keep Your Demon Entertained At A Walmart

Congratulations! You've earned yourself a few demon date days up in the human world! But what's this? You have errands to run? Well, we all know these demons can't function without you for more than five minutes....but an entity that's thousands of years old gets a little bored and restless in the hyper-market wasteland of a Walmart...

Nowdateables: coming soon!

Lucifer

if you don't want him getting passive-aggressive about how you should've done this before he got here (yeesh Lucifer some of us have jobs or responsibilities that we can't shove onto our siblings for a day to see our precious mc) then you better be ready to make conversation

definitely not the type to allow you to even think about sending him off so you can get stuff done. he's not even that bothersome, so he'll get offended if you even think about it, but also wouldn't you rather keep him around to reach the top shelves?

basically if you don’t want to keep Lucifer entertained, you have to be the one he needs to keep entertained

do that thing where you roll around on the cart like a skateboard and he’ll be trying to put a stop to it immediately

put random things in your cart that he knows you don’t need and let him take it out and put it back where it belongs

stare him in the eyes as you put that party size brownie mix in your cart then speed walk away. he will come up from an aisle in front of you and silently pluck the box out and take it back. he will come back to see seven boxes of corn dogs and momentarily considers breaking up with you

does not need a treat as a bribe, but will definitely forgive your antics if you bought something from the bakery to snack on as you go home (especially if you did it without him noticing, considering the eagle eye he’s had to have on your cart the whole time)

just don’t have the nerve to complain about the crumbs in your car after that

Mammon

I would say to ask him to scan the area looking for dropped coins on the floor but he'd probably knock down shelves trying to look beneath them so....maybe don't?

also please keep an eye on him or he WILL be shoplifting. human jail is (probably?) a step up from demon jail but like. let's aim for no jail, ok mammon?

instead, give him a pre-portioned off list and tell him it's like a scavenger hunt. he'll scamper off to explore the walmart and his duty to keeping you happy has like a 70% chance of preventing him from stealing anything too important

make sure the stuff you put on the list is kind of hard to find but not too hard. you wanna keep him occupied without risking him freaking out because he can't find this super specific spice you want

either that or only make a really vague list like. tell him you need bread and he'll stand in the bread aisle trying to remember if you like white bread or whole wheat bread until you come to retrieve him

bring money for a treat. if it's near st patrick's day go in the seasonal aisle and hope they have chocolate gold coins

he's not too hard to deal with, but figuring out what's sneaky enough to put on the list is a chore of its own so going by yourself is less work anyway

Leviathan

taking him to walmart was your final fatal mistake

seriously? he has to go in? you could have just left him in the car!!

you take him intending to have him pick out some normie snacks (since you don't have any limited edition whatever-the-fucks in your house right now) but he looks so uncomfortable you make a detour towards the games

just leave him to play on the trial device and go pick out a few things for him to choose from when you circle back to him

arguable the least stressful trip for you until you have to wade through the pool of kids surrounding him and watching him play when it's time to pay and leave

you won't have to buy him anything but you will have to wait for him to finish the level he's on before he lets you drag him away. and he'll probably complain a little bit in the car about how terrible it was to go in in the first place, which a treat would help minimize.

so i guess just pick your battles with this one?

Satan

satan is a refined individual with startling amounts of self control. he does not need pointed in the direction of the books. he can entertain himself on a grocery run.

point him in the direction of the books anyway

their selection is always small (because it’s a walmart not a bookstore) and half of it is children’s anyway so he’ll probably wander off real quick

satan doesn’t need to be entertained, no, he’s past that. he needs to be kept on a leash

you have no way of knowing where he’ll end up. sometimes he’ll be somewhere that makes sense like in the stationary but sometimes you’ll find him staring at the paint samples like it’s a masterpiece in a museum or over by the fishing hooks reading up about local fish populations and how to get a fishing license and you’re just like “???? i’ve been looking for you for twenty minutes???? don’t give me facts about salmon???”

will ask you why you need to buy tires in the same place you get your food. isn’t that suspicious? what do they specialize in?

answer him only with the word “bargains” and he’ll stop asking once he understands or gets annoyed

you don’t need to buy him a treat unless he finds a book he wants. then come on mc, you dragged him out here and you’re NOT gonna let him get this one thing??

Asmodeus

he's fine with making an errand run with you actually!

he's up on the human world for you baby, just make sure to hold his hand so he feels appreciated

asmo is far too entertained with the concept of a walmart for his own good. don't go with him if you want it to be a quick trip because he'll want to go around the whole store

thinks at first that it's kind of nifty that humans just dump all the things they need in one store but is quickly turned off from the novelty when he realizes how short the distance is between the clothes and the nearest package of raw chicken

even if the selection is small, he will want to spend time in the makeup department. probably goes on rants about how he can’t imagine this quality of product is good for your skin

will still buy nail polish though if you let him

overall? not terrible to have around, but make sure you don’t have anywhere to be in the next hour when you take him

Beelzebub

pack a gallon bag of cheerios like he's a toddler and get ready to fucking book it in and out of there

you know how you should never go grocery shopping when you’re hungry? what were you thinking bringing Beel around??

another brother who’s good for reaching tall shelves if you need it

Beel also has this talent where he can just list off the ingredients you need if you happen to forget your list

if you want, you can distract him momentarily by just throwing out random dishes and he’ll get the ingredients right every time (even though they’re human dishes!!) but you’ll end up giving him like five different cravings by the time you leave

only take him if you want to speedrun grocery shopping, because he will start eating food you haven’t paid for if you take too long

bring extra money for that too, just in case he gets caught :(

Belphegor

bringing belphie to walmart isn't a matter of keeping him entertained moreso than keeping him awake

which you will inevitably fail to do

so even if you only need like three things, get him a cart and let him fall into the basket

he’ll try to stay awake (and he’ll give very self-satisfied grins to the people who stare at him ((and especially the ones who say “wow i wanna do that”))) but he can only fight off his sin for so long

stop by the blankets so he can stuff a few soft things in (bc he’s gotta be uncomfortable cramped in the little basket) and he’ll make himself a tiny nest

the good news is you can put anything on top of him and he won’t complain. just don’t drop any gallons of milk on him or anything that’ll wake him up

go to a self check-out so the employees don’t yell at you

after you put your groceries in your car, just dump his ass on the pavement. he’ll forgive you if you bought him the blankets.

[nincompoopydoo]

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— HYMN OF THE LOVESICK ; PART 5 / ?

( gif from this beautiful gifset by @knightwayne )

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 2k

SUMMARY: Alfred definitely knows something about Bruce that you’re not willing to think about and Bruce has an epiphany that changes the way he sees you.

A/N: Guess who forgot which day pbr is usually posted? This idiot here. God, I’m sorry and this chapter can be boring. Next chapter will have a lot more going on, I promise. Also, this might end in the next chapter or two. Enjoy, folks.

WARNINGS: Kinda dramatic because I’m dramatic.

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

Driving through the Wayne estate gives you a sense of much-needed peace. The never-ending tunnel with walls of identical colossal pine trees as you faintly hum to Aretha Franklin over the low whirring of the running engine. It’s a quarter to noon, and the sun doesn’t seem to shine in the city of Gotham—clouds of grey constantly shield its optimum shine, only to ever allow rays to seep through the gaps in the moving Autumn wind. You don’t mind it and you never did, growing up in the city left clouds unnoticed to you unless it signified the arrival of a thunderstorm. Weather and nature are the least of your concerns but you would appreciate it now and then.

The tunnel of trees comes to an end as a clearing of extensive fields emerges into view. What is left of the Wayne Manor still stands with ostentation, despite its skeleton along with its dignity rotting away to be eventually consumed by mother nature herself. There’s a sense of eeriness to it; you find it odd how a building could seem so alive at times, like it's watching you, despite its apparent decay.

You turn your head away and focus on the road.

A glance at your hand on the wheel, you’re reminded of last night, when his hands held yours—it burns at the mere thought of his gentle touch. And the drive home, silent with the occasional glances and small smiles. You recall how the passing streetlights cascade hues of orange on his wearied expression and how his eyes were bright when they flit to your figure in the passenger seat for just a moment. Something must have changed between the two of you, but you can’t quite tell what. Maybe it’s your undying love for Bruce. Maybe he feels the same way. You snort to yourself, alone in your car, one can only dream but it doesn’t mean they all come true. Bruce may love but he doesn’t commit. You can’t commit too. Now, you’re starting to believe you’ve been lying to yourself.

The glasshouse comes into view as you steer around the bending road and into the driveway. It contradicts everything the manor was but only shared its sense of glory. You like the glasshouse, less deafening and structured with the purpose of bareness and vulnerability but its dark furnishings keep it grounded and secure. Its sense of balance tricks your mind into thinking you’re stable. His car is still around, parked by the porch but you don’t see him, ambling around the household.

Switching off the ignition, you snatch the paper bag from the passenger seat and clamber out of the car. Darker clouds begin rolling from afar, your hair flying in the strong wind. A storm is coming, you’re sure of it. One of the rare times it rains during the season. You dread the thought of having to drive back into the city and across Westward Bridge. Driving over bridges built over the water in the rain scares the heck out of you.

As you swing the car door to a close, you hear the shuffling of feet amongst leaves behind you. Alfred, with a barrel of chopped wood—stocking up for the winter. There’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes albeit startled by your sudden presence. He mentions your name with endearment; you greet him with a small smile. You always liked Alfred. You enjoyed his company.

“What a pleasant surprise seeing you here,” he says, pushing the barrel aside as he nears you. “I’m afraid you just missed Bruce. He left for Metropolis an hour ago—duty calls.”

You nod, ignoring the clench in your heart. He hadn’t told you anything but frankly, you weren’t expecting him to anyway.

“Well, I just came by to drop off this,” You lift the paper bag, swaying it a little within your grasp. “As a thank you gift, you know.” Alfred smiles at this, gestures towards the house in a beckoning manner. “Come on in, I’ll make you some tea.” Before you could even protest, he’s gently guiding you to the door by the shoulder. It’s hard to say no to Alfred, especially when he offers tea.

-

Your mind wonders as you watch the drizzle of rain form ripples in the lake. You sit on a chair with a contemporary structure to it; it digs into your lower back, due to your bad posture. Uncomfortable but nice-looking and great armrests. Contradicts everything a chair should be. Alfred emerges from the kitchen with a black ceramic mug in hand, steam from the brewed tea lingering above it. He holds an identical mug, for himself. With two hands, you clasp onto the mug with acceptance, a radiant appreciative smile upon your lips. “Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.” Alfred shoots you a look of disdain, “I’ve told you many times, Alfred is fine.” Taking a sip, you shake your head, a smile still lingering. “No way. I have too much respect for you to call you by your first name.” Alfred mirrors you, settling for the chair to your right, swiftly sliding the scatter of papers to the corner of the table. You find it easy to fall into a natural conversation with the older man—the two of you are mutuals after all of a certain billionaire. Yet, Alfred is more of a father figure, having practically raised Bruce and you, well, it’s complicated. It always is. You don’t know where you stand in his life, and you're not sure if you want to know.

“Anyway, where have you been? I haven’t seen you in weeks.” It’s true. The usual sight of the butler sauntering around the glasshouse or somewhere in the Wayne Estate was absent during the last two weeks. Alfred is always around, his disappearance was glaring, impossible to go unnoticed.

He shifts in his seat, placing his mug on the table, teaspoon moving with a soft clang. “I was visiting family back in England. I appreciate that you have noticed my absence,” An eyebrow raises, your laugh comes out more like a huff. “Always, Mr. Pennyworth.”

Family. Mother. Dinner—you remember the dinner with your mother on Sunday night, and you’re the host. The host hasn't decided on the menu for tomorrow’s meal. Oh God, it’s tomorrow. Procrastination is your friend but your family’s expectations for you aren't. If you pop enough wine bottles, maybe she'll be too drunk to be disappointed by the end of the night.

And the wedding. The mere thought makes you sick. You don’t want to bring a date, but you don’t want to be alone. Weddings, love, couples—it makes you tick. It’s a glaring reminder of how your love life is an absolute disaster and your inability to maintain relationships. It’s hopeless, you’ll die a spinster and everyone lives happily ever after.

“Are you alright?”

It’s funny how those three words have been the most frequent words you would hear from those around you. You appreciate the concern, really, but you can’t help but feel there’s a stronger and deeper meaning to those words. It’s a question of assurance, a reality check, and a realization that you might be broken. Everyone is broken—in their own ways.

Although you seem reserved to some people, your tendency to open up about your issues to those close to you contradicts that though you instantly regret it. Especially when people tell you to change. You hate change. It’s terrifying.

You pause, suddenly feeling...fidgety. Yet, in the words of Bruce: In Alfred, you trust.

Remember, keep it light. You don’t want to haul all this luggage of yours onto an aging man. He’s already got Bruce’s luggage.

“My cousin’s getting married in two weeks and,” you sigh, he listens intently. “And as pathetic as this sounds, I really don’t want to go to it alone.”

Your words are direct, straightforward and you sound like a whiny teenager or the main character in a Wattpad story but truth be told, there’s an underlying meaning to it and you know, Alfred knows it. You just don’t want to admit it.

He takes a beat, assessing your sentence like he’s a therapist, wanting to select his words carefully. “Well, I don’t think you’re pathetic. It’s...understandable,” he flashes you a pointed look and you find yourself straightening your back. “Why don’t you ask Bruce?”

Your brain must have short-circuited at that moment.

Oh, hell no. Not in a million years.

You’re shaking your head, laughing nervously. “No, no. No. Never. I couldn’t possibly ask him to do that. He’s already done so much for me—”

“You’ve done a lot for him too.”

A pause, words stuck in your throat. You just look at Alfred through confused eyes. You’re not sure what that means. He’s staring at you with a knowing look. You sigh, shaking your head in denial once more. “No, that’s...that’s not true.”

It’s almost infuriating how stubborn you can be sometimes that it’s even irritating yourself. You’re staring at your fingers, playing with the tag attached to the teabag by a thread. As far as you’re concerned, Bruce is...the greatest friend you’ve ever had. Through thick and thin, he’s been there for you. He’s always there. It’s partly the reason why you have fallen for him in the first place. Hard. He’s easy to love when he wears his heart on his sleeve. It’s rare but it’s beautiful. You almost feel ashamed to be allowed to see him in that light.

“Bruce will do just about anything for you,” Alfred says calmly as he watches you avoid eye contact. “And I know, you’ll do the same for him.” You throw your eyes at the older man as he cops you a look. Your heart is beating so fast, so thunderous, you hear it in your ears. He’s right and you know it. That accidental kiss to your forehead on the night you asked him to come for the play comes back to mind in a flash. It feels like a mark on your forehead, it feels like it’s burning.

“Would you like a scone with that?” He’s pointing to your tea and with that, he’s off to the kitchen once more, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

-

It’s late—a quarter to four in the morning. He spends most of his nights in the Batcave, hidden away from all the sounds and tumult of the world, shrouded in the darkness as the light of the computer screen cascades on his tired eyes. He ambles through the glasshouse, weary feet against hardwood floors, body begging to lay on grey sheets though he dreads a vacant bed.

He strains his eyes peering into the gloom when he perceives a paper bag, sitting idly on the table by the window. Nearing it, there’s a yellow post-it note stuck onto the bag and under the gentle light from the moon that reflects against the lake, he can make out words written on it.

It’s from you.

Thanks for coming to the play. I would have bought you something else, but I’m really broke. Sorry. I owe you one.

A drawn heart follows it. It’s tiny. His chest feels warm.

He should have recognized the paper bag because inside, there are four bagels. Four Asiago bagels. He laughs, it comes out more like a puff of hot air, feeling the warmth that resides in his chest spreading throughout his body.

Then, it hits him like a bullet to the heart. The impact is strong, powerful. Your impact on him is strong, powerful. There’s no mystery to his feelings for you but at this moment, he’s completely certain. For the first time in life.

He loves you.

Bruce staggers into the chair, hand carding back the strands of his hair. He can’t keep doing this to you. Whatever the hell is going on. Your friendship, the...stupid agreement. He wants none of it because it feels like he’s constantly going around in circles.

But what do you really want, Bruce?

TAGLIST

@raineeace

[maria-scribbles]

we’re just like kevin bacon!

prompt: for @bricksatanakinswindow​ ‘s halloween writing challenge! this was initially inspired by "mortal enemies accidentally showing up in matching costumes every fucking year" but once i started writing it kind of snowballed from there and i ended up with this lmao

ship: jj maybank x fem!reader

word count: 4.6k+ (i think this is the shortest thing i’ve ever written lol)

warnings n stuff: childhood enemies to lovers, swearing, mention of underage drinking, halloween shenanigans, makin' out, smut (not too explicit but i still think it's spicy enough to need an 18+ warning), jj and the reader being cute lil nerds and quoting movies back and forth, the author blatantly using some of her personal favorite movies/shows as inspiration for costumes, the author also making her opinions on ghostbusters clear (instead of the human trash can peter venkman, stan the adorable dork known as ray stantz for clear skin)

a/n: this was hella fun to write and i already have so many more halloween fic ideas bouncing around in my head (it's spoopy season, y'all!). title of this fic comes from guardians of the galaxy 😊

Of three things in life you were certain.

One, you loved Halloween more than any other holiday of the year; after all, you and your twin brother Mason were born just after one AM on October 31st so you could say a penchant for all things spooky was in your blood.

Two, Sarah Cameron was your best friend. Being neighbors your whole lives, the two of you were thick as thieves and spent almost every day together, much to the annoyance of both your brother and hers; as much as you loved Mason, sometimes you wished Sarah was your twin instead of him and you knew without question the blonde girl would trade Rafe for you in a heartbeat (with little to no guilt, in fact.). 

And three, you absolutely hated JJ Maybank. You'd been at the top of each other's shit lists ever since you were both six years old, when he made fun of you for the stutter you'd had back then and you dumped a full milkshake over his head as payback, and even as time passed and you grew out of your stutter, your disdain for the blond pogue only grew stronger. He was infuriating, plain and simple, and the mere mention of his name made steam come out of your ears. 

The boy was just good at being annoying and seemed to love pushing everyone's buttons, yours especially, and always found ways to get under your skin without fail every single time your paths crossed (which was way too often for your liking, but running in the same friend group made it hard to avoid each other). It became an unspoken thing, the great Y/L/N-Maybank feud, with both of you trying your hardest to piss the other off until one of your mutual friends or your brother broke it up and pulled you to opposite corners of the metaphorical ring to take a breather before the next round.

You'd never admit it but deep down you kind of liked it. You liked being at the center of his attention (granted, it was antagonistic in nature but it was attention all the same), his bright blue eyes following your every move whenever you were within his sights and you liked that you were in his thoughts even when you weren't around, a fact proven to you by the tiny notebook Kiara carried around in her pocket recording how many times he mentioned your name. Knowing you lived rent free in his mind brought you an embarrassingly high level of satisfaction that you'd absolutely deny feeling if anyone ever asked, just as you'd deny the fact that he lived rent free in your mind, too.

...At least for most of the year. Everyone, including JJ, knew that to you Halloween was a damn-near sacred time. He knew never to mess with you during the weeks leading up to the holiday and definitely never on the day itself, lest he want yet another milkshake dumped over his blond head. He knew that, the whole damn island knew he did and yet...somehow, some way, he managed to get your blood boiling every. single. year. And you, like a masochistic idiot, let him. 

It all started when you were twelve.

You, Mason, and your friends were finally old enough to go to the annual youth party held on the sprawling lawn of the Island Club, an event you'd been looking forward to attending every Halloween since you were eight. Of course, you were excited for the dancing and games and food but the thing you couldn't wait the most for was the costume contest, a chance to show off your skills and prove to everyone on the island that Y/N Y/L/N was the undisputed queen of Halloween.

So what if your hopes were a little too high (considering you were only twelve and going up against kids ranging from your age to fifteen), you were still gonna give it your all; you spent weeks perfecting not only your costume but your brother's as well with your mom, helping her cut fabric and sew zippers, styling wigs and painting props until everything was perfect. 

"Oh my God, Y/N!" Sarah, dressed as Cinderella, yelled from the passenger seat of her dad's SUV when they swung by to pick you up. "You look amazing!"

"So do you!" You said, slipping into the back seat in between a miserable-looking Rafe as Sarah Sanderson ("I lost a bet," he explained with a scowl) and Mason, holding your mini R2-D2 on your lap. Was it kind of cheesy, dressing up as the most iconic twins in movie history? Probably, but you really didn't care because Leia Organa was a total boss bitch and Mason was practically over the moon that he got to be his ultimate silver screen hero and swing around his very own lightsaber as Luke Skywalker.

"The Force is strong with you two." Ward joked, earning an eye roll from both of his children as he drove to the Island Club to drop you off. Rafe immediately disappeared into the crowd to meet up with Topper and Kelce and the three of you went off to find your own friends, skirting around the edge of the party toward the snack tables, also known as the most likely place for them to be.  

You spotted Kiara first, looking like an actual princess in her Tiana costume and waved, smiling when she waved back and beckoned you over as she said something to Pope, dressed as Albert Einstein, that made him start laughing hysterically.

"What's so funny?" You asked, reaching between them to grab two handfuls of pretzels and immediately dropping one into your brother's outstretched palm, careful to keep the sleeve of your white dress away from the bright orange-iced cupcakes on the table. 

The two of them exchanged a look that instantly made you realize something was Up™ but before either of them could answer, Mason asked around a mouthful of pretzels, "Where're Tweedledee and Tweedledum?"

"J, why didn't we think of that?" John B's voice came from somewhere over your shoulder and when you turned to face him, you nearly dropped both the droid cradled in the crook of your elbow and the snacks in your hand. Not because of John B and his hilarious Chewbacca costume but because of the fact that JJ Maybank, the one person you hated the most on the whole entire island, was dressed as Han freakin' Solo. 

"Yikes." Someone muttered behind you -it sounded like Sarah but you weren't really sure- and Mason nearly choked on his pretzels as he tried and failed miserably to keep himself from laughing. 

"You've gotta be kidding me." You huffed, rolling your eyes as JJ crossed his arms and glared in your direction, blaster hanging from the holster on his hip.

"Listen, Princess, I'm not too happy about this, either."

"Oh, shut up, you nerfherder."

"Who you calling-" Mason and John B cut in and pulled you both in opposite directions before either of you could turn it into a shouting match, your brother physically grabbing you around the waist and carrying you off while the latter caught the back of JJ's vest and dragged him away. Despite their best efforts to keep you apart, you ran into each other more times than you could count and spent a minute or two squabbling like cats and dogs each time until one of them intervened once again. It was childish, it was immature, and it was fun, even though you'd never, ever admit it. Ever.

You didn't win the costume contest that year in the way you'd imagined at all. Still, first place in the group category was a win in your book and it felt good, even if one of the members of your unintentional Star Wars posse was someone who tested every bit of patience you had. The four of you split the cash prize and you went home 25 bucks richer, stashing it away for next year's costume and pushing the thought of accidentally matching with your mortal enemy from your mind. 

You had no idea this thing was only just beginning.

The next year, you let Sarah and Kiara convince you to match with them and the three of you rolled up to the party as the Pink Ladies -you as Rizzo, Sarah as Sandy, Kiara as Frenchy- only to run right into the boys, your brother included, dressed as the T-Birds. John B, perfectly in character as Danny, immediately whisked Sarah off to dance while Pope, the most adorably awkward Doody you'd ever seen, went to grab some snacks with Kiara, leaving you stuck with the bane of your existence as, of course, fucking Kenickie (Mason, as Sonny, dipped sometime before then without you noticing). The two of you spent the whole evening glaring at each other and hurling insults back and forth at breakneck speed, more in character than either of you'd ever want to acknowledge and for the second year in a row, you won first place in the group costume category.

At fourteen, you went as Princess Buttercup and JJ showed up as Westley, fake sword in hand as he followed you around all night like an annoying fly, sarcastically drawling "as you wish" every time you so much as glanced in his direction. Your brother, dressed as Inigo Montoya, nearly pissed himself laughing and you wanted to snatch both of their prop swords and shove them up their asses. You came in first again in the group costume contest and begrudgingly split the prize three ways. 

At fifteen, you worked hard on a Dr. Ellie Sattler costume from Jurassic Park, he strolled in as a disheveled Dr. Alan Grant with mud splattered boots and tattered clothes, and you really regretted not taking the offer to be the Tai to Sarah's Cher and Kiara's Dionne. Once again, Mason laughed so hard his face turned red and you were tempted to grab the sword he was holding and beat him over the head with it, not just for laughing at you but also for the completely atrocious Jack Sparrow costume he wore. To your absolute horror, you and JJ won the contest in the duo category and you wanted to melt into the ground when they called you onto the makeshift stage to collect your reward. 

When you were sixteen, you and your friends "graduated" to the party held for the older teens inside the club itself. With costume rules a little more lax than they were for the younger kids, you decided to go as (an only slightly sexy) Janine Melnitz, complete with a prop telephone you answered every so often with a loud "Ghostbusters, whaddya want?!" much to the embarrassment of Mason, who was once again dressed as Luke Skywalker, this time in the fatigues he wore while training on Dagobah in The Empire Strikes Back.

You strutted into the party in your heels and pencil skirt only to nearly fall flat on your face when you caught sight of JJ in a terrible black wig and glasses, proton pack strapped to his back and 'Spengler' printed on the front of his jumpsuit. Your brother winced when you all but screeched "Again?!" right into his ear and grabbed your elbow, dragging you over to an empty table and depositing you into an open chair.

"There's no way this is a coincidence anymore! He could've picked Venkman, with all the womanizing and lowkey being a creep and thinking he's God's gift to mankind? It would've been the perfect choice! He's not nearly adorable or dorky enough to be Stantz or sassy enough to be Winston-"

"Jesus, you have a lot of feelings about Ghostbusters," Mason muttered, rolling his eyes when you shot him a withering glare.

