#if you feel any hesitation at being completely self absorbed and awful that’s because you’re secretly a ~people-pleaser~ and an ~empath~

[tsukihigui]

i feel like we need to address the notion that like. just bc you relate to an influencer doesn’t mean their insight is correct

[miraculouscontent]

I know that you said that it was an one shot, but I really love the idea of marinette stay in Paris with Luka and kagami and avoid all the NY drama! If you can, can you share more of it? Even if just a few little ideas it would be great! (I love your ideas!)

(the one-shot this anon is referring to)

Aw, thank you so much!

And sure, after some thought, I did really want to write a little more with them!

—————

While throwing away their now juice-less cups, Marinette made the realization of how different things seemed with Luka and Kagami. She had already experienced hanging out with both of them separately, but she'd never imagined having both of them with her at once. It wasn't as if she'd always dismissed or despised the idea, but the only time they'd interacted as a group had been with Adrien around, which had probably soured the whole thing and thus involuntarily caused her to never think about it.

With her friends, everything was typically high-energy. Juleka and Mylene weren't very involved in creating such an atmosphere, but Marinette herself, Rose, Alya, and kept things energized. It wasn't a bad thing in general, but it made Marinette wonder if maybe surrounding herself with people who only encouraged her excitable habits wasn't a good thing.

Meanwhile, Luka and Kagami were completely different, both from her and her friends. Neither were particularly loud - though both could be when they wanted to - and they weren't really the kind to tease or mess with her either. Luka wasn't quiet in the way Juleka was, just seeming to absorb the world around him, whereas Kagami only spoke when she felt that there was something of value to say. Marinette had worried briefly that she might've been too different from the both of them, or that she'd overwhelm them due to speaking up the most, but instead, there was a sense of balance. Luka smiled or chuckled reassuringly whenever she caught herself rambling, whereas Kagami would cut in with her own views that were often direct but nevertheless good in their intentions. Perhaps her personality rubbed off on them in a way she couldn't fully understand?

Still, it was nice.

As the three were deciding what to do next, Marinette's phone suddenly went off. Marinette looked at her purse and pulled out her phone, half-expecting a text from one of her classmates about her missing the bus, but it was actually a notification about where Andre the ice cream man was.

Kagami glanced over after noticing the look on Marinette's face. "You want to get ice cream?"

Marinette frowned, Kagami's voice reminding her of the day the two of them had gone for ice cream with Adrien. She still remembered talking to Andre, hoping beyond hope that maybe the man wouldn't make them pick between the three different flavors. His words still stung a little, not because of Adrien, but because of what the words meant.

"Too many flavors mixed together may throw off the delicate balance."

It implied that one of them would always be the third wheel if they were together, no matter what, and it was a hollow feeling that she'd only recently started to accept.

"Marinette?"

Feeling a comforting hand on her shoulder, she looked over and noted Luka offering her a concerned expression. It grounded her, serving as a reminders that things were different now and that Adrien wasn't there which, in a strange way, brought her an immense sense of comfort.

"I'm fine," she assured. Turning her attention back to her phone, she deleted the notification and then made sure that she wouldn't be getting another one. "Ice cream sounds good, if you want it too, but... I think I've got a better idea than Andre's."

Luka and Kagami exchanged curious glances.

—————

"Here's to Neapolitan ice cream!" Marinette declared dramatically, raising her spoon up with flair before shoving it and the ice cream on it right into her mouth.

Luka snorted in amusement while Kagami gave an acknowledging nod, probably remembering the exact phrase from Andre that Marinette had recalled earlier.

They'd picked up the carton of ice cream on the way to Marinette's place, with Marinette insisting on paying in order to spoil them, and while they seemed confused on the specifics of her insistence, they gave in soon enough. Marinette could understand why she'd be the expected person to be comforted, but giving to others made her happy on its own and she felt they deserved it. After all, Luka had tried his hardest to catch up to the bus and Kagami was still dealing with Adrien wanting to leave for New York despite her being in Paris.

They'd ultimately decided on splitting the entire carton between the three of them, with each of them getting a majority of the one of the flavors and then the rest of that flavor going to the other two. Marinette had gone with chocolate, Kagami had gone with vanilla, and Luka had gone with strawberry. It might've seemed like a weird choice to go with since they'd just had orange juice, but it hadn't been much and it wasn't exactly a "treat."

Marinette may have considered suggesting ice skating instead if her first thought of it wasn't her slipping and bringing Luka and Kagami down to the ice with her. Ice cream was the safer alternative to "cold fun."

"Luka," she called thoughtfully, taking another bite before asking, "you're not feeling sore or anything, are you?"

He met her gaze, smiling at the concern but waving his hand dismissively. "I'm alright, Marinette. I'm used to biking around for hours because of my job, so it wasn't a big deal."

Kagami halted, spoon halfway in her mouth while her brows rose noticeably. She finished the scoop, then turned to look at Luka. "You have a job?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I deliver pizza." He grinned, clearly amused by her reaction. "Are you surprised?"

Kagami's expression didn't shift, but Marinette had known her long enough to see that she was embarrassed. "Oh, no. It's... I don't have one."

"There's nothing wrong with that." Luka shrugged. "I just have the time to do it."

"Mm." Kagami looked back at her ice cream, poking at the surface with her spoon. "I suppose it would be too difficult with my fencing lessons."

Marinette giggled sheepishly, happy to join in on the conversation. "I probably wouldn't be able to either. There's all my fashion work with my website, and then there's the unexpected babysitting, the bakery, and I'm also the class representative." She hurriedly added an, "I know it doesn't sound like much, but I'm bad at planning," when she felt that it seemed like such little things. She was Ladybug and the new guardian too, of course, but she couldn't be blurting that out, so she could only hope that it didn't seem like she was whining over nothing.

She averted her gaze, scooping up a self-conscious bite of her ice cream and shoving it into her mouth. She was partway through savoring it when she realized that neither Luka nor Kagami had responded to her. Daring a look back, she saw them staring at her with varying gazes.

Kagami seemed stunned, commenting, "That is... well, much, actually," referring to what Marinette had just tried to brush off.

Was it? Marinette had never really thought about it. In fact, she distinctly remembered back in the day where people might've thought she was just scatterbrained and didn't really do anything. Back when she was hesitant to be class representative and claimed that she was busy, Alya had asked her with a hint of snark what she was busy with, like she expected her to have a free schedule.

Even beyond her role of Ladybug at the time, she still had random babysitting to do and still frequently worked on her fashion projects. Thinking back, it stung just a little.

As Marinette glanced at Luka, she at first felt that the amount of sympathy he was directing at her was excessive, but then she remembered how she had cried in front of him to the point where he'd dropped his bike and guitar in order to comfort her. She blushed, both in shame and from the memory of him holding her so closely.

"Ah—well—it's okay!" she said hurriedly, "Anyway, forget about me! This day is about... um, this ice cream, and ice cream doesn't have problems that you should worry about!"

She nearly gave herself brainfreeze from how quickly she scooped up and ate the next bite, but figured it'd be worth it if they dropped the subject.

It wasn't worth it.

"You should be more careful," Kagami commented critically, an edge to her voice that Marinette knew wasn't meant to be anger at her. "You're my friend, so don't overwork yourself."

Marinette grinned nervously, still trying to lighten the mood. "A-are you saying it'd be alright to overwork myself if I wasn't your friend?"

Kagami's gaze didn't waver, and Marinette slowly tried to sink into her seat.

Luka set his spoon down on the bowl, then chimed in, "I don't know anything about fashion, Marinette, but if you ever need any help with anything—"

Kagami clicked her own spoon against her bowl to interrupt him, as if she felt personally slighted that he'd gotten to say it first. "We're here for you."

Luka nodded to confirm.

"Oh." Marinette blushed deeper, touched by the gesture from both of them. She thought about trying to reassure them again, but their gazes were firm and showed no room for argument, so she settled for a soft, "Thanks."

They resumed eating their ice cream from there, the topic officially concluded. Though the atmosphere felt noticeably different, Marinette was surprised to realize that it wasn't exactly in a bad way. She feared that she'd ruined the mood, but instead felt like she was supported, with Kagami and Luka looking satisfied with their choice in offering help to her.

It was like she was Ladybug, and they were the partners standing at her side, each with their own form of support. It made her smile, allowing her to happily eat away at her ice cream without thinking about anything stressful.

The idea of going to New York was suddenly very unappetizing in comparison to having ice cream with Luka and Kagami.

—————

All things considered, Ladybug wasn't concerned about telling Chat Noir that her plans had changed and she wasn't going anywhere after all. She imagined that Chat would be overjoyed and wouldn't even ask questions about it, just happy to have her back. She found his affection eyeroll-worthy, but he was still her teammate, so she just steeled herself up for whatever ramble he was about to give her.

However, as she waited near the top of the Eiffel Tower, sitting on the guardrail and looking around for Chat Noir, she realized that she couldn't even see him. Checking the time on her yoyo, she confirmed that it was indeed time for their usual patrol, but Chat Noir was completely absent. Even though it was nighttime, which made the black cat's suit blend in with the sky, he still had the blond hair and light skin that should've made him noticeable.

Ladybug got up and paced around the area a few times, constantly peeking down at the city as she wondered if maybe she just wasn't looking in the right spot. When she still saw nothing, she concluded that Chat Noir must just be running late and she'd simply have to wait a little longer. Things happened, after all, she knew that better than anyone, so she began idling on her yoyo, searching for something to keep her occupied while she waited.

They were a team. While their identities had to remain a secret, Chat Noir had always hated it and prioritized openness in their relationship, so he would've told her if something had come up. He was also active in going on patrols, always seeming eager to join her for their runs across the rooftops, and given that he didn't even know that she'd still be in Paris, patrols were even more crucial.

He never showed up.

[bytheangell]

Take Me With You

(For my @shadowhunterbingo square: Traveling | Jimon, Rated Teen, referenced alcohol but no archive warnings/other warnings) (Read on AO3) “I don’t need a bodyguard,” Simon insists. “It was one stupid letter.”

“The letter wasn’t stupid,” Jace says, already regretting his appointment to this job. “It was a death threat, by someone who’s sent multiple things to your unlisted apartment.”

“Well, no one knows where I live on the road, which is where I’ll be for the next three months,” Simon points out.

“Oh, yes, the total inability to track you from a list of cities you’re going to and the dates and times you’ll be there. You’re right, no one will ever find you that way,” Jace says, his tone dripping with sarcasm and more than a little condescending. Simon isn’t a no-name, but he isn’t famous-famous either, and Jace hoped that’d make him a little less awful to put up with than Jace’s usual high-profile assignments. So far it’s the opposite - Simon isn’t taking this seriously at all, which is somehow more frustrating than too much importance being put on minor perceived threats.

Simon sighs. “Fine.” It certainly doesn’t sound like he’s fine with it, but Jace isn’t here to argue. He’s here to do a job.

“Great,” Jace says. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

---

That ends up being a complete lie. Of course, when Jace first imagined blending into the background of Simon’s tour life he hadn’t taken into consideration the fact that Simon drove his own van, which would just be the two of them for extended periods of time.

Jace can tell that he’s putting a damper in the way Simon normally functions during his tours, mostly because he’s quiet while they drive. Then he’ll say something, start to ramble, catch himself rambling, and fall abruptly silent again in a repeating pattern.

“Sorry if I’m cramping your style,” Jace says after one of these repetitions, speaking loud enough to be heard over the music playing in the background.

“You’re not,” Simon insists.

Jace is dubious. “What would you be doing if you were alone?” Jace asks.

Simon doesn’t even hesitate before answering, “Scream-singing at the top of my lungs with the windows down. It’s like, my tried-and-true road trip routine.”

“...so do it. Don’t let me stop you,” Jace says.

“My manager hates it because he’s convinced one of these days I’ll end up losing my voice before a show. It’s probably for the best I’m not,” Simon says before falling silent again.

Jace doesn’t push it, nor does he comment when Simon starts to sing to a song that comes on about half an hour later, his voice growing louder and louder until all the windows are down and he’s shouting lyrics into the cool night air.

Jace has to fight the urge to join him. Normally he doesn’t have an issue staying focused on a job but Simon has this disarming way of making Jace want to relax around him. Somehow what he thought would be his easiest job to date continues to throw surprising complications his way.

Still, he keeps his mouth shut and enjoys Simon’s singing as they continue driving into the night.

---

Watching Simon with his fans is nerve-wracking. There’s no telling who might be a threat, not when everyone seems so down-to-earth, much like Simon himself. There aren’t any obviously obsessive fangirls and normal tells like knowing too many personal details is just the norm, with multiple people casually asking Simon about how his Bubbie Helen is doing or about the cat he left at home with Clary during his tour, or the most recent book he’s been reading and chatting about online. It’s difficult to pick out a potential stalker when everyone knows what Jace would typically consider more personal details than usual about Simon.

Jace watches these pre- and post-show encounters with a feeling more like he’s observing conversations between old friends rather than a musician and his fans, signatures and photo ops aside. Simon knows some of them by name, remembers birthdays mentioned over social media or live chats, and even recalls previous conversations. It’s impressive.

Dressed in plain clothes so he blends in with the crowd, Jace grows increasingly impressed with Simon the more time he spends with him. Plenty of people claim to be humble, but few often are in practice. Not Simon. Simon is everything he told Jace when they first met. He’s the same way with his fans that he is in private with Jace, which is the same way he is with his family and friends - Simon’s just, well, Simon, honestly and earnestly and unapologetically.

It’s refreshing. It’s also just another thing for Jace to push to the back of his mind, because he doesn’t need to like the guy - he just needs to protect him. Simon looks up from the table he’s signing CDs at and shoots Jace a beaming smile, and Jace has to actively force himself not to smile back and simply nod his head in acknowledgment instead.

“It’s an assignment, Herondale. Get your shit together,” Jace mutters to himself from the corner of the room. It’s a reminder he repeats more often over the upcoming weeks than he’s comfortable admitting.

---

“Please,” Jace begs after the first two weeks of shows. “I will pay for a better hotel. Let me pay for a better hotel.”

Simon is shaking his head in response before Jace finishes the request.

“Why?!” Jace glances critically around the room. “Do you want to get murdered in a shady motel? Just because I can keep you alive doesn’t mean we have to actively test it every night when we could have a door that doesn’t look like my 11-year-old brother could kick it in.”

“You have a brother?” Simon asks, ignoring everything else Jace said as he tosses his duffel bag (because Simon doesn’t even have a proper suitcase) onto a bed Jace feels the instinctive need to run a blacklight over.

Jace hesitates to answer because this is a job and he isn’t meant to share personal information about himself with his assignment. It’s strange because normally the people he’s tasked to protect are such self-absorbed assholes they barely spare Jace a second glance, let alone casual conversation.

He’s aware that the pause he takes after what should be a simple question is way too long when Simon frowns, brows pinching together.

“Two brothers, actually. One older, one younger, and a sister,” Jace finally decides to share. It’s all he intends on saying, not wanting to be rude and not answer at all, but when Simon brings up his own sister and keeps talking, keeps asking curious, harmless questions, Jace finds himself answering without thinking.

Simon is easy to talk to - maybe a little too easy to talk to, because the next thing they know it’s 1am and they need to be up and back on the road at 6.

“Get some sleep, Lewis,” Jace says finally, taking a few extra minutes to secure the door before doing one last perimeter sweep. When he gets back he pretends he doesn’t notice Simon, still awake, hastily close his eyes and pretend to sleep the second Jace gets back in the room.

---

After the third week, Jace insists that staying at nicer hotels is a matter of security and finally convinces Simon to pull into the parking lot of a proper hotel. One with room service instead of vending machines, plus a gym and a pool. Jace tells himself it’s a matter of security as well, and not a reaction to Simon complaining about having several nights of terrible sleep and some back and neck pain from the old, cheap mattresses.

Jace certainly doesn’t correct Simon’s assumption that this is covered in the contract when in reality Jace is fronting the extra cost himself. After all, this is as much for his own benefit as it is for Simon’s, right?

That’s what he tells himself as he opens up more around Simon as well, sharing a drink or two when Simon insists (never anything enough to impair his judgment, and only ever when they’re back in a room for the remainder of the night), telling a few more personal stories, and… flirting?

Jace isn’t sure, but occasionally when Simon impulsively runs into an ice cream shop in a new city and gets a cone for each of them, or points out a storefront display with a leather jacket he thinks Jace might like, or leans his shoulder into Jace while laughing at something sarcastic Jace says… yeah, sometimes Jace gets the feeling that Simon might actually like him.

Then Jace just as quickly tells himself that it’s just Simon being nice, because Simon is nice, and because of course Simon’s going to be on good terms with the guy he’s stuck with 24/7 for two months. Jace is working for Simon, and their relationship is strictly professional, however pleasant it may also be.

It’s that hard line Jace knows they won’t cross that allows him to continue to open up more, because Simon’s safe. He’ll never see the guy again when all of this is over.

“You’re a good person, Jace,” Simon says one night after a lengthy conversation.

“...what?” Jace isn’t expecting that.

“You know that, right?” Simon’s tone is just shy of insistent, and certainly not rhetorical.

“Why do you say that?” Jace asks instead of agreeing, because… well, because he doesn’t know that. He tries, but he’s made some shitty decisions in his past, and hurt a lot of people, intentionally or not. And Simon doesn’t even know him, so Jace really doesn’t know where this is coming from.

“Just… the way you talk about yourself sometimes. Like you always have something to prove, or make up for... or like you have to justify everything you say. Sometimes I get the feeling you don’t think very highly of yourself even when you’re acting like God’s gift to mankind,” Simon adds with more accurate insight than Jace is comfortable with.

And now Jace really doesn’t know what to do with that.

“What are you, a philosopher now?” Jace mutters, still avoiding any sort of direct commentary on Simon’s way-too-close-to-home observation. “Go to sleep, Simon. I don’t need you too tired to focus on the road tomorrow.”

Simon looks like he’s going to argue but doesn’t in the end, leaving Jace alone with his thoughts in the newly settling silence of the hotel room.

It feels surprisingly pleasant to hear those affirmations from Simon, and Jace considers for the briefest moment what it’d be like to just be friends with Simon outside of their circumstances, to have these discussions and delve deeper into both of their pasts, humoring more of Simon’s personal questions and--

--and everything he can’t let this turn into over the next few weeks. Fuck.

Maybe there’s some harm in opening up after all.

---

They’re a little over halfway through the three-month tour when Jace realizes that perhaps his harmless crush on Simon is stronger than he realized. Jace watches from his usual spot in the corner as Simon signs CDs and sells band t-shirts and poses for photos, which is what he always does. But with every flirtatious laugh and every arm Simon drapes over someone’s shoulder or wraps around someone’s waist, Jace feels the desire to pull Simon away... and it isn’t because he’s in danger. It’s because Jace is jealous.

Jace grows sullen at the realization, arms crossed in front of him as he forces himself to watch Simon with his fans, because this is his job. The more he watches the more he doesn’t even think Simon realizes he’s doing it. Jace knows what active, intentional flirting looks like, but this is just Simon being his natural charming self, and Jace isn’t sure if that makes the whole thing better or worse.

Because it starts to dawn on him with a bit more meaning now that the way Simon’s been with him is the way Simon is with everyone. Jace just gets to experience it more often than everyone else right now. That doesn’t make their conversations special. It doesn’t make Jace anything special to Simon. And hell, maybe it’s just been a while since Jace spent this much time with someone else, too. Maybe he should work on writing off his own motivations as easily as he’s writing off Simon’s because his feelings are far from professional right now.

When the crowd disperses and Jace goes to help Simon wrap up his gear and load it back into the van (something that’s become routine for them, though not strictly in Jace’s list of expected duties) Jace is quieter than usual.

“Everything alright?” Simon asks, catching the shift in mood.

“Yeah. Fine,” Jace says curtly.

Simon doesn’t look like he believes him but doesn’t press the topic as they toss the last of the equipment into the van and head out.

---

The nicer Simon is toward him, the more closed-off Jace gets. He’s quiet during dinners Simon insists on paying for, stops sharing so much about himself when they do talk, and when Simon gives Jace a guitar pick he fashioned into a necklace for him Jace pockets it with a muttered ‘thanks’ without putting it on. He doesn’t have the heart to totally push Simon away, but he can’t keep growing closer to him knowing it’s all going to end in three weeks.

Jace wears the necklace every day but he keeps it tucked underneath his shirts where Simon can’t see.

Simon eventually stops trying to talk to him entirely, and they spend more and more time in uncomfortable silences. Sometimes Simon insists he needs privacy to work on his music and Jace sits at the end of the hallway of their hotel room listening to the faded sounds of Simon’s strumming.

There are three weeks left in Jace’s assignment when he gets the call that the police managed to track the letters to a girl back in New York: she’s in custody and getting a restraining order put against her, and Jace can come back as soon as he arranges transportation.

Jace hangs up the phone feeling surprisingly upset. This is great news for Simon, and he should be happy for him if nothing else, but that means this is the last night he’ll have to spend with Simon.

The last night he’ll get to spend with Simon.

“Hey Simon, good news. I just got a call from Luke and they tracked down your mystery stalker. You’ll get all the details once you’re back home but they’re already putting the restraining order into place, so you’re good to go.”

“What? That’s amazing!” Simon grins automatically, but it falls back into a frown just as quickly. “Does that mean you…?” his words trail off in question.

“I’ll be able to leave in the morning,” Jace confirms.

“Guess you’ll be happy to get out of here,” Simon says, his smile entirely gone.

“I do miss New York,” Jace carefully avoids the answer he knows Simon’s fishing for. The lie he should give, but can’t bring himself to.

Simon looks Jace up and down, his gaze finally resting on Jace’s face for a long couple of seconds, searching for something there before turning away without another word.

---

Jace knows he shouldn’t go to the show, but he does. He hangs in the back, a real drink in hand now that he’s no longer on duty, and listens to Simon sing the songs Jace knows by heart now. Jace knows from experience standing by the side of the stage that there’s no way Simon can make out any faces where Jace currently sits back by the bar. He plans on leaving before the end, before the lights come on and Simon knows he was there.

He’s a few drinks in when he hears Simon break his usual format.

“How does everyone feel about me trying out a new song I’ve been working on?” Simon asks. The crowd claps and cheers, and Jace shifts in his seat to fully face the stage. “This is a song about feeling a connection with someone, and not knowing when things went wrong, only that they did. And wondering if maybe it was all in your head the whole time...”

Jace feels his throat tighten at those words. He doesn’t have to be a genius to piece together the lyrics Simon starts to sing, fitting them to their lives the past few months, the hope of getting to know someone you’re starting to like, the confusion of being shut out, the uncertainty of wondering if they ever felt the same way you did or if they were just humoring you.

Jace knows Simon well enough to know that this isn’t a coincidence. It can’t be.

Against his better judgment, Jace stays. He stays until the set is over and the lights come on and Simon looks out around the crowd and makes direct eye contact with him.

Because fuck it. He’s leaving in the morning, and if this is all for nothing then he’ll never see Simon again and it won’t matter. But if he’s right…

Jace hangs back, watching Simon smile and laugh and sign CDs and take photos, acutely aware of every time the musician’s eyes wander over to where Jace lingers by the bar. Outside of the fading buzz from the alcohol it almost feels normal: hanging back after the show, watching Simon and waiting for him to make his way over once the crowd disperses. Hell, even the butterflies in Jace’s stomach aren’t new.

“You’re here,” Simon says when he finally makes his way over. “I didn’t think you’d come, since… I mean…”

“I heard your new song,” Jace forces the words out before he can change his mind. “I’d say I liked it, but that seems like the wrong response from the guy who made you think you did something wrong.”

“Not everything is about you,” Simon argues, but the intent falls flat beneath the nervous tremor the words are spoken with.

“No,” Jace agrees easily. “But that song is.”

Simon hesitates, then sighs. “It is.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for not liking me, Jace. You were doing your job, that’s-”

“No. I’m sorry I was going to leave without telling you that I like you. I thought I’d leave and you’d never see me again, that it’d be pointless to get attached. I thought you were just… being nice. Because you’re a good person.” The words spill out of Jace before he can overthink them.

“You like me,” Simon repeats incredulously. “That totally makes sense with, you know, the way you completely stopped talking to me.”

Jace can hear the anger in Simon’s voice and winces slightly. Just because it’s entirely deserved doesn’t make it easier to hear.

“I figured it’d be easier to walk away once this was all over if we weren’t as friendly.” It’s still a shitty thing to have done, and Jace wouldn’t blame Simon for holding it against him. But after hearing that song he couldn’t walk away with Simon thinking it was over anything he did wrong. No matter the cost to Jace’s pride, Simon deserves that much. “And… maybe I was a little afraid that if I got much closer I’d want to cross a line I knew I couldn’t.”

“So you felt it too?” Simon’s words and expression are full of so much hope that Jace almost panics again. What if he isn’t half the person Simon thinks he is after getting to know him in this little bubble of theirs from the past few months? What if he messes this up?

...what if he doesn’t?

“I did,” Jace finally admits. “I still do. And I know I probably ruined any chance I had before, but if I haven’t fucked things up too badly, maybe once you’re back in New York we could meet up for coffee?”

Simon smiles, brighter than the house lights that fill the small venue now.