"Shut up! Listen to me, there's no way in hell Maybank randomly decided to be, out of alllll the 'Busters, Egon fuckin' Spengler, okay? He had to have somehow known I was coming as Janine and did it just to piss me off!"

Your brother heaved a deep, heavy sigh that made you want to smack him and fixed you with a deadpan stare. "Or, have you pulled your head out of your own ass long enough to think that maybe you're just becoming...predictable?"

You really did smack him then, hard on his exposed shoulder and he yelped, scowling as he rubbed at the red mark you left behind. "Ow! What the hell, bitch?!"

"Don't you dare call me predictable, you dickhead! I pride myself on my costumes being very unique and unexpected -you know, out of the box!"

"Hate to break it to you but they're not really out of the box if Maybank shows up in a matching one every single year." He said with an infuriating, shit-eating grin, patting your shoulder before straightening the plush Yoda strapped to his back. "I'm gonna go get some food, wanna come with?"

Still miffed at his comment, you shoved his arm away and glanced down at your lap, ignoring your brother's sassy "your loss" as he headed toward the snack tables. Not even a minute passed by before his empty seat was taken and you groaned when you looked up to see who it was, your eyes meeting a pair of bright blues behind tacky, oversized glasses. 

"Hi, Janine."

"...Egon."

The two of you sat in silence after that, watching the dancing crowd under the flashing neon lights and sparkling disco ball until you saw him turn to face you out of the corner of your eye.

"Why Janine?" 

"Huh?" You turned to face him, too, one eyebrow raised in a perfect arch as he gestured toward your costume.

"Why did you dress up as Janine, Y/L/N?"

"I've always liked her sassiness and 'I like to play racquetball.'" You offered a casual shrug of your shoulders and carefully stuck a finger under your wig to scratch an annoying itch above your ear. "Why'd you pick Egon, Maybank?"

"He's my favorite." He answered simply with his own shrug, shooting you a genuine, real smile that you, for who knows what reason, found yourself returning without a second thought. "Smart, hilarious -plus, 'I like to collect spores, mold, and fungus.'"

For the first time in your life, your eyes rolled out of amusement and not annoyance at something that JJ Maybank said and, to your complete surprise, it kind of felt...right. "Really? I'd have pegged you for a Venkman stan."

"Are you kidding? He's the worst!" 

Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think you'd sit across from your hated enemy, not only having a civil -hell, downright enjoyable- conversation but actually smiling right along with him, laughing at his jokes and doing your best to ignore the sudden flutter in your stomach each time you caught sight of his slightly crooked teeth when he grinned. You didn't even notice when your brother returned with Kiara, dressed as Moana, at his side and two heaping plates of snacks in his hands until his chair scraped gratingly across the hardwood floor. 

"Kie, are you seeing this? Pigs must be flying 'cause they're actually smiling at each other." Mason said, cackling as Kiara turned to squint out the window.

"Yeah, I think I see one or two soaring around out there." She giggled and sent a mischievous wink in your direction. With your face feeling like it was on fire, you flipped them both the bird and took off, disappearing into the crowd and leaving all your traitorous, confusing thoughts about JJ behind with the boy himself; it was Rafe's last party at the Club and he owed you a dance anyway, but even as your best friend's older brother, cute as hell in his Thor costume, playfully twirled you around the floor to the Ghostbusters theme song, you felt more than your partner's blue eyes on you.

To no one's surprise, you and JJ won the duo category for the second year in a row and when you joined him onstage to collect your prize and didn't feel like you'd rather die than be up there by his side, you suddenly realized you were only certain about two things in life instead of three. 

At seventeen, you were confident you and JJ wouldn't be matching for once (after last year, though, you were kind of thinking it wouldn't be that bad of a thing). You'd gone cult classic for your costume, pulling inspiration from your mom's favorite move, 1999's The Mummy, and put together a screen-accurate Evelyn Carnahan in her iconic black dress, including a handmade Book of the Dead and matching key. You blackmailed Mason with pictures of him, drunk as a skunk and dressed in your Janine costume from the previous year, and got him to go as Jonathan, complete with a pith helmet and prop bottle of The Glenlivet.  

But, as always, JJ managed to surprise you. You literally ran right into his chest and if it wasn't for his arms instantly wrapping tight around your waist, you would've bit it hard.

"Whoa, careful there," He said, one hand keeping you close while the other moved to help you hold the book in your arms. "'The Book of the Dead? Are you sure you wanna be messing around with this thing?'"

Of course he'd make the perfect Rick O'Connell, you thought as you playfully raised one eyebrow and curled your fingers around the strap of the gun holster draped over his shoulder. "'It's just a book. No harm ever came from reading a book.'"

Mason was a little too in character as well as he dramatically rolled his eyes and wandered off, muttering "puh-lease" under his breath and shooting Sarah a conspiratorial wink that you didn't see. The blonde girl glanced between the two of you -arms still around each other and identical smiles on your faces- and grinned. The party flew by in a blur of movie quotes, laughs, and more dances than you could count and by the time you made it home, 50 bucks in the pocket of your dress and another group costume win under your belt, you were almost positive you never actually hated JJ Maybank in the first place.

Now at eighteen, you pulled out all the stops for your last party at the Island Club. You'd spent the last few months slaving over your costume, sewing custom pieces, hand-crafting your prop, and spending way too much money on body makeup and a wig but when you saw the final product in the mirror, you knew it was all worth it. You were ready to slay the competition this year and take home first place for the final time.

Mason, indifferent as always about the contest but willing to do anything to keep those pictures from seeing the light of day, didn't protest one bit when you forced him into the matching costume you'd made for him -in typical Mason fashion, he liked that he didn't have to wear a shirt and could show off his muscles- and spent a few hours perfecting his makeup.

You felt on top of the world when you walked into the party that night as Gamora, a replica of her Godslayer sword in hand and skin painted a perfect shade of green, followed by your brother as Drax, already flexing for anyone and everyone looking his way. The rest of your friends came to win as well: John B and Sarah as Flynn Rider and Rapunzel, Kiara as Eleven, Pope as T'Challa, and, of course, JJ as Peter Quill, Baby Groot perched on his shoulder and twin blasters at his hips. 

"Lookin' good, Gamora!" He called over the music, shimmying his way over to you with some dance moves that would impress Star-Lord himself.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Quill." You replied in a sing-song voice, even as you took his outstretched hand and let him pull you into the crowd of bodies hopping up and down to some terrible EDM beat under the twirling disco ball.

"It got you out here with me, didn't it?"

You rolled your eyes and hooked the sword to your belt before stepping closer and draping your arms around his neck, twirling your painted fingers in his hair. "Just remember, 'I know who you are, Peter Quill. And I'm not some starry-eyed waif here to succumb to your pelvic sorcery.'"

You should've known you spoke too soon the second you saw the spark in JJ's eyes that all but screamed 'wanna bet?'

And that's how you found yourself in the middle of the single hottest make out session you'd ever had the pleasure of participating in an hour later: back pressed against the locked door of someone's deserted office, legs wrapped tight around his waist and his hands hooked under your ass, both your sword and his blasters abandoned on the floor at his feet, and he was either a sinfully good kisser or trying really, really hard to blow your mind.  

"I'm not gonna end up green after this, am I?" He mumbled against your mouth before trailing his lips along your jaw and you breathed a laugh, tightening your grip on his hair.

"This is professional makeup, dumbass. It's gonna take more than some kissing to smudge it."

"I'm down for some smudging if you are." 

You pulled him back for another kiss in response and gasped into his mouth when he walked across the room, one strong arm reaching out to sweep whatever was on the desk to the floor before setting you down on it.

"Confident, are we?" 

JJ smirked at your breathless question and the way you hooked your ankles around the backs of his thighs to pull him closer. "So is that a yes to the smudging?"

"Just shut up and kiss me." 

He did -very well, you might add- and you kissed him back, untangling your hands from his hair to slide them under his jacket instead; you helped him push it off his shoulders and it had barely hit the ground along with poor Baby Groot before your fingers were tugging his shirt from the waistband of his pants.  

"Someone's impatient." He teased, leaning back just far enough to let you pull it over his head and toss it somewhere behind you.

"Someone doesn't know how to stop talking." You whispered your reply low in his ear and then trailed your lips down his neck, smiling in satisfaction at the tremble in his voice when you kissed the purple mark you'd left behind earlier.

"N-never was very good at that." 

"'You should've learned.'"

"'I don't learn, it's one of my issues.'"

One of his hands gripped your wig, pulling your head back a little roughly -you'd have so been into that if it had been your real hair he pulled- and you winced at the way the bobby pins holding it it place tugged painfully at your roots. "Ow, not so hard!"

"Wait, what the fuck? I thought you were wearing a wig!" 

"I am but it's still pinned to my actual hair!"

"Sorry, but how the hell was I supposed to know that?"

The sight of JJ's face slowly turning red made the butterflies in your stomach go haywire and so you just shook your head, mumbling "don't worry about it," before pressing your lips to his once again. He was gentler this time with the pulling and you dug your nails into his bare shoulders at the thrill of his mouth against the exposed column of your throat, leaning back further and further until you laid flat on the desk.

His fingers had just unbuttoned your pants when your phone started to ring from your pocket, blaring the Star Wars theme you had set as your twin's ringtone. 

"Mason's timing is impeccable," JJ said sarcastically, chuckling as you clamped a palm over his mouth and answered the call.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Jesus, no need to be pissy!" Mason loudly replied over the applause crackling through the phone's speaker. "I just thought you'd like to know that we just won best group costume with Maybank. Again." 

The blond winked at the mention of his last name and pulled your hand away from his mouth, pinning it to the desk beside you with one of his while the other started tugging your pants down over your hips.

"Oh, that's cool, Mase-" You inhaled sharply when his lips touched the edge of your underwear, so close to where you wanted him most but at the same time so far away, and your fingers held your phone in a white-knuckled grip. "But I-I'm kind of in the middle of doing someone -something!- right now."

"Smooth," JJ said, not even trying to be quiet as he released your pinned hand to finish pulling your boots off, along with your tight leather pants that he casually tossed aside. "And I knew you weren't green under these!" 

Your laugh quickly turned into a gasp when his fingers hooked under your panties and pulled those off, too, and the touch of his tongue against the skin of your inner thigh sent white-hot lightning racing through your veins; the phone slipped from your grip, falling with a clunk onto the desk as your fingers tangled in his hair and he lifted one of your knees over his shoulder.

"Okay, I'm hanging up now! I already know you're getting laid but I don't need to hear it." Mason's loud grumble drifted up through the speaker and if you weren't so preoccupied with the boy between your thighs doing some downright wicked things to you with his mouth, you might've noticed that your brother didn't actually sound that grumpy before he ended the call and your phone's screen went dark, right as you lost control of your voice.

"Fuck me."

"Funny, I thought that's what I was doing?" You felt more than heard his response against you and a shiver ran down your spine when his bright blue eyes flicked up to met yours in the dim light of the office.

"You know what I meant, Maybank."

"Trust me, Y/L/N, I know. Question is: where do you want me?"

You tugged on his hair, grinning wolfishly at the way his eyes fluttered closed and a low moan rose from his throat. "Everywhere in this damn room, starting right here."

"I was hoping you’d say that.”

- Back at the party, Mason looked up and met Sarah's gaze, both of her eyebrows raised expectantly as she asked, "Well?"

He took his time slipping his phone back into his pocket before giving her a quick nod, grinning triumphantly when she immediately burst into gleeful giggles.  

"Yes! I just knew they had a thing for each other! Mortal enemies, my ass."

"I think that was the very first time in my sister's life that she didn't give a shit about the contest." Mason said and reached over to snag a cookie from her plate, chuckling when she pushed his hand away from the chocolate chip ones and toward the peanut butter. "We couldn't have pulled this off without you. I mean, making sure they showed up in matching costumes every year? Genius, Sarah. Absolutely genius." 

The blonde girl grabbed her own cookie with a wink. "Think they'll ever figure it out?"

Your brother just threw his head back and laughed. "I hope not! I wanna save that story for my best man speech at their wedding."

taglist: @sinkbeneathwaves @cordeliascrown @maysbanks @jjpogueprincess @jiaraendgame @alexa-playafricabytoto @sexualparkour @agirlwholovescoffee​ 

[blueskrugs]

That Don’t Sound Like You | Brock Boeser

title and inspiration come from the Lee Brice song of the same name. I like country music, okay? takes place roughly September 2015-August 2019. all games and other teammates are accurate.

because @captainkreider​ said “what if you write this for Brock” and I immediately had to rethink my priorities on who I will and will not write for. and then this happened. 

length: 4.7 words 

Girl, I’m glad you called

You met Brock early in your freshman year at University of North Dakota. He was always surrounded by people, popular and charismatic, even as a slightly awkward 18-year-old, but it seemed like he could, and would, talk to anyone who would listen.

You found that out for yourself when he plopped down a couple seats from you in some 100 level English lecture before leaning across the empty desk between you to introduce himself.

“I’m Brock,” he said with a grin.

You took a moment to assess him. His blond hair was tucked beneath a backwards snapback, looking every bit like a douche college athlete, but his blue eyes were kind, and his smile seemed genuine. You shot him a quick smile of your own before turning back to your notes.

“I’m Y/N,” you offered. Brock was still watching you closely; you flipped the page of your notebook.

Any further conversation was cut short by your professor coming in, his typical five minutes late. It was already the third week of class, and Brock had never sat near you before, usually choosing to sit more near the back, but you buried your confusion in favor of focusing on the lecture. 

Brock kept sitting next to you, though, would start a conversation with you most days. It was a week and a half before he asked for your phone number, another week before he actually texted you to complain about how he didn’t understand an assigned reading. In the meantime, you’d learned that you hadn’t grown up far from each other in Minnesota– just a couple towns away from each other outside Minneapolis, his favorite color– blue, but only one highly specific shade, and how he’d been drafted by the Canucks but was still trying out the whole college thing.

“So,” Brock started one day in October. You hummed in response, not looking up from your notes– you were trying to review for the test you had after this lecture was over. Brock nudged your elbow, but you still didn’t look up at him. “Hey. Y/N.” Brock was starting to whine now, so you glanced up at him. “So, uh, we have our first home game this Saturday.”

You raised an eyebrow at Brock. He looked nervous, fidgeting with a hoodie string and chewing on his bottom lip. You poked him in the arm with your pen. 

“Got something you wanna say, Boes?”

“Would you, y’know?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, Brock, I don’t know. Spit it out.”

“Do you wanna come to the game?” he finally managed.

Now, UND took hockey as seriously as some colleges took football, and you’d spent more than one conversation with Brock discussing hockey, so he knew you liked it. Of course you’d be at the game on Saturday. But Brock wasn’t asking if you were going as a hockey fan. He was asking if you’d come to see him play.

You grinned, and Brock ducked his head and refused to look at you. His cheeks looked a little pink. You poked him with your pen again, this time just below his ribs, and he squirmed and snatched the pen from your hand. 

“Yeah, Brock, I’ll be there,” you assured him. 

He threw your pen at you. 

Brock scored a hat trick in front of the sold-out crowd and swept you up in his arms outside the arena.

That became the new normal for you two. You went to every home game to watch as Brock tore up the league as one of the best freshmen anyone had ever seen. He’d meet you outside the arena, and you’d end up at a diner with the rest of the team with Brock’s arm draped around your shoulder. The team accepted you into their fold easily enough, teasing and chirping you just as they would any other player. There was time spent alone with Brock, too, or as alone as you could get in a dorm building. It had started under the pretense of studying together, but over time, it usually ended under a pile of blankets and Grey’s Anatomy playing on one of your laptops.

Brock kissed you for the first time in early December, after the team swept the weekend against Denver. It was cold, and his breath brushed across your face in a white cloud when he leaned in, but his lips were warm against yours. 

Not much changed after that, not really, except for the fact that Brock got much less shy about always wanting to be near you or touching you in some way, whether it was your knees pressed against each other beneath a table on a date, or a hand on your hip or linked with yours when you were hanging out with others.

He did trip over his own feet the first time he saw you wearing one of his hoodies, though. 

You surprised Brock in Tampa in April for the Frozen Four finals, where he had the game winning goal, and three more assists to boot. You weren’t sure you had ever seen him smile as big as when you jumped into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist after the game, Stretch and Drake and everyone else still screaming somewhere behind you.

Truck tires on a gravel road Laughing at the world, blasting my radio Cannonballs splashing in the water

Brock called you one afternoon in June, after life had settled down into the lazy days of summer. “What’s up, babe?” you asked, absently throwing a tennis ball for your dog out in the yard.

Brock hesitated. “Do you still wanna come out to the lake with us?”

You had talked about it, a little, back when it was still ungodly cold in North Dakota, and Brock had mentioned that his family was going to try and rent a place on a lake for a week or two in July. It had seemed so far away then, as distant future as graduating or Brock heading off to Vancouver, which feels foolish now, with July creeping closer every day.

“Yeah, of course,” you said.

The two of you talked about the future for the first time that week at Minnetonka, between bets of who could make the biggest splash, or turning up Brock’s playlists as loud as you could, yelling the words to country songs up to the clouds.

Brock wanted to stay at UND another year, use it to develop his game, but he whispered in the dark one night that he was scared of making it all the way to the NHL and not living up to expectations, no longer a bright star, but a supernova, left to fade into nothing. 

You had dreams of your own, too. Graduating and getting a job in a big city, getting away from Minnesota and small towns where everyone knew everyone. California, maybe, or somewhere on the East Coast like D.C.

(Brock had made a face at you for that.)

You realized for the first time, too, that you just might be in love with Brock. You weren’t sure what to do with that realization, though, just tucked your face a little tighter into Brock’s shoulder, tried not to think about what you would do if Brock ever asked you to follow him to Vancouver. You weren’t sure you could give up your life plans for anyone.

July passed with days in the sun and nights near a bonfire, drowning in one of Brock’s hoodies as you sat in his lap under a blanket. You wished you could live in moments like those forever.

Sophomore year was different for both of you. You were busier with classes, and Brock was more focused on hockey than ever, determined not to let his freshman season be a fluke. 

Not that anyone thought it would be.

Brock became an alternate captain. Continued to dominate on the ice, came back stronger after a couple of injuries. Brock Boeser was making a name for himself, and it was only a matter of time before everyone started paying attention.

The day after the team lost to Boston University in double overtime, the defending champs going out on their very first game of the tournament, Brock was home in Minnesota, signing an entry-level contract, and playing his first game as a Vancouver Canuck.

He had kissed you goodbye on Thursday before the team left for Fargo, with an “I love you,” murmured against your lips, his hands tangled in your hair, the promise of “see you soon” unspoken but understood between you.

But you sat on your couch and watched as Brock took to the ice for the team that believed in him against the team he grew up watching, you started to wonder just how soon that would be, and if you’d ever get your Brock back, or if you’d lost his love to the city of Vancouver.

Brock scored a goal that night. You’d always known he would fit right in in Vancouver. 

Brock broke up with you that summer. You had seen it coming, maybe since last July, when you realized that your lives were heading in different directions, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. You were supposed to go up to Minnetonka again, but you never made it that far before he was standing on your doorstep, hands shoved deep in your pockets.

Part of you wanted to insist that you could make the distance work, and maybe you could, maybe Brock thought it, too, but you couldn’t think of the words.

“I love you,” you said instead. 

You dropped a Target bag full of Brock’s things on his parents’ front porch, hoodies and beanies and other things that were too hard to keep, before you headed back to UND for the fall.

You kept in touch some, congratulatory texts (you) or pictures of the weather (him). You received dozens of Snapchats during All-Star Weekend in 2018, especially of the adorable dog he ended up adopting– you had vetoed changing his name from Cider– but you were pretty sure he was sending them to everyone.

Until you got one simply captioned “would be better with you here.” You stared at the picture– the view of Tampa outside his hotel room window– until the time ran out, and it disappeared. Then another came in, and you opened it quickly, unthinkingly. “Not quite like the last time we were in Tampa together tho.”

The only time you’d been to Tampa had been nearly two years before for the Frozen Four.

The picture disappeared again, and you didn’t know how to respond. So you didn’t.

You graduated a semester early and made plans to move to the East Coast and get a job, start your life for real. No one commented on how you were about as far away from Brock and Vancouver as you could get.

You were doing laundry at your parents’ house, packing most of what you owned in your car to move, when you came across a green UND hockey T-shirt. It still smelled a little like Brock, even though it had been buried in your room for years. You spared half a thought to wonder if Brock ever even missed it before you throw it in the washing machine. 

You were surprised, then, when you got a text– a real one, too, not a Snapchat message– from Brock later that summer. You had never responded to those messages he had sent during the All-Star Game, and he had stopped sending things after a while. That had been over a year ago. 

Brock’s message was simple, just a “hey, how have you been?” You wondered if he even knew you moved, and you were immediately suspicious of ulterior motives. 

You left him on read for a couple of hours, before responding, and your message was short, curt. Your suspicions were proved right when he responded within half an hour.

“so” “Some of the guys from UND are coming up north for a couple days” “and they’ve been making some noise about seeing you”

You sighed. You were too tired for playing games, talking coyly, pretending like you were anything more than a couple of exes, practically strangers at this point. You pressed the call button below Brock’s name, realized for the first time that you’d never removed the green heart emoji from his contact. 

“Y/N?” Brock sounded surprised, as if he hadn’t been the one to text you first.

“Why now, Brock?” you asked. Why do you still care, is what you didn’t.

“Stetch won’t shut up about wanting to see you, and some of the other guys picked up the chorus,” Brock said. He sounded as tired as you felt. It may have been years since you had last seen some of his teammates from UND, it certainly sounded like they haven’t changed much. 

You went quiet, chewing on your bottom lip. Brock rushed to fill the silence.

“You don’t have to come. I just- I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have texted, I’m sorry.” His voice faded slightly, like he’d pulled the phone away from his ear to hang up.

And, well, you were going to blame what you said next on the fact that it was well after midnight and that you’d been awake for too many consecutive hours. 

“When is everyone coming up?”

Brock was silent, not even the sound of his breathing coming over the line. You checked to make sure he hadn’t, in fact, ended the call.

“Uh, second week of August,” he finally said.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Brock echoed. You could picture the crease between his eyebrows.

“Yeah, ‘okay.’ I’ll think about it,” you said. 

You didn’t know why you said that.

You didn’t know why you booked a flight to Minneapolis, or why you were actually looking forward to it. Even when Brock texted to warn you that some of his Canucks teammates would be there with the old faces from UND. 

You didn’t know what you were doing as you stood in the entryway of a lake house in Minnesota. Out on the deck, you could see some familiar faces, but you had never felt so out of place in your life. 

This was a bad idea. No, it was a terrible idea. You weren’t in college anymore. These weren’t your friends, your people. They had all moved on with their lives, and so had you. A weekend on a lake in Minnesota would only bring back the memories and the regrets of years gone by. 

You were just debating turning around and pretending that you had never even come when Brock stepped in and saw you standing there, looking like a fool. He looks surprised to see you. You take another step into the house.

“Hey, Y/N!” The surprise is gone nearly as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with what looks like genuine happiness. “C’mon, everyone’s outside.”

You follow silently, taking in Brock’s bare, tanned shoulders, the way his hair looks blonder from hours spent out on the lake. For a moment, you’re both 19 again.

Stetch yells when he sees you first, and then you’re being mobbed by hockey players. You only know a couple from UND– Stetch, Drake, and Josty, to start– and the rest are from Vancouver, introductions blurring together in a mess of faces and nicknames– Tuna, Petey, and Chris, who had definitely been called Dad by at least three different people.

You finally manage to break away and head for a drink, but Brock follows you.

“I’m glad you came,” he says, and you believe him, look into his eyes, painfully earnest and real and blue like the reflection of the sky on the lake. You offer a weak smile in return, not sure if you can say the same, not yet. Brock steps closer and opens the lid of the cooler you’re standing next to. “Jess says you ended up in D.C. after all. How is that? You happy?” 

His question catches you off-guard, and you hesitate, too long. “Yeah,” you say finally. “Yeah, it’s great.” Everything I’ve ever wanted, except you’re not there, is what you don’t say. You wonder briefly if he can still see right through you.

Brock’s head is buried in the cooler as he digs through the ice, but you can still see the way his shoulders go up like they always do when he’s frowning. That’s a yes, then. 

“What’s the difference between a White Claw and a Truly, anyway?” he muses instead of calling you out, before surfacing with one of each in his hands. He offers them both to you, and you take the Truly– wild berry, your favorite, not that Brock would have any reason to know that– and leave him the White Claw. He cracks it open and takes a long drink. You tear your eyes away from the line of his throat as he swallows.

“Boyfriend couldn’t make it?” Brock asks pointedly. Damn, he still follows you on Instagram.

You take a drink yourself instead of answering right away. “Couldn’t get off work,” you say. Which isn’t a lie, not really, but you hadn’t even asked, just told him you would be visiting home for the week. You didn’t think he’d love the idea of spending a weekend with a bunch of hockey players, especially when the one who’d invited you happened to be your ex-boyfriend.

Brock just blinks at you for a moment. “Well, I’m glad you could make it,” he says again, just as honest as before. 

When the next person asks if you’re happy in D.C., you’re not quite as off-guard, and you manage to smile when you answer this time. Brock is watching you from across the deck, though, and you wonder if the smile looked as fake as it felt to everyone else, or if it was just Brock. 

You’re arguing with Josty about something ridiculous, when Emma, Troy’s girlfriend, sees you for the first time. 

“Oh my God, you cut your hair! It’s so cute!” she said before wrapping you up in a hug.

When she lets you go, you sweep your hair over one shoulder, an old habit from when it hung halfway down your back; it barely brushed your shoulders now.

“Thought it was time for a change,” you say, “and my boyfriend really likes it this way.”

Next to you, Tyson frowns and mumbles something about finding Brock. You and Emma both watch him go, a little confused.

I know it’s been a while, I don’t mean to pry But when I asked you if you’re happy, I didn’t hear a smile,  and that don’t sound like you

You’re sitting on the dock with your feet in the water that night when Brock settles next to you. Up at the house, everyone is either asleep or on their way to it. You’re both quiet for a moment, just the sound of crickets and the water lapping against the dock. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come,” Brock says lowly. 

You breathe out a laugh. “I wasn’t either, not until I was actually here,” you admit. 

“Why did you come?”

“Why did you invite me?” you counter. It was the thing that kept bothering you about all this. Why had Brock decided to reach out now, after so long, after you’d moved on?

Brock sighs. “Hadn’t heard from you in a while.” It’s almost defensive, the way he says it. 

“Not like you tried very hard to catch up ever,” you say, and it’s mean, because you had stopped responding first, but you hadn’t known what else to do, how else to handle the heartbreak you had to relive with every text. 

“You fucking stopped talking to me!” Brock says, and, yeah, you deserve that, deserve the anger in his voice. You don’t expect to hear sadness, too, but you do. 

“What else was I supposed to do, Brock? Keep torturing myself with every text I sent?” You can’t bring yourself to be mad. You tilt your chin to look up at the stars instead, pretend you can’t feel Brock’s eyes on you. The stars are so much brighter out here, back home. “You were off chasing your dream, so it was time I went after mine.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then, “Why’d you come here, Y/N?”

“I don’t know. One last hurrah for when we were all in college? For freshman year when the future seemed so bright? For when I still thought having a good job in a good city with a guy who loves me would make me happy, but sometimes I feel like I’m in the wrong city with the wrong guy?”

You get up before Brock can answer and leave him sitting on the dock in the dark. 

Morning comes, and you’re not sure the conversation with Brock even happened, except for the fact that Brock is alternating between watching you intently and refusing to make eye contact. Chris makes everyone breakfast, and you now understand why everyone was calling him Dad. You settle next to Troy, lean your head on his shoulder. 

“Did I somehow do something to make Petey not like me?” you ask, watching him talk quietly to Brock at the other end of the table. 

“Nah,” Stetch says, taking a bite of bacon. “His English still isn’t great, and his default resting face makes it look like he hates everyone.” He pauses, takes another bite. “Well, and the fact that you broke our boy Brock’s heart. He’s sensitive, don’t ya know?” His tone is light, teasing, but his words make you freeze.

You gasp, too loud for the morning air. A couple people glance over at you, but you’re turning to Stetch, who at least looks like he realizes his mistake.

“Brock broke up with me,” you hiss.

Troy barely glances down the table at Brock, but you still catch it. For a split second, you consider just getting up and leaving, but settle for glaring at Brock, who doesn’t look up. His cheeks still flush like he can feel your eyes on him.

“I no longer want to be a part of this conversation,” Stetch says, making a move to get up, but you grab his wrist. He winces but stays sitting. “Look, he came back for his rookie year and was always kinda quiet-” You scoff. “-but none of us asked any questions, and then after All-Star he said you’d stopped responding to his texts.” Stetch finishes with a shrug. 

“I stopped answering because I was still in love with him and stuck in North Dakota after he broke up with me that summer, dumbass. What the hell else was I supposed to do after he told me he wished I were at the All-Star Game with him? I was never going to be able to follow Brock to Vancouver, and he made it pretty clear he never really wanted me to, anyway.”

You didn’t realize that most of the conversations around the table had gone quiet until it was too late. Brock had gone pale. You had never wanted a confrontation, not here, but it was looking inevitable. Everyone else seemed to sense this, too, because soon the table was cleared, and it was just you and Brock. 

“Why do you stay if you’re not happy?” is what Brock says first.

“I- what?”

Brock smiles at you, but it’s sad. “Do you think I can’t tell?”

“I am happy,” you say, defensive. And you are, or you will be one day, once you can finally stop thinking about Brock, about all the what-ifs, the possibilities that are long gone. You were getting there, too, before you came back to Minnesota for this weekend and everything came crashing down around your ears. Still, maybe this is the closure you needed.

“Oh yeah?” Brock says in return, and it's a taunt, really, mean in a way that he’s never been with you.

“Since when do you have any right to my happiness? What do you want me to say, Brock? That I always knew we were never meant to work out, but I fell in love with you anyway? That I went to D.C. and got everything I wanted, but once I had it, it didn’t seem right anymore? They say you never forget your first love, and, dammit, it’s really hard when yours is living his dream and tearing it up in the NHL. Is that what you want to hear, Brock? That I’ll never really get over you, even as I fall in love again, resign myself to the fact that someone else is going to fall in love with you someday, and be everything for you I couldn’t?”

Brock is frozen at the other end of the table. You want to jump in the lake, stay underwater until your lungs burn and your tears are hidden. You want to get in your rental car and drive, drive all the way to Minneapolis and keep going until you’re out of Minnesota and never look back. You want to kiss Brock, for old time’s sake, and you never want to see his face again. 

He still hasn’t said anything, so you turn and go inside, past everyone pretending like they hadn’t just been watching everything. You’re throwing everything back in your bag when Brock stumbles up the stairs. You pause, cross your arms, and raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Shit, wait,” he pants.

You can’t hold back the smirk. “Aren’t you supposed to be a professional athlete?” you say, almost without thinking. 

Brock flips you off as he leans against the doorframe, but it’s half-hearted. 

“You can’t just say shit like that and then fucking walk away,” he says, and it comes out more like a whine. “I just- I had no idea. Should’ve probably, yeah, but-” he stops, collects his thoughts. “What did you mean when you said you could never follow me to Vancouver?”

“Would you even have asked,” you say, which isn’t an answer at all.

“I don’t know, you were always talking about all of your plans, and I never wanted to stop you. I didn’t know if you’d ever want to follow me.” And, finally, for the first time in years, it seems like you two understand each other.

“Of course I did,” you say softly, and Brock looks up at you, surprised. “I just didn’t know that then. And then I didn’t think you wanted me, not when I was just some girl from college.”

“You were never just some girl from college,” Brock says quickly. He rolls his eyes. “You wanna know why I asked if you were happy? You cut your hair.” Brock sounds pained, and you remember all the times he would play with your hair while you cuddled on the couch or in bed. “Since when do you change something like that for a guy?”

“And I wouldn’t have had to change for you? After I’d graduated, if you wanted me to come to Vancouver for you?” 

Brock’s recoils, your words like a slap to the face, but it’s not as vindicating as you thought it would be. “It’s not just the hair. It’s the way you talk, the way you smile. What happened to the girl I knew?”

And that’s the problem. You’re not the girl he knew, not anymore. You’ve both grown up, lived life a little more. You might still love Brock, but you love the Brock from North Dakota, not the one who’s been in Vancouver for two years. You don’t know that Brock, and maybe you could love him, but that’s not for you to find out. It’s not fair to anyone. It just took you coming out to the lake to realize that. 

So you smile at Brock and say, “She got her heart broken and left North Dakota behind.” But you follow Brock back downstairs, spend the day out on the water, feeling settled for the first time since you got there, maybe since you had last spoken to Brock way back in 2018. 

That town, that job, that guy You can leave them behind, girl, you know you’re better than that

The boys build a bonfire after dinner, as the sun sets over the lake, and someone breaks out the ingredients for s’mores. 

“Y’know,” Brock says, resting his hand on your knee after you’ve settled into a chair. His hand is warm through the blanket draped over your lap. “For what it’s worth, there would always be a place for you in Vancouver.” 

Maybe there would be, but you weren’t sure that that place was somewhere you belonged. You don’t say that, though, just settle your feet in Brock’s lap and take the marshmallow that’s being offered to you. 

There’s a life waiting for you on the other side of the continent, and it just might be the one you were always meant to have. 

[wickedscribbles]

Come What May, Chapter Four

Masterlist

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Original Female Character (Second Person Perspective)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: brief description of panic attack -- there is a warning in the body of the chapter as well! Don’t worry. 

Tags: main character has social anxiety, teaching a class with Obi-Wan, sexual tension, lightsaber fights, Obi-Wan continues with the cute pet names, some teacher/student fantasizing, Obi-Wan is still a massive tease, fucking in a supply closet

Word Count: 6.9 K

It's infuriating to know that Obi-Wan is back in the Temple, but that he's too busy to see you. Between Council meetings that drag for hours, more private gatherings with members of the Senate to discuss what the next move in the war should be, and allowing the poor man time to rest, Obi-Wan has been home for more than a week. You've barely caught more than a glimpse of him. Still, it's nice to have him present in your mind.

You know he's still in the Temple every day you wake up to a glowing good morning, love, his happiness to be near you radiating like sunshine even if you haven't had the time to see one another. It’s not safe to talk back and forth, but sometimes if one of you is particularly bored, you’ll trade a few sentences.

Master Yoda is on a roll today. Send help. Starting to think backwards I am.

Pity you I do.

Very funny, petal.

Then he’d be gone again, fading out before anyone got suspicious. The sudden absence hurts, but not as much as having him gone from the Temple entirely. At least here, you can feel him. You know he's safe.

In contrast to Obi-Wan's breakneck schedule, you've had almost nothing to do. It's full-on spring on Coruscant now, the warmth driving cold and flu season away. You have no colicky little ones in the creche to fuss over, no sick Padawans. The most you might see are some old Masters who need their aching bones tended to, or a quick training accident that needs mended. You haven't shipped out to a war-stricken planet in a while, either. It's strange to have downtime. Strange and frustrating, knowing Obi-Wan is nearby but still not close enough. Having a spare moment between all the illness and injuries is a good thing, and you're grateful. If only you weren't so restless.

-----

It’s rare -- almost impossible -- that you get to take the entire day off, but that’s exactly what you’ve been told to do. The medbay sits empty except for a couple of droids, instructed to deep clean while there are no patients. Even Master Allie appears to be taking it easy; her Force is calm as she bids you goodbye. She insists that if anyone turns up in need of healing, she and Barriss Offee would be on call to take care of it. You bow to her and leave, excited about what possibilities this could open up.

The first thing you do is check for Obi-Wan. Of course, he’s preoccupied. You duck out after feeling the level of concentration he’s exerting at something-or-other; it’s mixed with frustration and you don’t want to distract him. Like you, he’s getting more and more impatient with how busy the Council has kept him. You try not to let yourself be disappointed; it would be too lucky for both of you to be free at the same time, on the same day. All you can do is hope that you can find the time to be together before he has to leave again.

With your schedule more open than ever, you head to your favorite courtyard. The least you can do is soak up some Coruscanti sunshine. But only a quarter of an hour passes before you’re interrupted by the sound of footsteps on cobblestones, headed fast in your direction. Around the corner, scattering the kiros birds, comes a youngling you recognize. It's Gil Graven, a spitfire of a youngling you see in the medbay far more than others his age. He drives his minders crazy with his recklessness, but he’s a sweetheart. Even if you swear you have him admitted once a month for sprains and cuts.

Even now he trips and topples, would have earned the Halls of Healing their first visitor of the day, if you hadn't righted him with a quick pull of the Force.

"Easy, Gil. Where's the fire?" You smile, watching the kid tug his too-large tunic back onto his shoulder.

"Fire? There's no fire, miss. I was looking for you!"

His eyes go round with confusion, cheeks red from running. You forgot how literal younglings could be.

"I meant -- wait, looking for me? What's wrong? Who's hurt?"

Kriff. You should've known taking a day off would backfire. Something had happened in the fifteen minutes you’d had your butt parked in the grass. You get to your feet, gripping the pouch of emergency bacta on your belt.

"Oh! It's not a healer thing." Gil bounces in place, thinking. "But you're needed in the training halls! And they told me to find you quick!"

"Gil, calm down for a minute, okay?" The training halls? Why on Ryloth were you wanted there? "Who told you?"

He shrugs, unhelpful. “I dunno. I’ve never met ‘im before. But he told me to go get the Knight from the Healing Halls ‘cause no one’s been admitted today, and you’d be able to help him.”

You’re still not sure if this is a healer problem, or a matter of simple confusion. Gil’s got a touch of what healers like to call bouncy brain. Sweet as he is, he talks at lightspeed and can’t seem to concentrate if he isn’t moving. There’s a real possibility that he’s got something mixed up here. Still, it’s not as if you’re doing anything else. The Force must have decided that you need to keep busy.

You decide to see what he’s going on about. “Okay, Gil. Lead the way.”

-----

Lingering outside one of the larger training rooms is Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, who smiles when he spots Gil leading you over by the hand.

“There you are!” He crouches down to greet your youngling escort, clapping him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Gil, I am so glad you found our friend. You may go now.”

Gil bows to him, his Force blooming under the praise. “Yes, Master.” You both watch as he takes off the way he came, speeding back up to a run.

“No running!” You scold after him. He barely slows before he’s out of sight.

Master Ki-Adi-Mundi chuckles. “That one reminds me of our own Anakin Skywalker.”

You nod, seeing the resemblance. Anakin is five years your junior, but he was still notorious when you were Padawans. Always turning up where he shouldn’t have been, Obi-Wan always three steps behind. Nothing’s changed, Obi-Wan often tells you.

“Master,” you say, hearing the low buzz of voices coming from the room you’re standing in front of. “Gil said you needed me? Is someone injured?”

“Hm? Oh! Oh stars, no.” Master Ki-Adi shakes his head, looking sheepish. “But I was rather hoping you’d be able to help me with a little problem I’ve run into.”

“Of course.” Okay, now I'm suspicious.

Ki-Adi tugs the end of his beard. “My squadron is being called out to fight on very short notice, I’m afraid. I was meant to teach today’s lesson, and was lucky enough to find a substitute for myself on short notice. But my instruction partner is leaving as well, and I haven’t yet found them a suitable replacement.”

“O-oh,” you hear yourself squeak.

Karabast. He wants you to teach? Your stomach drops somewhere near your ankles. This is so far from what you were expecting when Gil led you here. You can’t do this. You can’t.

Ki-Adi must feel your panic, because he continues quickly. “Don’t fret, my dear! My substitute is a very capable instructor. Follow his lead, and everything will be fine.” He claps a hand on your shoulder, turning away.

“Thank you again -- and now I really must be off.” And with that, he’s gone, walking at a brisk pace down the corridor.

CW starts here!

You’re so anxious that you feel like you’re about to be sick. You’ve done many things on behalf of the Council, often without knowing what they even were, but this? You can’t do this. There’s too many people. You lean against the doorframe, struggling for breath.

What’s the matter? Obi-Wan’s concern comes rushing in, and you’re grateful you have him to latch onto, to focus on.

Someone's asked a favor of me -- and I don’t think I can do it. You’re gripping your saber hilt too tight, the metal biting into your hand.

Please try to calm down. Find somewhere to sit and meditate, collect yourself --

Your anxiety is affecting him, making his own thoughts race even if he doesn’t know the cause. This sometimes happens. You’ve jolted awake in the middle of the night more than once with nightmares that weren’t your own, or had thoughts that didn’t make sense ‘til you realized they weren’t yours.

I can’t.

Why not?

You don’t reply. You have to go in there. Master Ki-Adi said that he was already late. Remembering your breathing, you focus on a count of four in through your nose, then hold the breath for a count of seven. When you exhale, you count to eight. After repeating the exercise several times, you can think straight. It’s not the more in-depth meditation Obi-Wan would have preferred, but it helps. All you can do is hope that the instructor carries much of the class, as Master Ki-Adi said he would.

When it feels like you’ve released much of your fear and uncertainty to the Force, you open the door and step in.

CW ends here!

Immediately, twenty pairs of curious Padawan eyes move to follow you, and you cringe. They all sit cross-legged on the padded floor. Three of the walls are lined with mirrors, the better for students to see fighting forms and sparring matches from every angle. On a side wall, a flimsi depicting each form of saber combat stretches the length of the room, cut off only by the supply closet where training accessories are stored. You’ve been in this room and its adjacent siblings dozens of times. But all that isn’t as important to you as the instructor, who’s turned to see why the room’s gone quiet.

It’s Obi-Wan.

Standing bare-foot on one of room-length training mats, in the middle of handing out sparring sticks to the class, he freezes when you lock eyes.

Oh, he says, equal parts shock and happiness.

Yeah.

I say this with the greatest respect, darling -- why did Master Ki-Adi send you?

Because the Healing Halls are completely empty. Also to torture me. You grimace, joining him at the front of the room. He nods to you in greeting, as if you aren’t having a mental conversation.

“Knight Courtee. Glad to see you could join us.”

“I apologize, Master. It was short notice for me, as well.” You bow to him.

Is this what you were so worked up about? They’re only Padawans. They don’t bite -- much.

Once the group realizes that you’re the other instructor that Obi-Wan’s been waiting for, the chatter resumes. They stop ogling you. From the looks of the group, they’re all in the late teens, and bubbling over with energy. Right in the middle of Padawan and Knight, but with all the arrogance to think they’re already the latter. Away from their Masters in a group like this, they tend to get far rowdier than they would otherwise. Each has a lightsaber strapped to their belt.

“Run me through the lesson?” you say, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Quiet!” Obi-Wan demands over his shoulder, and you jump. The loudest cluster of Padawans instantly falls silent behind you.

Sorry, he thinks at you. I’m starting to see why Ki-Adi jumped on the first ship leaving the system.

“Amina, lose the gum. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Yes, now. Navo, do I have to move you to the other side of the room? Don’t think I won’t.”

Mumbles of yes, Master, break out before he turns back to you, satisfied. You don’t smile but know he feels your amusement.

“We’ll be running through some more advanced katas,” Obi-Wan says. “Then we’ll break them into pairs and focus on the saber technique of each pair. At the end of the lesson, you and I will give a demonstration on a chosen form. Perhaps more than one, if the class requests it.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” you admit, thinking back to your own group Padawan lessons. You’d dreaded the paired sparring sessions, having your own form broken down and scrutinized. In the end, though, it had improved your skills. Being able to do the same for this group would be an honor. This is a big piece of being a Jedi, after all; skills passed down from Master to Knight to Padawan.

“It isn’t. Just don’t let them smell your fear,” he grins. “Let’s get started.”

As noisy as the group is, you can tell they’re genuinely excited to be in a session led by Master Kenobi. And Obi-Wan really knows how to lead the room. While you stand stiffly off to the side, nodding whenever he finishes saying something and hoping you don’t look like an idiot, he uses the space. He explains the lesson to them as he explained it to you, then asks if anyone has any questions.

The girl who’d been caught with gum earlier, Amina, raises her hand. Her other hand is busy twirling her long Padawan braid, like she can’t help but fidget with it. “Um, Master Kenobi, why are we using sparring sticks? We’ve had lightsabers for a while now.”

A murmur of agreement washes through the crowd, and Obi-Wan smirks.

“Good question, Padawan. Everyone, close your eyes and reach through the Force. Do you feel how tumultuous the energy in this room is? How excitable? If any one of you lit your saber in this room, I fear someone would lose a limb. And that’s something that Knight Courtee can’t fix for you. So we play it safe.”

Another hand punctuates the air, from the very front of the crowd. This Padawan seems younger than the rest, with hair that sticks up everywhere and eyes focused only on Obi-Wan. He starts speaking before he can be called on.

“All due respect, Master,” he says, in a way that makes you think that he’s used to sharing unorthodox opinions. The corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth quirks up as he fights a smile, and you feel him think of Anakin.

“Why are we here? We’re fighting a war. Many of us have already seen combat alongside our Masters.” He lowers his eyes to the mat, afraid he’s gone too far. When his fellow Padawans start nodding and whispering, he tugs on the end of his nerf-tail, as if unsure of what to do.

Obi-Wan takes a moment to consider this question, hand going to his beard as it often does when he’s thinking.

“I appreciate your honesty, Caleb. And you’re correct. It might seem...redundant to spend your time here when even now fellow Jedi are fighting real battles.”

He pauses, thinking of how to continue. The Padawans are hanging onto his every word, the room silent. “But that’s why it’s so important to refine your technique when we can spare the time, in a secure environment. It will make you stronger when you face a real opponent. It might even save your life. Does that make sense?”

Wow, you think to yourself. He’d handled that beautifully. Even though Caleb had spoken out of turn, Obi-Wan hadn’t belittled him or made the teen feel bad about what was an honest and important question. He’d taken the time to consider the Padawan’s feelings, and had given him an equally honest answer, not something to pacify him. It takes you back to your own Padawan training, when Obi-Wan had been your instructor.

“Yes, Master,” Caleb ducks his head, looking relieved. “thank you.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes search the room. “Anything else?”

After a pause, another hand goes up, toward the back.

“Millu?” You love that he knows everyone by name. Some Padawans turn around to reveal a burly Mon Calamari boy.

“Yeah.” His bright yellow eyes dart over to you. “Uh, speaking of Knight Courtee. Why are you teaching us? I thought you were just, like, a healer.” There’s no real malice in his tone, more like an off-handed curiosity, but Obi-wan stiffens.

Luckily you think of something to say before he can open his mouth. It wouldn’t look good for him to get upset defending you.

“That’s an excellent question, Millu, thank you.” You shoot him a smile, and you swear his scales darken with a blush.

“Being a Jedi with healing abilities does not mean that you get to neglect other aspects of your training. On the contrary, your connection with the Force must be powerful at all times. Healing will swamp you physically and emotionally, so you must keep both body and mind strong to withstand it.”

Your smile widens. “Of course, if you’re asking if you can best me in a fight, we’ll see how you match up during paired spars. Sound good?”

Laughter breaks out, and Millu blushes even darker before muttering, “Sure,” and looking away. Even if it seemed like he was questioning your ability to teach them (as you yourself are), you’re grateful the interaction’s lightened the mood.

Nicely done, says Obi-Wan.

“Very good,” he says aloud, clapping his hands together. “Now if we’re done heckling Knight Courtee, let’s begin with some stretches, please.”

------

Obi-Wan was right, you think, walking around the room. This...isn’t bad at all. You walk from pair to pair, taking in the angle of their weapon, how they hold their bodies, making minor corrections and leaving comments as you go. They look up when you come by, eager to see what you’re going to say to them. It’s much easier to interact with the Padawans on this smaller scale, and you find yourself joking with them, smiling. After a while, they even start asking for you, looking to see if you can demonstrate a move or if they’re holding the training stick the correct way. They aren’t scary at all -- just excitable kids who want to learn.

I’m sorry, Obi-Wan was what?

Looking up, you see Obi-Wan grinning across the room, demonstrating his own correction. In the middle of all this excitable teen Force energy, it’s easy for you to have a conversation and go unnoticed.

You were right. I like this.

And you’re good at it; they adore you. You’re going to make a wonderful Master. He shows you a brief image of a happy Padawan trailing behind you, eager to follow wherever you lead. It’s the best feeling, love.

Unexpected emotion rises in your chest at his pure sincerity. He knows how insecure you are about the fact that you’ll soon have your own Padawan to look after, but he doesn’t have a single doubt that you can do it. For the first time, you let yourself think of the situation in a hopeful light. It was a path you never pictured for yourself, but one that you know you have to follow. Obi-Wan makes it look so easy. Anakin, and even Anakin’s Padawan Ahsoka, look at him like he hung the stars. Of course, so do you.

“Last twenty minutes!” Obi-Wan calls over the noise of sparring sticks clacking together. “Take a seat, class.”

The Padawans rush to do as they’re told, everyone clamoring for the best spot to view your spar with Master Kenobi. They go completely silent, waiting for you to join him. A hush even falls over the Force energy in the room, like they’re all holding their breath.

Obi-Wan sinks into a bow when you’re opposite him, one hand on his saber. When you glance down in confusion, he sends a wave of amusement.

I said I didn’t trust the Padawans, darling. Not you.

Not sure if that’s wise. You bow in return, unclipping your saber also. He ignites his blade, the blue glow casting light over all the reflections of the mirrors. Taking a deep breath, trusting the familiar feeling of your own weapon, you ignite your lightsaber. The bright green light shimmers over your hands, crackling with your energy.

You’re surprised at how nervous you are. It’s one thing to watch him from across the room, to be taught by him as a Padawan yourself, but to spar with Obi-Wan as an equal? He’s going to wipe the floor with you.

“What form does Knight Courtee use?” You hear somebody whisper.

“Form five -- she told me.”

“Oooh, really? That’ll be fun to see against Master Kenobi.”

“Shhh!”

Obi-Wan waits until the group is quiet again to ask if you’re ready to start. Your saber hums hot in your hand, a little less controlled than you’d like it.

“Ready as I can be, Master.”

“Then let’s begin.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth than he’s in your space, much closer than you want him with a lightsaber in hand. You strike out instinctively and he expected that, anticipated it. He was baiting you. Your blade bounces off of his far more harshly than you like, the zyoom echoing through the room. You take a step back, try to calculate an opening. He mirrors you, waiting to react. It takes you longer than it should to realize that he’s shielded the bond up tight, not giving anything away. The only thing you can hear is your heartbeat and the crackling of the sabers, each one fueled by its master’s adrenaline.

He keeps his blade held at eye level, and you lunge in for a mid-range attack. Obi-Wan blocks but you keep it coming, getting back into the groove of Djem So after spending so long out of combat. It feels good to have the saber be a part of you, to have it grow lighter as it remembers your touch.

Strike, block, strike, block. You’re working at a breakneck rhythm trying to get through his defenses, but Obi-Wan won’t give an inch. Sweat pours down your temple but still you press, using the Force to try and search for a weak point but finding none. He’s too kriffing fast.

There’s a reason they call him Master of this form. It’s infuriating, the almost lazy way he flicks your lightsaber aside every time, using your energy against you. There’s not a hair out of place on him. Every time you lower your blade, wondering what to do, he simply resets, content to wait again. You can tell from the look in his eyes that he knows you’re getting tired.

The Padawans are anything but quiet now -- some shouting Get her, Master Kenobi! while others insist that you can hold your own. Your eyes flick over to them once. Some lean forward towards the fight as far as they dare, a few are even on their feet in support.