“Or… or you could stay with me for the last few shows? I wasn’t just being nice for the sake of being nice - I like you, Jace. I changed my hotel routine for you! I wouldn’t do that for just anyone. I don’t know if you have to go back right away for work, or something, but if you don’t I definitely wouldn’t mind the company. Your company.”

Jace considers it for a few long moments, then nods. It’s fitting, he thinks, to drop the formalities and the professional distance in the same setting he started to fall for Simon in. The same setting in which Simon started to fall for him, despite Jace’s best efforts to dissuade him, only this time with no excuses to hold him back. And if Simon’s willing to give him an actual shot after everything, he’d be a fool not to take it.

“Well, I can’t very well leave you to lug all your equipment around by yourself, can I?” Jace says, smiling. “Let me check back in with the office tomorrow morning but I don’t have anything scheduled. It shouldn’t be an issue.”

There’s a pause then, the air between them filled with an almost electric buzz of anticipation. Simon takes the first step closer, bridging the gap between them. There’s no questioning what Simon’s thinking when his eyes dart down to Jace’s lips and back up to meet his gaze again before speaking.

“Can I-”

Before Simon can finish, Jace’s lips are already on his in response. It’s slow and tentative, with each of them feeling the other out, but it’s nice. It’s really nice. When they pull away after a few moments Simon can’t keep the smile off his face. “That was even better than I imagined.”

Jace quirks an eyebrow, smirking fully now. “You imagined us kissing?”

“Shut up and help me load the van.”

The familiar banter and Simon’s easy smile are such an immediate comfort for Jace that he can’t help the light laugh he gives in response. As Simon looks back at Jace it’s with an expression so soft and full of kindness that Jace knows now isn’t the same look he reserves for everyone else.

Jace knows it’s a look reserved only for him this time - and with any luck, for many more times to come.

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

I love all the smutt, really i do, but can we get some uhhhhh, TENDER fluff of the two????

Absolutely, dear anon? Let’s GO!

Sooga was a hard working man. He was not only responsible for Kohga’s welfare, but his happiness, and on occasion, his sexual satisfaction. Pair that with training of the troops, and overall making sure everything is spick and span, Sooga didn’t have much time for himself. Except for ONE day out of the year. His birthday. On his birthday, Sooga was allowed to do whatever he pleased. He was a bit stubborn about it, insisting he didn’t need it, but Kohga was relentless. Sooga hated leaving him alone, much less in the horny hands of the clan, but Kohga’s wishes were his commands. It was why he was here, right at lurelin village, and doing his favorite thing: fishing. Sooga LOVED fish, quite unlike his Master. It was nice; sitting at the end of the docks, with nothing but a fishing pole, a fishing spear, a bucket of bait, and an empty bucket for his catch.

You’d think it’d be dangerous, a yiga fishing so close to the village, but since he had been doing it for so long, the people of the village merely watched him occasionally, letting him go about his business. It was nice, and relaxing, smelling the ocean air. He already had a bucket full of porgies, and even a few crabs. They were fresh, lively. He had no idea how long he had been there, just that the sun was starting to set, and that his bait bucket was empty. Now was as good of a time as any to pack it up. He started to put his stuff away, and was about to dump them back into the ocean (he wasn’t allowed to bring them home, because Kohga HATED the smell of fish), when suddenly he felt someone tug at his leg. A little boy.

“Hey Mr! Are you gonna dump those fishes?”

“I was planning to. I cannot take them home.”

“Can we have ‘em?”

“Don’t bother the nice man, now!”

A woman, who he assumed was the child’s mother, dashed up to him, holding onto his shoulders. She gave an apologetic look, double checking the infant at her back.

“I’m so sorry sir, it’s your fish, do with them as you will.”

Sooga hesitated. The child looked longingly at the bucket.

“Do you not have food?”

“No! The meanie bokoblins just a bit offshore keep scaring the fishermen away! We haven’t had fish in forever!”

Sooga watched as a woman set up shop right next to him. No fish at her stand today. Merely arrows. Odd. Sooga nodded at her.

“Where is your house? I’ll carry it for you, it’s heavy.”

“Sir please, we don’t-”

“It wasn’t an option.”

While his voice was firm, she smiled at him. He walked behind her till he reached her doorstep, leaving the bucket right by her front door. The child dashed inside the house, yelling in joy. She looked at him, offering a sweet smile.

“Thank you so much, we can only survive so long on just palm fruit.”

Sooga nodded, before suddenly disappearing from her sight. He had things to do.

----------------------------------------

“Sooga! Welcome back, how was-”

Kohga covered his nose with his hand, turning away from Sooga, who had just returned from his birthday trip. And apparently, he smelled worse than usual. No one else seemed to mind, but Kohga just hated the smell of the ocean. Sooga gave a soft chuckle at the overreaction.

“I apologize, after my fishing, I had some...monsters to deal with. I’ll go ba-”

“No no no! You smell AWFUL. Like, the WORST you’ve ever smelled! Like fish and absolute ass. Follow me.”

Kohga walked him towards his own personal bathing room, shutting the doors behind them. The bath seemed to have been ready in advance, and Sooga softly smiled.

“You had the bath ready for me?”

“It was for ME. I was GOING to smell nice and fresh when you got back, but no, you had to smell like death. Strip, bath, now.”

Kohga was usually much more patient. But Sooga could understand. If HE didn’t love the smell of fish, he’d be recoiling as well. Sooga obeyed regardless, completely stripping, save for his mask. 

“Regardless, thank you, Master Kohga. You honor me with your hospitality. I can go on and swap with you when I’m done, if you’d like.”

“What- no. I’M bathing too, Sooga.”

Sooga froze a bit. The idea of Kohga being nude was a lot for him to handle, but the idea of him being nude and WET? Suffice to say, It made him gulp. Sooga suddenly felt self conscious, as if his body didn’t deserve to be in the presence of his body.

“Master Kohga, there’s no need to be indecent-”

“Sooga you’ve had my dick in your mouth, I really don’t know what you’re afraid of.”

Sooga opened his mouth to give a retort, but found himself unable. Kohga may have meant that in a funny way, but Sooga felt it made his heart ache. Why DID he continue to be so...uneasy, when Kohga had no qualms with his wants? Kohga didn’t seem to either notice, or care, about his inner turmoil, and instead stripped himself down. Not even underwear. Just a complete, and totally nude Kohga, standing right in front with him (minus his mask of course). Even worse, Kohga put his hair down. He un did his hair, revealing a mess of curly, poofy, black hair. Kohga combed his fingers through it, before noticing Sooga staring.

“That’s right, you’ve never seen me without this much clothes, huh?”

“I’ve….never seen your hair down. It’s...lovely.”

“I love how instead of staring at my dick, you pick my hair. You’re a big, gorgeous idiot, Sooga.”

Kohga patted his bare chest, before making his way into the tub. The tub was more or less a giant hot spring, but Kohga always felt like it wasn’t big enough, so he called it a tub. Kohga sighed in relief once his body hit the water, and Sooga swore he never saw his master so content. Sooga hesitated, before walking down the steps, and relaxed, just a bit away from Kohga. They sat there for a moment, absorbing the warmth, inhaling the smell of the fresh flowers (like Kohga’s favorite; the mighty thistle. It was an assertive, yet sweet smelling scent), and letting their bones nearly melt. Sooga could be this relaxed forever, had Kohga not said something.

“What are you doing, Sooga?”

Sooga tensed up, snapping out of his blissful daydream. He must’ve done something to offend him, done something to make Kohga ashamed of him. Sooga swallowed.

“I apologize, I’m not aware as to w-what-”

“You’re all the way over there.”

Kohga chuckled, and made his way right to Sooga’s side, wrapping an arm around him. Kohga’s body felt so soft and warm next to him. Sooga couldn’t believe this was all really happening. Kohga was actually sitting here, arm wrapped around him like he owned him. Sooga never recalled when he felt so important, so….worthy. Kohga grabbed a petal that floated in their tub, lightly flicking it in almost boredom. That was when Sooga suddenly grew bold.

“Do you...need help washing your hair, Master Kohga.”

Kohga looked at him in almost surprise, before shaking his head.

“I have a VERY specific way of washing it, Sooga. But,”

Kohga’s face was suddenly so close to his, with his hands planted so firmly on his chest.

“I can do yours, if you don’t mind me gettin’ a little handsy.”

Sooga could swoon right now. Master Kohga, the most incredible man ever, was offering to clean his hair. Sooga wanted to deny him, knowing he didn’t deserve his hands, but he nodded rather quickly. Kohga chuckled, before getting behind Sooga, and un doing the ribbon that kept his hair up. Sooga’s hair was long, straight, black, and it fell down gracefully across his back. Sooga didn’t like recalling the past, but Sooga always remembered how his father HATED the length of his hair. Always threatened to cut it, always tried to pull at it. He was expecting similar treatment from Kohga, when he felt his bare fingers strum through his locks.

“Bad enough you’ve got a nice body, now you have to compete with me in the hair department.”

“You...like it? You don’t think it’s too long?”

“No? What idiot would tell you that? You’ve got pretty hair, perfect for a pretty boy.”

Kohga’s lathered his hands in soap, before running through his hair. Master Kohga was so talented, scrubbing the sweet smelling soap into his hair so carefully yet efficiently. He was about to comment as such before Kohga’s fingers suddenly dug into his scalp. A light scrunch of his hair, nails strumming against his skin. It was so soothing, so tender and affectionate, for ONCE in his life, Sooga hadn’t thought what dangers could be present. Sooga was always thinking of what could hurt either him or his master. It felt odd, not having a single thought like that pop in his head.

“Sooga, wakey wakey.”

Sooga’s head snapped up, looking around widely for a second. Kohga laughed, smacking the water surrounding them.

“You fell asleep on me! You had your head bobbing up and down and everything. You never had anyone wash your hair before?”

“N...no. Never. I apologize, I shouldn’t have-”

Kohga grabbed a fistful of his hair, and gave it a light pull, getting Sooga’s attention.

“Shh. You’re fine. It’s fine. I’m VERY fine. It was cute. If I wasn’t worried about you drowning, I would’ve kept you like that.”

Kohga gave his hair a light pat, before starting on his own. Sooga held onto some of his hair, looking at it, as if he was suspicious of it.

“Master...Kohga. May I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

Sooga watched him wash and scrub into his locks, watched as he scrubbed at his own body leisurely. 

“I wanted to ask-why are you so...kind to me?”

“Because I like you. I’ve told you.”

“You like the other Blademasters, don’t you?”

“I like all the clan. But you especially. Reason being? You’re a big, strong guy who’d do anything for me. You’re a stiff, but you got a big heart. I feel comfortable with you. You get me. And I wish you’d be comfortable with me, Sooga.”

Sooga opened his mouth to retort, before silencing himself. He was right. He loved Koga, but he didn’t feel completely comfortable with him. With ANYONE, in fact. Sooga sighed, before cupping Kohga’s face in his hands. He ignored the soap and water, and that beautiful mop of hair.

“Master Kohga. I cannot explain everything to you, for that forgive me, But what I can tell you, is that I love you with all that I am. I’m as comfortable with you as I can make myself. You are my world. My light in my darkness. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth. It’s why I constantly question if I’m good enough for you. I was brought up to believe my worth was nothing. I want you to have the opposite of that. Everything.”

There was a moment of silence between them. One that was only interrupted by the water, and soft popping of bubbles. Kohga sighed.

“Lift your mask up, a bit. Just so I can see your mouth.”

Sooga obeyed, though his hands lightly trembled. There was a punishment instored for him, he knew it. At least, he thought that up until Kohga did the very same, and pressed his lips against his. Master Kohga...was kissing him. His lips were so soft, so full, as if they were the clouds themselves. Sooga sat there, dumbstruck, even as Kohga pulled away from him.

“Look, we all got bullshit pasts and junk, Sooga. But here and now, know that you’re special to me. Whatever someone told you however long ago, doesn’t matter now. I’M telling you you’re good. You’re worth my time. You’re something to me, you big, dumb man.”

Sooga had never been told he was something. Never been told he was worthy. It made his hands shake a bit, before he suddenly found himself sweeping Kohga into his arms, and kissing him again. He wasn’t rejected. Wasn’t pushed away. He embraced him, arms thrown around his neck and hands digging into his soapy scalp. Kohga pulled away this time, and Sooga caught a glance of that smirk. Oh be still his beating heart.

“Sooga, I know it’s your birthday and all, but I got a command for you.”

“Anything, name it.”

“Sit here, and kiss me until you’re sick of it.”

“So...kiss you forever?”

Kohga laughed, before throwing himself at Sooga, lips locked onto his own as the water splashed around them. Nothing else mattered, but Kohga.

[suxian]

it’s the teddy bear! Nix and Dick’s quite unusual life in Pennsylvania.

I know this chapter was wrote quite awful, so if you don't like it, please just ignore it

1 2 3

Nix hid his face in Dick's chest. He remained silent for a long time, during which Dick did not speak. He only gently stroked the back of Nix's hairy head, listening to Nix's breathing. As if a heavy rain after the bleak grass, the breeze slowly blowing, stirring up the refreshing aroma of grass.

After a long time, Nix finally spoke up.

"I've never wanted to be human again as much as I do now." His voice was muffled, mixed with a rare embarrassment and a touch of gnashed irritation, "At least I can take my clothes off and have sex with you and fuck my fucking brains out instead of being so embarrassed that I have no words to talk to."

Hearing Nix's angry speech, Dick couldn't help but raised the corner of his mouth. But at the same time he felt a secret bitterness and heaviness in his heart. He and Nix have been tacitly aware of Nix's behavior and have avoided talking about it. Whenever Nix wants to escape some topics from Dick, or abandon himself and hide his fragmented emotions, he will make love with Dick. He will madly try to drag Dick into the confusion and joy of his body, and will cover up his true feelings with deep kisses, dirty strokes, colorful seductions and licentious behaviors.

Dick didn't notice it until Blanche committed suicide because of depression. After the funeral dust is settled, Dick and Nix return to the apartment where Nix and Blanche used to live together. Dick is reluctant to let Nix stay alone in the apartment full of memories. No matter how good the memory is, it will only be like a nightmare at this time. Nix, however, locks himself into the room as soon as he gets home, leaving Dick no chance to make any other suggestions.

After pacing back and forth in the living room, eventually, Dick made a quick decision. He first told the housekeeper to prepare the meal and not to indulge Nix in drinking too much wine. He went back to the apartment to clean up his clothes and would come back immediately.

By the time Dick got back to Nix's apartment, it was past noon. Nix didn’t have lunch, and he also skipped over dinner. Dick did not try to disturb him. He waited until nearly midnight, and the housekeeper prepared supper just in case, but Nix's door was never opened again. He didn't even ask the housekeeper to deliver the wine. Eventually, Dick returned to the apartment's guest room, with no clue how long it will take Nix to recover from another death. He closed the door, took off and folded his coat, and sat for a long time with his eyes looked at the front horizontally, his legs together, his hands on his knees, and his back straight in silence. And then, he turned off the light.

Dick's keenness cultivated in the front line for many years made him turn over and roll out of bed on guard, putting on a defensive posture even before he woke up when he felt that someone was approaching him. The next second, however, Dick was completely awakened because of the extremely familiar voice and the other person's fuzzy figure in the dark. He was surprised and asked, "Nix?"

"I don't want to disturb the rest of the house at this time, so" Nix shook his hand in the darkness, and Dick saw by the dim moonlight that it was a key. "Sorry." Nix said unapologetically and threw the key down beside Dick's pillow.

"It doesn't matter," said Dick subconsciously. He was only concerned about Nix now. "What happened?"

"Good question, guessing what? The truth is I decided not to get fucking drunk and wake up the next day, or the next morning, on the vomit-covered floor to escape from --" Nix paused, tilted his head and didn’t go on. He then walked two steps closer to Dick and suddenly asked, "Do you need me to turn on the light to make sure I'm not drunk at this time?"

Dick didn't understand what Nix was trying to do, but he shook his head, "No." He said, "I know you're sober."

"Good," Nix said, "I'm going to do one thing. If you feel any discomfort during this period, say stop, I'll stop right away and leave."

"What? "Dick frowned, and his heart became alert. He had never seen Nix so wearily, even the heavy night couldn’t conceal his pallor. "What are you going to --"

"I like-- hell, I love you. "

Nix saw Dick's lips suddenly closed and his face strangely turned. It was as if this amused him, as if he had expected Dick to show this particular reaction. "I'm tired of pretending that I don't have feelings other than you are just my best friend." He then regained his expressionless face and said calmly, "I also don't want to be carefully suppress, cover up these feelings."

With that, Nix shrugged.

Dick was shocked by these sudden words, feeling dizzy, accompanying by an unadulterated joy. His heart rate soared, blood all poured into the face, and ears were crazy with the huge flow of blood vessels.

Dick opened his mouth. His spirit and limbs, which had been solid as a rock in the midst of the fire and the danger of the battlefield, trembled. He was eager to say something --

The next second, Nix kissed him.

It started as a gentle kiss, Nix brushing Dick's teeth with the tip of her tongue, feathery soft. But to his surprise, Dick opened his teeth and took Nix's cheek in his hand. His breath stung Nix's lips, jaw, and nose like a burning fire and boiling water. Nix was stunned for a few seconds, feeling Dick's tongue itch across the palate, and then suddenly, his senses came back. He desperately sucked on the tip of Dick's tongue until it was tingling, itchy, and painful, saliva spilling from the corners of both their mouths with this intense movement.

There was a long struggle, until Nix laughed and put his hand between them and felt between Dick's legs. "You got me, Major." He said in a low, obscene voice, bending his knees and deliberately grinding the delicate spot. Dick, without surprise, let out a groan and gasped uncontrollably. It had been less than a day after Blanche's funeral, he thought with great difficulty, they were in Nix's apartment, a door away from the housekeeper, the cook, and the maid. Any reason should calm him down and refuse to continue his folly. He bit his lip, trying to catch Nix's hand.

Nix dodged deftly, then fell to his knees and jerked off Dick's shorts. The half-hard penis jumped out. Nix looked at Dick, who frozen in place by his audacity, blushing and bewildered. "So, I guess I'm the first one to say hello to this soldier?" He smiled, bent his head, and put Dick's cock in his mouth without any hesitation.

Dick closed his eyes in despair. Nix was not familiar with the movements at first, but he was apparently incredibly clever. After a few attempts, he had figured out how to swallow Dick's penis as deep as possible, and had learned to squeeze the glans with his throat while fondling the frenulum. Watching Nix skillfully swallow his penis, lick it, kiss the tip of his cock does nothing to extinguish lust. And even though Dick closed his eyes, Nix's puffy cheeks, swollen lips and tearful corners of his eyes, and in between the puffs he muttered vaguely, "Dick, you're hard enough to hurt me."

Dick almost lost his reason. He just wanted to abandon all his faith. He wanted to hold Nix's neck and slammed into his mouth and throat so that he could not say a teasing or outrageous word any more.

In the meanwhile, Nix watched Dick bit his lip with stiff self-discipline, clench his hand into a fist with all his might of restraint and hold it against his thigh, wrinkling his eyebrows, veins on his neck, throbbing forbearing and erotically. He couldn't help but smirked, knowing that the only reason Dick didn't stop him was because he knew that Nix wouldn't stop, and that any extra noise they made would attract and alarm outsiders. Dick tried to stop Nix silently with his eyes, but it was obvious that this oral job could not be stopped.

Nix, of course, selfishly ignored this signal. He put his hand on Dick's hip, involuntarily kneaded Dick's firm tight butt, and then opened his mouth harder, forcing Dick to feel the pleasure squeezed out every time his cock hit Nix's throat.

The sensation builds up so quickly that it seems like a wall of waves is falling over one's head. After another deep throat from Nix, Dick suddenly let out a thick, muffled grunt, and the muscles in his thighs and lower abdomen tightened -- he was submerged in a sea of desire, caught in the whirlpool of orgasm, and shot out violently.

Before Nix could step back, Dick's semen filled his throat, more on his red lips that seemed to be bleeding, his jaw, and trickled down into the small indentations made by his collarbone. He coughed uncontrollably, and his tears made his face more salacious.

When Dick recovered from the orgasm, satisfaction and possessive desire finally disappeared from his body like a tidal wave. Dick saw Nix, who had already returned to normal at this moment, staring at him with amusement. His penis was still standing upright and his pants were stained with a dark mark.

"Nix, I --" Dick suddenly resenting himself for being so absorbed in the pleasure that he had forgotten Nix’s feeling.

"Stop, just don't apologize," Nix stopped him, shaking his head. "In fact, you can make it up to me. The night is still long."

Dick held his tongue, and waited.

"Fuck me, hard." Said Nix, raising his eyebrows. Dick's semen hung from his pretty, flawless cheek. Dick stared at the liquid that had made Nix unclean, and for a moment, uncontrollably, he wished it were hanging from Nix's eyelashes.

-- this shouldn't be right, they shouldn't have done it, Nix should have had a sweet wife, Dick should have got a girlfriend, they could have been close, and their kids could have been close, but they shouldn't have been as close as they are now, having sex, having fun, two men together.

But Nix was looking at him, recklessly, looking at Dick with a kind of contempt, and at the same time with an incomparable charm and dashing grace.

Fuck it, Dick thought, he had made a choice at this moment. He chose to go against the public order and good custom and abandon the so-called moral standards. He thought that if the world and Jesus only allowed a man and a woman to love and make love, then he would like to be Nix’s woman, and he believed that Nix would also like to be his woman.

"Tell me what I need to do." Dick heard himself say.

Nix laughed.

/

When they awoke in the early morning, Dick found Nix's head buried in his neck, trying to hide from the annoying sun. His black hair looked golden in the sun.

"Fuck you". Nix then woke up, groaned hoarsely.

"Good morning." Dick laughed uncontrollably, turned his head and kissed Nix's earlobe reassuringly, as if he had done it a hundred and a thousand times before.

"You're an animal." Nix complained.

"Feeling better?" Dick didn't care about Nix's offensive language. He just asked the question. He knew why Nix had come to him yesterday.

"For now, good." Nix replied scoundrelly, "for good? Have no clue. "

After a moment's silence, said Dick, "You looked awful yesterday."

"Well, when you don't know how something is going to turn out, it's like in Bastogne, you don't know where the German bombs are going to come from and go off," Nix said disagreingly. "But the worst thing that could happen is that you turn me down, you resign, and we don't interact. How could things be worse?"

Dick's heart shrank sharply. "I won't leave you."

"That sounds like a relief." Nix said in his usual joking tone, but Dick knew it was just a mask.

"I don't --" Dick tried to say that again, but Nix flipped over quickly and covered Dick's body with his own. He then put his fingers into Dick's red hair, which was just like the hot and burning and never extinguished sun.

Nix licked his lips and said, "Proved it."

Dick surrendered.

He admits, willingly, he is Nix's captive.

[writefightandflightclub]

Rebelle of the ball

Poe x fem reader (mainly so the pun worked, sorry gender-neutral readers!)

Author’s note: this my very loose riff on a traditional princess story- particularly that “princess moment” when a guy sees his girl all dressed up walking down a staircase and falls hard / realises his existing feelings. Reader’s POV is that if Poe doesn’t fall for her tonight, in this dress, then it’s never going to happen, is it? This fic is written from Poe’s POV which was a different kinda challenge altogether. Also, I didn’t agonise over this one so sorry if it’s no good. Let me know how I did, k?

Summary: You and Poe have to go on an undercover mission to a diplomat’s ball at Canto Bight casino to gather intel for the Resistance. While you pose as an esteemed Princess, will Poe turn out to be your Prince Charming?

Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence, mild sex references. 

GIF by @vivienvalentino

Poe is nervous and pacing. He’s read and reread the briefing package sent to him by the ops team. He’s gotten dressed in his black and gold suit. He’s checked his slicked-back hair in the mirror more than he would usually care to. Now he’s waiting on you. And he’s not a particularly patient man.

He raps on the door to your adjoining suite one more time. “What now?!” you hiss through the door, and he sucks air through his teeth. He’s sure you sound even more angry than last time he checked-in with you.

“Are you sure you don’t want a hand, Princess?”

“Fuck off, Prince Charming.” you shout through the door. Charming, indeed.

You’ve been in there at least two hours, bedecking yourself in some form of complicated finery for the evening. A delegation of Resistance members had managed to do some stellar work off-planet, securing a sponsor for the mission. Which -essentially- meant that you had both been hooked up with outfits grotesque and gaudy enough to fit in at tonight’s delegate’s ball in Canto Bight; the casino and playground of the rich and powerful. Only the finest and most elaborate costuming would do to convince guests that you truly were an esteemed Princess of Pavia-9, as you claimed to be. And only then could you get the intel on arms drops you so badly needed to intercept the shipments and topple the Order’s plans.

A fresh wave of nausea hits Poe when he thinks about what you’re about to do. Sure, the pretentious assholes who frequented Canto Bight weren’t battle-hardened like you. But they were abundant enough in number, and had pleny of hired muscle around for things to go royally wrong if they caught on to the fact you were an imposter. No, Poe isn’t a patient man at all. He doesn’t like waiting on you because it allows him plenty of time to plan ahead; “planning ahead”, in his book, is also known as an extended opportunity to ruminate on all the ways things can go wrong. Characteristically, he’d much rather just get out there and wing it. To worry is to suffer twice, and all that.