When Obi-Wan finally tips his saber in retaliation, you barely manage to block, caught off guard at the change from defense to offense. He strikes again, again, again -- each blow more brutal than the last, each one so close to your skin that you can feel his blue saber’s sizzling heat. He’s driving you back against the wall. Despite your best effort, you’re losing ground where you’d previously held it. When you feel your back slam against the wall he was driving you toward, you gasp and fumble a block -- your last move. The blade of Obi-Wan’s saber hovers near your throat, a win.

“And that’s your head,” he says easily. You lower your saber and extinguish the blade, holding your hands up in a show of defeat.

The room erupts.

“Master Kenobi, that was so wizard --”

“Knight Courtee was letting him have it! Did you see --?”

“I wish I could have recorded that for the holo!”

“Settle down,” Obi-Wan says, but he’s smiling. “I’m glad that you all have found this lesson so illuminating.” He bows to you, signalling the end of the match, and you follow suit.

“You’re dismissed,” he says to the room. The declaration is met with mixed reactions; half are glad to be free, half don’t want the lesson to be over yet.

“No need to hang around and help tidy this time. You were such a good group that Knight Courtee and I are glad to take care of it.” It’s traditional for students to stick around after the lesson is done and help roll up the training mats, collect the sparring sticks, and clean the room in any other way that needs it.

That statement really gets them out the door, though several of them whine about him being far cooler than their regular teacher and why can't he teach them all the time?

Once everyone’s filed out, Obi-Wan locks the door behind them. He turns to you with a long sigh, relieved that the loudness of all those teenagers in one place has dispersed.

“Well,” you say. “That’s not how I expected my morning to go.”

“I’m glad,” Obi-Wan replies. “I was beginning to think that I wouldn’t see you at all in my time home, yet here we are.”

“Like the Force willed it.”

He beams at that, drawing you tight against him. “C’mere. My bright little instructor.”

You grumble, cheek pressed against his chest. “You flayed me within an inch of my life, Obi-Wan.”

All he does in response to your grumpiness is chuckle, placing warm kisses everywhere he can reach on your face. “Yes. I did.”

“It was embarrassing.”

“I couldn’t exactly go easy on you, could I?”

No, he couldn’t. Everyone knows the extent of Obi-Wan’s skill, and while you aren't untalented with a saber, winning or even overcoming him would be unlikely. You’d fought honestly, and so had he. Anything else would have invoked suspicion.

He takes your silence for the correct answer, then gently pries your cheek from his body.

“Would it help if you got kisses as a consolation prize?” He’s looking at you so fondly, like you’re his favorite thing in the galaxy. You nod, already leaning on your tiptoes to reach.

Obi-Wan hums against your lips, sinking against you like he’s been waiting for this -- because you both have. The kisses stay close-mouthed, but he’s pressing them onto you fast, his hands roaming you urgently. Your bond tells you that he wants to take his time with you, would have each moment stretch out for as long as possible, if he could. He wants to savor you. But arousal is winning out.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, pulling back to brush his nose against yours. “Do you know how much restraint it took not to pin you against the wall and have you, at the end of our fight? To resist sending all the little Padawans away right then?”

You gasp, feeling heat stirring deep in your stomach. The honey-sweetness of his tone contrasts with his words, but he’s just getting started.

“There was such fire in your eyes when we sparred, kitten." Kitten. Yet another pet name to add to your already large collection. This one makes you blush, and you don't miss Obi-Wan's pleased grin. "I had to shut you out so that you wouldn’t get distracted by my, er, distraction.”

His distraction presses up against your leg now, thick and hot. Obi-Wan tugs the end of your braid hard, tilting your head back to expose your neck. You whimper against him, all but letting him hold you up at this point. He loves it -- going to work at once nipping and kissing everywhere he can get to. His breath is heavy on your skin as he ruts against your thigh, trying and failing to bite back his own ecstatic moans.

“We’re alone now,” you choke out, hardly aware enough to string the sentence together. “s-so you can -- do whatever you want with me.”

This makes him pause. “Is that so?” Obi-Wan’s tone is still so light, like you’re having a conversation about what they’re serving in the refectory today, not how badly you want him to fuck you.

“Yes,” you say, embarrassed at how desperate you sound, how easily you melt for him. You can see yourself over his shoulder in the mirrors, and you blush, burying your face.

He laughs a little at your reaction. “What if I want to take you into that supply closet and bend you over?” His hand roams down your body, landing on your crotch. Two fingers rub a strong circle through the material, and you lean into it. “What if I want to take you from behind, make up for all the time we haven’t been together?”

“I’d ask why -- aren’t we already there,” you huff, blinking up at him.

That’s all the answer he needs. In one motion, he grabs you round the middle and hauls you over his shoulder like a sack of meilooruns. Your breath whooshes out, surprise and a lack of air keeping you from forming a sentence as he marches you to the closet as promised. The ground bounces and sways in your vision as you’re jostled -- it’s a strange sensation, being carried. Thankfully, it only lasts a few seconds.

Obi-Wan opens the door and closes it just as quickly once you’re both inside, making you aware of how small, how dark, the space is. You find yourself deposited on the storage bin that the mats are kept in, your legs dangling high in the air. He leans in to kiss you, nothing but hot breath and hungry hands, and you fist your own in the front of his tunic. It spurs him on, and soon his tongue is pressing into your open mouth, exploring every corner.

You moan into him, your fingers going beyond clothes to scratch against his chest. Obi-Wan picks you up again and you lift your legs around his waist, rubbing tight against his cock. He bears your entire weight like it’s nothing, continuing to kiss you as if your legs are planted on the ground. Stars, the strength, the eagerness of him, is overwhelming. His arms are pillars, holding you steady, crossed firm around your back.

"I thought you said," you gasp out, shivering when his tongue flicks out to catch your earlobe, "something about -- bending me over --"

“So eager today,” he says, his voice a tantalizing purr.

“Can you blame me?” you blurt.

"And what does that mean, dearest?"

He already knows what you mean. It’s everywhere in your mind. You can’t hide how you feel when you’ve been this close to him for so long, forbidden to touch him, to even think about it until you’ve reached your breaking point.

Obi-Wan, hands behind his back, patiently watching the Padawans demonstrate their forms. Nodding and sometimes stepping in to correct, placing his hand casually on an arm or leg to shift the balance of their weight. Then the Padawan he’s correcting becomes you, and his touch is no longer innocent. The group is melting away, and his mouth is trailing down your neck, whispering things that have little to do with the kata you’re struggling through.

“Oh,” he chuckles. “I see.”

You bump your head into his shoulder, too embarrassed to answer. As if to reassure you, Obi-Wan sends you an image back.

Both of you in the same training room, but you stand among your fellow Padawans, now all Knights, shuffling anxiously from foot to foot. You don't look that much different from the way you do now, but for the traditional Padawan's hairstyle.

Though you're seeing things from his perspective, the mirrors give him away; Obi-Wan looks younger, too. There are no lines around his eyes here, he holds himself more loosely. Like there isn't a galaxy-wide war. And he's less certain as he flits from student to student, new at this.

"You were always a pleasure to speak to, you know," Obi-Wan tells you, low voice right in your ear. He knows that he's teasing you, knows exactly the effect it's having on your body. You squirm in his tight grip, unable to go anywhere to get away from the softness of his voice.

"Polite and passionate. Made your Master very proud. But…" he trails off, and you shiver, anticipating his next words.

"So anxious whenever you saw me, weren't you?" He muses, fingers flexing on the curve of your ass. "And now I finally understand why."

"Obi-Wan…" you protest, unsure of what you're going to say next but just knowing that you need the teasing to stop. Both mental and physical -- he's hard against your abdomen, almost painful with how tight you're wedged against him.

"Down, love," he says. With effort, you extract your legs from around his waist and plant your feet on the floor, with his hands to guide you. "Turn around."

For a moment, you get excited, thinking that he's done teasing you. Obi-Wan makes quick work of your belt, dropping it to the floor seconds before your pants and underwear. You step out of them, breathing heavily, feeling his chest against your back. There's a clink, and you realize that he's dropped his belt as well, one hand bracing on your shoulder as he fumbles out of his own bottoms.

There's nothing between you now. Obi-Wan's bare dick rubs against your tailbone, leaving a warm dribble of pre-come.

"Now bend forward for me, darling -- that's it --"

You lean on the storage bin, heart thumping a tattoo in your throat. Obi-Wan lines himself up behind you, breath ragged, and sinks inside you in one long push.

"Obi-Wan, oh," you cry out, not expecting how full you'd feel from this angle.

"I know, sweetheart, I know," he says, taking a moment to adjust to the sensation. His mind is a high buzz of pleasure, looking forward to taking you apart in this new, delicious way.

Then he moves. So, so deep and slow. You let out a broken whine, toes curling. He pauses, holds his breath. Then thrusts again, just as unhurried as the first time, and your fingers scrabble for purchase on the smooth material of the bin in front of you.

“Hmm,” Obi-Wan sighs. “Do you know, this reminds me of something.”

You groan, not out of pleasure, but because he’s stopped. How? Where and how did he find the restraint to torment you like this? You’re not sure which part of today’s interaction set him off, but you sorely wish that he’d get down to business and fuck you.

“What does it remind you of?” you ask tightly, figuring that playing along will get you where you want to be faster. As if rewarding you, Obi-Wan’s hands come around to find your breasts, teasing your nipples with the barest of touches. Gods if he doesn’t go faster --

He can hear your mind loud and clear, but says nothing, only sending a feeling of amusement back before answering your question.

"Watching you go through katas in this very room. Or, well, the room outside." Obi-Wan presses into your back, finally starting to push into you in a slow but satiating rhythm.

"Mmm," you manage, pressing your lips together hard to avoid reaching an inappropriate volume.

“Do you remember the criticism I had for you, little Padawan? You were so tense. Why was that?” All the while he’s languidly thrusting into you from behind. As if he expects you to form a coherent response.

“I l-liked you,” you stammer out, bracing yourself on the edge of the storage bin.

"Oh? Well, I liked you too. You were a wonderful student."

"That's not what I --" Thank the Maker that it's pitch black in this closet, because your face is burning.

"But for some reason," he continues, enjoying himself, "you always needed correction in solo practice. The other Masters told me, several times, that that was not an issue in their own lessons."

You can only whimper as he bears into you deeper. He knows exactly what he's doing to you. When you place a hand on your stomach, just above your belly button, you can feel him inside you.

"Tell me, sweetheart. Did you need my hands on your body, as desperately as you do now?"

"Yes, Master," you all but sob. "I need, I n-need --"

"Need me to fuck you?" Obi-Wan supplies, voice going rough and breathy. "Need me to wreck you, the way your mind is screaming for it?"

You slam the palm of your hand on the top of the bin, and it makes a hollow thud, sending pain shooting up your arm.

"Obi-Wan, yes! Please, please fuck me, I need it!" You're aware that your words border on incoherence, but not enough to care.

And he doesn't either.

Just as you've reached your limit, so does Obi-Wan. One of his hands grabs your wrist and pins it, hard, while the other squeezes your hip.

"Are you ready?" He pants in your ear, pausing only to nip at your shoulder blade. Already he's fucking you deeper, so good so thick inside you, that you're writhing under his every touch.

"Wanted to do this -- for s-so long --" Obi-Wan gasps out and so do you, the heat of orgasm reaching a crescendo in your thighs as you feel him come apart in your mind.

"Want to come so deep inside you, darling, oh please, please --"

You know that he's barely hanging on, waiting for your permission.

"Gods, Master, yes --" Like you could deny him this, when you want it so desperately too.

His forehead drops to your shoulder as he rams into you, shoving you against the bin. It takes everything you have not to scream his name when you come, gripping his arm -- the only part of him you can reach from this angle.

Obi-Wan isn't far behind, moaning loud behind you as your orgasm makes your pussy clamp down even tighter on him.

"Yes, yes, oh my Gods --"

The bond flares up sudden and white-hot between you, carrying the sensation of Obi-Wan's pleasure just as it had that night on Odryn.

"Kriff," you say weakly, clutching his arm like it's the only thing connecting you to the planet.

Sweetheart, I'm there, I'm right there

I know, and I'm -- me too --

Again?

Yes

Oh fuck, fuck -- I'm coming, stars, I'm coming, oh --

You come a second time when Obi-Wan starts to spurt inside you, tears spilling from the intensity of it all. With him this tight against your body, you swear you can feel every hot spurt of come shoot up inside you. Obi-Wan's teeth are caught in the material of your tunic, muffling his shout. It feels like you stand there, taking his come for minutes, as he shudders against you.

When it's over you whimper, leaning against his chest on aftershock-weak legs. Slowly, as if his head is one step behind, Obi-Wan puts his arms around you.

"Stars above, Obi-Wan," you mutter, every coherent thought fucked out of your head. Your brain feels like static, but your body's floating. Pulling out and turning you gently to face him again, Obi-Wan plants a line of soft kisses from your forehead to your mouth. His release runs heavy down your thighs, but there's not much you can do about it here.

"Not tense now, are you?" he says, tracing slow, wet circles over your sensitive clit.

You laugh. "You're unbelievable."

"No, I'm committed to a scene," Obi-Wan corrects, as if this was all an elaborate game.

You consider saying something along the lines of, I'm going to commit my boot to your rear end if you don't quit it, but think better of it.

Instead you re-dress, wincing at the mess you'll have to tolerate down your crotch and legs until you can get to the nearest fresher. This is the downfall of spontaneous sex. No easy cleanup.

"Next time, would you like to come with me?" Obi-Wan's asking. You snort, buckling your belt back into place.

"Pretty sure I just did. You didn't notice?"

He pauses, then opens the closet door, letting in a blinding slice of light. Though he's dressed, Obi-Wan looks disheveled and wide-eyed still in a way that you always adore.

"That's...no. That's not what I'm talking about, love," he says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"I mean, the next time I have to leave. Come with me. I think we've both come to realize that being apart is painful. And that being together isn't just a physical concept anymore."

His voice has dropped to a near-whisper, but you're hanging on to every word. Though you'd never admit it aloud, this is exactly what you want. To follow him instead of lying awake every night, worrying he won't come back from the last distant system he's shipped away to. You want to be beside him, no matter how rough things are.

You are a Jedi, not a housewife. And frankly, being kept in the Temple while he's away risking his neck, the bond blocked for days or weeks at a time, is torture.

Obi-Wan listens to all this, your outpouring of emotion through the bond you never meant to forge with him. He shows his understanding, his respect, his compassion for you, in return.

"Okay. Okay," he says, more to himself than you. "I'll speak to the Council. Knowing them, it may take some time to get an answer, but --"

You cut him off with a kiss. It doesn't matter. As long as you're together.

[tallstars-rewrite]

Chapter 12

chapter list / previous / next

As the moon hung low in the sky, most of the clan was peacefully lounging around camp or grooming, full from the abundance of prey brought back during the afternoon. Meadowbreeze chattered excitedly with her mate Hazelnose, and Aspenfall was practice wrestling both Fallowpaw and Fawnpaw at once while Cloudrunner observed. It was agreed they’d be made warriors before the next quarter moon and the news had renewed energy in all three of them. Briarpaw sat with his mother and father, speaking quietly with the elders as Whitetooth regaled them with the story of his first newleaf celebration. Aside from the small group chosen for the dusk patrol, the clan was at peace.

Tallpaw however, paced restlessly in a circle around the camp, fluffing his thin fur up as much as he was able against the chilly night air. He earned a couple funny looks from the warriors returning from dusk patrol as he trotted back and forth. At the end of the patrol line he spotted Dawnstripe, padding alongside Appledawn. Tallpaw turned his course abruptly and bounded up to his mentor.

“So, do you think we could go out for battle training after sunrise?” He mewed. 

She turned to him and cocked her head slightly. “You actually want to? I thought you’d want to relax today, you’ve earned a break, remember?”

“Yes I know, but I don’t want to fall behind.”

Appledawn laughed, “Oh Tallpaw, surely you're not going to lose all your skills by not training for one day?” 

Tallpaw shuffled the soil beneath his paws awkwardly, “No--I know that, I just...I don’t want to take a break while every other cat in the clan is busy serving.”

Dawnstripe glanced at her friend and then back at her apprentice. “Well, I suppose I can’t argue with that. It is your day to do what you want, and if that’s what you want to do, we can go more in depth into battle training. But I’ve only just got back from a long patrol, so I’ll tell you what, meet me at the base of the dead tree once the sun has risen above the distant hills and we’ll start then.”

“Should I warm up before then? I could do laps in the gorse meadow.” Tallpaw asked anxiously.

“If you like, but don’t tire yourself out too much before we start.”

Briarpaw called a greeting to him as he bounded past out of the camp entrance. Tallpaw waved his tail in response as he passed. Sorry I don’t have time to chat right now…

The wind was particularly strong that morning with none of the sun's warmth to offset the chill. He flattened his ears against it as he wound his way around the hill to the gorse meadow. Start with three laps, break, do another set. As he raced, his mind emptied and he could for a moment only think of the grass brushing the tips of his paws, the wind rushing against his ears and whiskers, which brought some small relief. It was more than he usually did before training, but his paws were itching so much he wanted to run until he couldn’t feel the nagging guilt poking at the back of his head. The more it poked, the faster he moved his legs. I just feel like it’s not enough. I’ve got to push myself harder, I haven’t earned a rest yet!

After his first set he paused, his breath coming heavy. For a moment he was frustrated his body wouldn’t let him do another. As he caught his breath, he looked up to see in the distance a group of cats coming towards him. He tasted the air and scented Fennelpelt accompanied by Plumclaw, Crowfur and Woollycloud. He ducked into the grass. Woollycloud always wanted to have a conversation with him when he passed, asking him what he was up to, how his mother was, how his training was going, and Tallpaw didn’t feel like it right now. He didn’t feel like his training was coming along well enough to share.

“The tunnel was still in use when you were a warrior Fennelpelt, don’t you think it could be again?” Crowfur’s gruff voice asked.

“Perhaps it could,” Fennelpelt replied, “but it’s been left alone so long, I'm afraid the heavy snow and rain from the past seasons has weakened the walls. My advice would be to hold off on using it regularly until it’s had careful fixing and testing. Maybe make some new escape routes before trying to make it longer.” “I agree” Woollycloud said, “Sandstone’s plan is ambitious, but it’s not worth it to rush and risk accidents.”

“We must think of some way to repair it faster!” Plumclaw pressed. “Mistmouse told me she scented ShadowClan across the Thunderpath on the north side of our territory as well as the east side, and their normal patrols never go out that far! And there were strange scents of outsiders on the outskirts facing Mothermouth yesterday. They were too faint for us to be sure if they were ShadowClan, but they certainly weren’t WindClan.”

Crowfur growled “Great StarClan, if it’s rogues that’s just another thing to worry about on top of everything else! ShadowClan spies could be watching from anywhere, and we still don’t know where their hiding spots are. We need to explore all our options to keep up with them, if we don’t catch them in the act, Cedarstar will just deny it! If you ask me--”

Tallpaw couldn’t make out what they were saying anymore as they started down the hill towards camp. He poked his head out of the grass and looked north towards the edge of their land. There was the thin strip of woodland surrounding the north and east side of the moor, and passed that was where cats traveled to see Mothermouth, but there shouldn’t be any other clan cats on that northern border. Others had been scented there just yesterday...? Tallpaw remembered with a start of the shape and flash of ginger fur he thought he saw in the woods before getting distracted by the festivities and the hunt. Was it a trespasser after all? He cursed himself for not paying closer attention at the time. 

Now that the idea had entered his head, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He needed to find out if there was any scent around the spot he had seen the shape. I should get Dawnstripe first...or I could just tell Woollycloud.

But what if it was nothing? What if he had imagined it? He didn’t want to get everyone worked up over nothing when they were already on edge. Well...it really wasn’t too far to that border. If he just looked quickly, he would know, and it wouldn’t have to eat at him anymore. And even if there is someone there, I'm not a weakling! I can take care of myself!

Telling himself that didn’t get rid of the nervous energy crackling up the fur along his spine, but right now, Tallpaw would rather drop dead than admit to himself he’d been stopped by his stupid cowardice. Warriors don’t show fear, when things look dangerous they charge onward and take risks. He repeated Sandstone’s words to himself, and he continued to repeat it the whole way there, hoping if he did it enough, he would believe it a bit more. It wasn’t working very well.

The pale birch trees loomed above him. Tallpaw hadn’t been so near this woodland stretch before, since there was little need to patrol it. He racked his brain trying to remember where he had been looking when he saw the blur of fur vanish into the bushes. The closed off spaces in the thick undergrowth surrounded by the trees suddenly seemed very daunting, as if some creature could leap out of them at any moment, and Tallpaw’s feet would be too tangled in brambles to get out of the way.

 “Stop thinking like that mouse-heart.” He growled to himself. At last he recognized two oddly leaning trees he swore he recalled seeing before. It was somewhere just off to the right of here… He opened his jaws to taste the air. Damp heather. A mouse had scurried by here some time ago. Deer droppings. Nothing out of the--

He froze. There was something different. An unexpected unfamiliar tang and it hit the roof of his mouth. It was certainly cat, but not a cat he knew at all. He froze in place, the fur on his spine bristling even more. Was it ShadowClan after all? No...no, there was none of the musty stench he’d scented under the Thunderpath. It was an incredibly strange scent. Sweet in a way. And recent. Very recent.

Go back! A voice in the back of his head cried out. But wasn’t he a warrior? Why should he be made afraid in his own territory? “I’m not afraid of loners. I’ve been trained to fight! Well...not very much but...more than any mangy rogue!” he argued quietly to himself. 

Perhaps...he should just look? Just a little closer. To have a better idea of what to report. More so than his fear, there was a fierce feeling of curiosity. He’d never even seen a cat outside of the clans before. And just think of the story I could bring back if I chased away an intruder all by myself! Surely that’s more impressive than being a fast runner. Firmly ignoring the part of himself insisting what a very bad idea this was, he pressed on. One paw at a time. The scent couldn’t even be a full day old. There was only one, so whoever it was was all alone.

Something shifted in the bushes. Tallpaw whipped around, his ears pinned up, his eyes wide, one unsheathed paw raised defensively. Was that movement he saw? Legs shaking slightly, he crept forward, cautious and silent. Just beyond the next tree, he heard something rustling the leaves. A stray twig was flung to the side. Go back! Go back and get a warrior! The little voice screeched. But he refused to run away, this was his territory and he was not weak.

Another leaf was tossed aside, followed by a frustrated grunt. Were they digging? What in StarClan’s name...? Tallpaw was crouched behind the tree, trying to figure out what exactly he should do. If he was lucky, they’d just run away as soon as they knew they were caught. Suddenly the noises stopped. Had he been detected? His heart began hammering, but it was now or never.

Tallpaw sprang from behind the tree with a furious screech. He’d meant to say something commanding, or intimidating, something that would let the mange ball know they were talking to a real warrior cat and they should be very afraid. Unfortunately, he’d been spurred to leaping so suddenly that his prepared phrases had gotten all mixed up and left his mind entirely. 

What he’d wanted to say was “You're trespassing! These moors belong to WindClan alone! Remove yourself at once, or else!”, but instead what came out of his mouth was a terribly loud and panic-tinged “trrRRAAAAAA-AHHHH!” 

He was met with an almost equally loud scream in return. There was a furry orange tom halfway concealed in the undergrowth with puffed up fur and eyes huge with alarm. Tallpaw faced him with his back arched, every fur standing on end, and the two cats stared at each other like that for an uncomfortably silent few seconds while Tallpaw desperately wracked his brain for what he was supposed to say next. At last the other cat broke the silence. “Why are you screaming at me!?” he cried in a very bewildered, but annoyingly not intimidated, voice. 

Tallpaw was still trying to collect his scattered thoughts. “I’m! I-I’m, uhmm. You--you are--upon WindClan land, and...Your...Your paws are on the grass--t-this grass is forbidden because it’s ours! Remove them! Your paws, I mean. Remove all of them! At once!”

“My...my paws are...wait, could you start over?”

“No!” Tallpaw yowled in frustration “Just be gone! Or else!”

“Well,” mewed the tom innocently, “see, I would be happy to of course, I really would, but I seem to um. I seem to be a little stuck.”

“What do you mean stuck?” Tallpaw hissed.

The tom strained his neck and Tallpaw noticed that he was crouched in the undergrowth because a thick mass of brambles was snared through his thick orange fur and caught at his neck. 

Tallpaw was at a loss again. He needed to get rid of the intruder. He was supposed to attack intruders. But the intruder couldn’t go away if he couldn’t move. The tom clawed uselessly at the ground trying to pull himself out of the thicket.

“Every time I pull I get poked by thorns!” he whined.

This is embarrassing... Tallpaw thought. Then with a defeated sigh, he padded cautiously towards the “invader.” 

“Alright stop moving, I can’t chase you away if you can’t even run.”

“That’s true. My name’s Jake by the way, what’s yours?”

“I don’t care, and none of your business.”

“That’s a funny name.”

Tallpaw ignored him and sniffed at where the thickest bramble was stuck fast on something soft and sturdy around Jake’s neck. It was green like plants but it smelled incredibly odd, a scent he couldn’t describe with anything he knew. 

After a lot of awkward tugging and gnawing and exasperated “will you please stop fidgeting” as Tallpaw tore the mass of brambles away. Part of the soft green thing tugged free from Jake and hung ensnared in the thorns. Jake wiggled and grunted and pulled himself out of the undergrowth, leaving a couple tufts of fur behind as well. A long bramble tendril still tangled in his thick neck ruff stuck up in a ridiculous way.

“Thanks a bunch, I really owe you one!”

“I couldn’t bite through the rest of that soft...vine thing around your neck. That’s what everything was stuck on.” Tallpaw licked his muzzle, wincing a bit at where the thorns had pricked his tongue.

“Oh that’s just my collar. Looks like I lost my scarf to the thorns though...what rotten luck.”

“You’re what?” 

“My collar, the housefolk gave it to me--”

It clicked for Tallpaw then and he sprang back in alarm. “Y-you’re one of those kittypets aren’t you? Those twoleg captives!”

“Kitty-pet?” he laughed “That almost sounds cute. Well I'm not a stray if that’s what you mean, but I do get pet a lot? It feels nice.”

He remembered Dawnstripe telling him kittypets were worse than loners in a way, but in a pitiful way. Most of them didn’t even know they were prisoners. I could fight a soft house cat easily-- oh right. He was supposed to fight him away now.

As the kittypet gave his fur another shake and clammered fully out of the bramble filled undergrowth, Tallpaw got a better look at him. Jake was a lot younger than he’d initially thought, barely apprentice age, if even. He was sturdy and stout, and his plush fluffy fur was a startling bright ginger, brighter than he’d ever seen on a cat before. Vivid pine green eyes blinked at him amiably from a round face with a goofy grin that Tallpaw couldn’t help feeling was rather inappropriate considering the situation he was in.

Jake suddenly gasped, “I know you! I saw you running yesterday! You really are one of those wild clan cats aren’t you?”

Tallpaw was taken aback by the bubbly excitement in Jake’s voice. “Well...yes I am. Were you spying on us?”

“Not on purpose, I was just wandering, and I heard a lot of cats talking and then I saw you all running around faster than I’d ever seen anything run, and you did this amazing leap and bounced right over this other cat and I thought you couldn’t even be real, it was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life!”

Tallpaw felt his fur grow a bit hot as he blushed at Jake’s gushing. Surely it wasn’t all that amazing, but Jake was still babbling.

“I’ve heard so many incredible things about you clan cats! My siblings used to say you’re not even real but I knew better, I heard you have magic powers! Is it true you can fight foxes? Can you really control the weather? My mother heard you could cut down trees with a swipe of your claws and catch eagles out of the sky in a leap and--”

“Slow down, I have no idea what you're saying!” Tallpaw wanted to sound stern but he couldn’t help but be a bit flattered Jake thought so highly of him. 

Jake came right up to him and sniffed him excitedly and Tallpaw was too stunned to back off. “I’m just so thrilled to meet an actual wild cat! I’ve wanted to my whole life, wow you smell just like heather flowers--”

“Jake, do twolegs teach you about personal space?”

“No, why?”

“Never mind. Look, I only said I would get you out of the brambles, and I’ve done that so…”

Jake cocked his head “So?”

Tallpaw looked down at his claws, suddenly feeling a little awkward ‘Well I...I’m supposed to fight you and chase you off now.”

“You have to fight me?”

“It’s my duty, warriors are supposed to fend off all trespassers.”

Jake nodded solemnly. “Ah...That makes sense. It is your duty after all. It’s ok, I understand. Here, hit me.” He turned his cheek to Tallpaw.

“You’re...going to let me hit you?”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble! You have to at least try. Besides, if I had a scar from a battle with a wild cat, that would actually make a pretty cool story.”

“Um...alright. Here goes.” Tallpaw raised his unsheathed claws hesitantly.

“Wait!” Jake cried.

“What?”

“Is it going to hurt?”

Tallpaw blinked “is it going to hurt if I claw your face? Yes, I would think so!”

“Oh… Well could you maybe not do it so hard?”

“That’s not...I’m sure this isn’t how it’s supposed to be done.”

“No no, you're right, I’m tough, I can handle it. Then you can tell your clan mates you did your job.”

Tallpaw sighed in defeat and dropped back onto four paws. “This isn’t right at all. I can’t just hit you if you’re not going to hit me back!”

“But wouldn’t that hurt you?”

“Yes but--ugh! What sort of cat are you?”

“I guess the sort that doesn’t fight very much. I don’t really know how fights are supposed to go.”

“I... don’t really know either…” Tallpaw admitted.  He shook his head and sat down. This couldn’t be right. Jake was hardly more than a kitten. Maybe not exactly a kitten, but close to one...and the Warrior Code does say to have mercy for the helpless...Does he count as helpless? He looked Jake over with the brambles still sticking out of his fur and big green eyes still bright with excited curiosity. Er...probably? Tallpaw sighed in defeat. He wouldn’t be chasing off his first intruder today.

“What are you doing out here anyway?” Tallpaw asked, “There’s no twolegs around here.”

“Twolegs?”

“Those terrible tall hairless creatures that keep you prisoner!”

“Oh! You’re talking about the other housefolk.”

Tallpaw curled his lip, “I don’t care what you call them. All our elders say they’ve given up the right to be treated with respect by us. They tell stories about horrible things they’ve done, they are barely like animals at all. They hurt others, but can’t be killed themselves, they control monsters that don’t even smell alive. Everywhere they go becomes inhospitable to free animals!”

“But you aren’t like other wild animals you know. You’re a cat! They like cats. They wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I don’t care what they like! They want to control us, and we won’t let them.”

Jake stared at him blankly. “I’ve never heard of anything like that, and I’ve lived with the housefolk on the farm all my life. Maybe you’ve just met bad ones? I’m sure some are bad, but some cats are probably bad too. These ones at the farm are nice, I haven’t even lived with other cats in a long time since my family went separate ways.”

“They’ve got you tied up in a collar that’s made you stuck here! You could have died!” Tallpaw argued. How could Jake not see how he’d been brainwashed?

“I never minded the collar, I forget it’s even there. I just ran off and got tangled.” Jake replied simply

“But how long have you been stuck here?”

“Since um… a day ago?” Jake looked down and absent mindedly batted at a leaf, suddenly looking a little sad. “Since my mother and littermates left the barn, I get bored when there’s no one around and so I started wandering. I wondered if I could follow the car that one of my brothers left in to go visit him, so I started down the road, but then I got distracted because I saw this really neat bird and before I knew it, I was completely lost. And then I got stuck in this bush yesterday and I thought I would starve to death until you came along! Speaking of which...how do you get food out here?”

Tallpaw had no idea what to say. This absolutely absurd cat just shows up out of nowhere, and what was he supposed to do with them now? He didn’t know where this barn was, and it was forbidden to go so far anyway. Jake couldn’t stay so near their territory, but if he went without food for too long before he could find his way back, he’d starve. If the warrior code says to have mercy…

“I’m afraid I might regret this but...wait here for a moment.” Tallpaw said.

He ducked away and padded off into the treeline. He would catch something for Jake, just one small thing. And then he’d catch another small thing to take back to make up for it. It’s not clan prey if it comes from past the border, right? There must be some mice or voles around here. 

Luckily StarClan seemed to be on his side as it took very little time for him to scent a vole. Stalking in thick woodland was very awkward for Tallpaw, but the plump little creature looked like it didn’t have to do very much running in its day to day life. It almost spotted him but before it could turn, Tallpaw sprang and killed it quickly with a sharp bite. He shook the kicked up leaves from his pelt and pulled himself out of the prickly undergrowth. It was a wonder ShadowClan and ThunderClan could enjoy hunting like that, the forest felt so cramped and bracken kept whapping him in the face. He returned with the vole as quickly as he could to where he had left Jake, and found the kittypet staring up a tree at a perched robin. 

His eyes widened when he saw Tallpaw. “Did you just catch that? That was so fast! I’ve chased birds and mice before but I never managed to catch them, you’re really something, uh...Mr. Warrior.”

Tallpaw rolled his eyes as he dropped the vole “I’m not actually a warrior yet. But... I suppose I didn’t tell you my name did I?”

“You didn’t!” Jake grinned “But I thought it would be rude to ask again.”

“It’s Tallpaw”

“Tall-Paw?” Jake looked down at Tallpaw’s feet doubtfully. “That’s somehow an even funnier name.”

“It will be Talltail one day, when I get my full title. My father chose the name for me with that in mind.”

 And he intended it to be a name for a tunneler… No, now was not the time to be agonizing over that. He rushed to change the subject before Jake could inquire about what was wrong. “Nevermind that. This is for you so you don’t starve to death.”

“I’ve always wanted to know what furry creatures tasted like--but...are you sure you won’t get in trouble? I am trespassing, even though it was an accident.”

“I think it’s alright...It technically was just off WindClan territory. And the warrior code teaches us to be merciful. Even to silly kittypets. The clan will probably be glad to hear the strange scent in these woods isn’t a dangerous cat. You haven’t seen any other cats, right?” Tallpaw asked.

Jake hummed in thought, “I saw all you yesterday...and another little group walking around the moor not long before you showed up. They were too far away to hear me.”

Tallpaw narrowed his eyes. The dawn patrol shouldn’t have gotten to this part of the territory yet, “Did those cats look like they belonged here?”

“I...don’t know how a cat looks like they belong here. I couldn’t see them very well. One was a fluffy white cat with big dark spots, and I couldn’t tell the rest of them.”

Tallpaw’s fur prickled. The only white cat with dark patches other than himself in the clan was Palebird, and Tallpaw knew for a fact she was neither fluffy nor going out on dawn patrols right now. He looked suspiciously over his shoulder at the moor as if expecting to see someone there, watching. It was possible Jake was mistaken...Maybe it was just Woollycloud? 

“Well...if you see any other cats, just don’t talk to any of them. They could be dangerous.” Tallpaw said.

Jake shrugged and began to eat Tallpaw’s catch gratefully, and a bit awkwardly as he chewed around the fur. Tallpaw reminded him that you don’t actually have to swallow the fur. Light began to filter down through the tree branches and Tallpaw realized that the sun had very nearly risen over the hills. He was supposed to be meeting Dawnstripe now.

“Oh no...I’ve been here too long! I have to get going!”

Jake looked up, and Tallpaw was surprised to see his eyes glimmer with sadness 

“You’re leaving? Already? But I wanted to ask you so many more questions! And I still don’t really know where I am...”

“I must meet my mentor. Listen...You just make sure you don’t go farther past this treeline. The patrols probably won’t notice you, but they might not be as nice as me. And don’t talk to any strange cats, especially those others you saw. If they were other outsiders, they could be more dangerous to you than my clanmates.”

“Will I see you again?” Jake asked.

“Well...maybe. I’ll try. But you should just try to retrace your steps to your own territory. Other predators don’t often come near clan land so there shouldn’t be too much danger in these woods.” Tallpaw dipped his head awkwardly out of habit, then remembered he shouldn’t do that when parting with a kittypet, but it was too late now. He turned and leaped over the bushes back onto the moor. Stars, I hope I'm not late after bothering Dawnstripe for such early training…

He wasn’t sure why he had told Jake that he’d try to see him again. That was the last thing he should be doing. But he couldn’t help feeling sorry for the lost kittypet. Even though Tallpaw didn’t look back, the funny orange tom was still on his mind. What a strange morning…what a strange cat! Who likes twolegs? And didn’t he know he shouldn't be so friendly to threatening strangers? Jake hadn’t looked worried or scared even once.

 And he asked way too many questions!  But still...he was nice. And the admiration in his eyes had been flattering, even if he was clearly easily impressed. Maybe I should go back later. Make sure he found his way home. Just to be sure. Can’t have trespassers hanging around forever after all.

But something still weighed on his mind. So Jake wasn’t one of the dangerous trespassers they had to be on alert for. But Mistmouse had supposedly scented more than one outsider on this border. And what if it hadn’t been Woollycloud that Jake saw? A tunneler patrol didn’t have much need to be on the northern border after all. Were there more cats out here after all that he had missed?

chapter list / previous / next

[mintaka14]

This is the long, angsty chapter. Enjoy.

Coryphée

A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction

By Mintaka14

Chapter Three – Entrée de Carabosse

Little things kept going wrong after that, and it culminated in the unforgiveable sin of being late for afternoon rehearsal. Madame had regarded her with frozen hauteur as she’d burst into the studio half an hour late and stammering an apology, and had sublimely disregarded her for the remainder of the afternoon, which was worse.

Of course, the moment that there was a break in the rehearsal, Marinette heard Lila’s voice start up.

“Oh, I’m sure Marinette didn’t mean to be late, but… well, doesn’t it seem disrespectful? Surely anyone else would plan and make sure that they were on time, when Madame has given her an opportunity like this? I mean, no matter what the excuse, you wouldn’t be late, would you, Alya? And to say someone must have turned off her alarm like that – well, isn’t it more likely that she just forgot to turn it on?”

That telling pause before Alya spoke up to defend her hurt more than Marinette was willing to admit. Without saying a word, she shoved the doors open and headed out into the corridor, looking for a few moments to breathe. She’d reached the staircase when a hand landed on her arm and she spun around defensively. Adrien backed away, his hands in the air.

“It’s just me,” he said with a smile, but his eyes were concerned. “Is everything okay?”

Marinette let out a sharp breath. “Lila’s at it again, insinuating that I’m not reliable, and I only got the part because I did something shady. There’s always something, some little dig, about my dancing, or my weight, or how I’m always tripping over something.”

“Don’t let her get to you,” Adrien said earnestly. “It’s all just talk.”

Marinette shot a look at him, then her eyes dropped. She found herself frowning down at the staircase bannister. Did… did he really believe that? He’d grown up in the cut-throat worlds of ballet and fashion where reputations and careers were made and broken by gossip and malicious rumours. How did he not see what Lila could do with just a few words in the right place? Already, Marinette felt that some of the instructors were looking at her a little more thoughtfully, a little more warily, and Marinette would bet that Lila was behind it.

“And I think you’re amazing. I’m so glad we were partnered up. It’s like we were meant to be together,” Adrien was saying. “So don’t worry about Lila, no matter what she thinks, I know you’re an incredible dancer.”

Marinette’s jaw dropped a little in astonishment. That was what he thought she was worried about? He stood there with a hopeful look on his face, and she sighed.

“We’d better get back,” she gave in, and started back towards the studio. “I don’t want to be late again today. Once was enough, and Madame will be starting again soon.”

Adrien’s face broke out in a beam, and he jogged ahead to open the door for her with a courtly flourish. “Milady.”

“Oh, Marinette,” Lila almost sobbed on a note of overdone drama as Marinette came in. “I am so sorry for what I said!”

Adrien was giving Marinette a look of meaningful expectation, but she didn’t trust herself to say anything in response.

“If I’d know it was such a sensitive issue for you, I wouldn’t have said a word, and I’m sure you didn’t really mean to be so late,” Lila was still going.

Alya wrapped an arm around her. “You’ve been working too hard, Marinette. We all have. I say we take the night off and go out somewhere.”

There was a ripple of approval from the handful of dancers who were close enough to hear, and suggestions being tossed around, but Marinette tuned it out. She could feel a headache setting in, and she pressed her fingers to her temples.

“You should come with us,” Alya suggested, hugging her shoulder tighter. “You could use a night out.”

“Yes, Marinette. You should come with us,” Lila said, the smile she gave suggesting that she would enjoy every second of it if Marinette was unwise enough to agree.

Marinette swallowed thickly. “I really should get home. I don’t feel too well tonight. Maybe another time.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Lila said sympathetically, and her smile grew a little wider. She patted Marinette’s hand. “You should rest up. The last thing we want is you getting sick before opening night.”

“A word, Mlle Dupain-Cheng,” Madame commanded sharply from her position near the piano, and Marinette could see Lila’s expression turn positively gleeful. She avoided Adrien’s concerned glance as she moved to obey, and pretended she couldn’t hear the whispers that broke out behind her.

As soon as Marinette reached her, Madame said, “There is going to be an opening in the ranks at the next concours,” and Marinette’s head snapped up, unable to suppress the sharp inhalation. Madame gave a slight nod of acknowledgement.

“Yes, exactly. We have given you this role this season because we believe you have considerable potential, and to see how you do in a significant role. Depending on how you perform at the concours auditions, this will influence our decision on who to advance to the rank of sujet, but being late to rehearsal like this does not speak well of your commitment.”

“No, Madame,” Marinette swallowed. “It won’t happen again.”

The director of dance fixed her with a steely eye. “See that it doesn’t, Marinette. I expect great things from you. Don’t let me down.”

Marinette finished the rest of the rehearsal feeling like a limp rag. By the time she made her way out of the stage doors, she was barely able to muster a smile for Luka, who was waiting for her in the courtyard. He shot her a concerned look as they started towards the metro together.

“Melody? Looks like it’s been a heavy day. Did you want to talk about it?”

Marinette sighed heavily. “It’s just little things. Stupid things, but they all add up, you know? Like ribbons that I know I stitched down and secured only a week ago fraying and giving way in the middle of class, and my sewing kit going missing, and then turning up in the rubbish. Stupid things, but they just keep happening.”

She frowned down at her feet, and Luka watched her silently, waiting for her to go on.

“And I don’t care what Lila says, I know I set the right alarm on my phone today,” she burst out. It was also deeply suspicious, in retrospect, that Lila had been the one to hand her bag, with her phone in it, to Marinette at the end of class.

“So Lila was involved in this?” Luka asked in a carefully even tone. Marinette sighed again, her shoulders slumping even further. They’d reached the steps down into the station.

“She’s always just… there, but there’s nothing I can prove. I know she’s talking about me. I get odd looks and odd silences whenever I walk into a room now, and she’s there in the middle of it, but Adrien says – “

“Adrien knows about Lila?” Luka cut her off.

“I don’t think he really believes that she’s doing anything malicious.”

The train appeared in a rush of air across the platform and Marinette wedged herself in beside Luka, letting herself lean against him as the doors closed. He wrapped one protective arm around her, and held onto the rail as the train jolted into motion.

“It’s not like I can prove anything, and like Adrien says, it’s all just talk.”

Luka’s mouth tightened but he didn’t say anything further.

Once the train disgorged them at their stop, Luka steered her towards the river and the Liberty instead of the bakery, and they walked in tired but companionable silence. It wasn’t until Marinette was curled up below deck on Juleka’s rumpled bed, her head resting on Juleka’s stomach and Luka handing her a cup of tea with a sympathetic smile, that she said, “Madame told me I have a shot at a promotion to sujet if I prove myself this season and I do well in the concours. And if I don’t screw up by being late again.”

Luka’s eyebrows rose. “Wow.”

“I know,” Marinette said dismally. “It’s incredible news.”

“Is it?” Luka prodded gently, not as if he questioned her statement, but more as if he was reading her ambiguous feelings about it.

“I don’t know anymore. It just doesn’t feel like fun right now.”

She felt Juleka snort behind her head. “Yeah, because dancing on your toes til the blisters leak through your shoes is so much fun. You weirdo.”

“Like you can talk, Miss I Played Metallica Until My Fingers Bled,” Marinette grumbled at her. “I’m good at what I do. It’s what I am. It’s just, it’s always been hard, but it’s never felt like work before. Why can’t it be fun again?”

“It can be. You’ve just had so much other stuff going on that it makes it hard to remember what the music feels like when it’s going right. Come on,” Luka said. “We’re going out tonight.”

She groaned.

“A dark club, some great music, no tulle,” he coaxed. “Just you, me and my two left feet-“

Marinette giggled, and gave in. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. I’ve seen your moves.”

“You know I do better with an instrument in my hands.” He tugged her to her feet. “But for you, melody, I’ll make the sacrifice. You need to remember what it feels like when it’s just the beat and your own heart moving you.”

“So embarrassing,” Juleka muttered from the bed, and Luka reached down to throw a pillow at his sister.

“And you’re not invited.”

Behind her purple hair, Juleka rolled her eyes. “Wouldn’t want to be.”

There was no band at the club that Luka took her to that night, but the DJ knew what he was doing, and Marinette could feel the beat pulsing up through the floor of Le Disque. She closed her eyes in the strobing darkness and felt Luka take her hand. There was nothing perfect or practised here. This was more primal and savage, and tonight this was exactly what she needed. It drove up through the soles of her feet, pounding in time to her heartbeat and pushing all thought out of her head, and Luka’s hands grounded her.

It was hours later, exhausted and sweat-soaked, when she found herself swaying slowly against Luka. She reached up to trace the edge of his leather cuff and followed the spray of cherry blossoms along his skin. He stilled under her touch.

“You never did tell me why you got this one,” she said, and he bent his head to hear her over the bass.

“I’ve got tattoos for Ma and Jules and Rose,” he told her. “Of course I want you on me too.”

Even in the flashing colours of the club lights she could see the dark blush creep up his ears and the way his eyes went wide as what he’d said caught up with him. She couldn’t help giggling.

“I didn’t… not on me … I meant …” he broke off and blew out an embarrassed breath. “You know what I meant.“

It wasn’t like him to be so thrown by accidental innuendo. If she hadn’t loved him before, she would have fallen there and then, watching him turning into a gorgeous, stumbling mess. Maybe Juleka was right. Maybe she was just being dumb about this. Marinette took a deep breath for courage, and raised her eyes to meet his.

“Luka, I-“

“Luka! I thought that was you!” He turned to meet the voice, and an arm cut across Marinette’s vision, reaching out to brush Luka’s blue tips with an easy familiarity that made Marinette shrink in on herself. The girl who swept in to kiss Luka’s cheek was beautiful in leather and lace, with an edgy confidence that Marinette envied, and she wasn’t someone that Marinette had met before. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“Celeste,” he said over the noise of the club. “Yeah, I’m here with Marinette.”

To the casual observer, it might have looked like the other girl noticed Marinette for the first time. The girl’s eyes narrowed with a new interest.

“So you’re the Marinette Luka keeps talking about.”

Marinette glanced at Luka, but he was watching Celeste with an unreadable expression.

“He said you were at school with his sister, and then went into the Opera Ballet? That must be so amazing.”

“It’s not as glamorous as it sounds,” Marinette muttered, and Celeste laughed.

She slid a mischievous look towards Luka. “Oh, I bet it is. The way Luka tells it, you’re some kind of superstar. Maybe I’ll get to see you in something one of these days.”

“Maybe,” Marinette said tightly, and Luka glanced down at her before he turned back to the other girl.

“I’ll catch up with you later, Celeste,” he said, and she laughed.

“Okay, okay, I know when I’m not wanted.” She moved away through the crowd. In the middle of the crush of bodies, Celeste spun on her bootheel and called out over the noise, “See you in composition on Monday?”

Luka shook his head. “I’ve got rehearsals,” he called back, and the girl gave an exaggerated pout.

“It won’t be the same without you, Couffaine.”

Luka was already turning back to Marinette, but any scrap of courage or hope she’d had was gone.

“I need to go home,” she said around the lump in her throat, and he had to bend down to hear her. “I need to go. It’s getting late.”

She pulled away, and was halfway across the crowded dance floor before he caught up with her. The walk home was silent. Marinette caught Luka’s eyes on her a few times, but he didn’t push her to talk.

He did catch her hand as she started to unlock the bakery door.

“You know I’m here for you, melody,” he said softly. “Any time, whatever you need. You can tell me anything.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Or nothing. I’m good for that, too.”

She smiled back at him, but the smile slipped as he walked away, and sleep didn’t come easily that night.

It was only the ironclad discipline that had been drilled into her from the day she first joined the elite ranks of the Paris Opera Ballet School that got her out of bed in time the next morning. When she pushed open the studio door, juggling a half-empty cup of coffee and her bags of shoes, practice tutu, and everything she needed to get through the day, Marinette deeply wished she could just go back to bed and pull her quilts over her head.

The sound of Lila’s voice only made her longing to bury herself in her quilts that much stronger.

“Well, of course, when they offered me a permanent contract with the company I just had to take it right away, but was hard moving to Paris so suddenly like that. You’ve all been so sweet to me, though,” Lila was simpering as Marinette walked in, and Marinette sighed, taking another swig of coffee from her cup.

Lila broke off, and called out, “Marinette! Was that you at Le Disque last night? I could have sworn I saw you with your boyfriend from the orchestra, the one with the blue hair and the tattoos. Oh!” There went the practised hand flutter of dismay, and the swift glance to make sure that Adrien had heard her. “I forgot, he’s not your boyfriend, is he?”

How had Lila even been there? Had the whole world been at Le Disque? And now Alya was frowning at Marinette.

“I thought you said you weren’t feeling well and you were going home,” Alya said accusingly. “If you had other plans you could have just said so.”

“I didn’t have plans,” Marinette tried to explain, feeling the weight of it all pulling at her. “Luka took me out to try and cheer me up.”

“So you are seeing Luka.”

“He’s just a friend!” she cried, and even she could hear how unconvincing it sounded the more she insisted, even if it was true. She swallowed hard, and turned away before anyone could catch the tears that were welling up.

Even as she walked away, she could hear Lila behind her, saying with spurious concern, “I just don’t think it’s right for Marinette to string them both along.”

“She said she’s just friends with Luka,” Alya said, but there was a hesitant note in her voice.

“Hmm.” Lila lifted her eyes to meet Marinette’s as she glanced back, with a look that made it clear she knew Marinette could hear them. “That’s a lot of heavy atmosphere for just friends. I just hope Adrien doesn’t get hurt by Marinette’s games.”

When everyone broke for lunch, Marinette retreated up to the costume ateliers rather than join Alya and Lila. She just didn’t have the energy to deal with Lila’s barbs and Alya’s questions. Once she stepped into the workshop, the smells of fabric and dye and glue wrapped around her and she drew a deep breath, letting it go in a rush.

One of the costumiers, Nicolette, waved her scissors in greeting.

“Marinette, you’re back again!”

Pascal looked up from where he was laboriously laying out a pattern of lace and glass jewels.

“Good timing,” he said, and gave her a conspiratorial smile. “We just got the latest dye batch back, and Aurora’s adagio tutu is fabulously stunning. If you asked Eloise nicely…”

Marinette spun on her heel to turn beseeching eyes on Eloise Marchand, and the costume director laughed.

“If anyone asks, I will deny all knowledge,” she said, lifting one of the linen bags from the rack beside her. “You didn’t see this, and you were never here.”

That wasn’t the last time Marinette sought sanctuary in the ateliers over the next few weeks. The appointments for costume fittings and the brief slivers of time when she was able to steal away to the workshops were becoming her refuge as Madame Viret became more ruthlessly critical and Alya kept pestering her about her love life, while Lila continued to undermine her at every turn. Luka hadn’t managed to come and visit during rehearsals since the time that he’d met Alya, although he was there at the stage doors to walk home with her every night. It was getting harder to remember why she was even doing this in the first place.