When you eventually emerge from your suite your expressjon and your body language are impartial, neutral. But you twirl gently, and ask “well?”

Poe looks you up and down and back up again. A gold, elaborate sculpture of a crown adorns your head. Your hair is folded in intricate petals. Your face is caked in so much make-up you barely look like yourself. Your body is enrobed in an ostentatious jewel blue dress and cape, complete with flamboyant shoulder decorations and arm cuffs.

“You look...” he can see you holding your breath, awaiting his reaction, but this is all he has. “You look ridiculous.”

Despite your best attempt at bravado you are visibly upset. “I’m not supposed to look ridiculous, I’m supposed to look good.”

“No, you’re supposed to look rich, trust me, there’s a difference.”

Poe considers reminding you not to take it personally. That you are beautiful. But it’s not relevant for the mission and it’s probably not the kinda thought that -as your Commander- he should be entertaining anyway.

His eyes flick back over you again. “Can you run in those shoes?” he asks, genuinely concerned looking at the height of them.

“Poe. Do I look like a Princess?”

“Don’t go getting ideas below your station.” he smiles at you gently, trying to mask the nerves which prod insistently at his chest, not allowing him to forget the risks. You look like a Princess, for sure. He just thinks that Princess is a bit of a step down for you. Although he does know one Princess who turned out to be pretty badass, most he’d encountered were detached and self-absorbed, outsourcing the true cost of their lifestyle to those who stood to suffer most. 

“Poe!” you yell, scowling now. He concedes that you need some actual reassurance rather than his loose platitudes.

“They’ll buy it. 100%. I promise.” Then he adds, “Do you have your blaster? Communicator?” You nod and flash him your thigh, showing where it’s strapped. He tries not to visibly react to the flash of skin but there’s something he finds very hot about the holster tightened around your leg.

“Good. Now. How do I look?”. He straightens his tie and opens his palms to you, presenting himself.

You look him up and down. “You’re doing a great job of looking like a rich asshole.” He had to figure there’d be no way you’d compliment him after his own reation. But, he can tell by the flare of your nostrils -and the areas of him that your eyes travel to- that you like what you see. He prays you do a better job of hiding your emotions when you’re in front of the crowd.

On that note, he clasps your hands in his, conscious of his clammy grip, and looks deeply into your eyes.”Are you ready to do this?” He searches for any hesitation and finds only a determined resolve.

Poe offers his next words measuredly, carefully, recapping the plan.“You know the mark. Let him come to you. Find out what we need, find me, and we get out. Provided the bribes have worked, the real Princess will be delayed at the checkpoint for 35 minutes. That’s all we’ve got and then we need to move.”

“This’ll be fun.” You smile; a wild, improvident look in your eyes. Poe figures the adrenaline must be kicking-in and overriding some of your nerves and better judgement. Fine then, you’ll both just wing it.

He’s certainly done enough worrying about this. He sincerely hopes that will mean he has saved you the trouble of having to suffer.

***

These people, this place; it’s all grotesque. If this is luxury, Poe has already had an excess of the excess.

Everything is obsence. The thought of these people getting rich by dealing arms, wreaking havoc on innocent people - all to catwalk their garish outfits and passively agressively outbrag one-another at champagne mixers - makes his blood boil. But, he must refrain from blasting anyone just yet.

Poe is posing as a middling member of the Galactic Senate from a planet with plausible ties to the old imperials. Nothing risky enough that anyone should question him too insistently. So, he mingles amongst the throng of the crowd, rubbing shoulders with tasteless, vulgar individuals and trying to keep his fists and weapons to himself. Groups of men stop him, with faux interest, seemingly only to boast about pointless items within their possession as if they mattered, and then to dismissively describe arms deals which contributed to massacres as though the lives taken were of zero consequence. The only thing preventing Poe from blasting half of these assholes is the satisfying thought that you’re about to dupe them and they have no kriffing idea. It makes a delicious smile spread over his face, which these over-indulged narcissists mistake for tacit approval, of course.

Finally, the announcement sounds out informing the room that the arrival of the Princess of Pavia-9 is imminent. The guests, noticeably abuzz, seem intrigued to finally catch a glimpse of the famously beautiful, ruthless, and reculsive monarch-in-waiting. The throng move to congregate at the bottom of the central staircase, ready to watch you make your entrance. Poe joins the thick of the crowd, taking a position off to the side, flanked by obtrusive flower displays, imposing gilded statues, and gaudy champagne towers. The orchestral music is paused, and, as everyone awaits your appearance, you could hear a droid-bolt drop.

Poe’s heart is in his mouth, a slight taste of bile as he readies himself for your moment of truth. His legs are shaking a little with nerves now, a sheen of sweat developing on his brow. You really are surrounded by people who would not hesitate to kill you, or worse. Then, he sees you appear at the opening of the stairs, the jewel blue of your dress in stark contrast to the gold staircase.

Well, you’ve made it this far, at least. Hopefully you can pull-off being a Princess for half an hour more. Poe looks nervously around to see if the crowd are buying it. Well, he never should have doubted you.

The crowd is enraptured, looking at you in awe. There is an audible ripple of excitement and nervous energy which spreads across the room as they receive their first glimpse of you, and the ripple of bows which follow feels like more than a simple act of obeying custom; it feels like they are bowing because you inspire them to. Because your presence commands it. You move deliberately, confidently, gracefully down the staircase.

A woman to Poe’s side whispers to her companion “She’s breathtaking.” Poe’s face can’t help but spread into a grin. Not even because they’re buying-it (although that is an untold relief). Not even because of the compliment. More so, because everyone here in awe of you is missing the point entirely. Maybe they like that ridiculous outfit, the power and status you appear to convey, your body in that form-fitting dress -which, ok, now that’s he’s looking he admits you carry off well. But no, Poe looks at you and he knows the secret. He knows you’re majestic because of the way you just bravely, cooly, commandingly walked into a room full of your enemies and still owned it, not giving off a hint of nerves. He knows you’re majestic because you were prepared to risk yourself not for your own gain or status; you did so for the good of the Resistance. For all that, you are more beautiful than any self-regarding poser in this room. You’re fucking baller.

You make it down the staircase without a stumble and the orchestra start-up again. Poe sees you begin to track through the crowd, people simutaneoulsy flocking to be close to you and shrinking back from your steely and arresting presence. He knows your mark will soon beeline for you. The transaction is well-rehearsed and Poe is confident in what you can do. All being well, you will rendezvous with him in the hallway by the service exit in 15 minutes.

Itching to whisk you out of there, perhaps overly keen not to lose sight of you in the crowd, Poe lingers a little too long in just the wrong spot. Edging close enough to the periphery of the party to arouse suspicion.

“Excuse me. Can I assist you?” It’s one of the security officers the casino has assigned to protect the Princess, now that’s you. He sidles over, chest puffed out, towering over Poe.

“No, thank you.”

“Can I see your credentials?” 

Poe flashes his best, affronted-rich-person face, but subterfuge really isn’t his strongpoint. He’s just the getaway pilot. “How dare you...” he begins.

From the corner of his eye, he sees you notice him and the brewing confrontation. He sees you subtly -via a thread of greetings and kisses to your hand- trying to weave through the crowd and reduce the distance between you both, in case of the need for a quick exit. He throws you a somehwat helpless, sidelong glance.

And then, it gets worse. Poe guesses that the real Princess’ ship has made its way through the checkpoint early, as the guard’s communicator crackles to life, a panicked voice raising a very valid concern about how the Princess could possibly already be there. That will, emphatically, be your cue to leave then.

“Oh, shit.”

Poe whistles loudly, his pinkies in his mouth, and yells indiscrimately into the crowd. “Let’s roll, Princess!”

You are close enough that he hears you exclaim, “oh fuck”, before push-kicking another guard right into the orchestra, and he hears them landing in a dischord of groans and reverberating strings. He sees a flash of jewel blue as hands grab at your robe, which you abandon, throwing it over the head of one of your pursuers. This buys you an extra split second to slip away as you elbow your way through the crowd of -thankfully- sufficiently confused delegates. The crowd are startled enough that the path of the other guards remains blocked, a few beelining and jostling through towards you from all corners of the room, sending people and drinks and champagne towers toppling.

Poe uses the distraction to land a respectable hook to the chin of the security officer who had decided to accost him and you skid to a halt in front of him, in time to follow his hook up with a solid elbow to the guard’s face.

And then, to him; “We royally fucked up, what can I say?”

He makes a mental note to tell you how fucking badass you are, but that can wait.

“It’s just a slight hiccup, Princess. You ready to run?”

You lift the hem of your dress to reveal your old, worn flight boots in place of the heels you’d donned earlier.

Poe beams in delight “You changed your shoes,”

You grin back “I changed my shoes.”

Poe guides you urgently out of the service exit with a hand on your back and you head out first. You both know where you’re running, having scoped out the speeders earlier in the evening. You can’t let the security forces get there before you. You both leg it, running and half-sliding down the steep hilside until your lungs burn and your legs shake, your blasters now drawn. You haven’t made it far enough by the time blaster shots begin to lick at your heels.Thankfully the ground has begun to flatten out a little or with their higher vantage point -and your disadvantage point- you’d be done for.

Thinking quickly, Poe crouches and takes a position behind a crumbling bit of wall. He needs you away from their line of fire, now. “Get to the speeders, I’ll stay here and pick a few off.” You don’t even hesitate to leave him there to be all heroic, which he chooses to believe is a sign you trust his judgement. Trusting you also, to come back for him, Poe focusses at the task at hand, dropping a few of the security team as they make their way down the hill. He notes with vexation that crafts have taken to the skies already, searchlights combing through the long grasses.

Distracted by the whirr of one such craft as it comes unnervingly close overhead, he doesn’t spot one of the pursuers until they have already cleared the brow of the nearest hill, looking equally shocked to find Poe crouched behind the makeshift cover as they plant their feet and recover from their jump.

The split seond needed before recognition hits is the only reason Poe hasn’t been blasted yet. It’s also the reason neither of them see or hear you approach on the looted speeder, given the additional cover of the noisy craft overhead. At least, Poe’s adversary doesn’t notice you until it’s far too late. You steer the landbike towards him, your golden headdress now being yielded in one fist, like a goddess riding into battle, as you straddle the vehicle. You sock the guard in the back of the head with your crown, the momentum of your strike knocking him out cold. You toss the now useless adornment to the floor and it rolls down to land at Poe’s feet. The guard too wavers and then drops to his knees in what feels like slow motion, rolling down the hill limply.

“That’s it. Bow down to your Princess, you fucker.”

See. Fucking baller.

Poe is almost inspired to fall to his knees too.

He looks up at you from the lower ground. You have a split in your dress up to your thigh, leaving your oh so practical flight boots and blaster holster on show. Your hair is a mess and a cut seethes on your lip. This is it. This is the moment the force of his feelings for you hits him. It’s like a sucker punch. He relates a little too heavily to the guard you’ve just KO’d.

“Can you stop gawping and get the fuck on, Poe!”

Your command rips him back to reality and he clambers over to the speeder, throwing his leg over and shuffling close to you, hands circling around your waist.

Now it’s just a small matter of making it down to the secluded cove where the ship is hidden and he can finally make himself a bit more useful.

“Don’t let go!” you shout above the throttle of the engine as the vehicle accelerates with a jolt.

No, he certainly doesn’t plan on it.

***

You make it back to the ship, tumbling through the doors with a flood of relieved laughter.

“See, I told you that would be fun,” you grin deliciously.

Poe vaults into the pilot’s seat and fiddles with various nozzles, levers, and dials, flying manually until he’s sure it’s safe enough to jump into hyperdrive. He ditches the Cantonican ships with ease - he’s one helluva piot after all- and you settle into the chair next to him to jump straight on comms.

“General. One slight hiccup, but we did it. Listen, the shipment is on Malomir, they have an outpost there amongst some old salt mines. It’s the centre for their whole distribution and it’s weak at the top peak where the two ridges meet- that’s where there was a cave in of the main shaft a couple of decade ago. I’m patching coordinates through now, but hit it hard and fast, there’s no way that they can move anything much out of there before we can strike. We light it up that whole thing is going to blow. Let’s take them down!”

“Copy that, Major, Commander. We’ll move now. Well done.” Poe can hear the smile in Leia’s voice through the comms, can hear celebration in the background of the briefing rom.

“Thank you, General, copy that.”

After that, Poe breathes out a big sigh of relief, of elation. This victory could save a lot of lives and really slow the Order as well as a lot of warmongers down. Pleasingly, it would also hit them where they understood too- their wallets. But, there’s also another layer of joy mixed in. You are safe. A significant victory.

Poe jumps the ship into hyperdrive which allows you to sit back for a moment. You handled it, this mission, but it can’t have been a breeze. You’re good at hiding the truth (and extracting it too)- it’s part of your skillset, but Poe knows you well enough to see through your cool exterior, or at least he likes to think so. You are quiet as you take a moment to look out at the blue and white light slipping by, letting your muscles untense. He let’s you have it, uninterrupted. Poe regards you ardently, the light casting an ethereal glow over your features, and over the contours of your body. In that jewel blue gown, it’s almost as if you are made of starlight. He smiles softly to himself as he realises how disappointed that crowd back at Canto Bight are gonna be when they get their “real” Princess. Surely nothing could compare to you.

When you turn back, you see that Poe has spun around in his chair, legs spread and hands clasped behind his head.

He’s still looking at you. Still gawping, he realises, but he suddenly doesn’t care if you know it.

“What?” you ask bashfully, recognising the blatant admiration on his face.

“Now you look good.” 

“I do? Not ridiculous?”

He smiles. He’s going to be paying for that comment for a long time, isn’t he? “Yeah, like you usually do. Badass, gorgeous, fucking majestic.” His voice is soft, genuine. He scopes your reaction to the compliment, but you don’t seem to bristle. That’s good, because he has a lot more where that came from.

“Well,” you venture, “if I’m being honest you look pretty good in that suit.”

“I know, I saw you looking.” There’s a beat. “I’d look better out of it.”

“I’ll bet, you goof.”

Again, he’s pleased to see that you don’t seem entirely averse to the suggestion. In fact, you come to sit on the arm of his chair, that gorgeous split extending up your thigh again.

“Seriously though, I didn’t mean to offend you earlier. Those people in there, they’re ugly. No matter how they dress it up. But you, you’re ...” His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and with you so close he can barely get his words out anymore. Maybe he’s a little distracted.

“Uh-huh. I get it, Poe.” Your lips quirk up at the corners. “But are you also liking this dress a little more now?” You might have noticed the way his eyes are sweeping approvingly over your body, his words becoming less and less coherent.

“Oh yeah, it’s working for me a lot more out of context.”

“Good to know, Prince Charming.” you say with a gratified smile as you straddle him on the chair, thighs spread, lips hovering close to him. “Now how about we make-out and then go blow some stuff up on Malomir?”

“Anything you say, Princess. I’ve seen what happens to your disloyal subjects and I don’t want to suffer the same fate.”

Poe might be about to have his best day ever, he thinks.

You pulled off being a Princess for the night, but you are most definitely his Queen- he hopes, for a long time.

[theladyofdeath]

Rags & Riches {9}

Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.

Warning: Mature content strung throughout.

A/N: I shan’t lie. This is my favorite Feyre x Rhysand chapter. Fluff explosion.

Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)

Sidenote: The comments you all leave me and the asks you send regarding this fic mean the world to me! Truly.

Enjoy!

Cassian tensed, his body going still at the feeling of Nesta’s mouth against his own. 

His hesitation was clear.

Nesta pulled back, blue-gray eyes wild and intrigued and slightly annoyed. 

“Lady Nesta-”

“Don’t speak,” she said, voice quiet, rough and unfiltered. “Please.”

Cassian wasn’t sure what to think. Nesta Archeron was a cold, brutal woman, but to say he hadn’t been attracted to her, hadn’t felt a connection to her, would have been a lie. 

Cassian opened his mouth to say something more, but nothing came out. 

Her lips found his, once more. 

She was hungry, desperate, Cassian knew it. He knew he should have pulled away, it was inappropriate on so many levels. He was the help, she was a Lady. He was a bastard with nothing, she had a title and a future. Yet, none of this mattered once she kissed him.

She tasted sweet, like lemon and vanilla, an odd, delicious combination. This was not like the barmaid that he had contact with in the upper level of the bar, but it was something far more natural, far more primal.

Cassian kissed her back, his mouth hungrily finding hers, his hands wrapping around her slender waist. 

Nesta made a soft, desperate noise as she wove her fingers into his damp hair. 

Cassian knew it was wrong, but he sure as hell didn’t care. 

He picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he walked to the shade of a large oak tree. The sun was bright, although it was still early. The sun had risen not long ago, it seemed. Cassian had gone out just as the sun was rising, having barely slept after his night out with Rhysand. He was exhausted, but the chilled water of the lake had woken him up a bit, and Nesta’s tongue against his own had certainly woke him up much more.

“Nesta,” he breathed, as her fingers undid the buttons of his shirt that he had just buttoned moments before. 

She said nothing, but looked at him with pleading eyes. He knew that she was no longer seeing Tomas Mandray, and perhaps she was lonely. Or, perhaps, she was just lit with passion from seeing him nude in the lake. Either way, Cassian could not say that he did not long to be inside of her.

If he did, it would be a lie. 

She was beautiful. A cold, miserable, beautiful woman. She despised him, that much he was certain of, but now, as her hands slid beneath his shirt, he wasn’t so sure.

He wasn’t sure about anything.

All he knew was that he had to have her.

Now.

He laid her down atop the grass, her legs still wrapped tightly around his waist. His mouth found her neck, and trailed beneath the neckline of her day dress. 

Her eyes closed, her hands tightening around his neck, her nails digging into his back. She tore his unbuttoned shirt from his body, discarding it among the dewy grass. 

Her teeth tugged on his bottom lip.

For a Lady, she was not tame whatsoever. 

Cassian didn’t bother waiting until they were undressed. He’d always hated undressing a lady, they wore far too many layers, far too many buttons and ribbons and hooks. 

Cassian pushed up on his knees and unbuttoned his trousers as Nesta discarded her undergarments. 

He did not ease into it, nor did she ask him to.

Cassian thrust himself into Nesta, his lips finding hers once more as she cried out against his mouth. He cursed at how wet she was, how open and ready she had been for him. Perhaps every hateful word she had spat at him over the past month since his arrival had an underlying meaning.

Or, perhaps, she was just a woman with needs who liked to defy the standards of high society. 

Cassian didn’t give a fuck, either way, as she flipped him on his back, held a delicate hand against his throat, and rocked her hips, back and forth. 

He watched her every movement in awe, intensely. The way her eyes fluttered shut, the way her head tilted back, the sunlight hitting her skin perfectly. The way her soft, pink lips remained parted, her breathing hard and uneven. He admired her flushed, pale skin, the strands of hair that had fallen loose from its clip. The way her body moved over his, completely aware of what she was doing, as a soft, feminine moan broke the silence. 

Cassian’s hands slid beneath her skirts, grabbing her ass as she rode him in perfect rhythm. 

He had a feeling all hell would break loose soon.

But for now, hell could wait. 

~~~~~

“Lady Feyre!” Alis burst into her room, sending Feyre jolting into sitting position, eyes still half closed.

“Hmm? What? Yes? Alis?” she sputtered, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it? Have I missed something? Is something wrong?”

“No, my Lady, but you have a guest in the parlor,” Alis said, out of breath as if she’d been running through the halls. She threw open the wardrobe and began pushing gowns out of the way.

“A guest?” Feyre groaned. “At this hour? It’s barely past sunrise.”

She looked out the window. Okay, so it was a little past sunrise, but it was still quite early for guests. 

“Lord Rhysand,” Alis beamed, pulling out an olive day dress. 

Feyre froze, then fell back on her bed and pulled a pillow over her face. Lord Rhysand. She had spent an hour pleasuring herself the night before because of that horrid, self absorbed man. 

“Wasn’t he just here for supper?” Feyre muttered into her pillow. “Tell him to go away. I’m ill.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Alis said, throwing Feyre’s blankets off the bed.

Feyre groaned, lying on her bare mattress like a dead fish. 

Once Alis snatched the pillow away, she was left looking at a very unhappy Feyre.

“I wish to go back to bed,” Feyre said.

“And I wish for you to get up and put on this dress so that I can quickly do your hair,” Alis said, with just as much sass. “You mustn’t keep him waiting.”

“No?” Feyre lifted a brow. “And why is that?”

“Because it’s rude,” Alis chastised. “Now, up you go.”

With one last groan, Feyre stood and did as she was told. Twenty minutes later she was dressed, her hair was done, and she was walking out of her bedroom with Alis.

“I know you enjoy your independence, my dear, but this is what your mother wanted for you,” Alis said, gently, once they were in the hallway.

Feyre let out a breath, and nodded. She smiled at Alis, thankful she was always looking out for her girls.

She knew it was what her mother wanted. What her father wanted, too. Perhaps it was even what she wanted, which was what terrified her the most. 

Rhysand was in the parlor, looking out of a floor-length window at the pasture. Hearing them approach, he turned and met her gaze. He bowed his head, then smiled. “Thank you, Alis.”

Alis curtsied, then gave Feyre a wink before excusing herself.

“Is there a reason for this ridiculously early morning call?” Feyre asked.

Rhysand chuckled. “Yes.”

Feyre waited, but he said nothing more. “And?”

“Come with me,” he said, and before she could reply, he was exiting the parlor.

“You think you can just tell me to come and I’ll come?” Feyre scoffed, but he was off, nearly in the foyer.

“We’re losing time, Feyre, darling!”

After cursing his name, Feyre stomped through the manor after him. “Wherever you’re taking me, it better be good.”

“Have I ever disappointed you before?” he crooned.

Feyre barked a laugh. “Don’t make me shame you, it would ruin your pride.”

“You’ll find that my pride is unruinable,” he winked, opening the front door and closing it behind them.

They walked to the stables and untied his mare from the post in which he’d left her. He held out his hand to Feyre.

She blinked. “What?” 

Rhysand tilted his head back in mock annoyance. It was the most un-Lord like thing Feyre had ever seen. “Must we do this before everything?”

Feyre shrugged. “I like to argue. Is that a problem?”

Rhysand dropped his hand and shook his head, smiling faintly. “You are a difficult woman.”

Feyre had a feeling women did not make themselves difficult for the Lord of Velaris often. 

“I am perfectly capable getting myself onto your horse,” she said, stepping toward the mare, then looking around. “I’ll only need that step stool.”

When Rhysand gave her a look, she shrugged. “What? Have you ever tried to get up on a horse wearing a dress?”

Rhysand laughed. “Wishing you had your little boys clothes on, are you?” 

Feyre gave him a venomous glare as he grabbed her waist and lifted her onto the saddle. A moment later, he was seated behind her, arms around her, grabbing the reins. Feyre hated sitting side-saddle. It was deeply uncomfortable, but she would not allow Rhysand the pleasure of her hiking her skirts up to her knees to sit like he was, one leg on each side.

Rhysand clicked his tongue and his mare began to trot. She was beautiful. Black fur, black mane.

“What’s her name?” Feyre asked.

“Morrigan,” Rhysand said, rolling his eyes.

Feyre lifted a brow. “Why are you rolling your eyes? That’s a lovely name.”

“Yes, but my cousin gifted her to me nearly a decade ago. My cousin, Morrigan. Who named the horse after herself, of course.” A faint smile appeared, making Feyre think he adored his cousin much more than he was letting on. “Typically, I just refer to her by names that no Lady should hear. With affection, of course.”

Feyre chuckled. “The horse or your cousin?”

Rhysand’s grin widened. “Both. Mostly the horse.” 

They rode in silence for a moment, Feyre’s shoulder bumping into his chest. They were close, as they always seemed to be when riding together. It was intimate, but not in a sexual way. Feyre enjoyed that type of intimacy. Being able to be close to someone without feeling uncomfortable or wanting to hump them relentlessly. Although humping didn’t sound quite so awful, not that she had any experience in that area.

“You’re blushing.”

Feyre blinked. “I am not.”

Rhysand chuckled.

“Wipe that stupid grin off your face, now.” She attempted to keep her distance, although there was little distance between them to keep. 

“No,” he said, grinning as wide as he could.

Feyre couldn’t help but laugh and shake her head as they left their land behind and began their journey toward the village. 

“Are you kidnapping me?” Feyre asked.

Rhysand shook his head. “No. I’m taking you to meet my mother.” 

Feyre froze. “What?”

“I’m taking you to meet-”

“No, no. I heard you.”

“Good, we’ll be there in a moment.”

“I-You-But...I’m not prepared!”

Rhysand looked down at her, as if she were crazy. “You have to prepare before you meet someone?”

“Someone’s mother, yes! Especially when that someone is…”

Rhysand lifted a brow, waiting for her to finish. When she didn’t, he supplied, “Your future husband?”

Feyre scoffed. “Don’t put words into my mouth.”

Rhysand snorted, shifting himself on the saddle, his body pressed up against her side. “Don’t worry. You’ll like her.” 

Feyre wasn’t so sure, but said nothing more. A moment later, Rhysand stopped at the same inn they had been in a few days prior. Isobel’s Inn. 

Feyre kept her lips sealed as Rhysand hopped down, then took her hands and helped her to the cobblestone. Morrigan was led away, but not before she huffed in Rhysand’s face, and Rhysand said something that sounded like, Yeah, I love you, too, you cranky old witch. 

“You truly are trying to jeopardize my virtue, aren’t you,” Feyre mumbled as they entered the threshold. 

Rhysand chuckled as he said, “Not today, Feyre, darling.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“What? Feyre? That’s your name, is it not?” Rhysand asked, leading her up the wooden staircase.

“No, darling,” Feyre said, keeping close behind.

“Shall I call you sweetheart, instead?” Rhysand asked.

“Please don’t.”

Rhysand’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. 

To Feyre’s surprise, they went past the room in which he had been staying the other night, down to the end of the hall. He knocked, quietly, before the door opened and a tall, beautiful blonde woman, probably only a year or two older then Feyre herself, opened the door and smiled. “Ah, you’ve arrived. Went to your room a while ago to bring you breakfast, but you’d already left.”

Something like jealousy bubbled in the pit of Feyre’s stomach. She quickly brushed it away.

Rhysand rolled his eyes. “Feyre, this is my cousin, Morrigan. Mor, this is Feyre.”

“Ah, who the horse is named after,” Feyre said.

Mor laughed. “Yes, that old ass has a beautiful name, doesn’t she?”

Feyre liked her already.

She stepped aside and welcomed them in. The room was slightly larger than the one Rhysand was occupying, looking far more homely with furniture and decor. Sitting in an armchair in the corner was a woman, most likely in her mid-forties, with hazel eyes and gray streaks through her black hair. She wore a simple, brown day dress, and when she saw Rhysand, her eyes lit up. 

“Good morning, mama,” he said, walking to where she sat and kissing her forehead, softly. “This is Feyre.”

Feyre stood just inside the doorway, Mor behind her. The room was quiet as Rhysand’s mother smiled. 

Feyre curtsied, “Hello.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Feyre,” she smiled. “My name is Isobel. I have heard a lot about you.”

Feyre knew her cheeks had turned pink, but nobody commented on it.

“Please, dear, come sit,” Isobel smiled, gesturing to the chair beside hers. “I would get up, but I’m afraid I’m feeling too weak today.”

Feyre sat opposite of Isobel, trying to connect all the dots. “Do you own this inn?”

“Yes,” Isobel smiled. “Bought it about a decade ago, after I left Velaris.”

“She took this piece of filth and turned it into quite the lovely little inn,” Mor smiled. “I’m going to go to the kitchen for some tea and biscuits.”

She excused herself and hurried out of the room.

“Rhysand tells me he wishes to marry you, but you think him a fool,” Isobel said.

Feyre hesitated. “I- oh, no, I-”

Isobel broke into a fit of laughter, which ended in a cough. Rhysand reached his hand toward her, but she shook her head, catching her breath, cough fading. “I don’t blame you, my dear. He is a fool, all men are. But, as far as fools go, he is a good one. I may be biased, being his mother, but I believe he turned out quite well.”

Rhysand rolled his eyes - the second time in five minutes he had made such a gesture - and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “I promise I did not bring you here so that my lovely mother could talk me up.”

Feyre laughed, quietly. 

“Unless it’s working,” Rhysand went on. “Then, by all means.” 

The morning went on like that, and Feyre was truly enjoying herself. Mor returned with tea and biscuits, and Isobel told Feyre of how she ended up living back in the town she’d been born, instead of Velaris. Feyre decided that Rhysand’s father was a total prick. Rhysand also had a sister, who was married and lived in Velaris with her husband and their newborn son. 

As hours had passed, Isobel and Mor began telling the most embarrassing stories of Rhysand, the mighty Lord of Velaris. Feyre was laughing so hard she could hardly breathe.

Rhsyand hadn’t taken his hands away from his face in five minutes. 

“Oh!” Mor said, eyes growing bright. “Let us tell the one of his sixteenth birthday, when-”

“No,” Rhysand interrupted, dropping his hands. “If you tell that story I shall never speak to you again.” 

Mor opened her mouth, but Rhysand interrupted, once more, “I swear it.”

“Oh, please?” Feyre asked, beaming. “I’ve learned so much about you. I only wish to learn more.”

“Then perhaps we can tell stories of my accomplishments?” Rhysand suggested.

Isobel scoffed. “But those aren’t as funny, are they?”

Rhysand tilted his head back, dramatically. “What have I done?”

“So, what happened on his sixteenth birthday?” Feyre asked.

“Well,” Mor began.

“Don’t,” Rhysand warned.

“He got so drunk at the ball that had been thrown in his honor that he ran outside, nearly nude, and pissed in the fountain that sat in the middle of the drive, just as a carriage was pulling up,” Isobel said.

“It’s even worse when your mother tells it,” Rhysand muttered. “And don’t say piss, mama, it doesn’t sound right coming from you.” 

Isobel laughed as Mor shook her head, “But that’s not the worst part.” Rhysand groaned as Mor continued the tale, “It was whose carriage that was approaching. There was a girl he fancied, and it was her and her parents. Once they stepped out, and obviously were in horror at Rhys’s current state, he told them that he’d had a dream the night before in which he’d made love to their daughter beneath the starlight.”

Feyre howled.

Rhysand sighed. “It’s safe to say that match never happened.” 

“Rhysie never did have a filter when he was drunk,” Mor grinned. “Still doesn’t.”

“Well, this has been lovely, but I think it’s time to take our leave,” Rhysand announced.

The three women protested, but Feyre stood, nonetheless.

“We must do this again, soon,” she said.

Isobel and Mor agreed as Rhysand kissed his mother on the cheek, then pulled Mor’s hair. She took her boot and shoved him in the shin.

Rhysand laughed, and held out his hand to Feyre. “Shall we?”

Feyre nodded, accepting his offer. His skin was warm, his hands rough, as if he knew the value of working with his hands. Very un-Lord like, indeed.

“Love you, mama,” he said, as they walked toward the door. “You’re a pain in the ass, Mor.”

“Love you, darling,” Isobel smiled, just as Mor said, “Prick.”

The two left, Rhysand smiling as he shut the door behind them. Neither of them spoke until they were back outside, taking Morrigan, the horse, from the stableboy. 

“I like your mother,” Feyre said.

Rhysand smiled, gently, as he met her eyes. “She likes you, too.”

Feyre hesitated in asking the next question, but she did, anyway. “She’s sick, isn’t she?”

Rhysand nodded, walking Morrigan away from the stable, Feyre close to his side. “Yes, she has been for a while. Took a turn for the worst recently.”

“That’s why you came back?” Feyre asked, recalling how he had told Nesta at supper that he had returned for family matters.

Rhysand nodded. “She actually looked quite well this morning. Better than she has lately. It’s why I showed up so early to get you. I hope you don’t mind. I wanted you to meet her while she was happy and sitting up and able to talk. Before-” his words cut off and he cleared his throat. “Well, before opportunities run out.” 

Feyre had lost her mother. She knew the pain that went along with it, and it was clear just how close he was to his own mother. 

“Thank you,” Feyre said, as they stopped near the road. “For bringing me to meet her.”

Rhysand’s smile returned, and he held out his hand to help her up onto the saddle. This time, Feyre accepted his help. He lifted her up, then himself. His arms wrapped around her and she did not shy away from his touch.

As they began their trek back toward the manor, Feyre said, “I like Mor.”

Rhysand scoffed. “You would.”

Feyre looked up at him. Their faces were close. She could easily press her lips to the side of his neck. The thought had her remembering the night before.

Instead, she asked, “You peed in a fountain? Seriously?”

Rhysand’s head fell back as he laughed, bright and loud. “Don’t act like you’ve never stripped down to your undergarments and relieved yourself on a masterpiece, Feyre, darling.” 

~~~~~

Elain had woken with clarity.

She felt like she was making the right choice, felt like everything would be okay.

Eventually.

But the right choice and the hard choice were usually one in the same, and even though Elain knew she loved Azriel and wanted to be with him and only him, leaving this life behind would not be easy. 

She had written a letter to her father, explaining it all, and folded it up neatly, placing it on his desk in his study. 

She had written one to Lucien, telling him how much she adored him, but that there was a different path she had chosen, hoping he would understand.

And she would write to her sisters, of course, before she left, which would be soon.

Azriel said he would make the preparations, as long as she’s certain.

But she was certain. It was what she wanted.

It was all she wanted.

By the end of the week, she would leave this place with the love of her life and start anew. 