The exquisite Princess Florine costume that was taking shape was one small reason, and after the first round of fittings, Marinette found more excuses to go and watch its progress. Adrien’s Bluebird outfit was coming together as well, and through the door of the tailoring atelier Marinette caught a glimpse of Adrien, resplendent in blue, as she passed. She stopped short.

“Marinette!” he called to her, holding his arms out to show off as the tailor stepped back to eye the outfit critically. “What do you think? Do you like it?”

“Like it?” Marinette drew closer and circled him a few times, taking in all the details. His father had wrought magic with the design. It gave her a whole new appreciation for just how clever Gabriel Agreste had been with her own costume, complementing but not matching the Bluebird, and contrasting the human princess to the fantastical bird that Adrien was becoming in the hands of the tailors.

“Marinette? We lost you there for a moment,” Adrien teased. Marinette became aware that she’d been running her hands over the beadwork on his costume, and she yanked her hands away with a blush.

“I’m so sorry. It’s exquisite work,” she said apologetically, and Adrien beamed at her.

“I don’t mind having your hands all over me,” he said, laughing, as her blush deepened to crimson. “I’ll tell my father you like his design.”

“And the overall vision is incredible!” She was lost in the costume design again, forgetting her embarrassment. She itched to touch the beading again, her hands hovering, but she kept herself at a distance this time. “Most costumiers go with actual feathers for the Bluebird, but your father’s managed to suggest feathers and flight without falling into a literal interpretation. Look at the cut of the fabric here!”

Adrien was still smiling down at her.

“He probably didn’t want his son sneezing all over the stage during his big moment.” When Marinette looked up at him, he explained, “I’m allergic to feathers. Which is a bit ironic under the circumstances.”

She couldn’t help smiling back at him. “It would make things a bit difficult.”

She straightened, but he caught at her hand before she could pull away.

“Won’t you consider going out with me?” he asked her hopefully. “My father has preview tickets to the Style Queen event, and I’d love you to come with me. You had fun at the gala, didn’t you?”

“Adrien…” Marinette tried to gently free her hand, but he kept it pressed to his heart, his green eyes full of longing. She said reluctantly, “I did, but…”

“Then think about it. Please?”

Marinette couldn’t help but remember how the rehearsal had gone the last time she’d turned Adrien down. She couldn’t afford that kind of awkwardness between them with their pas de deux performance and a possible promotion at stake.

“I’ll think about it.” She extracted her hand and retreated from the atelier before he could say anything further.

At the fifth floor landing, Lila was leaning against the wall as she flicked through something on her phone. Marinette’s footsteps slowed on the stairs, and Lila looked up as she drew closer.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Lila drawled. She tapped a finger against her chin. “Now, what could have taken you up to the costume ateliers today? It’s not your scheduled fitting. Could it be because Adrien is up there right now?” She made an exaggerated face. “That’s just sad.”

“As sad as keeping track of my fittings and lurking on the staircase because you’re afraid that Adrien might like me better than you?” Marinette asked pointedly, and Lila’s eyes narrowed. She straightened and stepped in too close to Marinette.

“It’s going to get you into trouble if you get caught hanging around where you aren’t wanted,” Lila said sweetly, and before Marinette could respond Lila was gone.

By the time Marinette made it back to the studio, Lila was already there. Marinette felt uneasy when she saw Lila talking to Madame Viret. The unease became something closer to dread as Lila glanced in her direction and Madame’s lips tightened.

~~~~~

The first rough stage rehearsal was always chaotic, with dancers wandering all over the place. The backstage staff were everywhere, and there were pieces of set in the way. The only place Marinette could find where she wasn’t being constantly hustled out of the way was front centre stage. This was going to be the first rehearsal with the orchestra too, and Marinette kept glancing back to the empty orchestra pit below, watching out for Luka.

From the stage, she stared out past the proscenium arch into the cliff face of gilt pillars and balconies and the rich crimson of the blank rows of seats. The massive chandelier in the golden heavens of the auditorium was unlit, but it still drew the eye and stray motes from the ring of lights around the inside of the glorious dome caught from time to time on the crystals of the chandelier in a faint wink of brilliance. No matter how many times Marinette had stood on that stage, it was still an overwhelming sight.

She tilted her head back, and looked up into the stage flies impossibly far above, and the network of scaffolding. The musicians were starting to make their way into the orchestra pit below the stage, and she could hear them clumping through the offstage door, laughing and chattering with the intermittent squeak of instruments and rattle of music stands as they settled into place.

She saw a glimpse of blue as Luka slid into his chair and said something to the violinist in front of him, and lost sight of him as Adrien caught her around the waist by surprise and spun her around.

“This is so exciting! Aren’t you excited? I always love the first stage rehearsal,” he babbled, and hoisted her up in an impromptu lift. Marinette couldn’t help the tiny shriek that escaped her.

“Don’t you dare drop me, Adrien!”

“I would never let you fall, milady.”

Down in the orchestra pit, Marinette thought she saw Luka look back over his shoulder at them, but when she peeked, he was bent over his music stand and his entire focus was on tuning his violin. The next time she was free to look for him, she saw Lila leaning over Luka with spurious attention, and Marinette felt her stomach roll. She couldn’t hear what Lila was saying, but she saw the Italian girl trail her fingers along the tattoo that ran down his arm. Luka flicked his arm free of Lila’s touch and looked up, meeting Marinette’s eyes.

He brought his bow up to his violin and played a quick, sinister series of notes that ended in a vibrating minor chord, and Marinette had a sudden vision of Lila twirling a villainous moustache. She put a hand to her mouth to smother the giggles that threatened to erupt, and Luka grinned up at her.

Even from the stage, Marinette could see the venomous look that Lila gave Luka, but the girl wiped it away in an instant. She put a hand to Luka’s chest, and said something to him that had Luka’s face turn to stone. Other musicians glanced at them with curiosity, and Luka caught Lila’s wrist, peeling her hand off him.

Marinette barely heard Adrien call out to her as she hurried offstage, her pointe shoes clattering as she made her way down to the orchestra pit door. She got there just as Lila pulled the door open with a satisfied little smirk on her face. The Italian girl looked her over from head to toe.

“You know, you’d be much better off sticking to your loser musician friend there,” she said. Lila had no way of knowing, but that was just about the cruellest thing she could have possibly said to Marinette in that moment.

Marinette watched her walk away with a sick feeling, and glanced back at Luka’s impassive expression. As she made her way over to him, she asked anxiously, “What was that about?”

“Just a poisonous bitch trying to make trouble,” Luka said, and Marinette was taken aback by the controlled savagery behind the words. He must have seen the look on her face, because his eyes softened a little. “Don’t lose sleep over it. She’s not worth it.”

He shifted his violin, looking up at her with that sweet smile of his. “How’s Adrien?”

“Adrien?” she asked in confusion. “I… he’s… fine, I think?”

“He seems like a nice guy,” Luka said. “And whatever happened three years ago, I think he’s smitten with you now.”

The thought didn’t seem to be bothering Luka at all.

“Luka -“

“Hey, Luka,” one of the other violinists called. “Did you- Oh. Never mind.”

Her eyes shifted uncomfortably from Marinette to Luka and back again, and Marinette became very aware of the distance between them.

“I’d better get going,” she said, and backed up, sliding past the rows of chairs and music stands. It took her a few moments hidden in a dark corner of the wings, and Adrien’s voice calling for her, before she was ready to suck in a deep breath and get back to work.

~~~~~

There was no good reason that Luka could think of why Lila Rossi would want to slum it in the orchestra pit, so when he saw the Italian girl picking her way through the forest of music stands he felt himself tense. He kept tuning his violin, not looking up when she came to a stop beside him.

“So this is where you hide out,” she said coyly, and Luka ignored her. He drew his bow across the strings and made a face at the sound, reaching up to tweak the tuning pegs. Lila seemed to be getting annoyed with his lack of response.

“You do know you’re going to lose Marinette to Adrien if you’re not careful,” she said impatiently.

At that, he looked up, his expression cool. “What makes you think you know anything about my relationship with Marinette?”

“Oh, please!” she scoffed.

“If Marinette and Adrien are happy together then I’m very happy for them.” He turned his attention back to the violin’s pitch until it started to sound right. “And if Adrien is interested in another girl and not you, then why are you so determined to come between them?”

“Adrien shouldn’t be wasted on some little nobody like Marinette. He’s rich, he’s a model, he’s the heir to the Agreste fashion empire,” Lila was checking them off on her fingers, “and they’ve practically go the frame already hung here for his danseur étoile portrait. Anyone who partners with him is almost guaranteed to make at least première danseuse.”

“And what about how he feels?”

Lila gave him a look of disdain. “What about it? I need Adrien to get my contract renewed, and I am not going to let his little infatuation with goody-two-shoes Marinette stand in my way. But I want you to have your happily ever after,” she said with a whiplash change of tone from disdain to sultry. She ran her hand down his chest. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, no matter how much you talk about friends, and I want to help you get what you want.”

Luka felt his eyes turn to ice. Deliberately, he reached up and clamped her wrist, prising her hand off him. She tried to tug it free, and gave him a look of surprised fear as his grip held like iron. Without a word, he dropped her hand like garbage, and Lila backed up out of his reach. With a toss of her head, she recovered her assurance and fixed him with a smirk.

“Either way, I always get what I want,” she told him, and sashayed out of the orchestra pit, sparing a nasty little smile and a whispered word for Marinette as she passed.

For the orchestra rehearsal, Luka played with half his mind on the music and half on the problem of Lila Rossi, and when everyone packed up around him at the end of the third act run-through, Luka stayed behind. He headed up the narrow slope between the upholstered seats towards the back of the auditorium and sank into one of the chairs, leaning his violin case beside him, to watch the rest of the ballet rehearsal.

From time to time Luka found his fingers tapping against his thigh along with the music in his head that was competing with the rehearsal pianist just below the stage. Right now, the voice of the director was cutting over the piano, bellowing denunciations at someone who had strayed from their allotted place.

The piano started at a shout from the director, and Luka watched Marinette begin the Princess Florine variation yet again. Lila seemed to be keeping her distance, not that that was entirely reassuring.

He startled when someone dropped into the seat beside him.

“I thought the orchestra rehearsals finished a while ago,” Adrien said, and Luka turned to find the blond dancer watching Marinette. “You’ve known Marinette for a while?”

Ah. There it was, the point of this conversation.

“I’ve known her since she was seven. My sister and I used to play at some of the performing arts competitions that Marinette’s ballet school entered, so we kept bumping into her, and then she and Jules ended up at the same collége. We’ve all been friends for years.”

“And you two never dated?” Adrien asked casually, his attention still riveted on the stage. “You seem very close.”

“She’s never seen me that way,” Luka said simply.

Marinette had freaked out and disappeared for weeks the one time back when he was sixteen that he’d worked up the nerve to tell her how he felt about her, and he’d never wanted to risk losing her like that again.

He studied the blond boy for a long moment. “Don’t believe everything that Lila Rossi tells you,” he said abruptly, and Adrien turned to him with a look of slightly guilty self-consciousness.

“Why are you telling me that?”

“Because Lila’s out to make trouble, making out there’s something more between Marinette and me than there is, and I’m not going to let her use me as a weapon against Marinette.”

“That’s a bit melodramatic, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Luka got to his feet. He started up the theatre aisle. “Just don’t underestimate what Lila’s capable of, or how much she hates Marinette.”

Before he reached the top of the aisle, Adrien called softly, “You walk home with Marinette, don’t you? She said she usually goes home with you.”

Luka turned back to the blond dancer, waiting silently for him to get to the point.

“I’ve got this whole thing planned after rehearsal tonight, our first staged rehearsal, with roses and the whole works. Does she like roses?” Adrien was babbling a little self-consciously, rubbing the back of his neck as he talked. “And there’s a great little place I’ve booked for us that does an amazing open mille-feuille with Tahitian vanilla cream –“

“Does Marinette know you’ve got this planned for tonight?” Luka asked neutrally. She certainly hadn’t said anything to him about it. For that matter, Luka found himself wondering, did Adrien know anything about Marinette? No mille-feuille or pastry, no matter how good or how expensive, was ever going to impress the baker’s daughter.

“It’s supposed to be a surprise. Maybe this will convince her…” Adrien trailed off. “Luka, can you do me a favour?”

~~~~~

Afterwards, Luka went back to the Conservatory rather than going home. He wasn’t sure he could deal with Juleka’s acute questions just then, and he didn’t trust himself to be able to maintain a calm façade. The lecture halls were eerily quiet, but there were still students in the practice rooms and Luka collected a key from the front desk, and went to lose himself in music for a while, trying not to think about Marinette and what she and Adrien were doing at that moment.

It was hopeless, though, and some time later, Luka had given up on the entr’acte he was supposed to be working on. The violin had wandered into a more melancholy reverie that spoke of blue eyes and a bright spirit. He drifted with it, and it was a while before he realised that there was someone leaning in the door of the practice room, watching him.

“I haven’t heard that one before,” Celeste said as he lifted the bow from the violin strings. “Is that a new one of yours?”

“It’s just the beginnings of an idea so far,” he shrugged.

“I’m going to take a guess that it was inspired by your ballerina.”

He gave her a restrained smile, and turned to put his violin back in its case without answering her. She pushed off from the doorframe and came into the room.

“Is she worth that much heartache?” Celeste asked lightly, and Luka’s jaw tightened. He focused on carefully sliding the bow into its place, not trusting himself to answer her, because the answer was Yes. Always yes. And he wasn’t willing to discuss Marinette and the state of her heart with another woman.

“How has she not fallen for you like all the rest of us?”

He gave a soft snort at that.

“I’m not as irresistible as you seem to think I am,” he responded with his own attempt at lightness, but the notes sounded wrong in his ears, and from the way Celeste looked at him she’d heard it too.

“What you need is a night out,” she told him. Before he could say anything, she held up a hand. “I know you have no interest in me like that, I got that message loud and clear in the nicest possible way, but we’re still friends and what you need right now is a few drinks and a loud band to take your mind off things for a while. I just happen to know where we can find both those things.”

Luka was caught out by the echo – A dark club, some great music, no tulle. Just you, me and my two left feet… He snapped the clasps on his violin case closed with unnecessary force and swivelled back again.

“You know what? That sounds good,” he said, before he could think better of it.

~~~~~

Marinette had seen Luka sitting up in the back of the auditorium, watching the rest of the rehearsal after the orchestra had left, and she raised her hand in a tentative wave. Luka gave her a small smile and lifted his fingers in a return salute, but when the director finally let them go Marinette couldn’t find Luka anywhere.

Her phone chimed just as she pushed open the stage doors and stepped out into the cool night air, and she felt her breath hitch as the phone lit up with Luka’s name and the message that he wouldn’t be able to walk home with her that night.

There was no sign of him in the courtyard outside the stage doors, but she could see a sleek black car pulled up just beyond the arches, and Adrien was leaning against it with an armful of red roses. The moment he saw her, he waved with his other hand, and she walked towards him slowly, trying to work out what was going on.

After an exhausting day of rehearsals when all she wanted to do was go home, and the one person she’d actually been looking forward to seeing had just texted to say he wouldn’t be there, surely Adrien couldn’t be serious? She glanced down at the phone still in her hand and back up at the blond dancer and his bouquet of roses. Was he the reason Luka had cancelled on her?

“Marinette,” he called cheerfully as she drew closer. “I’ve come to sweep you off your feet.”

“This is not a good time,” she told Adrien curtly, and his smile faded, the hand holding out the roses falling, as he got a good look at her face.

“Are you alright? You’re looking rather pale.”

“I’m just very tired. I need to get home.” She kept walking towards the metro.

He broke into a jog to keep up with her. “Then let me drive you home. You’re not looking well, and it’s the least I can do. I want to.”

“It’s alright,” she insisted. “I’ll be fine.”

“Marinette.” He swung around and stopped in front of her, forcing her to come to a halt. The roses were forgotten in his hand, scattering petals on the path now. “Just let me take you home.”

She really was feeling something sinking in her stomach, and the thought of the crowded metro left her feeling ill.

“I insist.”

She let him steer her into the car, divorced from her own movement. Adrien was talking, and she didn’t hear a word he said. Everything felt so far away and unreal, and the roads blurred with shadows and streetlights as the driver wove through the Paris traffic. Adrien’s voice was a distant crackle in her ears, but he didn’t seem to be demanding an answer.

He seemed to be saying something about how much he enjoyed dancing with, how he was sure they were meant to be together, and she found herself wondering idly if Adrien would feel the same way if she wasn’t a ballet soloist on the rise. What if she was a… a baker, or a street sweeper? Or one of the dozens of girls in his father’s cutting rooms and workshops who probably watched the boss’ son walk past without a second glance in their direction?

The car was approaching the intersection near the bakery that lead down towards the river and the Liberty, and she broke out of her abstraction with a sudden gasp.

“Stop! Stop here.”

Adrien was still asking what was wrong as the car came to a halt near the curb and Marinette fumbled the door open.

“Marinette!”

“Here is good. I have to go,” she managed, and was halfway down the road before Adrien could stop her. She barely kept from breaking into a run as she reached the river and the familiar houseboat docked there.

Luka wasn’t there when Marinette made her way onto the Liberty, and Juleka gave her an blank look as Marinette burst into the room.

“Yeah, he texted before and said he was going out,” Juleka said in response to her stumbling question. “What’s going on?”

Marinette tried to give a nonchalant shrug, and knew that Juleka could see right through the act. “I was just worried. Luka said he couldn’t come home with me tonight. I thought he might have been sick or something.”

“He went to some gig with one of the girls from his composition class, I think,” Juleka told her. “Don’t know what time he’s planning to be back. Did you want to wait?”

Luka was out with another woman. He hadn’t cancelled on her because Adrien had asked him to, he’d had a date with Celeste. Marinette shook her head and backed away. She didn’t want to know how late Luka got back from this date that she hadn’t heard about, or if he stayed out all night with Celeste.

“Marinette?” Juleka was asking. “Are you okay?”

“I –“ Marinette broke off. What was there to say? “I’m fine,” she said unconvincingly, and when Juleka frowned at her she backed up before her friend could ask her any more questions. “It was just… never mind. I’d better get home.”

~~~~~

When Luka got home in the small hours of the morning, exhausted and no less heartsick than he was when he started, Juleka was curled up on the couch with some schlock horror movie playing in the background. She barely glanced at him, but Luka had the feeling that she’d been waiting up for him nonetheless.

“Marinette was here earlier,” she said to the screen, and Luka paused in the middle of trying to take off his shoes.

“Was she okay?”

Juleka shrugged. “She didn’t say. Just asked if you were around. What the hell is going on with you two?”

Luka sighed and dropped onto the couch beside Juleka, running a hand through his stiff and sweaty hair.

“Marinette’s been having a tough time with a bitch in the ballet corps,” he told her. “She’s spreading rumours about Mari, and tried to get me involved today.”

“And you just left Mari instead of walking home with her? So you could go on a date?” Juleka sat up straight and glared at him. “No wonder she looked like death when she got here.”

“Adrien was going to drive her home!” he protested, and Juleka’s glare grew fiercer.

“What kind of gobshite moron are you?”

Luka tipped his head back against the couch and sighed heavily. “She’s into Adrien, and I was trying to help. Did you at least find out what was wrong?”

“Did Ma drop you on your head when you were a baby? Or, no, she found you under a rock somewhere. Because there is no way anyone as stupid as you’re being could possibly be related to me.”

After a few minutes of muttering something savage under her breath, Juleka levelled a look at him through her purple-streaked hair.

“I’ve never asked, and you’ve never said, and you know I’m not into the whole messing with your life thing.”

“You’re an example to annoying little sisters everywhere,” Luka said drily.

“But this is Mari. Are you into her or not?”

The question was a gut-punch, even while he should have been expecting it.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on in that stupid head of yours,” Juleka snapped at him, and Luka’s mouth tightened.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Rose,” he told her flatly. “Not everything is a fairytale romance. I care about Mari, of course I care about her, but we’re never going to get together like that.”

“Not if you don’t pull your head out of your arse, you won’t,” Juleka growled, and threw a pillow at him with unnecessary force.

“Just drop it, Jules,” he growled back, and shoved himself to his feet. “I’m going to bed.”

~~~~~

Luka wasn’t at the bakery door the next morning when Marinette left for the Palais Garnier. When Adrien’s voice called out to her as she crossed the courtyard, she pretended she hadn’t heard him and tucked her chin into her collar, hurrying through the stage doors.

Adrien caught up with her on the staircase.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently, and once again, Marinette found herself fighting back tears. “You took off so fast last night. I was worried.”

“I’m so sorry. I think all the stress of rehearsals is getting to me,” she tried, giving him a wobbly smile. “You know those days when it just feels like everything is too much and you don’t want to ever dance another step again.”

She could see in his eyes that he didn’t understand.

She danced with all her usual skill and grace notes, but Adrien treated her like glass, and when the day ended he insisted on driving her home again. Marinette didn’t have the energy left to argue with him when he overruled her protests.

Marinette’s eyes cut to the arch at the edge of the courtyard as Adrien escorted her out of the stage doors, but there was no blue-haired figure waiting there. On her phone was another message from Luka saying that Adrien had offered to take her home, and he’d talk to her later. She hadn’t responded.

Marinette hadn’t realised how obvious it was that she’d been avoiding the Liberty, or that Luka wasn’t the only Couffaine she’d missed, until she opened the door of the bakery several days later to find Juleka standing there, a belligerent scowl on her face behind the fall of her hair.

“My Kitty Section costume needs mending. Can you help?” Juleka fired at her, and Marinette stepped back to let her in.

“Of course I can. You know that.”

Juleka followed her up the stairs and stood there, her gaze wandering around Marinette’s bedroom and the rolls of powder blue satin and chiffon that covered the couch until Marinette turned to see what was keeping her.

“New project?” Juleka asked, nodding at the pieces of pattern scattered across the desk and the beginnings of a bodice pinned to the mannequin in the corner. Marinette shrugged uncomfortably.

“Stress sewing. It’s been a rough week, and I needed something to take my mind off it.” She grabbed her pincushion from the desk. “So what needs mending?”

The black tunic top that Juleka shoved at her didn’t seem to be much damaged. In fact, it looked as though someone had just hastily yanked the hem loose, and Marinette shot Juleka a swift look as she held the tunic up to examine it. Her friend gave her back a deadpan stare.

“Fine,” Marinette sighed. “You do know you don’t need an excuse to come round.”

She carefully edged the roll of chiffon aside and sat onto the couch, turning the hem over. Juleka dropped into her desk chair and spun it around a few times while Marinette pinned the tunic.

Finally Juleka muttered, “You haven’t been around lately. Between you and Luka going missing in action, it’s been way too quiet on the boat.”

“How are things going with that girl from Luka’s composition class?” Marinette asked with careful casualness, pretending she didn’t see the look that Juleka shot her from under her black and purple fringe. “I haven’t seen him in a few days.”

“He hasn’t said anything to me. He’s been out most nights since then, though, so… who knows what my dumbass brother is up to?”

“Oh.”

Marinette pulled another pin from the pincushion and turned another section of the hem under before pinning it into place.

“I know he’s an idiot,” Juleka said abruptly, “but… try not to hurt him too bad.”

Marinette looked up in astonishment, her hand pausing over the reel of black cotton.

“Hurt who? Luka?”

Juleka shrugged and looked away.

“This whole thing with Adrien…”

“Adrien?” Marinette cut her off incredulously. “Luka doesn’t care what’s going on with Adrien. He’s the one who keeps pushing me to go out with him.”

And it tore her heart to pieces every time. Marinette focused on the hem of the tunic so that Juleka couldn’t see the tears that had welled up in her eyes. It took her a few attempts to thread the needle, and set the first stitch. Juleka sighed.

“Dumbass,” she muttered, and Marinette couldn’t tell who she was referring to.

“I met the girl from composition class,” she said to the hem of Juleka’s outfit. “Celeste.”

There was a long silence. “I don’t know what’s going on in his stupid head,” Juleka sighed.

“It’s simple. He’s seeing Celeste,” Marinette said quietly. “He’s been avoiding me and trying to set me up with Adrien because he doesn’t want to have to hurt me by telling me he just sees me as a good friend. And I… I just have to accept that he’s never going to see me as anything else. As long as he’s happy, that’s all I want.”

She didn’t realise that the tears had spilled over until Juleka wrapped her arms around Marinette in a tight hug.

“I’m going to kill him,” Juleka muttered as Marinette buried her face in her friend’s shoulder. “He may be my brother, but-“

Marinette shook her head. “Don’t,” she mumbled into Juleka’s shirt. “It’s not his fault he doesn’t love me the way I want him to. I’ll get over it.”