Society be damned. 

~~~~~

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @mariamuses @a-happybird @amusicalbookworm @manoncrochanblackbeak @alifletcher2012 @candid-confetti @fandoms-everywhere-united @mis-lil-red @littlehoneyybee @abillionlittlepieces @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @awesomelena555 @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @tswaney17 @jemma-nessian-and-elriel @rhysandsrightknee @gendryaforthemasses @dayanna-hatter @thebluemartini @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @julemmaes @christiashadows @sleeping-and-books @itsme-malin @agnez312 @cat5313 @amren-courtofdreams @chemica @empress-ofbloodshed @islamonna @illyrianbeauty  @sleeping-and-books @queenofxhearts @sleeping-and-books​ @aedionashryver-wolfofthenorth​ @queenofillea1​ @mynewdreamwasyou​ @levivlio​ @hellolenas​ @burritowithfeels​ @that-other-pineapple​ @girl-who-reads-the-books​ @raghad-50725 @musicmaam @rowaelinforeverworld​ @negativenesta  @welcometothespeaknowworldtour​ @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit @sannelovesreading​ @nerdperson524 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nerdperson524​ @mariamuses​ @gorl-power 

[wherevermyway]

step out! do what you want (chapter six)

pairings: reader/bang chan, reader/han jisung side pairings: 
established changbin/minho, reader/bang chan/han jisung rating: explicit | 18+ warnings: someone dies this chapter so fucking big ass warning here! angst, violence, graphic descriptions of violence, minor drug use, use of firearms, description of graphic injuries, profanity, drug dealer!au, organized crime!au. word count: about 3,750 also can be found on my AO3 here! chapter/series navigation

chapter six: counting all the minutes and the days have been counting me

recommended tracks: another life by motionless in white, palette by iu and g-dragon, chanel by frank ocean, boy with luv (disco-funk mashup) by bts/seokjinnie, I’m upset by drake, love song by lana del rey, levanter (english version) by stray kids, voodoo people (pendulum remix) by the prodigy, straight to video (kmfdm remix) by mindless self indulgence, break me shake me by savage garden, ride it by regard; rush over me by seven lions/illenium/said the sky. playlist can be found here!

note: I am so sorry for this chapter. damn you, toastie. this is also a lot shorter than most chapters, so apologies in advance. took a lot out of me this time lol.

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

“We need to go,” Changbin presses, pushing himself off of the doorframe and fiddling with his phone. “I’ve got the arsenal in the car, so you just need to get your body armour on and we can go.”

“I don’t want her coming with,” Christopher says, ruffling a hand through his hair, “it’s going to be too dangerous.”

“We don’t have a fucking choice,” Changbin grumbles, focusing on something on his phone. “Besides, I need her with so we can coax Minji out. Get her distracted enough to give us the upper hand.”

Christopher grumbles, ready to argue with Changbin, but decides against it at the last minute. He turns, kneeling down next to the bed. He pulls a hefty chest out from under the bed, unlocking it and throwing it open. He digs around a bit, tossing up a vest to you. “I think this will fit you,” he says without looking up, continuing to dig through the chest. “Jisung, take this,” he says, tossing another vest at the lean man.

“Let’s go,” he says as you slip the vest on. “We’ll make this work, alright? I’ll keep you covered as best as I can.” Christopher steps to your left, placing a hand on the small of your back.

“I’ve got you, too,” Jisung says, popping up on your right from behind you. He puts his hand over Christopher’s and smiles at you.

The walk down to the car is quiet, the dry air filled with tension. Minho is leaning up against the car, picking at something under his fingernails. Seungmin is in the driver’s seat, fumbling around with something on his phone. You all pack yourselves into the car, squeezing yourself in between Jisung and Christopher at the very back of the van.

Changbin sits in the seat in front of you, rifling through a duffel bag on the floor. “Alright,” he says, checking the mechanisms on a semi-automatic he pulls out, “here’s how this is going to go. Minji and Hyunjin are caught up in one of the Triad’s properties in Songpa-gu. If we’re lucky, there will be minimal men there and we’ll get in and get out.”

“This mostly goes for you, Jisung,” Changbin says, trying not to roll his eyes as he looks at the silver-haired man, “but don’t kill Hyunjin. I need him alive to get information on the Triads. Minji, I don’t care about. I’ve all but confirmed that she is just a pawn in their game. Nothing more than a drug trafficker.”

Jisung scoffs, grabbing the duffel bag off the floor. “Yeah, whatever,” he says, grabbing a pistol out of the bag and handing it to Christopher, “Give me some credit, man, I’m not that trigger-happy.”

Felix laughs, possibly for the first time since you met him. “There was that one time in Busan,” he starts, but Jisung cuts him off.

“It was one time!” He shouts, throwing a stray cloth at the man in front of him. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you! I totally should have shot you. Asshole.”

“Aish,” Changbin rolls his eyes, passing a pistol up to Minho in the seat ahead of him. “I don’t want you to have to fight, baby, but I’d feel better if you had this on you.”

“Aw, come on,” Minho winks at Changbin. “Remember that one time we were in Daegu and I had to cover your ass because your pistol got jammed? I very distinctly remember you thanking me over and over again in the back of that sports car and a couple times in the hotel.”

Changbin grits his teeth in embarrassment, blushing as he looks down. “Whatever, just take the fucking pistol.” Minho laughs at the man as he turns around.

The drive couldn’t have taken more than an hour; it felt like Seungmin had a habit for speeding. The city skyline zoomed past you, and you started to recognize the neighbourhoods of Seoul as you drove past. You got to an industrial area of Songpa-gu, somewhere you weren’t familiar with, when you stop.

Seungmin turns the car off, turning to look at Changbin, then the other men in the car. “They’re here. Are you ready?” Changbin takes in a shallow inhale, turning to Christopher. Christopher nods in response, pulling the semi-automatic rifle in his hands closer to his chest.

Felix and Jeongin lead the group of you up to large bay door of an abandoned warehouse. The vest around your chest started to feel as if it was smothering you. You could have sworn you had seen this place in some bad drama; it seemed stereotypical and expected. Group gets ambushed at the warehouse, someone gets shot, end scene. Roll credits.

The pit in your stomach grew as you realized Minji wasn’t going to make it out of here alive. The woman you knew and had gotten close to over the past year was a facade. This Minji was a lie, and she used you to get some sort of personal gain. Felix, Jeongin, and Changbin walk in front of the bay doors, their fingers on the triggers of their rifles, ready to aim if someone got in their way.

The air is tense, and a moment of silence passes before Changbin waves the rest of you over. “I’ve got your friend here, Moon,” he says as you walk towards him, looking at Minji. She and Hyunjin are standing in the middle of the floor, in front of a table with suitcases lined around it, surprised to see all of you. It looked as if they were packing the suitcases with packets of drugs.

“I know you’re alone here,” Changbin continues, “so don’t try to act tough. The Triads can’t be too far away, but they were dumb enough to leave you alone. Tells me you’re not worth their time.”

“Moon Minji,” Changbin says, quickly correcting himself, “or should I address you as Tian Xiaoli, the name you're more comfortable with?”

Minji grits her teeth as she pulls the pistol off of her hip, aiming it haphazardly at Changbin. He manages to stay in one position, completely unfazed by her threat. “Joined the Triads four years ago,” he continues, “they’ve used you as a decoy to push drugs in and out of Seoul since nobody ever expects a good, rich Korean girl to traffic drugs. Maybe I should say Korean-presenting? Fake passport, fake birth certificates. Several drivers licenses in different countries. You’re a busy woman.”

The pistol in Minji’s hand quivers, “What do you know about me? I didn’t just need the money, if you grew up in the same house I did, you’d have done anything to get out. All that pressure to succeed and getting nowhere?”

“Honestly,” Changbin chuckles, waving his hands in the air, “if I had gotten to you sooner, I’m sure we could have worked something out. Probably gotten you a better deal. Way better than whatever Hwang could get you.”

Hyunjin places his hand up against Minji’s back, positioning his free hand above the pistol on his hip. “You’re too drunk with power,” he sighs, “there’s no way for me to move up. You think you’re so good because you know everything, but you ain’t shit. You know the Triads are taking over Seoul, and it’s killing your business.”

Changbin scoffs, folding his arms. “You never put in the fucking effort.”

“What do you know?” Hyunjin growls, his eyes turning dark with anger. “You were practically handed this position, and we all know you didn’t deserve it.”

“Whatever,” Changbin says with a scoff, rolling his eyes at his junior. “You know you would never make it anywhere close to the top, and you can’t handle it. You never would have gotten as far as you did if it wasn’t for me and Christopher pulling you along the way. You’re barely useful enough to sell guns out of our group.” Hyunjin scowls, taking his pistol and aiming it directly at you. You’re frozen in place, your legs refusing to move. It feels almost as if you’ve sprouted roots from your feet, attaching you into the ground.  “You know I’m a good shot, though.”

The threat causes a panic to light up inside you. You want to move, but the roots taking hold of your feet don’t allow it to happen. Changbin takes a hasty step in front of you, his hands bringing his rifle in front of him, and Christopher moves to shove you out of the way.

Hyunjin hesitates for a second, but the ripping of gunshots fills your ears. You feel a searing pain in your left leg as the root keeping you in the ground dissolves. In a split second, you’re looking up at the ceiling, the scaffolding reaching up to the sky like tree branches. There’s something about the scenery that reminds you of being a child, laying on the ground at the playground absorbing the sunshine. It feels like there’s a ray of sunshine boring into your leg, searing you in two.

“Changbin!” You hear someone screaming, pulling you out of your daydream and back to reality.

“You good-for-nothing backstabber,” you hear Changbin spit out. You gently lift your head up, taking in the moment. There’s blood everywhere, spilling from your leg, and also coming from Changbin’s back in front of you. You’re convinced that you can see through him.

Changbin aims his semi-automatic towards Minji and Hyunjin, carefully aiming the gun as best as he can at them. He’s able to sink a couple shots in Minji, then he turns his attention to Hyunjin when she hits the ground with a thud. “I can’t believe you,” he groans, directing his rage at Hyunjin, “you fucking coward.” He unloads a couple more shots into Hyunjin’s leg, then groans as he hits the floor.

“Changbin!” The voice screams again, louder this time. Minho shouts at the top of his lungs, rushing to Changbin as he falls. Christopher reaches out to grab him, but the smaller man just slips out of his grip. He mutters something under his breath, swapping out the magazine of his pistol.

Jisung comes bolting around the corner, aiming directly at Minji with his semi-automatic. You see him take in a quick breath before he unloads the magazine in his rifle directly into her. She reaches her pistol up towards you, but it falls from her hand as she completely collapses into the ground.

Hyunjin falls against the wall, staring down at the literal bloodbath at his feet. “Holy shit,” he breathes out shakily, his hands trembling as he grips his hair, “Changbin, Minho, Chan, I…”

“Shut the fuck up, you traitor,” Jisung spits out, pulling the pistol holstered at his hip. He cocks it, aiming it at Hyunjin’s head. “I should unload this into your fucking skull, but you’re of more use alive to me than dead. So, you’d best pray to God that I’ll show you mercy as long as I need to keep you around.”

Changbin grips Minho’s collar, pulling him close. “Baby,” he groans out, “I’m sorry I never got to finish that song for you.”

“Binnie, baby,” Minho cries out, grabbing Changbin’s face, “don’t apologize. You’ll finish the song. You’ll finish an entire album for me.”

Changbin weakly smiles, dragging his fingertips across Minho’s face. “If I had the chance to do this all again,” he says, coughing up thick, viscous blood, “I would have asked you to marry me the minute you got out of the hospital. You were always my person. Fuck,” he says, with a deep, heavy cough, “you were always my person, Minho. I’m so glad I got to know you, that I got to love you. So glad I got to be your person.”

Minho’s face contorts into a strange shape, reflecting an expression you can’t quite comprehend. “Baby,” he whines, “you will still have the chance. I will marry you a thousand times over as long as you’re here, I promise, Binnie. I love you so much. Just stay with me.”

But the pleading he tries has no effect. Changbin slips from Minho’s grasp, his body going limp. The two of them sit there, Minho gripping Changbin as tightly as he can. Minho pulls Changbin to his chest, keeping him there for as long as humanly possible.

When he realizes that Changbin can’t, and won’t, respond, Minho screams. He screams from the bottom of his soul, for as long as he can possibly manage. Hearing him scream in such a raw, primal way makes your stomach turn.

Christopher is the first to move, working his way towards Changbin and Minho. “Min,” he whispers, “let me help you get-”

However, Minho has none of it. He looks up at Christopher, his eyes burning red, “No, I won’t let you,” he whimpers. “I am not leaving Changbin; I’m not going to let him go.”

Christopher runs his hands through his hair, tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. Felix and Seungmin make their way to Hyunjin, picking him up and carrying him out of the room. Jeongin slowly paces his way to where Minji lies, kicking her shoulder with the tip of his boot.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath, “I can’t believe any of this.” Jeongin turns, slowly pacing his way to you. He kneels down and offers you a hand. “Are you okay?”

You don’t really know how to answer him, so you simply shake your head. “Changbin,” falls from your lips, as you look at the way Minho grips Changbin in his arms. Jeongin shakes his head twice, reaching his hand up to wipe a tear off of your face.

“It’s what we do,” he says at a near-whisper. “We protect civilians, and if one of us is out of line, we take care of it. Any one of us would have taken a bullet for you, it just happened to be Changbin this time.”

“But, I didn’t-“ you try to say, but he cuts you off, putting his finger over your lips.

“I know.” Jeongin nods. “But this is how it happened. Nothing we can do now.”

You’re not really sure how much time slips forward as you sit in the quiet, cold warehouse. Felix tied a tourniquet to your leg at some point, mentioning that it probably wasn’t going to be too serious, but he would take a look at it when you all got back to the safehouse. At some point, Seungmin and Jisung take Changbin from Minho, where he completely collapses.

Minho’s face is void of expression; you stare at him as he gazes beyond you, far off in the distance. There’s a large amount of drying blood covering him from his shoulders down to his ankles. Felix says something to him, saying he needed to check Minho for any additional wounds, but the older man doesn’t respond.

“Minho,” Christopher says, leaning down to him, grabbing his shoulder and trying to get him upright. “We can’t stay here forever. The longer we’re out here, the more likely we’ll run into the Triads.” The brunette ignores Christopher’s request, continuing to stare off somewhere far behind you.

“February sixteenth,” he manages to whisper out, his voice cracking as he says it.

“What?” Christopher lets go of Minho’s arm, cocking his head to the side.

“He said ‘I love you’ on February sixteenth last year.” Minho whispers, closing his eyes, “it was the first time he told me that he loved me. We were in Shibuya. He just finished signing Jeongin, and he had finished recording a demo album and he was so excited. Everything was finally going well.”

Minho slowly sits up, keeping his eyes closed. “He wanted to go to Canada or Australia this winter, get married. Actually, legally married. He even jokingly said something about a romantic wedding somewhere in Europe. Of course,” he sighed, letting his head fall into his hands, “that wouldn’t have meant shit here. He wanted to get away from all of this, go move somewhere far away from this shit and start a family somewhere. Never see any of this again. We were so close. Almost there.”

Minho sits on the ground for another few minutes, silently letting himself cry into his hands. Christopher gets down on his knees, pulling the younger man to his chest, letting him completely fall apart. “I’ve got you, Min,” Christopher whispers, stroking Minho’s hair. “It’s going to hurt for a while, I know. We’ve got you, though. You’re not going to go through this alone, you’ve got your brothers.”

It had to have been another hour before you all finally made your way back to Incheon. The drive was completely silent, absent the ambient noise from the highway. Felix spent plenty of time looking over both you and Minho for residual wounds, cleaning up minor lacerations and patching up other scrapes. Jisung gave Minho a couple of tablets of what you assumed was Xanax, which helped him sleep the entire way home.

Christopher and Jisung help carry Minho into the apartment, setting him down on the couch. Seungmin and Jeongin take the van back to another safehouse, presumably to keep Hyunjin in one place and to handle Changbin’s body. Felix pulls you aside to take a look at the bullet in your leg, able to clean the wound out with some careful attention, and he tells you that he’ll bring you in to their clinic tomorrow to take care of the bullet removal.

Felix unpacks a backpack he brought upstairs with him, hooking up an IV to Minho. “Don’t worry,” he says, noticing the concern on your face as you watch him. “He’s always had problems with anxiety, so I’m just going to keep him out overnight and try to get some fluids back into him.”

“Felix is our resident medic, in case you haven’t noticed,” Jisung says, gently squeezing your shoulder. “Whenever something like this happens, he’s always on top of the medical care. We’re pretty lucky to have him around.”

The bleach-blond man scoffs, measuring out a liquid from a vial, injecting it into a port in the IV. “Yeah, you are,” he laughs, “I remember trying to teach you some basic medical stuff and you almost killed Seungmin because you forgot to expel the air from the syringe.”

“Yeah,” Jisung rolls his eyes with a sigh, “there’s a reason I don’t do this shit. Anyway,” he grabs your waist, pulling you to the bedroom. “Why don’t we let Felix take care of Minho, and we can get some sleep?”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Christopher says, flatly, as he opens the door to the bedroom. You and Jisung follow him through the door. Christopher collapses on the floor as soon as he steps through the door. Jisung comes up behind him, his hands coming up to his sides. “Chan,” he says, bringing his hands up to Christopher’s face. “It’s okay, it’ll be okay.”

“No,” Christopher says, weakly, “It won’t be okay. Changbin is gone. My best friend is gone.” He looks like he wants to cry, but his face is completely void of emotions. He just lets himself melt into the floor, staring down the patterns in the wood. “Changbin is gone,” he whispers as he closes his eyes.

Jisung looks up at you, words escaping him.

“Christopher,” you say, but you’re not really sure what to tell him. You know there’s nothing that can help fill the hole he feels in heart. You bend down, reaching your hands out to him. “Come on, why don’t we get up on the bed and get some sleep? We can talk about this tomorrow.”

“Hell,” Jisung sighs, “at least let me grab you a pillow if you’re gonna try and sleep here. Alright?”

“No,” Christopher says, slowly working his way upright. “She’s right, I should sleep on the bed. You never know when someone you care about will be taken from you, so I might as well sleep with both of you.”

Jisung flings his arms around Christopher and looks up at you. “Yeah,” he says, nuzzling his head up against his superior’s. “Come on,” he pulls at Christopher”s shoulder, “nobody can see you cry on the bed, anyways.”

The three of you manage to make your way up to the top of the bed. Tonight, however, is different, compared to the way you’ve usually fallen asleep. You and Jisung take the edges of the bed, wrapping yourselves up around Christopher in a protective cocoon. You’re not sure what time it is when you fall asleep, just that the sun had started to come up when your eyes finally shut.

You also can swear you hear Christopher whisper something as you fall asleep, but you’re not sure if it’s just your mind playing tricks on you. It almost sounds like he’s saying your name and that he loves you.

[thescatterbrainedwriter]

Crossed Wires pt.2

Flash Fanfic

——

Warnings: None

Word Count: ~2,000

Pairings: Oc x Canon

***Note: Emily is my own creation, I just like sticking her in random places***

——

They popped back up in the living room of Nash’s place, Harry holding onto Emily for a moment when they touched ground again not really wanting to let her go. “You good?” she asked making sure his footing was stable. “Yup, I’m good,” Harry assured. “You sure?” She asked with a smirk lifting their still joined hands. “Mhmm,” he repeated still holding on. Her heart skipped when he smirked making her tense for a second. “Ok, good,” she said letting his hand go and moving to take her shoes off. “So, I’m assuming you may be hungry? Want anything?” She asked making her way to the kitchen. “No, I’m ok for now,” he dismissed shaking his head. After taking off his shoes and jacket he followed her to the kitchen. Her heart rate picked up as he got closer and she bit her lip trying to keep herself together. “Theeeeen what.... did you waaaaanna do?” Harry shrugged. “I dunno,” he stated casually somewhat amused at her discomfort. It was his turn to make her blush and he was going to have fun with it.

“Ok, well, I’m gonna go.... make a snack. Or something. Should probably calibrate and affix your neural scanner first though.”

“Oh right, yeah. Should probably... do that....” he said pulling out the device and handing it to her. He followed her into the kitchen and took a seat, Emily standing in front of him given he was so tall even on a chair. As she concentrated making sure everything was in order, Harry studied her with a smile that slowly got wider the longer she took. He saw her brows furrow, her eyes fixate on her task, pupils dilate, mouth pouted and even her tongue stuck out the side of her mouth a little. “Hmmkay... that should do it,” she said completing affixing the small device to his forehead. Smiling satisfied she caught him looking at her with soft eyes. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked.

“Just... watching you concentrate,” Harry said with a shrug. “You know, you stick your tongue out and your pupils dilate when you zone out?” He smiled leaning forward and pointing at her. Emily smiled embarrassedly putting her hand in his face to push him away. “Pfffff— stop... staring at meeee,” she whines with a giggle. “Das rude!”

“Maybe I don’t want to,” Harry teased grabbing her hand and removing it from impeding his vision. Emily squinted before licking her other palm and planting it square in the middle of his face prompting him to release her hand in order to wipe the saliva off. She took the opportunity to retreat away all the while giggling at his sounds of disgust. “Uuuugh, why!” He complained.

“I need my hand to make snacks, how else was I supposed to get you to let go?”

“You could have asked!”

“Were you really gonna let it go?”

Harry paused. “.....yes, I would have.”

“You hesitated!” Emily accused pointing at him from across the table squinting suspiciously.

“I would have! ...... Eventually.....” Harry admitted sheepishly. “Mhmm, yeah sure,” she said with a smirk. “Anyway, I’m gonna go change into comfy pj’s and then make a snack. Technically this is your place too so go get comfortable or something. I’ll be back.” She poked her head back out of the door she had just disappeared into after a brief pause. “Don’t worry, I’ll wear pants this time,” she assured and grinned. Harry grinned with a nervous chuckle still sitting at the table and she disappeared again. He sat steeping in uncertainty, his ears beginning to burn as he debated telling her what was on his mind the entire time she was gone today. When she wandered back into the kitchen muttering her nightly to-do list he decided to blurt it out. As she said, how often would he get this opportunity again?

“Hey Emily,” he said quickly standing nearly tipping over the chair. Emily’s head snapped over to him in surprise having been jolted from her thoughts by both his voice and the noise of the chair. “Ack! Oh, you ok?”

“Yeah, ah, I’m fine,” he dismissed righting the chair and breezing over to her. “I.... have spent a lot of time thinking. Today. W-while you were.... out....”

“Ok?” she said raising an eyebrow curiously and leaned against the table. “Whaaaaat was it you thought about and conclusion did you come to? If you came to one.” Harry paused before averting his gaze and scratched his face. “Well.... as you can imagine,” he started. “Things were, well quite a lot for me to take in. Today.”

“Mhmm, though you handled it rather well from what I understand.”

“Yeah, well, I guess..... I guess a few... wires, may have been crossed. So to say.”

“I would say so, yeah,” Emily affirmed.

“No, you don’t understand, it’s more than just me being front and center. I’m talking about......” he paused, his breath seeming to catch and he felt really rather warm now. “Harry?” Emily said concerned.

“Emily I.... I think.... I think I’ve been, feeling things.” Harry stuttered trying to explain himself. “And I spent a lot, and I mean a lot, of time thinking it over because I wanted to make sure it was not just carry over from Nash or....” he looked up at her making eye contact, eyes both apprehensive and anxious. “Or me....” Emily’s heart stopped and her cheeks became rosy. “Whaaaat do you mean?” she asked trying to keep her voice level.

“Well, I— as I’ve said— I was doing quite a lot of thinking today, and going over past memories and doing a bit of.... self reflection I.... I guess. And I came to the conclusion that..... that......” Emily’s eyes grew wide in anticipation and she barely breathed waiting for him to speak. Harry relaxed his shoulders and his face softened. “I love you.” Her breath caught and all she could do was stare at him. “I know, I know,” Harry said after the awkward silence, “this is a really bad time to be bringing that up but, I just..... I was afraid and then Earth 2 was destroyed by the Anti-Monitor and..... and I really regret not telling you sooner.”

A tiny smile cracked Emily’s face and she looked down at the floor scratching her head. “And here I was thinking I scared you off....” she muttered. “Wait, you....?” Harry asked. “Yeaahhh,” she said smiling at him shyly. “But, I mean, you took your wife’s death hard and I thought at some points in time I was over stepping soooo...... I did my best to quash them. The feelings, I mean.” Harry smiled and sighed. “Mixed signals, god I hate those...”

“Eh well, I was.... admittedly, a little scared too,” Emily explained. “Being ripped away at any point and all that doesn’t exactly make for eager relationship mentality.”

“You know people go through a similar fear, called death, right?” Harry asked.

“Yeah.... I know. I’ve been told the before believe it or not,” Emily followed, “But by that logic, I’ve been through that pain, and inflicted that same pain, half a dozen times at the least. Does that indicate someone who would want to make another connection only to hurt someone like that?”

“No, not really,” Harry admitted. “So then.... why Nash?” Emily pursed her lips and shifted very wide eyes to the sides. “I..... guess I have a type? I’m sure Sherloque could relate,” she smiled a cheesy smile. “Besides, in case you didn’t notice, he had to do an awful lot of convincing.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he sighed. “Didn’t hesitate like I did either.”

“No, no he was.... quite persistent. Took him a while to pluck up the courage though.” Emily smiled and Harry mirrored it. “Soooo, then I have a..... question. For you,” he said slowly walking over like he was embarrassed or too shy. “Can I kiss you?” He asked after a hesitated pause. Emily tensed at the question and chewed on her top lip trying to keep goosebumps from erupting all over. “Why don’t you, try and find out?” She asked smirking a little with hints of deviousness. Harry’s heart stopped, he half expected a yes but didn’t think it would come in the form of a challenge. Tentatively he leaned forward after shaking off his surprise and met her lips with his. They stayed like that for a moment letting the kiss linger between them as they absorbed the tingling feeling that came with it. “So that’s what I missed, hmm?” he commented after they parted. “You’re not half bad yourself,” Emily observed with a smile. Harry chuckled. “If Jessie saw me now. By the way, have you seen her? How is she?”

Emily’s smile dropped a bit. “I.... I uh....”

Harry’s entire face dropped noticing her change in body langue. “Jessie.....”

“I haven’t seen her since, uh, since the universes merged,” Emily admitted causing Harry to turn away, she thought he would pass out with how pale he became. “But! Buuuuut, that doesn’t meeeean she doesn’t exist anymore,” she said rubbing his shoulder, he leaned over the table and stared at the surface with a blank expression. “Cisco traveled around to study and catalog all the changes that have showed up including new metas. And we haven’t seen Wallie around in a while, it’s possible they’ve come across her.”

“Yeah, yeah I guess you’re right,” he muttered.

“Why don’t you, uhm, make a list of things you’d.... like me to ask her. When I do find her, hmm?” she asked trying to distract him.

“Yeah.... yeah I’ll.... I think I’ll do that.” Harry nodded. He slowly shuffled his way into the bedroom and sat on the bed. *Yet another thing to absorb,* he thought to himself.

“I’ll be out here if you need me. For anything,” Emily assured with a gentle smile. Harry nodded and she closed the door to give him quiet. *I think now would be an opportune time for brownies,* she thought to herself. *Not that there’s ever a wrong time for them.* She smiled to herself and headed off to raid the cupboards for ingredients.

——

Harry wasn’t sure how long he sat in the quiet room, but he knew it was an hour at the very least by the ringing now very pronounced in his ears. He had compiled a short list of things he wanted to know about Jessie, short for him anyway, mainly pertaining to how she was doing to making sure she was taking care of herself and he wished to tell her he loved her. He also wrote down a few things he wanted Emily to do for him occasionally in regard to keeping an eye on her. Rubbing his face with a hand he sighed deeply, too much thinking and digestion of information for one day had made him very tired and for once he really wanted to not think about anything. He decided to exit the room and find Emily to see what she had found to make for a snack, and what she considered a snack.

Peeking out of the door he first found a smell of chocolate wafting through the air, then heard humming coming from Emily and similar buzzing from a drone or two. Coming closer to the kitchen, he heard bare feet tapping on the floor and laughter every now and then. He stood in the doorway and leaned against the frame watching with a smile, and after a short while Emily happened to turn enough to catch him watching. “What are you doing waaay over there?” She asked with a giggle.

“Oh, you know. Watching,” he replied.

“Being a creeper, eh?” She smiled making her way over to him. “Creeper? What?” He responded in mock insult. She smiled a little wider. “Creeeeeep-errrrrr,” she said and poked his nose leaving a substance on it. Recoiling at the unknown, Harry touched it to find it was brown and smooth in texture. “Fudge?” He asked confused.

Emily grinned again making her way back over to the counter. “Fudge brownies! My favorite, and guaranteed to cheer anyone up,” she said gesturing dramatically to the still hot bake pan. Harry followed and inspected her handiwork. “Is it all done?” He asked. Emily nodded. “Yup, should be cooled enough t— hey wait, what are you doing?” she asked suddenly noticing Harry move to put his entire open hand right on top of the fudge icing she had finished spreading moments ago. Before she could stop him he firmly planted it in the middle of the pan thoroughly coating it. “Ahh! No, my brownies!!” She near screeched. “Why did y—“ her sentence was cut off by the sudden chocolatey hand plopped into the middle of her face. She froze in disbelief leaving Harry to just smile smugly. “For calling me a butthead earlier,” he explained noting her questioning look. “And the saliva handprint.” Emily’s shoulders dropped. “Fair,” she relented. “But did you really have to ruin such beautiful brownies?”

“I really had to ruin your beautiful brownies,” he confirmed. “But are they really ruined? I think they look better.”

“You know, this isn’t what is meant when the request for a hand is given,” Emily replied washing her face. “So I’ll not ask you for a hand in anything any time soon because of this.” She sighed when she turned and saw him proceed to lick all the icing off his hand. “You want a towel or something instead?”

Harry shook his head. “And waste all this fudge? Never,” he smirked. “Want some?” he asked holding his hand to her face. Emily gave him an unimpressed look fueling his smugness before gripping his wrist and licking from the base of his palm up to the end of his middle finger. Harry swore his heart stopped, he did not anticipate a reaction like that in the least. “Mmm, yum. I love fudge, so much. Good call,” she said with a wink. Harry just stared at her as she casually started cleaning her baking mess like nothing happened. “You’re dangerous,” he commented finding his voice again. “I dunno what you’re talking about,” she replied feigning innocence. He squinted at her with a pause before washing his hand, no way was he risking something like that again. *She seemed too confident doing that,* he thought. *I’ll bet Nash instigates that behavior a lot.*

“So, did you manage to make a list?” Emily asked after a brief silence. Harry paused letting the water run down his hands. “Yeah, I did.”

“Good,” Emily replied finishing wiping down the counter. Smiling she turned around. “Now, eat a feel good brownie, properly this time, and then we can go to bed. No more thinking today, sound good?” Harry nodded with a relieved smile. “Yes, very.” Emily stayed in the kitchen while Harry left to change, brownie in hand, and wandered around closing up for the night. When she made her way to the bedroom, she found him staring off into space sitting on one side of the bed. “Hey,” she said breaking his concentration. “I thought I said no more thinking?”

“Ah, right. Sorry, couldn’t help it I guess,” he said with a chuckle before settling into bed. Emily gave a sympathetic look and made her way to the other side. “Alright, tell me what’s on your mind,” she said sliding under the covers and settling in herself. He looked over making eye contact and his face softened almost immediately at her quiet concerned but attentive look. “Too much,” he says with a sigh. “But, I think mostly, I’m scared.”

“Why are you scared?” She asked scooting a bit closer to him. He sighed again turning on his side to face her. “I’m.... I’m afraid of being lost. I’m afraid to go to sleep because I don’t know if I’ll get the chance to manifest again. That never crossed my mind before today.” Emily sighed softly and gently place a hand on his cheek. “The stubborn and persistent Harry? You’re too assertive to ever disappear.” He chuckled sadly continuing to look at her, his mind calmed and he remembered how he felt the day his mind began to slip and she was there to assure him. “I’ll keep you safe,” she assured softly. “I know,” Harry replied.

“Hey, c’mere,” Emily said after a brief thoughtful pause and stretched out her arms. Harry looked at her quizzically but did as she asked. “What are....?”

“Nash sometimes has nightmares,” Emily explained pulling him close. “This never fails to keep him calm and get him back to sleep.” She wrapped her arms around him gently cradling his head close to her chest and rested her head on top his. Harry stiffened at the close proximity but soon relaxed feeling safe and wrapped his arms around her in return. It didn’t take long for him to drift off to sleep to the sound of her level heartbeat and Emily soon followed.

———

[august-anon]

Broken Logic

Hey hey, it’s @fluffymary​‘s birthday! Hope you’ve had/have an amazing birthday, Sensey! You’re great, I hope you like this!

Also, she requested a continuation of THIS tickletober fic, so that’s what the beginning is referencing!

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship(s): Platonic Analogical (could be romantic if y’all wanted though)

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Logan, Ler!Virgil

Word Count: 2,684 words

Summary: Logan had done enough ticklish "experiments" on the others to know that they would be ruthless in their revenge, but truly? He wasn't complaining. And he certainly wasn't complaining when he heard Virgil's threat to absolutely break him.

[ao3 link]

--------------------------------

Logan knew it was dangerous to agree to an experiment, after all the torturous experiments he had put the others through. Logically, he knew their revenge would not be swift and merciful. It would be cruel, ruthless torture.

But perhaps that’s what he wanted in the sort of mood he was in.

He had been feeling it for days. The itch to be tickled, to be teased, to laugh his lungs out. The longer it went on, the more the feeling morphed from “wanting to be tickled” to “desperately craving to be destroyed.”

Which led to his current situation.

Virgil having him tied down, performing an “experiment” of his own (Logan should have known that any tease he used against someone would affect him tenfold, but he was a foolish, foolish man that evidently had no sense of self-preservation).

It had started so simple. Virgil’s proposed experiment was to see what could make him hysterical. Considering how badly Logan wanted to be in hysterics, he found no issue with this. Then, Virgil had tortured him within an inch of his life, told him it was a warm-up, and promptly shoved an electric toothbrush up into one of his two death spots: his toes.

Logan certainly went hysterical, tugging at his bonds as much as he could as he wheezed and cackled and fought the urge to beg for mercy from such a rich torture.

Because it was exactly what he wanted.

And then Virgil laughed and said, “Let’s start a new experiment: how long can Logan take this before he breaks.” After another few maddening moments, Virgil pulled the electric toothbrush away and spoke more gently, “That is, if the subject is agreeable.”

Logan panted and tried to wipe away his tears of mirth with his shoulders. Virgil came up and wiped them away for him before cupping Logan’s cheek in his hand and letting him rest against it as he closed his eyes and caught his breath.

“The subject is very agreeable,” Logan muttered in embarrassment after recovering slightly. “If he gets some water and a little longer as a breather.”

Virgil’s face softened completely with a gentle smile as he conjured Logan some ice water to sip at to soothe his aching lungs and throat.

“Of course,” he said. “And we can always do that experiment another day, you’ve taken a lot already.”

Logan took a moment to think as he sipped the cool water through the straw. Yes, he had taken a lot already. But alas, his lee mood persisted. He still had energy, somehow, and he still ached and craved to be destroyed in the best ways possible. He pulled away from the straw and squirmed in his bonds, face flushing and eyes not meeting Virgil’s.

“I want it now,” he whispered.

Virgil laughed and climbed up on the table, swinging his leg over Logan’s thighs to straddle him. “And you called me a tickle addict.”

Logan’s blush deepened and he tried to hide his face in his bicep.

“Ah-ah-ah,” sang Virgil. “No hiding. You hide and there’s no tickles.”

Logan whined and fought against himself to bring his face back into view. “I hate you.”

Virgil gasped. “You hate me? Here I am, being so gracious as to give your ticklish little body all the tickles it craves, and you say you hate me?”

Logan pouted, eyes flicking up to see Virgil’s patented yet rare “ler smirk,” before they immediately shot away again, not being able to take that look centered on him.

“Just do it already,” he muttered.

“Not so fast. You see, part of the ‘breaking’ process with you is teasing. A large part. I need to get you sufficiently flustered and worked up before the breaking of our dear Logic can happen.”

“Well maybe I already am!”

Virgil examined him, his beet-red face and extremities pulling at their cuffs. “Not sure if I believe you…”

Logan just pursed his lips and looked away.

“What do you think could ever break Logan Sanders, though? What combination of torture would just make him snap?”

Logan didn’t answer. He knew the question was probably rhetorical, anyway.

“I do want to keep using this,” Virgil said, pointedly wiggling the electric toothbrush still in his hand. “Tell me, how does it feel here?”

And Virgil turned the tool back on and shoved it deep into Logan’s armpit. He shrieked, both in laughter and discomfort.

“Too rough!” He called through his belly laughs. “Too rough!!”

Virgil immediately pulled it away, biting his lip and furrowing his brows. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Logan giggled out. “Not hurt, just definitely not comfortable.”

Virgil hummed, looking around the room Logan used for his “experiments.” He lit up when his gaze landed on something out of Logan’s eyesight, hopping off Logan and the table to go retrieve it. Logan craned his neck, but Virgil hid his hand behind his back as he approached. He climbed back into the table (awkwardly, with how his one hand was occupied and hidden) and settled back on top of Logan.

“Alright, two options, L,” he said gleefully.

Logan eyed his hidden hand carefully. “And what might those be?”

Virgil pulled the hand out from behind his back. He had his fingers wrapped around the necks of two bottles: a bottle of lotion and a bottle of massage oil. Logan’s eyes widened and he gulped.

Virgil wiggled his hand tauntingly, waving the two bottles around. “What’ll it be, subject?”

Logan closed his eyes and leaned his head back so he wouldn’t have to see Virgil’s taunting smirk or the tools of his doom in front of his eyes. He tried to dig deep down, past his lee mood and flustered and frantic thoughts, back down to his rational way of thinking. Which option would be best for his comfort.

“Oil,” he forced out through gritted teeth. “I think the lotion would absorb into my skin and the discomfort from the rough bristles would return.”

He opened his eyes as Virgil’s smirk widened. “You think you’ll last that long?” He teased, tossing the lotion back to a nearby surface. “Whatever you say, L.”

Then came the hard part: actually getting the oil on him. Virgil stares at the bottle, then his hand, frown on his face, as if contemplating if it was the best choice to use that method of application. Then he grinned, all teeth and evil energy, and retrieved a large brush.

Logan took a deep breath, then gasped as the cool oil hit his skin as Virgil poured it out.

“You’re supposed to warm it by rubbing it between your hands!” He yelped.

“Aw, you can warm it for me with that glowing blush of yours. It’s practically a heat lamp, I can feel it from here!”

Logan started to grumble, but it was quickly cut off by a high pitched squeal and Virgil started spreading the oil across his torso with the large paintbrush. He toppled into giggles, squirming side to side and instantly regretting all of the life choices that led him to this point.

“Aww,” Virgil gave him a faux-pout, “is it too much for the big, bad brainiac already?”

“No,” Logan managed to force out, shifting into deeper laughter as Virgil targeted his hips.

Virgil poured more of the oil in each of his armpits and painstakingly took his time brushing it across the skin. He grinned as Logan squealed and laughed and let out pleas for mercy that he didn’t really mean.

“I’m just trying to get an even coat! We wouldn’t want it running all over the place after all. All those little drips, itchy and ticklish as they trail down your skin slowly. It would be terrible!”

“Stop being good at this!” Logan shrieked.

Virgil grinned. “No.”

He did, however, move on to Logan’s feet. He spread it all over his soles, leading to laughter and Logan scrunching them as best he could. Then he paid special attention to Logan’s toes, leaving Logan absolutely wheezing with his cackles. The moment he decided he was done, he was instantly back on top of Logan with a cheeky grin.

“So I have a plan. But first, tell me how this feels.”

Virgil once again pulled the electric toothbrush up out of nowhere, switched it on, and shoved it deep into his armpit. Logan shrieked and fell into deep guffaws. The bristles glided smoothly over his oiled his, the sensation even more ticklish than before.

“Still too rough?” Virgil asked, but he had an eyebrow raised and a smirk on his lips, so Logan was sure he already knew the answer.

“No, it’s okay,” he responded through his giggles anyway, once Virgil had pulled the took away.

“So, Logan,” Virgil purred. “How many of these bad boys you got?”

“I—I—well, we could—there’s—we can always conjure more.”

Virgil grinned at his sudden flustered stutter. “Oh, I suppose we could, couldn’t we? How many do you think you could take?”

Logan eyed Virgil’s hands. His two hands. “How many do you think you can use?” He snarked.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

And Virgil didn’t even have to start tickling him for him to start regretting it. He watched as Virgil conjured a second electric toothbrush. Then a third. Then a fourth and a fifth and a sixth.

Virgil hopped off him and the table again to position the first two. He taped and tied them securely to Logan’s soles, positioning the bristles at specific sweet spots he’d discovered under Logan’s toes.

The next two were carefully secured to his upper arms, brushes pointed down and bristles settled into his armpits.

The last two, Virgil hesitated.

“Weird question, you’re allowed to say no. Can I stick the handles of these under the waistband of your shorts to hold them where I want them?”

Logan looked at the handles, then looked down at his legs. He nodded, not trusting his voice to remain steady with so many tools pointed so threateningly at him.

Virgil carefully and delicately slid the handles of the electric toothbrushes under his waistband. The bristles were positioned in the divots of his hips, the handles angled outwards towards his outer thighs.

Virgil then laid down on his side at Logan’s side and grinned evilly. “I know the whole cocky ‘conjuring and snapping fingers’ thing is more of Roman’s vibe, but I figured if we’re really going all out, I could give it a shot.”

“Oh no,” Logan muttered, biting his lip.

Virgil snapped his fingers and one set of brushes turned on, the ones positioned in his armpits. The bristles scrubbed away at his underarms and the vibrations on the handles brought a secondary tickling that he didn’t expect into his upper arms. Logan’s eyes flew wide open and he immediately began cackling.

“I know this isn’t one of the worst hotspots for you,” Virgil said conversationally, as if Logan wasn’t beginning to lose his mind next to him, “but it’s still a pretty fun spot, and definitely sensitive enough to drive you crazy. So I figured, why the hell not, you know?”

Logan, obviously, did not reply.

Virgil snapped again and the next set came on. The brushes under his toes started tormenting him once more. No amount of wiggling or scrunching or (failed) attempts at kicking could push them away. Once again, the vibrations in the handles send ticklish shockwaves all through the soles of his feet, only adding to his delightful torture. Logan was certain that the only thing coming out of his mouth at that point were screams.

“Still not quite the worst, but barely in second place. I’d say those toes of yours are getting you pretty good. Wanna call it quits before we get to the real main course?”

Logan stubbornly shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut in his screaming laughter.

“Alright, don’t say I didn’t warn you.~”

A snap, and the two at his hips turned on. The bristles scratched and scrubbed mercilessly at his skin with no escape from the sensation. Squirming did nothing to dislodge them, and bucking only jostled them just enough to renew the sensation and make it worse all over again. The handles buzzed mercilessly at the muscles in the space between hip and thigh, a spot Logan never even knew could tickle so badly. His laughter instantly went silent.

Then, just when Logan had thought that the additions to his torture were over, another set of buzzing bristles touched down against the jumping muscles of his stomach and started skating around through the oil. Logan’s eyes bulged out as he silently screamed. Virgil chuckled lowly near his ear.

The brushes being held down continued to torment him without pause. The brush in Virgil’s hand glided all around his sensitive stomach, occasionally dipping into his belly button to get more of those silent screams. There were tears streaming down Logan’s cheeks and his lungs were protesting the lack of oxygen from all his laughter.

Logan loved tickling, but he couldn’t take much more. He was well and truly broken.

Because of his silent laughter, he couldn’t call out the safe word he and Virgil had decided on at the beginning of the “experiment.” A spike on anxiety shot through him, but he trusted Virgil to be watching him carefully. He squeezed one hand into a tight fist and did his best to rap his knuckles as loudly as he could on the table under him.

It took only two and a half raps before Virgil snapped and everything stopped. Logan gasped for air and let out residual laughter, squirming still from the phantom tickles.

“Are you alright?” Virgil asked, notes of anxiety being poorly concealed in his tone as he wiped Logan’s face of tears

“I’m—I’m fine,” Logan panted.

Virgil nodded worriedly and Logan let his eyes slip shut as his residual laughter and giggles petered out. He could feel Virgil start removing the toothbrushes from his body, slowly and carefully so as to not injure him or tickle him anymore.

“Did you have fun?” Virgil asked carefully.

“Definitely,” Logan breathed.

“Would… would you do it again?”

“Absolutely.” He peeled his eyes open and gave Virgil a wry grin. “Though let’s come up with a non-verbal safeties next time.”

Virgil’s shoulders relaxed and he let out a small laugh. “For sure.”

The last of the toothbrushes came off and Virgil approached Logan with a damp washcloth and a wince. Logan steeled himself and nodded at Virgil to continue. Logan could tell Virgil was trying to be careful while rubbing the oil away, but it still tickled terribly nonetheless. Logan was exhausted and could barely find it in himself to squirm, but he wasn’t complaining.

“Okay?” Virgil asked halfway through.

“Okay,” Logan replies through giggles.

Then, with the oil as gone as it would get without soap so Logan’s texture issues wouldn’t go crazy, Virgil began unbundling his limbs. He gently massaged the places the bindings had been and helped Logan bend any joints that had been stuck in place to get them warmed up again.

Logan slowly sat up with Virgil’s help and accepted the bottle of water that he was handed, drinking it down greedily. Virgil carefully ran a hand through his hair as Logan set the empty bottle aside.

“Naps and cuddles?” Virgil asked quietly.

Logan gave him a tired smile. “What else?”

They sunk back down to Logan’s room as opposed to walking there. Logan quickly changed into some loose sleep pants and an oversized T-shirt and climbed into his bed, where Virgil was already settled.

He cuddled up to Virgil’s chest, letting himself be pulled into a protective embrace. Virgil ran a firm, flat palm up and down his back. Logan relaxed into the touch and sighed.

“You did so well today,” Virgil murmured. “So much willpower, so strong.”

Logan smiled. “You did, too. I know you get anxious when you ler, but you were amazing.” Virgil pulled him closer, started massaging in circles on his back instead of rubbing up and down.

Logan was asleep in minutes.

[akitokihojo]

Delicate - Chapter 2

"It's not that bad!" Sango assured, trying to pry the paper away from Kagome's face. Her best friend stared at it, the look of anguish plastered on her expression, and her fingers gripping the exam tight enough to crinkle the edges. "Let it go, Kay!"

"It's bad. It's so bad."

"No, it's not."

"This is the first test of the term!"

"But you didn't fail. Give it to me."

"How did I get that question wrong?" Kagome pressed, shoving her face a little closer to the exam paper as if it would make more sense an inch away.

"Ah, okay! I'm going!" The tone was defensive and forced, serving as enough incentive to gather Kagome's attention. Inuyasha pushed a guy their way down the corridor, continuing to give little shoves at his back each time he slowed down. 

"Oh no." Sango grumbled, her lips curving in distaste as she gave a small duck of her head. 

The two stopped just a few feet before them, Inuyasha holding his hand out in gesture to Kagome as he glared at his friend. The guy's cheeks were pink, and his dark blue eyes shifted between she and Sango uneasily, his shoulders stiff and raised.

“Get it over with, Miroku.” Inuyasha pressed, his tone stern, almost disciplinary. 

"When did we swap roles? I'm usually the one making you -"

“Just say it."

"Sorry." He sighed feebly, eyes drooping shamefully. "For, uh, spilling my drink all over you."

"It's okay." Kagome said, trying not to laugh. "Wasn't a big deal."

"You didn't get in trouble with your parents or anything, did you?"

"I threw the dress away, actually. Didn't want to chance it."

"Awe man, you threw it away!?" Miroku groaned, dropping his head back. “I’m so sorry! I’ll replace it!”

"It's really not a big deal. The thing was old, anyway." She insisted, finally giving into her laugh. It was hard not to notice how is indigo eyes fluttered to and from Sango, and though she was curious how her best friend was fairing from the attention, Kagome didn't want to make it obvious by looking over. Instead, she flashed a humorous glance at Inuyasha, who stood there with little-to-no expression, arms crossed in what she would deem as typical Inuyasha fashion.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

"So, uh, what are you guys looking at?" Miroku cleared his throat, all former remorse gradually fading while he stepped to Kagome's free side to observe the paper in her hands. The damage was done before she could conceal it, his eyes growing large and brows raising high in total shock. "Woah, you got a 'D'? Yikes."

"Please, say it louder for the rest of the school to hear." Sango remarked sarcastically, a light scowl forming when she noticed Kagome try to hide her humiliated pout.

"Oh, sorry." He grimaced. "Was this your guys' first test of the year?"

"Miroku." Inuyasha, himself, seemed a little shocked at his friends lack of tact, golden eyes staring on in bewilderment as he tried to ignore the sinking expression on Kagome's face.

"No, no, this isn't bad at all!" Miroku said confidently, shaking his head incessantly. "First test is just the practice run! You can totally recover!"

Sango gave a reaffirming nudge against Kagome's shoulder, hoping she'd absorb the same amount of self-assurance that Inuyasha's friend currently harbored.

"Oh, I've got an idea! I've got a super idea! When you get a bad grade, what do you do?" He waited for an answer, eyes bouncing from one person to the next. They all looked unsure, distrusting even, and he knew it was all for good reason. Miroku was quickly losing all control over his better judgement, his nerves becoming jittery, his brain going completely haywire, and there was hardly any way to get ahold of himself now. He felt intoxicated, and knew he should stop while he was still ahead, but it was like whatever was left of his filter just flew out of the nearby window. The silence was tense, and his cheeks were hurting from the forced smile he maintained. When he realized he wasn't going to get an actual response from any of them, though, he unwittingly trudged forward. "You study. And you know who's not dumb?"

Kagome steadily folded up her test, over-creasing the lines with determined fingers. Was she being roasted by this guy? Was he legitimately calling her dumb, or was he just completely thoughtless? Her expression deadpanned, from her peripherals she saw Inuyasha drop his head to the side, and she could physically feel Sango's done energy. Miroku looked anxious, tense, but the smile kept on his face, even as he clearly realized his mistake.

"Not you." He said stiffly, as if to recover. "Because you didn't fail. I don't see an 'F' on that paper. Nope, I see a 'D,' and what does 'D' stand for?" More discomfort. More clenched sighs. “Definitely not an ‘F’! Wow, that was intense. Anyway, know what guy's worst grade ever was probably a 'B'?"

"Please stop." Inuyasha groaned, almost pleading.

"This guy right here." Miroku gestured to his friend with a point of his thumb, whose amber eyes were squinting, chagrined. "You should ask him to tutor - what? No? Should I leave?"

"You really should." The half demon nodded.

"You know, I sensed that, because I feel like I'm holding a shovel and digging a very deep grave for myself. You - you look very mad at me." He mentioned to Sango, his smile finally disappearing. "It's, uh, it's pretty terrifying. Wow. You could probably break me in half. I'm gonna - yeah, I'm gonna go."

Kagome watched the boy stumble away in amazement, walking as if the soul had up and left his body and the words he'd just sputtered out were barely processing. When enough distance was put between them, she twisted back to Inuyasha. 

"He's naturally like that!?" She asked, in reference to the hanyou’s claim while they were hiding from the rain.

"No." He gently shook his head, still shaken by the experience. "It's never been that bad before."

"That was..." Kagome trailed off, trying to find the proper word for what had just occurred. "Surreal."

"Alright, let's just move passed it." Sango waved her hand, as if dismissing the entire ordeal, shifting her entire attitude to act like it had never happened at all. "So, you're smart?"

"Well, I've never been tested or anything, but I stay afloat." He shrugged.

"Good enough for me. Pressure from your weird friend aside, how would you feel about helping Kagome out?"

"Sango!"

"I mean, I would do it, but I'm a C-average girl, myself. I kind of think she needs a bit of an aggressive push, if you catch my drift. Like, really drill it into her head."

Kagome shoved her elbow into her best friend's side, swiftly shutting her up before giving Inuyasha an apologetic look. "You really don't have to do anything. I'll be totally fine. In fact, if you could completely forget about the grade I got, that'd be great."

"So, you got a 'D.' Big deal." His shrug was more careless this time. Though his expression wasn't necessarily one of compassion, nor one she suspected was intended to make her feel any better, it was the lack thereof that ironically seemed to settle her nerves. "It's not gonna set you back so long as you pick up from there. Let me see it."

With minor hesitation, Kagome passed her folded up exam into Inuyasha's awaiting hand, watching him unfold it and take in the mistakes. His brow didn't crinkle and his lips didn't twitch to laugh at her. His face was straight, golden eyes sweeping over the test nonchalantly.

"These are all little mistakes. If it was really bad, you would have failed. I mean, you still suck, but it's not horrible." He said, refolding the paper and giving it back.

"Gee, thanks." She snagged it, folding it a few extra times for good measure.

"But, we don't want you to become a lost cause or anything, so I guess I can help."

"Don't do me any favors because you feel obligated."

"I'm not. I'm doing you a favor because you looked about ready to cry earlier, and it was pretty pathetic."

"You know, you really have a way with words." Kagome remarked, cocking her head to the side. Inuyasha gave a small upturn of his lips, the hint of smugness rolling from it, giving a small wag of his fingers in gesture for her hand. Confused, she apprehensively put it out for him, surprised when he grabbed her fingers to turn it so her palm would face him. He pulled a pen out of his pocket, clicking the ballpoint out before connecting it with her skin. His hand was hot against the back of hers; large in comparison. He had a firm hold, but never hurt her, not even when he tightened his grip as she gave a tiny twitch because the pen had tickled the middle of her palm. Molten eyes flickered up to her, and an unnatural heat spread over her cheeks, one she hoped wasn't as evident as it felt. With another click, Inuyasha's pen was shoved back into his pants pocket, his fingers releasing her hand so she could see what he'd written.

"I'm sure you can figure out what to do with that." The half demon stated, shoving both hands in his pockets as he sauntered around them in the direction his friend had gone.

"How much longer do I have to keep my cool for?" Sango asked, her voice barely over a whisper as they both watched Inuyasha disappear behind the corner. She noted the redness of Kagome's cheeks, the way she kept her hand open so the ink wouldn't smudge or rub away, and then the way her expression easily shifted into a dirty look.

"You're on a friendship timeout." Kagome brushed passed her, heading back inside their classroom and toward her desk to fish her phone out of her bag.

"What!? I totally did you a favor!" Sango whined, following close behind.

"You did not!"

"Yes, I did! You got his number out of this!" She made sure to hush her tone, crouching next to her best friend's desk so no one else would hear their conversation.

"First of all, it's strictly business. Second, you put us both on the spot. Timeout."

"Strictly," Sango scoffed. "No one said you had to exchange phone numbers to study. He could have always said to meet him in the library after school. You - are - welcome."

Kagome pursed her lips, cocking a brow expectantly, waiting for her friend to catch the hint.

"Fine. How long?" She huffed, dropping her butt into the seat in front of Kagome's.

"Three minutes."

Unlocking her phone and appreciating the momentary lack of harassment, Kagome input Inuyasha's phone number as a new contact, her teeth softly raking against her bottom lip as she hit save. If it was strictly business, why was she excited to have received his number? On top of that, she was nervous and she swore she could feel her heart thumping behind her ribcage. She pinched her lips together, but there was no fighting the smile that began to grow on her face. The guy was intriguing to her; hot and cold, seemingly sheathing a soft side, caring while possibly covering it with brash words - all of which yet to be one-hundred percent determined. But, that was what Kagome really wanted to take the time to discover.

As she looked up from her screen, she noticed Sango grinning at her, shrugging her brows knowingly. 

"Shut up." Kagome murmured.

Hastily, she typed in her message, hitting send before she could talk herself into waiting a while per teenage social conduct regulations. 

Here's my number, too.

It wasn't until after school that she felt her phone buzz with anything, her eyes doing their usual, nonchalant sweep of the courtyard as she and Sango made their way out before drifting down to the screen she held. 

Who's this?

She had to physically hold back her huff of vexation, not wanting to attract her best friend's attention to glance over her shoulder. Was this also typical Inuyasha fashion, or did he honestly not know? A subtle, paranoid part of her almost feared he'd given her a random number. But, he wouldn't do that. Would he? Or did he just give his number out to multiple girls and, depending on how quickly they chose to get back to him, it was hard to keep track of who was who? Oh god, did she even stand a chance? He was handsome as all hell, so who was she kidding? The guy probably had a leather jacket with HEARTBREAKER stitched on the back.

Strictly business. Studying. Not even a study date. Just pure, innocent, harmless studying. If she forced herself to keep up that mentality, there was no way she'd be bothered by any external forces threatening to send her overthinking abilities into hyperdrive. Who cares if she had a teeny, tiny crush on him? It was irrelevant to the cause; the cause being her grades. If she had to, she'd convince herself - someway, somehow - that she wasn't even attracted to him to begin with. She would travel far to meet a Jedi Master so that they could perform that mind trick hocus-pocus on her to make her believe that the person she would be working with wasn't anything special in the least.

Jerk.

Oh, Kagome. Got it.

Neither the quick response, nor the fact that he was probably playing with her made her smile at all. Not at all.

"I'm gonna do it." Miroku pumped himself up, bouncing on his feet.

"I wouldn't." Inuyasha said, his tone dull, eyes glued to his phone as he leaned against the tree.

"I'm gonna do it!" He repeated more persistently.

"I'm not saving you."

"I'm doing it!" His determination was admirable, even for him, fingers tingling with adrenaline, the flurry in his abdomen going into a wild frenzy as he power-walked his way toward the two unsuspecting girls across the street. Steady exhales left his lips, like an athlete exercising their breathing, totally prepared to work his magic like another ordinary day with the female specimen until the woman he particularly favored looked his way.

Miroku's mind blanked, his chest hitching painfully as his legs seemed to wobble pitifully, barely bringing him to his destination in front of the girls. She stared, blankly at first, her hand gently grabbing her companion's elbow to stop her trek, her attention, once fully devoted to her phone, flickering up to her friend then over to him. Their expressions mirrored one another's; mouths straight, eyes curious, brows cautious.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Sango." He managed to say. It sounded almost confident, only a small waver noticeable.

The girl stiffened slightly, clearly waiting for him to continue. His mouth had shut, though. His smile fit uncomfortably on his face; small, strained, like a child obligated to sit there and hold a posed grin for four minutes straight until the photographer finally got their school picture taken.

"What?" She asked, tensely. 

If anyone had a portal into his mind, they'd see a tumbleweed passing through a desolate field of crusted land. "That's - that's all." Miroku said, trying to play it off though he was sure his mortification shined bright. Turning away, he sauntered back in the direction he'd come from.

Both Kagome and Sango watched him waddle across the street. Kagome, specifically, had to clench her throat shut to resist the fit of laughter that threatened to burst free, bringing a hand to cover the crinkled grin growing on her face. She didn't want to embarrass the poor guy more than he'd already done, himself, and she had a feeling Sango wouldn't appreciate it just yet. Not while they were still in the vicinity of the guy.

Inuyasha held a steady expression of total bewilderment having heard the whole thing, sparing a small glance the girls' way just as they started walking again, briefly locking eyes with Kagome, whose amusement never faltered, and then shot his gaze right back to what was left of the pride of his friend. "Dude..."

"What's wrong with me, Inuyasha? I've never done that in front of a girl, not even during my prepubescent days!" Miroku was shaken, blue eyes staring through the bark of the tree in total defeat.

"I told you not to."