She was pretty sure she wouldn’t, but if the alternative was losing Luka’s friendship as well, then she’d find a way.

~~~~~

“We’re heading down for lunch, Marinette. Are you coming? You’re not going to flake on us again, are you?” Alya asked a little impatiently.

Marinette gave her friend a strained smile, then glanced at the Italian girl standing at Alya’s elbow and said, “Sorry, I need to find a quiet corner to work on the bourrées from the solo variation. They were a bit rough yesterday, and Madame thinks they need work.”

She frowned down at her ballet shoes. They hadn’t been feeling quite right, and she tested her weight on them, pushing her toes into the floor with a hiss.

“And I need to break in my new pair. These ones are starting to give, and my other pair are still drying.” She looked around, ignoring Lila’s smirk. “Have you seen my shoe bag? I could have sworn I left it near the door.”

After a quick search, Alya fished it out of a pile of other bags and clothing, waving the bag triumphantly at Marinette.

“Found it! Honestly, what would you do without me? Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”

Marinette shook her head and shouldered her bag, following them out the door.

“Have fun with your bourrées,” Lila called after her with a little wave of her fingers, which was odd, but when she didn’t do or say anything else except link her arm with Alya as they walked away, Marinette relaxed enough to go in search of one of the smaller, unoccupied practice rooms.

One of the studios she peered in was empty, the dust motes drifting in the late afternoon sunlight that spilled in through the deep bulls-eye window. Marinette sighed and sat on the floor, pulling one of her ballet slippers out of the shoe bag, then stopped as something caught the light and glittered against the lining. For one long moment Marinette stared at it, her mind failing to process what she was looking at, and then the tiny, calm thought inserted itself – Glass. It’s glass.

Her brain froze. The light skated across a larger fragment and with a jolt she realised her hand was shaking. It was a long moment before she could pull herself together enough to make the call, and no matter how strained things might have been in the past few weeks, no matter who he was dating, she knew he would still answer.

“Marinette?” His voice was deep and steady, and she drew a trembling breath. She could hear the discordant sound of instruments in the background. “Marinette, what’s wrong? Where are you? I’m at the Garnier, and I’m on my way.”

After he hung up, Marinette felt the tears rolling down her cheeks. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there when she heard rapid footsteps coming towards her, and she looked up into Luka’s worried blue eyes.

“Marinette? Melody, what’s wrong?” he asked, and mutely she held her shoe out to him.

There was a long beat of silence. Luka stared blankly at the slipper.

Finally, he said quietly, “Lila?”

“I don’t know who else would do this to me.”

She put the shoe down with exaggerated care, and shuddered, collapsing against Luka as his arms closed protectively around her. She could feel the reassuring drumbeat of his heart against her wet cheek.

“She couldn’t, surely no one’s sick enough to do that knowing what it would do to you if you actually put that on?” Luka’s voice was rough with horror.

“No,” Marinette said bitterly. “This is meant to be a warning, although I don’t think Lila would have been devastated if it did cut me up a bit. If she’d really been trying to hurt me, she could have done it in ways I wouldn’t have found until the damage was already done. I was meant to see the glass.”

Luka’s shirt was growing damp, and his arms tightened around her.

“Everywhere I turn, she’s starting rumours and lies about me. She had Adrien convinced that I was lying to him about not having a boyfriend because she’d seen me with you, and she’s hinting that I’d been saying all sorts of things about how he’d be good for my career. Adrien said he knew I wouldn’t do that, and that it was just harmless gossip, but I could tell he wasn’t completely convinced, and he’s not the only one. None of the instructors smile at me anymore, and even Alya seems to think I’m holding out on her. And now glass in my shoes? I thought that was the sort of thing that only happened in stupid melodramas.”

“Well, Lila does sound like a villain from a melodrama,” Luka said with a half-hearted attempt at humour. “Just don’t let her tie you to the railway tracks.”

Marinette gave a watery chuckle. Now that she was feeling a little calmer, some odd and maybe twisted part of her was almost grateful to Lila if it meant that Luka was here with his arms around her after weeks of his absence. For this one, brief moment the world felt almost right again.

“It’s not even Lila, not really. It’s just… when I was sure this was what I wanted, I could brush off the people like Lila. There have been a few of them, and that’s never going to stop. I could fight for what I wanted, but … why am I fighting so hard for this when I’m not even sure that I want the prize anymore?”

“I don’t know, melody,” he sighed, and she closed her eyes as he brushed a kiss over her hair. “I really don’t know.”

He gathered himself and got to his feet, and Marinette resisted the urge to pull him back. Luka leaned down for the slipper, and found its pair in her bag. His mouth tightened at the sight of more glass shards. He dropped the shoes in the nearest rubbish bin without ceremony, and Marinette watched them fall.

“I’d just darned those,” she mourned inconsequentially, and Luka turned back to her.

“We’ll get you new ones, melody. They’re not important as long as you’re okay.” He reached out to tug her to her feet, and his arms closed around her again. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with something unreadable.

“We’d better get you back to the studios before rehearsal starts again,” he said slowly, and his hands fell away from her shoulders. “Adrien will be worrying about you.”

“Adrien?” she said stupidly, and took a step backwards. “Adrien. Right.”

Luka didn’t say anything when she turned and made for the door. She waited for the sound of his footsteps behind her as she headed down the corridor, but there was only echo of her own tread. He had let her go.

He had let her go.

She felt too numb to even cry anymore.

When Marinette saw Lila heading towards the studio door just ahead of her, she sped up, the numbness coalescing into pure rage.

“Lila!” she snapped, and the Italian girl spun around with one hand fluttering up to her chest. “I know what you did to my shoes. It’s not going to work, though.”

Lila’s glanced flickered down the empty corridor.

“Oh, this was just the beginning,” she told Marinette, the ingenuous look falling away like melting snow. “You can’t prove a thing against me, and you’ll sound jealous and crazy if you try to tell anyone about all this. Just watch how fast Adrien forgets you when I’m getting the solo roles and you’re not.”

“He’s not some trophy, Lila!”

Lila’s mouth turned up in a sly smile, but she didn’t say anything in response. She simply reached out and pushed the studio door open, her expression changing as she made her entrance and left Marinette to follow in her wake.

“Oh, it’s so exciting!” she was saying as Marinette came in behind her. “I can’t wait for the dress rehearsal,” Lila enthused, her eyes wide and guileless. “Those beautiful costumes! Your father is a genius of design, Adrien.”

She turned to Marinette, and her smile grew sharp as she said in a voice of honeyed sweetness, “You must be so excited to be wearing a Gabriel creation, Marinette. I do think Princess Florine’s costume is my favourite of them all.”

No one else had seen that swift, vicious smile, and Lila schooled her expression back to one of wide-eyed innocence as she turned back to the group gathered around them. Marinette fumbled a step, and felt Adrien’s hand catch at her. What had Lila done?

Without stopping to think about what she was doing, Marinette broke away and ran for the door.

“Marinette?” she heard Lila’s mocking concern. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Marinette?” That was Adrien’s voice over the sudden rush of whispers and gossip behind her. She headed up through the corridors above the theatre, running past the empty studios and office doors towards the wardrobe department central where the costumes were collected in readiness for the dress rehearsal.

The door was unlocked. It should have been locked. Costume Central was empty, with the staff all elsewhere for the weekly design meeting, and Marinette almost ran to the rack that held the costumes for the secondary roles. She pulled open the linen bag that held Princess Florine’s outfit, and a handful of beads bounced out.

Marinette stared in horror at the ruin of the bodice. It was only then, as she dimly took in the scissors that had been cast onto the nearby bench and the glittering wreckage that had been made of the beading, that it occurred to her that she had probably fallen into a trap of Lila’s invention.

She wasn’t supposed to be in the wardrobe without the costume director’s invitation, and it was bound to come out that Marinette had spent time up there. Lila was probably counting on that once the investigation into the damaged costume got under way. The costume director would come under fire for the unlocked door and the ruined, precious costume, no matter who had caused it. And, if Lila was lucky, Marinette would be unable to perform until the bodice was repaired, although the more likely scenario was that Marinette would have to dance in another costume that hadn’t been properly fitted to her. If Lila was exceptionally lucky, then Marinette herself would be blamed for damaging her own costume when she, strictly speaking, should not have been handling it at all outside of official fittings.

Marinette’s hands clenched into fists at her side as she stared at the gown. How could Lila do that to this beautiful creation?

“Marinette?” Adrien’s voice echoed in the corridor outside. Oh, hell, not now! She spun around to face him as he peered in the open doorway. “Marinette, what… oh, no!”

Adrien’s eyes went wide as he saw the damaged costume.

“What happened?”

“Do you still think that Lila’s threats and lies are all just talk?” Marinette asked furiously, turning back to the dress rack.

“You can’t know that it was Lila!” Adrien protested.

“Oh, can’t I?” she said through gritted teeth.

“This would ruin her career if you start accusing her without proof-“

“Her career?! What about the wardrobe staff? What do you think is going to happen to them when this gets out? What about my career? She’s set me up here too.”

Adrien was talking, but Marinette ignored him, focused instead on the damaged bodice. She had to think. Fortunately, Lila didn’t know enough about fabrics to have done any truly irreparable harm. Marinette pressed her fingertips to her temples. The tear itself was fixable; the hard part would be repairing the mess that Lila had made of the delicate applique-work. There were two days until the dress rehearsal, when the costume had to be here and intact, and she’d spent long enough poring over every stitch and bead and embroidery flourish that she could recreate it in her sleep, which was something she would be getting very little of over the next two days.

“My father is going to be furious,” Adrien said in hushed dismay. “We should… we should tell someone…”

“I thought you didn’t want to end anyone’s career,” Marinette bit out, and Adrien recoiled slightly at her tone. She started to lift the garment in its linen casing down from the rack.

“What are you doing?” Adrien asked nervously.

“I’m going to fix this.”

~~~~~

He couldn’t do nothing. He couldn’t let that toxic nightmare do that to Marinette and just stand by. As tempting as it was to challenge Lila Rossi about it, though, that would ultimately do more harm than good.

All of this. All of the subtle lies and nasty gossip, things going missing and Marinette’s phone being sabotaged, the things that Luka had a feeling Marinette had been dealing with but staying silent about, and now this? Glass in Marinette’s ballet slippers so that a manipulative bitch could claw her way to the roles she hadn’t earned and a trophy boyfriend who didn’t want her. And it wouldn’t stop there, he was sure.

Luka strode across the campus of the Conservatory, and the music in his head was a storm. When he reached the administration offices and the Director’s suite he slowed and drew a deep breath. The Director’s secretary looked up as he approached and gave him a smile, waving him towards a chair, but didn’t break off the phone call.

When the Director emerged from the corridors, heading for his office, Luka stood.

“Luka!” the Director exclaimed as he recognised the figure waiting for him. “Did we have an appointment? How’s the Masters going?”

Luka rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “It’s slow starting, sir, but I think I’ve got some promising stuff to follow up.”

“And how’s your mother?”

Luka couldn’t help grinning at the question. “Still terrorising the local police.”

The Director chuckled. “Anarka Couffaine, what a woman.” He shook his head. “She’s the reason I have a juvenile record.”

He held open his office door. “But I’m sure that’s not why you’re here. What brings our prodigy to my office?”

“I’m having a bit of a problem with the Opera Ballet rehearsals that I was hoping you could advise me on, sir,” Luka said.

“For you, my door is always open.”

And for Marinette, Luka would pull every string he had in his hands.

Luka followed the Director into his office, and the door closed behind him.

[jaskiersvalley]

hi i just wanna say ur a blessing to everyone and ur writing is so great and i love reading all of them, although im not even halfway to reading all of them lol. Anw i rlly like ur writing and ur one of my inspirations to write fanfictions and yeah i just rlly wanna say thank u for everything ur contributing to the fandom, b le s s

This has been sat in my inbox for a few month and it’s one that I keep coming back to because I can’t quite believe someone would find my writing an inspiration. Having said that, I’m here with my pompoms and ready to cheer you on for your writing! Because you can do it and you will be amazing at it. I’m of the firm belief that anyone can write and there’s an audience out there for every single story, it is simply a matter of finding your crowd. So please, if you feel the desire to write, do it (and drop me a link? I would love to read your works.). To (hopefully) cheer you on, have a silly little snippet.

Bringing a bard to Kaer Morhen was always a risk but it was one that Geralt and Jaskier had deemed worth it. A season together without the pressures of the world around them outweighed the worry of the other witchers not taking kindly to Jaskier. In his own words, he was “an absolute delight and tenacious enough to befriend even a rock” so Jaskier had no real concerns. He would wear the witchers down and, by the end of winter, they’ll be begging to have him back the following year.

They were right about Jaskier being met with distrust but it wasn’t a worst case scenario of hostility. Quiet suspicion and distrust but Jaskier had experienced that with Geralt so wasn’t too bothered by it. He was allowed to sit with them at the dinner table, even if Lambert clutched his plate closer and growled if Jaskier neared him. Eskel was a little more subtle about his unease. Whenever Jaskier was around, he watched him, constantly aware of his presence and never turning his back to Jaskier. Meanwhile, Vesemir looked most at ease with a new arrival for winter, he made polite conversation but it was superficial, barely giving anything away about himself or his witchers while mining Jaskier for information.

Things settled into an uneasy truce. Lambert and Eskel refused to be forced into a change of habits by the arrival of Jaskier so they went down to the hot springs and refused to leave when Geralt and Jaskier found their way down there too.

As Geralt rarely got to see his brothers on the Path, he couldn’t really be blamed for losing track of things and getting caught up in a conversation with Eskel. They were comparing new scars and sharing stories. Geralt was no longer in the habit of always watching Jaskier. Especially not somewhere he felt safe. So when an outraged yowl from Lambert echoed through the halls, Geralt and Eskel both jumped before rushing to his side.

“What’s going on?” Eskel demanded, stepping slightly in front of Lambert who was clutching at his chest even as Jaskier looked at them innocently.

“He-” Words were obviously not Lambert’s forte in that moment, his lips moved around half words that never tumbled out and he gestured to Jaskier before returning his hand to his left pectoral. “He-”

“What did you do?” Eskel snarled.

“I just-” Jaskier shrugged. “This.”

He reached around Eskel and gave Lambert’s right pectoral a squeeze with a declaration of “honk”.

Silence reigned as Eksel and Geralt stared at Jaskier who looked a little flustered. In the end, Geralt managed to force out a strangled “why?” which was met with another shrug.

“Because it was there. And you weren’t here. And you’re 90% of my impulse control.” Jaskier’s hands moved through the air as he spoke with both voice and body. His eyes landed on Eskel’s face. It was a look Geralt knew all too well, one that said Jaskier had just thought of something dangerous that he thought was a brilliant idea.

Almost in slow motion, Geralt got to watch Jaskier’s hand reach out toward’s Eskel’s face, one finger sticking out. It poked Eskel in the nose as Jaskier declared a happy little “boop”.

As contact was made, Jaskier realised he shouldn’t have done that. Slowly, he pulled the hand back and gave a little laugh. “Boop the snoot?”

Nobody said anything for a long few seconds. It was Eskel who shook himself out of the stunned reverie first.

“Do that again and I’m biting your finger off.” Knowing him, Geralt had no doubt that he would keep true to his threat.

The only response Jaskier had was a stroppy pout as he turned to Geralt. “You never told me your fellow wolves were just as touch starved and skittish as you used to be. As well as handsome. When you warned me to keep my hands off them, I didn’t think you meant so literally.”

Lambert’s grumble of “you what now?” went ignored as Geralt and Jaskier stared each other down. Whatever the outcome was, Eskel had no idea but Geralt deflated and Jaskier nodded once.

“Wonderful,” he clapped his hands. “We’ll start with washing your hair.”

Without further explanation, Jaskier started ushering the three witchers towards one of the hot springs, herding them. It was more like a sheep bossing the sheepdogs around but Geralt had the sense to keep his mouth quiet. Especially because he hoped this would ease the tension between the witchers and their guest. Little did he know, he was right. By the end of the winter, the witchers were looking forward to Jaskier’s return the following year.

[440mxs-wife]

Looking a Lot Like Christmas

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: None, really except FLUFFY. I mean, almost tooth-achingly fluffy. Enjoy, y’all! :)

Word Count: 5200+

Early one morning, you were out of the bunker on a supply run, since the fridge and pantry were looking woefully empty. You needed everything, from staples like salt and beer, to some specialty items, like Sam's hair care products. The list in your pocket ran for two pages, and you began to wonder if you'd need two carts.

When you got out of your 1968 Chevy Nova in the supermarket parking lot, you were hit with a chilly gust of wind. You looked up to see an overcast sky, but there was also a familiar scent in the air. It reminded you of when you were younger and your mother had to take you to school in the morning. "Snow," you breathed. "It's going to snow soon," you grinned.

These were the times  that made you think of snow days off from school. Building a snowman in the front yard and snowball fights with your friends. Sledding down a hill at breakneck speed with nothing but a flimsy sheet of plastic between the ground and your butt. Mugs of steaming hot cocoa with marshmallows after time spent  outdoors.

And of course, it reminded you of the holidays. Thanksgiving dinner with your family, decorating the house for Christmas, making cookies and all sorts  of other holiday treats. Life was so much simpler back then, you thought with a deep sigh. Since you started hunting, the holidays and even birthdays have seemed to sort of fly by without a second thought.

This year, though, you had a chance to make things different, and that was because of Jack. This would be his first Christmas in the bunker, or really anywhere. You were determined to share something with him from your memories about the season, no matter how small it was.

As you walked up and down the aisles, you couldn't help but hum along with the Christmas carols playing on the overhead speakers. You smiled as you put your items in the cart and checked them off of your list. Fortunately, you were able to get everything on your list and only needed one cart, overflowing though it was.

Back out at your car, you noticed that the wind had picked up and the sky had become a little darker since you'd been in the store. You hurried to put the bags of groceries in the trunk, then headed for home before the flurries started flying.

You decided to take a quick detour down the main avenue through town, where you saw wreaths fastened to the lampposts. Shop owners had attached strings of lights around doorways to their shops. In the town square, large red bows were tied to each of the six pillars of the bandstand gazebo. The town's decorations made the smile on your face grow at how much it was starting to look like Christmas.

Thirty minutes later, you pulled your car into its space in the bunker garage. You grabbed a few bags then called out for reinforcements as you came down the spiral staircase. Sam, Dean, Jack and Cas all came out to help.

From the bags already in the kitchen, you started to separate the freezer, pantry and refrigerator items. You started humming "Jingle Bell Rock" as you worked. Dean reentered the room with the last of the bags, while Sam had started to help put pantry items away.

"You're in a good mood," Dean observed with a smile.

"And why not? It looks like it could snow any minute, it's the first week in December and they've decorated in town. I love this time of year," you explained. You started humming "Deck the Halls" as you continued to put away the supplies.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A couple of days later, Sam found a case involving a vampire nest near Lexington, Kentucky. It looked like a simple enough job, so it was decided that only the two Winchesters would go.

You stood in the doorway of Dean's room and watched as he packed his duffel bag. "We'll only be gone for a couple of days, three at the most," Dean promised.

"I know, Dean. Just be careful, on the road and with the hunt," you replied. "Weather can be unpredictable this time of year," you warned.

He zipped up his bag and walked to where you were standing with your eyes focused on the tops of your shoes. He stopped in front of you, dropped his bag and hooked his finger under your chin. Dean tilted your face up so that you met each other's gaze.

"You'll be fine, sweetheart, because you know how to take care of yourself. Besides, Jack will be staying with you and Cas is only a prayer away. We'll be home before you know it," he remarked as he wrapped his arms around you. When you pulled back from each other, Dean pressed his lips to your forehead in a warm, soft kiss. Then he picked up his bag and you both headed for the War Room to meet Sam before leaving for the hunt.

Soon it was time for the boys to head out for the long road trip to the hunt. They each said their goodbyes, gave you a hug and then trudged up the staircase to the garage. Once they reached the top, they turned to look down at you and Jack. Sam smiled and waved and Dean did the same, only he added a wink especially for you. The bunker door screeched open then slammed shut, and with that, you were alone with Jack.

Jack went back to his room to finish watching a movie he had started off of Netflix. You thought about curling up in your favorite chair in the library with your book and your blanket. For some reason, though, you didn't really feel like reading.

Along with all of the other supplies on your list, you had thrown some extra items into your cart. Growing up, you used to help your mom make the holiday treats to pass along to friends and family members. Your parents and sister have been gone many years, having been victims of a vengeful spirit attack. With them gone, the holidays got to be too difficult to think about celebrating, so you just didn't anymore.

You were determined to make this year different than the past ones for the boys as well as yourself. You wanted to give Jack the full holiday experience. With Sam and Dean gone, it was the perfect opportunity to start on his Christmas education. You figured that by introducing things little by little, by the time anyone noticed, it would be a full-blown celebration.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

From one of the bunker's storage rooms, you dragged out two of the three red plastic totes you found to the library. On a rainy afternoon while Sam and Dean were out on a supply run, you went exploring. Room 12 is where you found all of the holiday and birthday decorations.

There was greenery that could be wrapped around the railing to the spiral staircase. There were miles of red velvet ribbon that you thought would look festive if wrapped around the pillars in the library. Stockings to be hung on every bedroom door, and you found some twinkling lights that were for more than just the tree.

As you were digging through the totes to see what other treasures lay within, Jack approached you. "Hey, Jack! How was your movie?" you asked brightly.

"It was good. Had a surprise ending, which I never saw coming," Jack grinned. Seeing the red totes, he wondered, "What's going on in here?"

"Well, I found this stuff one day while roaming the halls and other rooms. I think this place needs a little sprucing up, if you ask me," you said as you pulled out a stretch of greenery. Before you started to fluff out the branches, you opened the music app on your phone. After finding the perfect song on your playlist, you pressed 'play'. As the opening notes of "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" rang out, your enthusiasm kicked in and you started to sing.

Jack took out a couple of strings of clear lights from the totes. "What should I do with this?" he asked.

"Well, where do you think they'll look best, Jack?" you countered. "It doesn't have to be perfect, but once it's in place, you'll think it is," you replied with a wink.

Jack's face lit up with a wide smile. "I think we should wrap the red ribbon around the pillar, then the clear lights should go around on top of the ribbon," he declared.

"Sounds perfect, Jack. I'll leave you in charge of doing that. I think there's a long enough ladder around here somewhere," you mentioned.

Over the next couple of hours, you and Jack worked to transform the bunker into a more festive holiday environment. At one point, you both stepped back to admire your handiwork. "Jack, I think we've done a wonderful job with decorating. Thank you so much for all your help," you said.

He turned to you and with his child-like innocence, smiled and said, "You're welcome. What else are we going to do?" he asked.

"We're done for right now. I don't know how Sam and Dean are going to react to seeing this when they get home. Best not to overwhelm them," you replied. At his puzzled reaction, you explained that Christmas hasn't always been merry for the boys. You shared that you were hoping this year could be different, that happy memories would be made. He gave you a smile and a side hug, then helped you put away the red totes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A couple of days later, Sam and Dean came home from the vampire hunt. When they saw the holiday decorating, they knew it had to have been your doing. Probably with a little help from Jack. Despite their personal feelings about the holiday, they couldn't bring themselves to ask you to take it down. Not when they knew how much it meant for you to have a bit of normalcy in this crazy hunting life.

You came out of the kitchen, drying your hands on a towel. Your eyes lit up when you saw Dean in the War Room, going through his bag. He started to take out the weapons that would need cleaned or otherwise maintained. "Welcome home," you said softly.

"Hey, sweetheart," he replied, holding his arms out for a hug. You dropped the towel on the table and couldn't help but rush to his side. You weren't certain, but it almost felt as if his 'welcome home' hug was a little tighter than usual. You brushed the thought aside as he loosened his embrace and you slightly pulled back from each other.

"I just put the lasagna in the oven a little bit ago, so you and Sam have about 90 minutes to get cleaned up and do whatever else," you remarked.

"Ooh, your lasagna is definitely my favorite," he grinned. "Looks like you and Jack were busy while Sammy and I were gone," he stated, pointing to the decorations.

You shifted nervously from foot to foot. "Yeah, about that....," you started, but Dean laid his index finger on your lips.

"It's fine, darlin'. You and Jack did a great job. We'll need a tree at some point, I guess. Where did you find all this stuff anyway?" he asked.

"One of the storage rooms, number 12. I was snooping around one rainy day and found these red plastic totes. Didn't find any mistletoe yet, though," you pouted.

Dean chuckled. "Oh, we're definitely going to have to fix that. Can't have Christmas without mistletoe and the opportunity to kiss a pretty girl," he remarked, his eyes locked on yours. He noticed the colorful tinge to your cheeks and silently congratulated himself that his words had the desired effect on you.

"A-a-anyway, why don't you set out your dirty clothes in a basket and I'll get them started while you shower?" you suggested.

"I can do that," Dean replied. "Good to be home," he remarked then leaned in to plant a lingering kiss just above your right eye. You stepped out of his arms and excused yourself to go back to the kitchen to make a salad to go with dinner. Dean went the other direction to his bedroom to get ready for his shower. It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, he hummed to himself.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You went to the fridge and grabbed the romaine lettuce and other vegetables for the dinner salad. You took out your cutting board and selected a knife from the block, then placed the romaine on the board. You raised your knife to make the first cut, but your hand started to shake so you put the knife down.

Get a grip, you told yourself. Dean's just glad to be home, same as he always is, you admonished. But when he hugged you, it felt a little different this time. And looking right at you when he made that crack about mistletoe and kissing a pretty girl? You shook your head as you took out the salad bowl. He couldn't have meant me. He doesn't think of me that way, you thought. Or....Your thoughts were interrupted by Sam entering the kitchen.

"Hey, Sam! Good to see you back," you grinned as he brought you in for a side hug.

"Good to be back, too. Place looks nice, with all the decorations and stuff. You put a lot of work into it," he finished. Sam grabbed a beer from the fridge and offered you one. You shook your head, so he put one back and took a seat at the table.

"Well, Jack helped quite a bit also," you replied. A quick check in the oven told you that there was still over an hour left before the lasagna would be ready. Sam asked if he could help with anything, but you declined his offer. "Chopping veggies keeps me busy, and as weird as it sounds, it's a little relaxing. Besides, you and Dean did the hard stuff, taking out those vamps," you added.

"It wasn't too hard, actually went according to plan for once," Sam chuckled. "You know, I asked Dean if we could take another day and relax before heading home, but he didn't want to. Said he was really looking forward to being home," he said, casting a sidelong glance at you.

You tried to keep focus on chopping the tomato without also taking off your finger. "Oh?" you replied. "Hmm. Usually he's all about that 'relaxing' thing, blowing off steam with some chick," you remarked, trying to keep the jealousy out of your tone.

"Yeah, but I haven't seen him with anyone for a good six months or more, come to think of it. It would've been since after you got hurt on that werewolf hunt. If I'm remembering correctly that is," Sam mentioned as he kept an interested eye on your reaction.