"You don't understand, I can't function properly around her. I thought it was a temporary side effect of, I don't know, oxygen or something, but no! It's her! What sort of witchcraft has she conducted upon me!?"

"I don't know, but it's getting embarrassing to be associated with you."

"It's getting embarrassing to be me! I'm not like this! I'm not like you! I'm good with girls! I'm smooth as silk! Fine like wine!"

Inuyasha's grimace deepened.

"Once upon a time, I could sweep a girl off her feet with just a wink! Where has that side of me gone!? I mean, just two weeks ago I was fine! Enter Sango, Sango, and I'm pining like a little bitch boy!" Miroku's eyes were wide, riddled with absolute turmoil, fingers sweeping into his hair. "I'm - I'm like Hojo. Hojo. Good god, I'm a Hojo."

"And, on that note..." Inuyasha dropped his phone into his pocket, peeling himself off the tree to walk away and head home.

"Wait, you're just gonna leave?" Miroku asked, following. "In my time of desperate need?"

"What you need is to get a grip."

"Tell me how! What's a guy like me gotta do to get a girl like her?"

"Cutting off the rattail would be step number one."

Miroku gasped, horrified, clutching onto the tiny bundle of hair at the nape of his neck protectively. "Never! I will have you know that one day it's going to be as thick, long, and luscious as your own ponytail."

"Dude, it's like a fucking mustache. Just because you can grow facial hair, doesn't mean you should. It doesn't work for everybody." Inuyasha firmly stated.

"But -"

"Trust me, Miroku. You look like a classic nineties douche."

"Has anyone ever told you, you have a way with words?" He smiled crookedly, not offended by his friend's criticism in the least. Over the last year and a half or so, he'd learned the ins and outs of what the bastard truly meant to say. A good amount of his insults were heartfelt and intentional, but if you listened closely, you could hear the chime of his good-natured advice and shadowed compliments.

"Yes, actually." Inuyasha bobbed his head back and forth, as if proud of himself. "Kagome said the same thing earlier today."

"Oh-ho-hoooo, let's talk about that!" Miroku beamed, turning to walk backward just a few paces ahead of the hanyou so that he could focus on the expressions that were sure to wash over his face. It was one of the best ways to read the guy.

"What?"

"Did you think we were just gonna blow over this without revisiting? How you made me apologize to someone? How you made me apologize to someone? That someone being a girl. You made me apologize to a girl! What's the deal, dog boy?"

"Oh god, don't start!" Inuyasha groaned, rolling his eyes. "The one time I'm not at a party with you, and you fucking dump your drink on someone. It has nothing to do with her, and everything to do with you making an ass out of yourself."

"Not once have you ever -"

"Call me out already so I can deny the accusation." He rolled his wrist to gesture for his friend to pick up the pace.

"You like her!"

"No."

"You totally do!"

"No."

"You looked to the side when you said that." Miroku pointed, the cocky grin on his face growing.

"Stop staring at me, you creep. I hate it when you do that shit." The half demon frowned.

"What?" He shrugged. "She's pretty, she's sweet, and she's short - which is right up your alley since I know you love short girls. What are you, five-ten? Eleven?"

"Six."

"An even six. And I'd peg her at five-two, five-three."

"Who cares? She's got an attitude that could give even me a run for my money. No thanks." Inuyasha's tone was level, controlled. Very controlled.

"Sassy. She can handle her own. That's not such a bad quality if you think about it. No one likes a pushover."

"Knock it off." The hanyou ground. "There's nothing special about her."

"Oh man, you're just hand-feeding me material to go on and on about -" Miroku's hands rose defensively as his friend shot him a glare of warning. "- but I won't! Can I just say one last thing? There's nothing wrong with liking someone. It doesn't make you as vulnerable as you may think. I'm not trying to go all Doctor Phil on you or anything; I just think it'd be a good idea for you to let someone in. And, I know you're probably gonna say it isn't like that, but it can be if you just let it. Kagome seems pretty receptive to you."

"She's receptive to everyone. She's social."

"Not that social. I remember Koga tried to walk her home from a kickback last year and she did everything in her power to avoid it without having to slaughter his pride.”

"Don't blame her. The wolf's disgusting. She should have wrecked him, truthfully.”

"Oh, and just in case you didn't know, I'm not blind. I saw that little interaction you two had last week after school. The one where she was, 'being annoying.'" Miroku said, drawing air quotes with his fingers. "Except you were laughing, and she was flirting. It took me, your best friend, months to make you laugh for the first time!"

"Wear a skirt." Inuyasha joked, giving a one-shouldered shrug.

"Nice defense." Miroku smiled with smug implication. 

"Don't you live that way?" The half demon asked, the hint of finality in his tone, pointing down the crossroad.

"Oh, look at that! Time to go!" He laughed, crossing the street, continuing in his backward motion as he had been. In all honesty, Inuyasha found him to be the luckiest bastard alive that not a single car was coming considering he hadn't even checked first. "I'm just saying, man, would it be so bad if she did like you?"

Without control, Inuyasha's lips curved into a soft smile. The thought of Kagome's small hand in his causing a swirl of warm delight to knock his normal defenses off-kilter. And, he knew his friend was going to cling to that for as long as he could. With a tense sigh, he rolled his eyes in smooth recovery and headed down his own route home, not wanting to give Miroku any more material to hold over his head. The guy wasn't much of a gloater, but Inuyasha never much liked his business out there for anyone to know in the first place.

His phone had vibrated a little ways back, but considering his friend's wild tangent, he never had a clear opportunity to pull it out and check the text. He had old messages from his uncle and another friend that had been sitting untouched for hours now. Still feeling no sense of urgency to even read them, his thumb fell on the recent text from Kagome.

So, what's the plan, oh wise one?

His fingers worked on their own, typing out the reply and hitting send. 

Sunday around noon?

The screen hadn't even dimmed before the little, gray typing bubble popped up. 

I'm free. Where?

Your place cool?

My place is cool. See you then!

Are you not coming to school for the rest of the week?

What? Of course, I am.

Then, I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Dummy.

Kagome felt a heat rush to her cheeks. What was worse was she couldn't even tell if she was embarrassed for the rookie mistake she'd just pulled, or if she suddenly found being called a dummy endearing. Was this the tragic path she was destined to go down now? One with half parts constant humiliation for stupid things she may accidentally say, and half parts smitten with little names that weren't quite insults but weren't quite sweet nothings either? Setting her phone to sit flat on her desk, Kagome huffed out slowly, allowing her book bag to sag to the floor while she settled into her seat as she’d just gotten home. Propping her temple up with her fist, she typed a mindless response with a single finger on her free hand.

Yeah, that too.

—

Inuyasha stood before the door, honing in on what he could hear on the other side of it while waiting to be let in. Stumbling feet bounded down what he guessed were a set of stairs, the soft hum of music came from somewhere on the second floor, and the gentle tick of a clock on the wall counted away the seconds. Surprisingly, that was it. Even from outside, he could pick up the scents of two other people, but from how quiet the house currently sat, he figured they weren't home. 

The lock clicked and the door opened, bringing his gaze downward to land on the welcoming smile Kagome greeted him with. "You're early."

"Did you expect me to be late?" He retorted, walking through the threshold.

"Kind of. I always am." She said, shutting the door. Her feet shuffled along the wooden floor in their socks, like taking actual footsteps was abnormal in a place as comfortable as her own home. With a small wave of her hand, she ushered him to follow as she scuffled into the kitchen to their right, the sloppy bun on her head bouncing with her movements. Typically, it took a while for Inuyasha, or anyone for that matter, to feel relaxed in a place they'd never been, especially something as sensitive as another person's residence, yet watching her glide her feet along the floor like a weirdo provided a sense of easement. 

While her back was turned to him, he allowed his eyes to wander over her, oddly lingering at the nape of her neck. Short, loose strands of hair fell from the knot at her crown, curling and waving free to decorate her fair skin nicely, and though he was willing to bet it was the natural splay of her baby hairs, Inuyasha couldn't help but feel the messiness suited her so well that it was modeled to look that way. The long-sleeve shirt hung loosely on her, the texture appearing extremely comfortable, and the color a pastel pink, while her leggings were straight black and hugged her body nicely. Very nicely. 

Kagome grabbed an unopened bag out of the cupboards, the crinkling sound loud as she spun around to him.

"Sweet or salty?"

"Salty." He replied.

"Thought so. And cookies for me." She said, reaching toward the higher cabinet, her shirt rising to expose an inch of her midriff. Inuyasha looked off to the side, concentrating on the hanging aprons on the opposite wall. It was more out of habit than anything. He didn't enjoy taking the risk of making any girl feel vulnerable, and more than ever, he felt compelled to be mindful. 

She'd shoved the snacks in the crook of her left arm, shuffling over to the fridge and pulling out two bottles of water, which she then skillfully carried in the crook of the opposite arm, gliding back his way, passed him, and toward the stairs.

"Let me carry something." He couldn't help but chuckle. She was fucking cute.

"No, no. Come, come."

"Give me the waters." Their height difference made it easy to reach over her shoulders to snag the tops to the bottles, robbing them from her grip just before she began her trek up the stairs. 

Framed photographs scaled the wall the entire way up, giving the hanyou a brief glimpse into this family's past. Kagome as a little girl, a shapely, little boy, a woman propping a baby on her hip while a man supported a small girl on his shoulders, a hunched and elderly man with the proudest smile. It wasn't hard to figure out why he only smelled three different people and not five. She'd experienced loss. Just as he had.

She smiled more than him, though. She seemed to communicate better, as well. Was she good at covering things up? Had she healed? Or were her scars not as deep?

"Where's your family?" Inuyasha asked, coming off casual so it didn't seem obvious that he was prying. 

Kagome led him into her bedroom, the music playing through her laptop speakers on her desk light and folksy. "Mom's at work, and she dropped my brother off somewhere, so no clue where he is. Make yourself comfortable."

The two men in her life were gone.

Her walls weren't very cluttered, just a few things hanging here and there. A cliche galaxy poster hung over her bed near the door, a cork board with polaroids and photo booth pictures, and interestingly enough, a knotted, red string of all things. She turned off the music and shut her laptop, bringing his attention to swing her way and observe the clutter on her desk. On top of an open notebook, decorated with little scribbles and doodles, sat a pair of reading glasses. His first thought was to dismiss them as a hipster accessory, considering the fad for glasses was pretty large with girls and he'd never once seen Kagome wearing them around school, but when he saw the very minor magnification through the lenses, he realized he was wrong. Kagome wears glasses. And, then he thought of Kagome in glasses.

A curious grin grew on his face as he sauntered over and set the waters on the desk's surface, switching out for the pair of spectacles. "Four eyes, huh?"

Her cheeks seemed to ripen in tint, just by half a shade, when he held them in front of her face. The frames were thick, slightly curved on top while round on the bottom, maybe even a size too large for her, and in that brown, tortoise shell design.

"Uh, yeah." She meagerly admitted, actively trying not to duck her head. "I just got them not too long ago. I only have to wear them when I'm on my computer."

"If that's the case, you're probably supposed to wear them while you're watching TV and reading, right?"

"I may have heard something like that."

“And, what are we about to do?"

"Oh, no."

"Come on." Inuyasha ushered, handing the glasses over. He really couldn't help how badly he wanted to see them on her. "You don't want to make your eyes worse."

"You know, I get the sense that you're just looking for ammunition to make fun of me." Kagome grimaced, apprehensively taking them by the temple of the frame.

"Me?" He shook his head. "Never."

"Yeah, no, it's not worth it." She decided, putting the glasses down on top of her laptop, intending to reach across for her notebook.

"They're just glasses! What's the worst I could say?" He chuckled, his question stopping her mid-stretch.

"Knowing you, you'll come up with something."

"Try me."

Reluctantly, Kagome gave in with a disgruntled sigh, picking the glasses back up and sliding them over her ears. As she looked back at him, her brown eyes fully meeting his amber, it seemed as if he was painfully resisting to laugh. "Say it."

"What?" The word was tightly clenching in his throat.

"Just get it over with." She pouted.

"All you need is bifocals and you'll really be working those old man frames."

"They're not - they're cute!"

They really were. And, he really liked them on her. But, was he going to say that? Hell no. When she ripped them off and dropped them where they once laid, he swallowed his disappointment, chuckling as the sulk grew even more vividly on her face. She took her notebook and a nearby pencil, crossing the room to get comfortable on her bed where she'd dumped the bags of chips and cookies. 

"Alright, what subject are you worst at?"

"I think it's easier to ask what subject I'm actually good at." She replied, almost too confidently for someone admitting they were a mess. The half demon cocked a brow inquisitively. "It's history."

"Jesus, what did I sign up for?"

"It's not too late for you to back out." Kagome smiled, shrugging. “We can always just eat the munchies, watch TV, and pretend nothing ever happened.”

“Fat chance," Inuyasha dropped onto the end of the mattress. "I got nothing better to do, anyway. Math. We'll start there."

He could literally see the distaste on her face. It was like an an insult she was waiting for him to take back, and when she realized he wasn't going to, she reached for her bag on the floor next to her bed and pulled out the necessary book and homework packet. 

—

"Wrong."

"How?"

"It's wrong."

"I haven't even finished the problem yet."

"Yeah, stop while you're still ahead, dummy. Did you even look at the way I solved this one?" Inuyasha pointed to the similar problem he'd made on her notebook, the long equation written out for her to examine as she took to her sheet of homework.

The irritated, reddened skin of his knuckles came into full view, and having resisted the temptation for long enough - considering she'd noticed the scabbed skin an hour or so ago - and having to have endured his abrasive ways of tutoring, Kagome went ahead and flicked the end of her pencil against the marred area with no remorse. The hanyou jerked his hand away, glowering spitefully.

"You got into another fight, didn't you?" She questioned. Her tone was more snarky than anything, like it was a normal question and it was absolutely her place to inquire.

"Remember what I said the last time you asked?" He sneered.

"Let's see, I saw you last Friday night and you had a black eye and a scrape on your face." She was talking with her pencil instead of her hands, bobbing it around as she continued on, completely ignoring him. "By Monday afternoon, there was no evidence of the fight, whatsoever. Obviously, that's because your demon blood gives you supernatural healing powers. Now, considering these marks weren't around this Friday during school, and they're still pretty bad at the moment, my guess is they happened between that night and yesterday."

"Good deduction, Watson." Inuyasha rolled his eyes. "Just one question: When did we see each other on Friday?"

Kagome adjusted her position slightly to hide the way she'd almost tensed, playing things off as smoothly as possible. "We go to the same school, Inuyasha. If you'd pay attention to your surroundings for once, you'd probably see me, too."

"Right." He said, dragging out the word while maintaining a straight expression. "Funny how you see me from a distance, and you pay attention to my hands of all things."

"S-stop dodging the question." She stammered, her confidence steadily dwindling away.

"How wildly observant of you. What else do you stare at?"

"Woah, I don't stare."

"I mean, it's okay if you do. A little weird, but I'm still flattered." He shrugged, an arrogant grin on his face.

She groaned loudly, clenching her jaw as she refocused on the math equation she was working on. "Never mind. Just stop fighting already."

“And, I think you'll know what my response to that will be." It took viable effort to remain patient, despite his sarcastic jokes. Patience was not his forte. He was hotheaded, and liked being hotheaded. It made people back the fuck off, but a twinge in his gut held him at bay.

"Yeah, yeah. Mind my business."

"Good. Now, erase that shit and start -"

"But, you could seriously get hurt!"

Inuyasha was the one to groan this time, lolling his head back before snapping back up to glare at her with slight indignation. "Oh my god. Knock it off, Kagome."

"What's the point of it? What does it even prove? That you're a big, macho, tough guy? You could really get hurt, or even hurt someone else! Why would you want to do that?"

The grimace on his face was strong, genuine surprise from her remarks overcoming his irritation. "Geez, you really are something straight out of Sesame Street."

"Wait, how did you - you heard that?" He pointed to the ears on top of his head in a duh manner. It was a paradigm to how much he actually did pay attention, no matter the disinterest he almost always had etched on his face. “Oh. Well, behave and I wouldn't have anything to lecture you about."

"Why do you assume the fights are my fault?"

"No, that's not what I'm trying to say. I would prefer to think they weren't your doing, but to be fair, you haven't given me any clarification to work with. I'm just trying to cover all bases. Behave could mean don't start fights or participate if someone tries to start one."

"So, don't fight back?"

"Right."

"Just let them hit me?"

"What? No."

"Well, what else am I supposed to do?" Inuyasha's tone was on the harsher side, agitated, his brow twitching inward in speculation. 

"Walk away. Are you saying people come and start fights with you?"

“Drop it.” He grunted.

"But, why?"

"I used to roll with a bad crowd, okay?" He fumed, fed up with her persistency. "Unfortunately, I've got some attributes that don't really allow me to go under the radar. Now shut up and get back to work!"

Kagome heeded his tone, sealing her lips, the space surrounding the two of them tense and awkward. She was sort of proud of herself for getting the truth out of him, or some of it at least, but she didn't like that he'd gotten so upset. He had a temper for sure. One that was maybe even worse than her own. Yeah, she was pressing for information that had nothing to do with her, and she could understand how that would tick him off, but the budding concern she had for him wasn't something she necessarily wanted to subdue. She wanted to know he was okay. To her, that wasn't such a bad thing. Depending on the scenario, Kagome would intrude on any one of her friends to make sure they were alright.

"Can I ask one more question, please?" She approached, her voice small and timid. She'd erased the entire math problem on her paper, the notebook propped on her knee, and her brown eyes were peeking up at him cautiously through her dark fringe. His scowl still lingered, mouth curved downward in clear disapproval, but he made no verbal attempt to stop her. "If you used to be such a bad boy, how come you excel so well in school? Not to sound totally judgmental, but stereotypically speaking, it's kind of contradictory if you think about it."

Ember irises fell down to focus on the scratch paper on her leg, his lips relaxing. "If you're such a goody goody, why do you suck so much in school?"

The rebuttal was fair. She couldn't even get upset about it, and there was no hesitation to her response. "For one, I'm not a goody goody. Two, I really don't have an answer to that, because I often wonder the same thing."

He chuckled lightly. "Then what would you say you are?"

“Average, probably." She shrugged.

“Is that what they’re calling it now?”

“Hush. What's your excuse?"

"I'm smart. I don't have a problem focusing, which apparently you fucking do." He, once again, tapped his finger against her notebook, a little more aggression that time. Kagome laughed, going back to scribbling down the problem, and it irked him that the gratifying sound calmed his blood. He'd never once felt soothed by a noise, or comfortable with a person right off the bat, or compelled to hang around despite being aggravated. In the moment, it was enjoyable. Nice. 

But, there was no way he'd allow an attachment to form.

It was a conscientious decision. One he didn't really have to remind himself of anymore. By now, it was habit to shut things down before bonds formed. He wasn't worried about things going too far with Kagome. It was a little disconcerting to recognize how quickly he, himself, seemed to unfurl to her, but he was sure that there was no possibility of either of them intending on making anything out of it. She was friendly, she was nosy as all hell, but that was about the extent of it all. He understood that she meant no harm.

What was interesting to him was how easy it seemed to be around her, to talk to her. Even after he admitted he'd made mistakes that have followed him to this day, she didn't seem to pull away or scorn him. Instead, she judged him for his good academic record, which was the exact opposite of what anyone would ever expect. Without overthinking, and without the effervescent pressing need to withhold himself, he decided indulging her with basic responses couldn't hurt.

"I made a promise to someone to get through school. That's all you're getting."

Kagome smiled. She had no intention on prodding for more. By him saying "someone," she could tell that he'd purposefully not given specifics, and she respected that. Additionally, this gave her a glimpse at his honest and loyal side. It was admirable. 

And, the softness that took over his features when he said it was enough to warm her to the core.

| 1 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

[everybody-talks]

The Interrogation

Date: March 21st, 1982

Location: The House of Bones, West Wing

Starter: self-para

It was cold here. That was Lucinda’s first thought when Lily had brought her in. She’d gone into a room without her, leaving her outside in the spacious hall. Lily had explained to her who this group was, what they do, and at some point, Lucinda had found herself accepting an offer to come talk to them. No one else was offering to right the wrong that had been done to her uncle. What else was there to do? So, now, here she was, staring at a closed door, alone, in an unfamiliar place.

She hated to admit it, but she felt anxious without Lily there. She had become a familiar face, and they’d had each other’s back as they battled through their previous location. Wherever that had been. When she was there, she’d thought that place was ostentatious. But, this new place might as well have been a castle! She was staring around her in awe, when the door before her suddenly swung open, an unfamiliar voice telling her to enter.

 Inside, there were six chairs turned to face one solitary armchair. In each of the chairs sat a person she’d never seen before. To her dismay, Lily was not among them. She’d left her alone with... whoever these people were.

Something about the way they sat indicated authority, so Lucinda did as she was told. She walked in slowly and took a better look at the wix staring at her expectantly.

There was a blonde witch with what Lucinda could only describe as a “regal air” sitting closest to her. Although her face was harsh, there was something deep in her eyes, maybe a sliver of softness, as she watched her enter. There was something elegant about her, with an aura of steeliness that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Next to her sat the the other end of the spectrum. While the blonde witch sat with enviable composition, the witch next to her had sprawled herself out upon her seat and didn’t even appear to be looking at her. As Lucinda got closer, she noticed the horrifying state of this woman’s hair. The pink was just... horrendous, and her stature was not doing her any favors. But, her eyes suddenly flicked up at Lucinda, and all thoughts of studying her vanished. There wasn’t a sliver of softness to be found there.

Beside her sat a wizard that looked at her as though she was a not so interesting textbook. His face was near unreadable, and his stature was perfect to the point of being unnerving. When she made eye contact with him, he didn’t move a muscle. So, Lucinda averted her eyes and moved down the line.

The next wizard was most certainly the leader. She had no way of knowing this, but there could be no doubt. His aura matched the blonde woman’s, though his expression was just slightly more open. He nodded at her slightly as she entered. Perhaps he was the one that had told her to come in.

The next to last wizard looked as though she was a guest he’d invited but never met before. He was relaxed slightly into his chair, though his expression was a bit blank. His eyes seemed to absorb her every move when she walked in, so she made no attempt at eye contact with him.

And, finally, the last wizard had certainly seen better days. He was also sat back in his chair, but there was an edge there, an energy that read as nervous, but was most likely something else. Almost hyperactive. He seemed to twitch ever so slightly, as though he couldn’t bear to sit still. He was eager for this to start. Or, perhaps, for this to be over with.

Once she’d finally settled into her chair, the wix before her exchanged glances, as though to decide who would speak first. After a few glances, the blonde witch turned to fully face Lucinda. Without preamble, she spoke.

“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

Lucinda was somewhat taken aback by the sudden question. No hellos, no introductions, no acknowledgement of what she’d just been through. Her nerves still felt the echoes of the previous battle, so her response came out more petulant than she’d intended.

“If this is about whether I’d like to join your... your group or not, all I know is I just fought my way through a sea of masks! I’d imagine that’s pretty high up the list of “what I’d be getting into,” right?”

The woman seemed slightly amused by this answer, to Lucinda’s surprise. With the tiniest of pauses, the blonde witch continued.

“Why do you want to be here?”

Lucinda felt a heavy ache she’d been ignoring throb in her chest. 

“I could never forgive myself if I didn’t do something about this.”

She gestured vaguely with her right hand. She didn’t say what. She figured they knew.

The blonde witch seemed satisfied. She sat silently for a moment, as though something else was going to happen. When nothing did, she turned slightly to face the disheveled witch sitting next to her, who was currently picking at her nails. They finally made eye contact, and the pink-haired witch swung her legs forward and leaned towards Lucinda.

“Can you fight?”

The question was matter of fact and harsh. Lucinda felt her skin begin to crawl at the question. Images of her fifth year DADA professor swam to the top of her mind. When she realized that hesitating too long might cost her this window, she finally stuttered out an answer. The bravado from the fight was completely gone.

“I- I’m here to help. In whatever way I can.”

It was a bit of a lame answer, and the witch did not hide her disappointment at the lackluster response.

“Well, what can you do?”

Lucinda was not prepared for this. She awkwardly rattled off whatever came to her head.

“I’m- I work- well, worked- I worked as a potioneer’s assistant! I mostly dealt with the prep work for the ingredients and... things... OH, and I played Quidditch! I was a chaser! And, Quidditch Captain! Two years running! And, I could always-”

“ How do you feel about the fact that your shop was destroyed and your coworker was murdered?”

The witch had spoken over her, not even letting her finish. Something about her expression, the lack of interest, or even disdain, caused her to speak without thinking.

“How would you feel about that?”

Lucinda met the gaze she’d been working hard to avoid. The eye contact was left unbroken for what felt like an eternity, before the witch shrugged, sat back, and tapped the wizard next to her.

“ Would you have wanted to join even if your uncle's shop had been spared by the Death Eaters' attack?”

The wizard’s question lacked the guarded nature of the previous questions. In fact, it lacked nearly any emotion at all, almost registering as a statement. But, the calm after the storm brought Lucinda back down a few notches.

“To be honest, I didn’t even know the extent of all this until now. Would someone who’d never payed a sport in their life want to join the local football team? I’m here now. That’s what matters to me.”

She tried to infuse her words with sincerity. She waited for the wizard to continue, but to her surprise, the next, kingly wizard spoke up instead.

“Are you here because you believe in the Order's cause, or are you only looking for revenge?”

Lucinda could think of nothing to say to that. Her mind went blank, and her mouth opened and closed uselessly a few times. She was certain her chances of entry were flying out the window until she noticed the smile spreading across his face.

“Not that the latter necessarily precludes your induction; we're not above using your rage to our mutual advantage. I just find it best to know how far, and to what ends, we likely can or cannot rely on you for.”

Lucinda paused for a few more moments before answering.

“... Listen. Joining a vigilante group was not exactly on my to-do list. I had a steady job and a quiet life, and that was what I wanted, and what I’d take back now if I had the option. But, I don’t have that option. Not anymore.”

And after a small pause, she added:

 “The short answer is: I prefer the word justice.”

The wizard’s smile grew slightly wider at that response, and he gestured his hand to the second to last wizard.

His face was surprisingly warm as he turned his eyes onto her. But, the warmth in his face would contrast sharply with the question he asked.

“You are here because the shop you worked in was under attack. Do you realize that being here means it might get attacked again?” 

Lucinda felt her stomach drop to her toes. Oh, Merlin. She hadn’t thought of that. She looked at the wizard’s eyes a bit more closely and swore she could see the cogs turning behind them. This man was not as kindly as he appeared. He was not to be crossed.

But, as she studied him, the answer rose to her mind like a body being washed to shore. It was a simple truth, one she would avoid if she could.

“... The only way to stop that from being a possibility is to stop them. Completely. I see that now. It’s the only way. Look. I saw the people in Diagon Alley. I saw their faces. Average wix, like myself. There’s no hiding anymore. For any of us.”

His face lost its warm glow at this. His expression became calculated, the cogs whirring actively before her eyes. He was unreadable.

Just as she turned to face the disheveled wizard farthest from her, he stood. And, as he did, the rest of them did, too. As one unit, they all walked out of the room and left her alone. Again,

She listened as closely as she could without daring to rise from her chair. At first, she could hear nothing. As the minutes went on, she could make out some faint noises that may have been conversation. Suddenly, she heard what only could have been muffled shouts. She couldn’t make out the words at all, perhaps there was some enchantment cast, but someone was very clearly upset. She dug her nails into the chair as she listened.

Then, silence. Silence for a long while.

Finally, the door opened. It swung open so violently that Lucinda stood involuntarily.

To her dismay, the pink-haired witch stood there alone. From the looks of her, it was to her dismay as well.

She marched herself towards Lucinda, grabbed her hand harshly, and slapped something cold into her palm.

Lucinda winced at the harshness and looked down. In her hand, sat a silver tag.

“Welcome to the Order. Meet me here tomorrow.”

And then the woman was gone.

[holeinotomemind]

MLQC Fanfic: Hearts of Storm - Ch 8 - Birthday Present

WARNING: NSFW/18+ fic. No smut this chapter. Birthday angst. Prev chapter dub/non-con, eventual 3P, spoilers, long dragged out fic and angst. Not morally correct. Turn away if this is not your thing. Pairing: Shaw x MC, Gavin x MC, Shaw x MC x Gavin AO3 Link: [here]

Notes: [See full notes on AO3] Big thanks to Lutz and sushikitty (aka Aelyxandra) for betaing this chapter again!

“What did you bring me here for?” Standing in front of a wall filled with graffiti, Yui cocked her head to the side.

“Hey,” Shaw hollered from a few meters away. “Catch!”

She turned around and shot her hands up just in time to prevent the projectile from hitting her face. It made a loud clunking sound as it hit the ground and rolled off to a side.

“Stop throwing things at my face!”

“You’re a terrible catcher,” he said with a look of disdain.

Why does she have a feeling he did it on purpose just so he can see something hit her square in the face?