"Really? I hadn't noticed, Sam," you said evenly. "On second thought, could you please slice up that baguette and spread the garlic butter on it?" you asked, trying to change the subject.

Sam must have sensed what you were trying to do, but he let it drop and did as you asked. What you didn't know is that he’d had a conversation about you with Dean on the way home from the hunt. Sam had a feeling that things were going to get pretty interesting around the bunker in the weeks leading up to Christmas.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A couple of days later, you were passing through the library when you noticed a vase of roses on the table. You looked around to ask one of the guys where they came from, but none of them were in sight. A card was sticking up out of the arrangement, so you took it out of the envelope. It read: Sweets to the Sweet - a bouquet of Candy Cane Roses for the sweetest girl I know. From Your Secret Santa.

You smiled at the words on the card, and wondered who may have sent them. You studied the handwriting on the card to see if you could figure it out, but to no avail. You placed the card in the back pocket of your jeans. You continued on with your day with a smile permanently etched on your face.

After you got the flowers, you decided to move on to phase two of your Christmas plan. You wandered down the hall to Jack's room and knocked on his door.

He had been watching some cartoons, but gave you a bright smile. "I was just about to bake some cookies, Jack. Would you like to help?" you asked. He nodded and turned off the TV. On your way to the kitchen, you ran into Sam and Dean.

"What are you two up to?" Sam asked.

"We're going to do some baking, sugar cookies and some gingerbread men," you declared. "You two wanna help?" you grinned.

Sam and Dean nodded enthusiastically. "Woo hoo, count me in darlin'!" Dean stated. Sam echoed his sentiment as you all made your way into the kitchen.

"Don't worry, boys. I'll teach you all--well, most of my secrets, just like my mom taught me," you promised with a smile.

You got to work mixing the batter for the two types of cookies. You called out the ingredients and they were brought back to you from the pantry or refrigerator. Sam used the cookie cutter to make the person-shaped cookies after you rolled out the gingerbread dough.

For the sugar cookies, you went with round shapes to make things easier. Dean and Jack used the colored sugars and various types of sprinkles to decorate the cookies before baking.

Three hours later, all of the baking was finished and dirty dishes washed. You asked someone to pour the glasses of milk, because it was time to sample some of the fruits of your labor.

You got out a large plate and put some of each cookie type on it. Jack broke off a piece of a sugar cookie with some blue sprinkles on it and popped it into his mouth. "This is wonderful!" he exclaimed, digging into the rest of his cookie.

"Thank you boys, so much for the help. This would've taken me all day by myself. I couldn't have done it all without you guys," you remarked.

"Where did you learn to do all of this?" Sam asked.

You took a deep breath before answering the three caring sets of eyes before you. "My mom. This used to be our time together, making cookies, candies and other treats for ourselves and to share with others. I haven't really felt like doing this kind of baking since I started hunting though," you explained.

Dean reached over and covered your hand with his, then looked straight into your eyes. "I, for one, am honored that you shared this memory with us. Thank you," he replied.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After you all had some dinner, you changed into comfy clothes. You put on your red plaid pajama pants and an AC/DC hoodie that you had "borrowed" from Dean at one point. It was his favorite and you knew it, so you felt a little guilty for stealing it, but it was so soft and comfy. It also smelled like Dean, which comforted you whenever he was gone away on a hunt.

Dean had also changed into his pajamas and decided to watch the movie with you. He saw your choice of evening wear and chuckled at seeing you wearing his hoodie. "So that's where it went, you sneak," he teased. "I've been looking for that," he mentioned.

"Sorry, I can give it back if you want. It's just so warm and comfy though," you replied. Like you are, Dean, you thought.

"Nah, looks good on you, sweetheart," he remarked.

You started the DVD player and put in the disc for White Christmas. It was one of your mom's favorite movies that you had grown to love as well. You and Dean each snuggled into a corner of the couch with your blanket and hot cocoa and started the movie.

As it played, you found it more and more difficult to keep your eyes open. At about the halfway point, your eyes drifted closed and stayed that way while the movie continued to run. You were so deep asleep that you didn't feel it when Dean eased himself to slide behind you on the couch. Your back was leaned up against his chest and he draped his arm protectively around you.

Dean's fingers absently combed through your hair as you slept. Your pink lips were slightly parted and for a moment, Dean wondered what it would be like to kiss them. Instead, he placed a soft kiss to the top of your head and gently stood up. Dean scooped you up into his arms, which caused you to stir a little. "Hold on, sweetheart. I've got you," Dean soothed.

You had awakened just enough to realize that Dean was carrying you to your room. Still half asleep, you smiled and snuggled further into his chest. "Mmm, Dean you smell good," you mumbled. "I really love your sweatshirt, 'cuz it smells like you and I like it," you continued.

Dean chuckled lightly at what you were saying. "S'okay, baby, I got more hoodies where this one came from, so you can keep this one," he promised. The door to your room was slightly ajar, so he nudged it open further with his foot. Dean put your feet on the floor but kept one arm around you to keep you steady. He pulled the covers back, then helped you climb into bed and get comfy.

He tucked the blankets up around you so you were covered and would stay warm. Dean sat on the edge of your bed. He leaned over and brushed the back of his hand against your cheek. "You know, you deserve to have a good man in your life, sweetheart," he murmured.

You half-opened your eyes again and gave Dean a sleepy smile. "But I already have the best, an' thas you, Dean. S'all I need," you mumbled as you reached for his hand over the blanket.

Dean closed his fingers around yours and brought your hand up to his lips and kissed it. "Goodnight, darlin'" he whispered. He gently tucked your arm back under the blanket after he let go of your hand. He took one last look to make sure you were asleep again. Then he turned and went down the hall to his own room.

Once in his own bed, Dean thought about the events of the day, from making cookies to hanging out with you and watching a movie. When he carried you to your room and you burrowed into his chest, it felt like you belonged there. He chuckled at the memory of your half-asleep confession to stealing his hoodie because you liked how it smelled like him.

Dean meant what he said about how you deserved a good man in your life. He wasn't referring to himself, but it warmed his heart to know you thought of him that way. Maybe there was a chance for us after all, he thought to himself. Tomorrow, he would see the results of phase two of his plan, which was already in motion.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, you shuffled into the kitchen to make breakfast for you and the boys. You decided to make scrambled eggs with diced ham, cheese and some assorted vegetables. Of course, no Winchester breakfast was complete without mounds of bacon.

Sam, Dean and Jack filtered in one by one as they woke up to the smell of frying bacon. Sam made coffee, Dean made toast and Jack got out the serving bowl for the eggs. Cas popped in as well, but just for coffee, he'd said.

After breakfast, you showered and got dressed for the day in your dark blue jeans, red crew-neck sweater and black Converse shoes. As you entered the library, the bunker door flew open and in walked one of your best friends, Charlie Bradbury. "Jingle Bells, bitches!" she called out.

"CHARLIE!!" you shouted as you raced up the stairs and wrapped her in a fierce hug. "It's so awesome to see you! Hold up, what are you doing here? Is everything okay? Are you here for a hunt or something?" you gushed out.

"Whoa, whoa, chickie, slow down. I didn't have anywhere to go for the holidays, so I made a road trip out here," she answered.

"Wait a minute. You said you were going to your girlfriend's house for Christmas, Charlie. What is going on?" you demanded.

At that moment, Dean entered the library and Charlie gave him a pleading look. "I invited Charlie and her girlfriend to spend the holidays with us," Dean answered. Then he turned to you and started running his hands up and down your arms. "I know how much the holidays mean to you, so I invited some friends to visit," he finished.

"Really?? Wait a minute, you said 'some friends'? How many more are we talking about?" you asked warily.

"YOO HOO!" a voice called from the top of the stairs. It was Sheriff Donna Hanscum, followed by Sheriff Jody Mills and her daughters, Claire, Alex and Patience and Sam's girlfriend, Eileen Leahy. Charlie's girlfriend, Dorothy, closed the bunker door behind her. Tears sprang to your eyes at seeing all of your friends here to celebrate the holidays with you.

"Sweetheart? What's wrong?" Dean asked, a worried look on his face.

You nodded slowly as a tear streaked down your face. "Can I please talk to you alone for a minute?" you whispered.

Dean nodded and told everyone that the two of you would be right back. You took him into your room and closed the door. "Are you okay? Why the tears, darlin'?" he asked.

You took a deep breath to compose yourself before answering. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cry. It's just....you have no idea what you've done for me, how much it means to me that they're all here. My whole family is here, Dean. You, Sam, Jack, Cas and those ladies out there? That's my family, and that's what the holidays mean to me. All of us together," you finished.

Dean took you into his arms and held you, his hand rubbing circles on your back. You relaxed your hold so you could lean back and look into his eyes. "You said last night that I deserved to have a good man in my life. I know I was half asleep, but I meant what I said, Dean. I have you, and that's all I need. What I'm trying to say is, I-I love you," you declared.

Now it was Dean's turn to be shocked. He reached up and cradled your face in both of his hands. He brushed the tears away as he caressed your cheeks with his thumbs. "Dean, please say something," you whispered.

Dean grinned and gently guided your face closer until your lips met in a slow, lingering kiss. When he recaptured your lips a second time, he was a bit more insistent. You could feel the passion and hunger from him, and he knew only you could satisfy it. "I love you too, sweetheart. I'll bet you have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Dean remarked.

"Only probably about as long as I've been wanting you to do that," you responded. "You didn't even have to use mistletoe, either," you teased.

"I don't need mistletoe to want to kiss you," he replied huskily, tracing along your jawline with his index finger.

Sam knocked gently on your door. "Is everything okay in there? You kinda left everybody hanging out here, and they're all getting nervous. You guys coming out?" he asked.

Dean opened the door, his hand holding yours with fingers interlaced. "Everything's great, Sammy. Perfect even," he said as he caught your eye and winked.

"Yep, perfect," you agreed as you walked back into the library. Behind you, Sam looked up to the ceiling and mouthed the word, "finally" at seeing you and his brother together.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Later that afternoon, the boys all went out to get a Christmas tree to decorate in the main living area. While they were gone, you helped find available rooms for everyone then you left them all to unpack. The plan was for everyone to return to the library for refreshments after settling in.

You made some hot cocoa and as you waited for the teakettle to whistle, you put some cookies on a platter for snacks. Charlie and Dorothy gathered enough mugs for everyone. You brought out the cocoa, and Eileen followed behind you with the tray of cookies.

Then you showed everyone where the Christmas decorations were kept. This way, all would be ready for when the boys returned with the tree. Donna and Jody untangled and tested the lights, while Claire, Alex and Patience placed some scented candles throughout the bunker.

Eileen was the first. "So....you and Dean, huh?" she asked with a knowing smirk.

You could feel the heat instantly rising in your cheeks as the smile grew across your face. "Yeah. Me and Dean," you answered. Every single woman in the room hooted and hollered her approval.

"I say it's about damn time, and I think a few someones owe me $10," Jody quipped as a new round of laughter erupted.

The boys brought back a beautiful 8-foot tall blue spruce tree to be placed in the library. Lights were added first, then ornaments from the red totes found in Room 12. You also contributed ornaments from your own supply, ones that had been given to you by your grandmother. When the tree was considered to be fully decorated, all of the lights were turned off except for the tree.

You stood in awe of the gorgeous tree before you. The brightly colored lights, the variety in the ornaments and the fellowship of those present warmed your heart. Dean wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder. "Huh. Would you look at that?" Dean said.

"What?" you wondered. You followed his eyes upward to find that someone mistletoe had been directly above where you and Dean were standing. "Now, where did that come from?" you asked.

"Hmm, where indeed?" Dean replied with a not-so-innocent look on his face. "You know, I suppose we have a duty of some sort to follow tradition," he remarked.

You turned around in Dean's arms to face him. "I suppose. Wouldn't want 'seven years of bad Christmases' or something by breaking tradition," you responded. You both inched forward until your lips met in a kiss that quickly progressed from sweet and innocent to steamy and passionate by the end.

Both of you breathing heavily after the kiss broke, you rested your foreheads together, grinning at each other. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart," Dean whispered.

"Merry Christmas, my love," you responded softly.

Tags: @janicho88 @yourelivingwrong @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @swiftlymoniquesblog @lyarr24 @miss-nerd95 @distefano123 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @wayward-mikaelson @jawritter @gabrielslittleangel @jensengirl83

[kickingitwithkirk]

Greetings From Austin

Pairing: Alpha!Jensen Ackles x Alpha!Jared Padalecki x Omega!OFC

Summary: Jensen and Jared are at odds over a monumental decision that changes their lives in a way they couldn’t have envisioned.

Word Count: 2616

Warnings: a/b/o, homophobia, bisexuality, biphobia, angst, cursing, self doubt, depression/anxiety, medical stuff, sexual dysfunction, infertility

*additional warnings to be added in future parts.

A/N: Here we go again with one my weird as hell dreams, series Inspired by this art.

A/N II: There is no intentional hate or malevolence intended towards any of the Ackles or Padalecki families. This is a purely fictional piece containing real and created persons/names/events set in the fictional A/B/O verse. Some dates/events altered to fit story.

*no beta-all mistakes are mine

*divider by @writeyourmindaway​​​​​​​

*images found online

Prologue

Austin, TX

Mid July

“Babe,” Jensen softly says in a low voice to the person seated next to him in the waiting room, “Babe,” he says a bit louder, still getting no response. Leaning close, he blows into their ear.

Jared starts, his “what” muffled by the finger he’s been chewing on.

“You know you can’t do that, don’t want you getting sick.” Taking his hand Jensen pulls it away from his pretty pink lips, gently caressing the finger. Jared had finally stopped chewing on his hands when Covid-19 became widespread.

“Where’s your gum?” Jared bite his lip not answering.

Sighing, Jensen shifts retrieving his pack and hands a piece to him. “What’s got you masticating again?” He inquires as Jared pops the stick in his mouth.

Jared chews the gum nervously weighing how to answer the question knowing Jensen won’t accept anything less than the whole truth. “What if something goes wrong again because of me.”

Jensen’s brow furrowed. He learned years ago that while their relationship is one of equals, he had to be lead Alpha when Jared’s mental state overwhelmed him as it had the last few weeks.

***

After the public announcement in March 2019 that season fifteen would be Supernaturals last, they had agreed when finished with the pickups they would take an extended break, return to Austin and concentrate on their marriage.

Jared intended to stop acting indefinitely, pursuing other interests and Jensen wanted to concentrate on his music.

Of course, things didn’t quite end up how they planned.

Jared entered negotiations to star in the Walker, Texas Ranger reboot, along with being an executive producer. Jensen got a call from Kripke wanting him for the role of Soldier Boy in The Boys third season.

But by March of 2020, everything came to a halt thanks to the Corona-virus.

The shutdowns left Supernaturals final two episodes with no definitive filming date and their seemingly never ending last season put their other projects on hold.

For the first time in years they had the luxury of a leisurely schedule, not having to be somewhere on a timetable, they could communicate with friends and family uninterrupted, deal with their other businesses, charities, etc, leaving most days free to enjoy being together without constraint.

But even amazing, awesome, vigorous sex on every horizontal/vertical surface that could support the two big Alphas only filled so many hours and like many couples, they started getting each others nerves and looked for other ways to stay occupied.

By late May, Jared was unable to sleep or eat, even going out of the house became a chore. When he hit a consecutive fourth day in bed, Jensen bodily dragged him into the bath for a desperately needed shower and loaded him in his truck driving to his doctor's.

Upon checking in they were told patients only allowed in the facility. Jared started panicking, saying he was having chest pains and couldn’t breath. He was rushed in with Jensen hot on their heels after morphing into an overprotective Alpha mate no one was stopping.

Jared’s doctor deduced with the lock-downs prohibiting him from his routine checkups and periodic adjustments needed to his medications triggered this episode.

The first step was to wean him off his current prescriptions and change to a newly approved, alternative regime. He was checked in a facility for ten days under observation while detoxing off his meds.

His therapist switched his twice weekly tele-counseling sessions to daily for the foreseeable future and Kodas certification as an emotional support animal was approved. His progress was slow but he was returning back to his sweet natured, big hearted, exceptionally tactical, overgrown puppy self.

When the surprise call from the clinic came a few days ago about an appointment opening, Jensen initially didn’t want it, still in his overly excessive protective Alpha mode. Jared’s outburst made him relent, fearing they were on a collision course for a major setback if he didn’t.

And Jensen, being Jensen, went overboard to ensure the appointment was absolutely private.

Part I

Jared was about to speak when a woman in scrubs called out, “Mr. Bonham and Mr. Page.” they got up crossing over to her, “Hello, I’m Sissy, Dr. Rodgers nurse, please follow me.”

They pass through the doorway leading through a maze of halls like that of any other medical clinic except this one specialized in a very specific service.

The nurse opens a door near the back of the clinic gesturing for them to enter the spacious office, “Please have a seat, the doctor will be with you shortly.” She closed the door and they sat down in the pair of chairs directly in front of the large, dark mahogany desk.

Jensen, scenting Jared’s nervousness, lifts his right hand kissing his palm, making him chuckle at the tickle of Jen’s soft beard before twining their fingers together and setting them on his left thigh, smiling reassuringly.

There was a brief knock before the door opened and an older, silver haired Beta entered. “Hello, I’m Dr. Rodgers, how are we doing today?” He asks, moving to his chair behind the desk.

Jared gave him a tight smile and Jensen remained placid.

The doctor raises an eyebrow, “Relax Mr. Page, this is just a visit to go over the paperwork before deciding about how we proceed, not the Spanish Inquisition.” Jared releases his held breath but couldn’t completely calm himself.

“I know the process can be overwhelming but I must ask, is there something we’ve done to make you uncomfortable?” Dr. Rodgers inquires.

“No, everyone’s been really nice, very professional. It’s just we..we had issues the first time we attempted to do this.” Jared finished his sentence quietly, in the recess of his mind; something bad is gonna happen and it’ll be my fault.

Jensen squeezes his hand tighter, instinctively sensing Jared’s mind was trying to spiral again, “When tried this before someone leaked our plans to the media. It wasn't ever proven the clinic was involved but...”

“We do everything possible to keep our clients anonymity protected here. All of our staff have been thoroughly vetted and sign NDA, given your professions, you're familiar with how they work. Your real identities will remain completely confidential, even if you choose to not proceed. It is why you chose this particular clinic, yes?”

“Yes, it is.” Jensen replied.

“How about we get this bit of paperwork out of the way, then we can have a more relaxed visit. I’ve gone over the applications you both submitted and have noted a few discrepancies in the medical section that need clarification before we proceed,” He opens the top file, “Mr. Bonham, why did you omit Genu Varum from your medical history?”

Jensen kept his expression neutral as he felt his stomach automatically clench. He had been mercilessly teased throughout his childhood about his bowed legs by his older brother Josh and later his buddies from school when they’d come over to hang out. By the time he was in high school Jensen’s extraordinary looks and personality were what got people’s attention first. Nowadays, many a fanfic waxed poetic about those bowed legs.

“The questionnaire inquired about inherited genetic medical conditions and since mine isn’t, I didn’t think it was necessarily applicable.” Jared hears an edge creeping into Jensen’s voice and gives their tangled fingers a quick squeeze.

“Did you see an orthopedist and were they able to determine what caused the condition? Did they suggest any surgical procedures or therapies to straighten your legs?”

“I was born a preemie, the orthopedists my parents consulted decided my condition was attributable to that.” Jensen replies tersely, dropping his vocal range. Jared gripped his hand harder, telling him to cool the attitude. “The doctor didn’t recommend surgery but sent me to physical therapy, thought it would help them straighten as I grew.”

“So no others in your immediate family have this issue?”

“Everyone my family has straight legs, including my three children.”

Jared piped in, “He hates it but he does have an exercise regimen; stretching, strength training. Oh, he also takes several different vitamins, omega oils, turmeric and extra vitamin D to support his joints.” They watched the doctor scribble a few more notes in the file before closing it.

“Mr. Page,” Jared sits up straighter in his chair, “I appreciate that you went into detail about your mental health status. I see you’ve recently been hospitalized, your medications have been changed to an alternative regiment and you’ve also increased your therapy sessions?”

Jared’s interview continued for another twenty minutes as Dr. Rodgers questioned him in depth about his depression and anxiety, feeling said anxiety ratcheting up so he focused on Jensen’s thumb rhythmically moving over his hand and used every ounce of his acting skills to appear confident and in control.

Dr. Rodgers closed his file, “I only have a few general questions left then we can discuss how you wish to proceed.”

After a more relaxed, genial conversation with the doctor, Sissy took them to a couple private rooms with paraphernalia to help stimulate them into producing a couple semen samples.

Jensen was getting close to finishing with his favorite spank-bank fantasy when he felt Jared’s frustration across their bond.

~~~

Jared couldn’t get aroused.

He felt as useless as his flaccid cock.

His doctor warned him that loss of sex drive could be a possible side effect of his new regiment until his body adjusted to it. He had struggled with temporary impotence a few times on his old meds, always fearful Jensen would finally see him as undesirable, no longer a satisfactory mate.

Rationally, he knew it was his illness causing these exceptionally hard to deal thoughts recently and the nagging idea this wasn’t the right thing for them to attempt again continually kept creeping in.

Jensen’s unspoken reluctance about having more children at his age was also weighing on his conscience, warring against his own biological longings.

They had a humongous argument when he told Jensen about taking the appointment. Jen thought this was the wrong time to attempt it again, pointing out he was just getting his equilibrium back setting Jared went off on a rant about how he no longer wanted him and would leave him like Genevieve had because he was too broken to deal with anymore.

Unmitigated anguish was written across Jensen’s beautiful features, the very notion that Jared could conceivably believe that he’d ever abandon him made his soul hurt in such a way no verbal language on earth could ever express his devastated feelings traveling across their bond.

***

Everything they’d been through; from that bar fight solidifying their friendship, Jared’s first breakdown, the years of living as roommates while secretly a couple to finding wives who understood their unique relationship and still married them both in 2010.

The joyous arrival of JJ three years later that unfortunately exacerbated Genevieve's frustration of not being able to conceive coming out with a vengeance at Jared. His unexpected breakdown in Switzerland was the final nail in their marriage. Gen was there for him but in the end it was all too much and she filed for divorce.

Shortly after, Jared’s iCloud account was hacked. It was believed, but never conclusively proven, that Gen was behind it since her lawyer was trying to break their prenuptial agreement, the videos documenting his private and explicit sexual relationship with Jensen were legally considered adulterous. In the end, the court upheld the legal document but the ramifications...

They were summoned to L.A. for the meeting from hell with WB executives, both convinced it was the end of Supernatural and their careers.

After the reaming out, they each received a weeks pay suspension to cover some of what it was gonna cost PR in time and money to deal with the inevitable repercussions and placate the show's sponsors.

How would the show’s fans react? Would they still be able to accept them as brothers only on TV while in real life they were involved in a highly stigmatized relationship?

When they returned to work there was an atmosphere of tension that hadn’t existed before. It was an open secret that all shows had their share of bitchiness and backstabbing behind the scenes. Jensen may have the thicker skin, keeping tighter control on his emotions, but Jared knew it hurt him just as deeply the loss of some of their friends because of prejudicial, social beliefs that two Alpha males shouldn’t be involved.

Jensen’s parents showed up unexpectedly in Vancouver a few weeks later. What started out as a not quite comfortable visit quickly deteriorated with his religiously conservative parents. They had not raised him like this and blamed Jared, saying he had corrupted him, leading him into a sinful lifestyle. He needed to repent and return to his wife to whom he had made a commitment before god.

Jensen blew up, replying it was none of their business, it was between them and oh, yeah, Danneel knew about them before marrying him and they better not say anything to her. Without another word his parents left. When he later called them to make amends, his mother coolly stated that he was no longer part of their family and to never contact them again.

Three months after the twins were born in 2016 came the finalization of Jensen’s divorce from Danneel, painful but congenial. They easily agreed on joint custody and still spent most holidays together. Jensen gave Dani financial security in their settlement, he wanted to make sure she didn’t have to worry about working again unless she wanted to.

All these years later, Jared continually has nagging thoughts that they had let everybody down. They received support when they publicly came out as bisexual then lost some of it when they married, being mocked for not coming out as gay.

***

There was another knock at the door and Jared ignored it, it was that nurse checking on his lack of progress again. The knock turned into pounding, “Jared, open this door now dammit!” He flinched realizing Jensen knew what was going on with him. Releasing the privacy latch and opening the door a crack he saw concerned green eyes only.

“Sorry, I thought you were that nurse,” he stepped away and sat back down as Jensen came in and re-latching it behind him. “She came to get me when you stopped answering,” Jensen said, walking over to him and started running his thick fingers through his husband’s long hair, “what’s going on babe?”

He glances up knowing that Jensen already knew, “It’s okay Jay, take as long as you need.” He paused at the unpleasant scent wafting around him. “If you’d be more comfortable we could do this at home…” Jared shakes his head, “There’s the risk of damage, contamination and or not able to get it back in time that could make the semen unusable.” Jared quotes from a website.

Jensen softly chuckled, “Nerd.”

Jared notices the bulge in his jeans, “You didn’t...”

“Drain the snake..choke the chicken..spank the monkey.”

“Fuck, okay, you didn’t! Stop using old man slang.” He shook his head smiling  at Jensen intentionally goading him.

Jared reached up for the hand playing in his hair, grasping it to draw Jensen down next to him.

“Jack, I don’t want to wait any longer on doing this. I love JJ and the twins, you know I do, but they'll always be yours and Danneels. I know the timing could be better... but I'm almost thirty-eight and I want my..our own pups running around the house driving us crazy.”

“For the next eighteen years?”

“Minimum.”

tbc

Part II

SPN: @donnaintx​​​​​​​​​​​​ @lyarr24

GFA: @babypink224221 @waywardjoy @let-me-luve-you @all-4-wincest

Sam/Jared @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen: @flamencodiva