She sighed as she bent down to pick up whatever he threw at her, realizing it was a spray can.

Fishing out a couple more spray paint bottles of various colors from his backpack, Shaw pointed at the wall behind him. “Go for it.”

Yui pointed at herself in confusion.

“You were interested, no? I was going to have you be my lookout again,” he paused, giving her a lopsided smile. “But since I don’t want to end up in the police station, I’ll make an exception today and be your lookout instead.”

Yui paused as she thought she heard something sounded almost gentle beneath his little playful taunt, but she couldn’t be sure. She hesitated for a brief moment before she waved the feeling away.

Whatever his intentions were, he made the offer, why not take him up on it? She had done it once already when she lost her bet and had to go on that one-day date with him anyway. And, if she was honest with herself, it was quite fun.

Well, except for when they had to run from the city management officers, of course.

Decided, she shook the spray can in her hand as she walked towards the wall and saw Shaw had already chosen a spot on the ground to sit with a good vantage point.

She took another look at him before raising the can in her hand and pressing down on the nozzle. He had gotten her out of trouble enough times that she figured she could trust him to keep her out of the police station this time too.

With a hiss of the can, a cloud of pink appeared on the wall just like last time, except, now she had a better idea of what she was doing.

“There!” She announced after several minutes of spraying.

She stepped back to look at her work and nodded in approval. Definitely a huge improvement from last time, her lines were no longer crooked.

“What the heck? Sea monsters again? And a whole family of them?” She heard Shaw laughing hysterically from his seat. “How uncreative can you be?”

“I told you they are rabbits!” She snapped back, pouting, before bending down to grab another spray can that was closest to her. “And who said I’m done yet?”

Truth be told, she was done. But there was no way she would sit back and let Shaw taunt her like that. So, she kept drawing. Minutes passed by, more and more little colorful creatures filled the wall like a rainbow. She admired and grinned at her handy work every time she went to pick up a new color spray.

Soon, she was holding the last can in her hand. Stealing a look at Shaw, she saw him looking off into the distance, blowing bubblegum bubbles and popping them loudly. She wondered if he was bored just sitting there acting as her lookout. She was bored last time, until she saw the breath-taking artwork that he drew.

For a brief moment, she debated on whether to just call it a day so he didn’t have to endure the boredom any longer, but she shrugged and decided otherwise. This was the last color anyway. It would only take a few more minutes for her to finish up.

Holding up the can, she pressed on the nozzle once again and stood frozen as she stared at the small cloud of gold-yellow in front of her.

The color of ginkgo leaves.

Whatever animal she was planning to draw had been forgotten. Her finger pressed on the nozzle again and with a few turns of her wrist, a ginkgo leaf appeared on the wall. She stared at it in silence.

“So, you drew the sea monster family’s demented cousins too,” Shaw’s sarcastic voice rose behind her suddenly. “Great!”

Jolted back to reality at his comment, Yui realized what she had done. As if possessed, she had painted ginkgo leaves after ginkgo leaves until they filled up a large space beside the first bunnies she drew.

What was she thinking? She had done it again. She had let her misery take over her again. Yui shoved her hand in her hair in frustration, wishing she had better control of her own emotions.

Picking up a can of spray paint, Shaw stood between her and the wall blocking her view, forcing her to take a few steps back. She heard the hissing of the spray can before she could react.

With a few swift motions, his hand sped across the wall as vibrant silver-grey paint followed in confident strokes.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Reaching her hand towards his raised arm, she tried to interfere with him from drawing over her work.

Quickly, he stepped aside to dodge her while he shot out a hand to grab her wrist. In one swift moment, he had her entire body pinned against his side with her back towards him, his arm wrapped around her torso.

She slapped her free hand at him and tried to break loose, but all he did was laugh, squishing her towards him more. The hissing sound rose again as Shaw continued his work despite her wiggling and her shoe almost kicking him in the shin a couple of times.

Finally, the hissing of the spray can stopped as he made his final stroke and released her from his grip. Unable to curb her curiosity, although still annoyed by his complete disregard of her protest, she turned her gaze towards the wall.

Yui couldn’t help but stare at Shaw’s creation in awe. In that small amount of time, he painted a huge imposing shark that seemed ready to jump out of the wall at any moment. The life-like image dwarfed her drawings both in size and art style.

It took her a moment to realize his shark had its jaw wide open and had “swallowed” the majority of her ginkgo leaves along with a few animals in its path.

“What was that for?” She pointed at the shark, raising her voice. “You said you were just going to act as my lookout.”

“Hey, who said I was just going to sit there?” He laughed as he dodged her half-hearted attempt to hit him on his arm.

“That was mean!” She complained, though she couldn’t stifle a small laugh of her own as she ran after him. “And it makes no sense! Why would a shark jump out of the water to eat bunnies and puppies?”

“What bunnies and puppies? You drew sea monsters!”

She chased after him trying to land a hit on the little brat while he skipped around taunting her and dodging her half-hearted attacks like two little kids playing on a playground.

With a pop, she cracked open a can of warm milk tea they bought in a twenty-four-hour convenience store on the way back. Trying to clench her thirst from chasing Shaw halfway back to the workshop, she took a big gulp.

Sitting on the bench, neither suggested to head inside to the workshop just a few steps away, even though it was freezing cold outside. She tilted her head back and watched small, white clouds of fog forming every time she exhaled.

It had been a long time since she laughed so much. In fact, this might have been the first time she laughed without care for more than half a year. She could still feel her sore cheek muscles.

Letting out a small self-deprecating laugh, she shook her head. It was only now that she realized how pathetic she had become since she came to this dimension.

“It’s Gavin’s birthday today,” she said quietly.

“I know,” he said nonchalantly.

She turned to look at him in surprise, but before she opened her mouth to ask how, she remembered that this was Shaw she was talking to. He had multiple informants working for him. It was easy enough for him to find out about things like these.

“That’s why you came to check on me?”

Rather than answering, he merely gave her a shrug.

He didn’t give her a real answer, but if she thought about it, it was obviously the reason he dropped by tonight. He never asked her why she had cooked for two, never made a comment about her sitting around and staring at an empty chair until the food was cold and even knew that there was a birthday cake sitting inside the fridge without her mentioning it.

She’d be stupid to think it was all a coincidence.

Before, she was so absorbed in her own grief that she never spent the time to understand Shaw. But ever since the bombing incident, she was determined to pick herself back up, and in the process of finding herself again, she came to slowly learn more about him.

Beyond being an annoying brat half of the time, this man sitting beside her could be surprisingly sensitive and caring. Thinking back on it, Yui realized there were countless occasions when he took care of her in his own little way, like pulling pranks on her when she was lost in her dark thoughts or taking her out on silly missions, like stealing his professor’s papers when he clearly didn’t need her help. He was trying to keep her mind occupied.

He probably took her out tonight because he saw the guilt on her face when they were eating that birthday cake and wanted to take her mind off of it. After all, he took her graffitiing, one of his favorite activities when he wanted to vent. He even sat quietly most of the time when she took her time drawing.

It wasn’t until she started obsessively drawing ginkgo leaves that he intervened.

Turning towards him, she took a long look at him, something she had never done before. Sitting beside her, he was leaning forward, bracing his arms on his knees. His antique dragonfly eyes bead necklace gently swayed and his broken brow slightly furrowed every time he took a sip of his coke.

Yui thought to herself that perhaps, beneath that bratty exterior, he was truly a good person, someone she could trust.

“Thank you,” Yui began again after a good few minutes of comfortable silence.

“What for?” He took a sideward glance at her before taking another sip of his coke.

“For taking my mind off of things,” she replied, acknowledging what he did for her not only tonight but the many times before that she didn’t realize until now.

“Sure,” he shrugged. “How do you plan to thank me?”

Yui rolled her eyes at his terrible habit of asking for compensation for everything but didn’t reject the idea, as long as it was something she could afford. “Fine. What do you want?”

There was a slight pause before Yui saw a glint in his eyes and the corner of his mouth hiked up and immediately, she knew the wheels were turning in his head. He was up to no good. Her eyebrows knitted and she moved backward instinctively.

“The birthday present you owe me,” he said. “Well, a belated birthday present. With interest.”

“Huh?” Yui was about to ask why she would owe him a present when she didn’t even know when his birthday was but realized that would have been a lie. Two months ago, she found his student ID inside the pocket of a jacket he lent her after a mission. She remembered thinking to herself that she wasn’t one bit surprised that he was a Gemini when she read his birth date on the ID.

“Elaborate dinner for Gavin’s birthday but not a word for me on mine? Favoritism much?” He asked jokingly, but Yui could see he held a blank expression staring off to a distance as if he was trying to hide his emotions.

“Sorry,” with a guilty smile, she apologized. She didn’t do it on purpose, but it was true that she didn’t take the date to heart, so when she got busy with the missions last month, it escaped her completely. Not that she would have cooked him an elaborate dinner, but at least she should have wished him a happy birthday. “Happy belated birthday?”

“Too insincere,” he tsked, crushing the empty can in his hand as he threw it in the trash can. “Rejected.”

Of course, he was going to make things difficult for her, but with what he did for her today, she did owe him. Letting out a sigh, she placed the now-cold can of milk tea on the bench beside her before sitting up and turning towards him.

“I’m sorry for forgetting your birthday,” firmly gazing at his amber eyes. She pressed her hands together in front of her face and apologized again. “I wish you a happy very-belated birthday.”

“Barely acceptable,” he smirked. “Still owe me that birthday present though.”

“Fine,” Yui rolled her eyes again wondering if it was her imagination or if Shaw was sounding a little like Victor. Hopefully, his idea of a birthday present wasn’t some kind of a financial report. “As long as it’s not something expensive.”

“No money required.”

As she was about to open her mouth to ask for clarification, she felt his hand on her nape and his face grew closer in her vision. Before she could react, his warm lips were already on hers.

She froze, eyes wide in surprise at the sudden turn of events. It took her brain several seconds to process what was happening and by the time she held up her hands to shove him away from her, he had already ended the kiss.

“What on earth?!” She jumped on her feet and immediately tried to wipe her lips with the back of her hands.

“Nuh-uh, no wiping,” Shaw shot his hand out to grab her wrists stopping her hands inches away from her face. “Wipe and I’ll kiss you again.”

He held on to her wrist for a short moment to make sure she understood him before slowly releasing it.

Free to move her arms again, Yui was about to ignore his threat just before she caught a glint in his eyes as he raised an eyebrow at her, as if daring her to defy him. For a moment, she debated internally. On one hand, she wanted to do exactly what he threatened her not to, even if it was out of simple defiance. On the other hand, she knew he would totally make good on his threat and the smirk on his face revealed to her that he was looking forward to her doing just that.

There was no winning against him.

Her face flushed red with frustration, but she had no choice but to give in. Slowly, she lowered her hands, but if Shaw thought she was going to let him do whatever he pleased without consequences, he was very, very wrong.

Without warning, Yui kicked out her foot with all her might. As her boot connected with his chin, she heard a satisfactory yelp from him. As much as she wanted to see his surprised and painful expression right now, Yui didn’t dare to stay for another second.

Turning around, she ran straight for the workshop. With speed she didn’t even know she had, she fished out the keys from her pocket, unlocked the door, slipped inside, slammed the door close behind her and set the deadbolt in one swift movement.

Heart still racing, she turned around and leaned her back against the door and heard, somewhat unsurprisingly, his laughter. It was so loud that she wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors were woken up by it.

“Jerk,” she muttered, annoyed that he found her reaction amusing yet again.

Yui waited a few moments after his laughter faded before letting out a sigh of relief knowing that he wasn’t going to barge into the workshop to exact revenge upon her tonight.

Slowly, she raised her hand to her mouth again, intending to wipe off the taste of him, but as her fingertips touched her lips, she was reminded of his warmth and the unexpected tenderness of his kiss.

It wasn’t forceful or consuming. He simply caressed his soft lips against hers gently. Their closeness allowed her to smell the lingering scent of his shampoo and to taste a hint of the sweetness from the Coke he finished drinking a moment ago.

She had tried her damnedest to forget, to pretend it never happened, but the hazy memories of how his lips felt against her own lips and her bare skin that fateful night several months ago came creeping back to her. She should feel anger or even violation from the reminder, but instead, she only felt a slight annoyance. Eyebrows knitted, she bit down on her lips as she belatedly realized that she didn’t hate his kiss as much as she should.

As she contemplated the meaning of this, the large clock on the wall caught her eye and she realized it was past midnight.

Gavin’s birthday had passed.

[crackinglamb]

I was wondering if I could ask you about Solas? See, I've never really understood his appeal as a character, let alone a LI. And in the past, I'd usually say something brash an insensitive about a character I didn't like, or more mortifying I'd do them a serious injustice in my writing. I was hoping you could tell me more about him. He's always seemed so harsh, so judgemental, and I personally hate how he ends his relationship with the inquisitor, but maybe I haven't given him a fair shake?

See, a year ago I would have been in complete agreement with you.  All I knew about him was what I’d seen or heard from fandom sources.  Then I started writing Maker Damned Fools for the Fluff-uary prompts and he was a side character.  So I started to do some research.  He’s a conflicted Boomer, a rebellious mage god and quite possibly the most complex character I’ve ever run across in a video game.  And you’re about to get an essay, so I’ll put it under a cut.

Solas has woken to a world he is responsible for creating and to his eyes initially, it’s horrible.  And in typical fashion, he thinks he can fix it by doing it over.  Rather like the way the Inquisitor who sides with the mages prevents the red future from happening at Redcliffe.  I am by no means excusing his attitude or plans.  They’re terrible and lack critical information and perspective, imo.  But I can understand why he wants to fix what he thinks he did wrong. 

He has a reputation for being a liar, but aside from a single instance, he never actually says something untrue.  He bends the truth until it squeaks and allows the listener to come to their own conclusion, whether it’s the right one or not.  He’s been reviled by generations of elves as a traitor to the gods, but he was actually rebelling against what constituted a government that would ruin the world and everything in it.  This isn’t to say he didn’t do terrible things, he absolutely did.  He threw down those in power and imprisoned them.  He made the Veil, which in turn reduced his people to a shadow of themselves.  They were conquered and enslaved.  He wore himself out so thoroughly he took a several millennia long depression nap and was powerless to stop everything he did from falling apart.  I can fully understand why he would want to fix that upon waking.

Solas exists in a Schrodinger’s paradox state.  Gaining his high approval (which is remarkably easy, even without romance) makes him understand that modern Thedas is beautiful in its own right and that if he goes ahead with his plans, he will destroy that.  However, low approval confirms all his worst fears and he is even more determined to fix what went ‘wrong’.  He is the only companion whose attitude is completely dependent on how the Inky treats the world and himself.  It always makes me laugh when people say Solas is an asshole, because in order for that to happen, one has to deliberately make him that way.  He is forming his opinion of this new world that’s utterly foreign to him by how he’s treated in it, which is completely natural.

I went into my first playthrough having all the spoilers.  I didn’t hold out much hope for him as a character, and didn’t get why he has such a popular standing as a romance option.  I get it now.

Solas approves of anything you do that is compassionate and kind.  He likes it when you ask questions, even if you disagree with him.  There's always a way to get him to see another perspective (if you’re a Dalish Inky anyway) and salvage the conversation to a good place.  He approves of treating all thinking beings, including spirits, as people and with respect.  He abhors violence for its own sake, willful destruction (which is ironic, yes), and giving power to the ambitious, such as siding with the Templars and allowing the Grey Wardens to stay in Orlais.  He dislikes the Qun and Tevinter because he absolutely detests slavery of any kind.  His friendships with the rest of the companions often start off rocky, but grow to be healthy and respectful (for the most part, he never gets on with Vivienne and his relationship with Blackwall turns...self-projecting).

He doesn’t sound like much of a monster, does he?

You mentioned romance.  Part of what makes it delicious is that it’s doomed.  He’s gonna break Inky’s heart and his own.  It’s awful.  It’s a goddamned Shakespearean level tragedy.  It’s slow and hesitant and fragile.  It has nine separate ways to end.  It’s deliberately ambiguous in terms of whether or not it’s a physical relationship.  It’s the only one without a repeatable scene.  It is frustratingly genuine, full of doubt and worry and honest emotion that terrifies him, I think.

You take an immortal near god and plunk him into chaos of his own making and he potentially comes to care for a person who was in the wrong place at the right time and got sucked into his machinations through no fault of their own.  And they change...everything.  At least as far as his emotions are concerned.  He feels that what he’s doing is his duty, either because he’s that stuck in it or because he’s under the thrall of Mythal (there’s some debate).  And it’s heart wrenching for him to continue even just friendship, which is why he leaves.  He feels like he can’t tell Inky the truth about himself or his plans, because how could anyone still care about him after that?  There’s some serious self-loathing going on there.  And I imagine at least a few of those players who romance him are doing it from a need to show that a character like that is still worthy of being loved.

Bioware has a lot of problems, I don’t think anyone would disagree.  But something they do very right is the morally gray area.  Solas/Fen’Harel is the epitome of that moral grayness.  Is he a literal demon monster, self absorbed and determined to destroy everything for some idealistic greater good?  Is he a man with a decent, soft heart who has a duty he hates?  Yes, he’s both.

Hope that helps, and thanks for the ask.

[mikkomacko]

The True Encounter III

"'Fore I kiss yeh, I need to ask yeh something absolutely mad." He whispers. She gives him a hum to show that she's listening, lazily blinking up at him.

"In order to bond with ya and for yeh to become me mate you have to be a wolf."

Y/n just blinks again, her eyes darting back and forth between his so he continues.

"Will yeh let me turn yeh love?" 

Or

Being with Harry is more complicated than y/n thought

~

"After the scent test most wolves end up finding their mates right away. It's very rare that a wolf ends up with anyone from a different pack let alone a human." He gives her hand an assuring squeeze.

"The dominant in the relationship then begins to court their mate for a couple months, just doing like sweet gestures for them, anything to make them more comfortable.

"Courting leads to the bonding process. Once both are fully comfortable with each other, they're cycles match up. That's the day they bond and it can only take place during intercourse, to connect on all levels.

"Then they become like one person in two bodies. They can read each other's moods and feelings and communicate without actually speaking. It's a really big deal in our lives."

Y/n's gaze has dropped down to where his hand is clutching hers like a lifeline. Harry wishes he could see her eyes, that he could read how she was feeling.

"What age do you bond at Harry?" She mumbles, something in her voice telling him that she knows they're a special case.

"18." Harry replies, scooting closer so his knees touch hers. He knows she's not a wolf yet and words probably mean more to her but the best way to give comfort for him is through physical contact.

"Is that why you're rushing this? Because we're late?"

"Partly," Harry nods, longing to reach over and pull her into his lap, to hold her and kiss everything better.

"Why else?"

This is the part that will surely freak her out, Harry's almost sure of it. She's stayed calm for all of this conversation but this has to be the deal breaker.

He tells her about his family. That they lived without a pack in England until his father decided to move them here. He was a still a child when they joined this pack but apparently it wasn't the best. The leader at the time was horrible, he didn't care for anyone or anything but himself.

And that pissed Harry's dad off. So him and a group of men got together, overthrew the leader and his father was voted alpha of the pack. Rules and guidelines were established, the two main ones in Harry's life being that the alphas son must be trained to be an alpha as soon as he joins school and the second being that every alpha must have a luna, to balance power.

Harry's father died of pneumonia when he was 17 and Harry's mother was left in charge until the day he bonds with his mate. Which wasn't supposed to be that long of a wait. But alas, he's 22 and still a lone wolf.

His mother, a woman who wasn't supposed to be in that stressful a position for this long, is tired and weak. He's afraid that if she's there much longer she'll get sick and die like his father did. So he needs to be bonded as soon as she's comfortable with, in order to take over.

Y/n is silent at the end of his explanation, still staring at their hands.

"I know it's a lot y/n." Harry comfort's, using his free hand to reach up and cup her chin. He tilts her head up so he can meet her thinking eyes. "And m'sorry it has to be this way. I never wanted yeh to have to be rushed into a lifetime commitment with a man yeh just met.

"But I know yeh feel it, the connection. S'already started, that's why yeh feel the way yeh do. We're meant to be sweetheart but don't ever for a second think 'm going to force yeh into anything. I want this to be your decision, I want yeh to pick whatever will make yeh happiest."

Y/n has reached up to cup his hand that's holding her face, leaning in until her nose is pressed against his tattooed wrist. She's watching him with watery eyes and a trembling lip and it makes his heart ache so much that he's not thinking rationally.

And he leans in a presses his lips to her forehead, lingering there when she squeezes his hand. He waits for her reaction, carefully listening to her heart and the way she's clutching to his hand.

But then she's kissing the inside of his forearm and he's moving again, pressing a kiss to her soft cheek and the dip in her chin and the slope of her nose. He freezes an inch away from her lips, her eyes meeting his.

"'Fore I kiss yeh, I need to ask yeh something absolutely mad." He whispers. She gives him a hum to show that she's listening, lazily blinking up at him.

"In order to bond with ya and for yeh to become me mate you have to be a wolf."

Y/n just blinks again, her eyes darting back and forth between his so he continues.

"Will yeh let me turn yeh love?" 

~

Being a human is a very complicated thing. 

They go through life, doing whatever the fuck they want, just living in their own self-absorbed lives. A life that refuses to believe there’s any other species that is as high ranking and important as them. 

And that drives y/n bat shit crazy.

Almost as crazy as Harry and his magical life drives her. 

It’s been four days and she still hasn’t answered him. It’s all too much, how her life has suddenly become important and pretty much a necessity for Harry to live his life. It’s insane that she’s supposed to change her whole life for this man and it’s even more insane that she kind of wants to.

Y/n can’t deny the fact that Harry is absolutely gorgeous with his sparkly green eyes and his dimples and his curly hair. He’s like something from a dream and to make it worse, he’s even prettier on the inside.

He took care of her, he was so sweet and gentle during their long conversation and when she had asked for time to think, he didn’t hesitate to oblige. He simply gave her one last kiss on the chin, helped her gather her things and walked her home where he shyly asked for her number. 

Obviously she gave it to him, she’d be stupid not to, and asked him to text her when he got home so she would know he’s okay. 15 minutes later he had texted her that he got home as well as a message saying to call him if she had questions or needed anything. And beside casual checking up on each other texts, that was it.

Until y/n came down with a cold that made her body ache so bad she could barely walk and her voice was close to being non-existent. Even though the heater was set to high and she was wearing 3 layers with a blanket wrapped around her, she’s absolutely freezing. And no matter how many times she rearranges her blankets her bed isn’t half as comfortable as Harry’s. 

She’s on the verge of crying when it hits her how much she genuinely misses Harry. She misses his voice and his smile and his hand in hers and literally everything. So she doesn’t think twice before picking up her phone and dialing his number. 

“Y/n?” He answers, his voice sounding strained. 

“H-hey.” y/n croaks, sniffling as a tear trickles down her cheek. Something about being sick always turned her into a baby. 

“Are you okay love?” He asks urgently, clearing his throat. “What’sa matter?”

Y/n doesn’t know what to say. It feels like everything is the matter and she’s so mad at her immune system and her stupid bed so she settles on the easiest thing to say. “I miss you.” 

“Aw sweetheart,” Harry coos into the phone and it makes another tear slip out. “Miss yeh too.” There’s a moment of silence in which she tries to work up the nerve to ask if she can stay with him. He beats her to the punch. 

“Can I go see ya?” 

“Yes please.” y/n sniffles. 

~

Harry arrived sooner than y/n was expecting, at least 10 minutes sooner than it took them to walk when he brought her home.

He knocks once and she's pulling open the door, her eyes still teary and lips so chapped it hurts to even slightly smile.

He only has time to coo, "oh pet," before she's stepping into his chest, her eyes closing in relief when she feels how warm he is. He wraps his arms around her shoulders, tucking his nose to the top of her head and holding her for a few minutes.

Y/n really doesn't know what it is. Maybe it's his heart beating in her ear or the way he's holding her so tightly but gentle at the same time. Whatever it is, it has her quietly crying into his sweatshirt and trying to nuzzle in closer to him.

She just missed him terribly.

It's when she lets out a hiccup that Harry finally speaks up. "None o' this pet, please. Ma poor heart can't take yeh crying." And that makes y/n sniffle more because she can't believe she walked away from him. She can't believe she could have been cuddled into him for the past four days. That her heart could have been this content this whole time.

Harry shuffles them inside, softly closing the door behind him. He slightly pulls away from y/n, just enough to scoop her up and carry her to the kitchen.

Y/n can't stop the whine that leaves her lips when he places her on the counter and backs away so he can see her face. His hands grab at her face, softly holding her warm cheeks as he examines her.

Even though teary eyes he looks more handsome than she remembers. He's got an orange beanie holding down his obnoxiously beautiful hair and the sleeves of his sweatshirt are too long and he's watching her with such concern she wants to melt.

"You've got quite the fever love." He lowly chuckles, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead. "Have yeh been taking medicine?"

Y/n nods, pulling one of his warm hands down so she can hold it.

"S'not helping very much is it?" He smiles sadly when y/n gives him a pout and a shake of her head. "I can take care of yeh." He states, wiping her damp cheek. "Take good care of yeh but I'll need ya to come home with me?"

Y/n doesn't hesitate to agree.

~

With her cheek against his shoulder blade and her backpack as well as her blanket wrapped around her shoulders, y/n is in complete bliss.

Harry holds her tight, constantly asking if she's okay as he carries her through the woods. Each time she hums a yes, her eyes fluttering closed and she paws at his chest, liking the way she can feel his heartbeat.

When they get to the cave she holds on a bit tighter, afraid he'll somehow lose her and she'll be stuck sad and sick in a magic cave. But the whole way though Harry's giving her reassurances.

"We're almost there pet, just hold on a bit longer."

"Small hill here love, koala bear time please."

"Never drop yeh here, I'd miss yeh too much. Plus m'scared of the dark."

He squeezes her knee when she giggles at the his last comment. And then the sun is lighting up her eyelids and she can hear chattering and laughing, like they're walking through town.

She doesn't dare look up.

She can feel eyes on them and Harry's grip on her tighten. It's enough to make her duck under the blanket until she feels Harry relax.

When she peaks over his shoulder they're walking to the backside of a huge building, at least 5 stories high and the size of a football field.

"It's the pack house." He simply explains.

He carries through the back entrance and through wide halls with shiny wood floors. They take an elevator to the top floor and it makes y/n's stomach queasy so she clinges tighter to Harry, if that's even possible.

Finally they make it to a room and Harry nudges y/n. "We're here lovey." He gently sets her down and she falls onto the edge of the bed. Y/n can barely keep her eyes open as Harry helps her remove her backpack and slip off her shoes. He barely has time to tug down the blankets before she’s falling into the pillows, her spine finally a little less sore and her shoulders relaxing.

“Lift ya arm for a sec love.” Harry whispers and she does, letting him place her old childhood plushie she had stuffed in her bag. Y/n’ s heavy eyelids fall shut and she purrs in content as he pulls the blankets over her. She feels him press his lips to her forehead and softly rub his thumb over her cheek and then she’s out like a light.

~

When y/n wakes up she can actually breathe through her nose and her chest feels soothingly warm every time she inhales. She pressed in close to Harry’s side, her face tucked into his bicep but when she opens her eyes she can see enough of the room to know it’s now nighttime. The room is lit up by a bright red candle and the laptop that’s propped up on Harry’s lap.

“Are yeh awake down there?” Harry whispers, one his hands pressing gently to the back of her head. Y/n hums a yes and wiggles around to see that Harry is watching Friends. “I like this show.” She murmurs, her body still feeling droopy and tired despite sleeping extremely well. 

“It’s quite funny.” He agrees. “Yeh feeling better?” 

“Can breathe again.” Y/n replies, inhaling deeply to show him. He chuckles in reply. “Thank you Harry.” 

“Of course lovie.” Harry coos. “I’d do anything for ya.” 

Her body heats up, her bones feeling like mush. Harry is so sweet and kind and beautiful y/n feels like she’s going to explode. So with her mind clouded by sleep and a deep want for Harry, she softly calls out for him. 

“What’sa matter?” 

She doesn’t even know what she wants or what she’s going to say. She just wants Harry, wants him closer even though she’s tucked in close to him. Finally her brain gets words to come out. 

“I want you to turn me.” 

[leejihoonownsmyheart]

Chaos of Life

Summary:

Yoongi doesn't do things he doesn't like to do. He doesn't talk to people he doesn't like. He doesn't go to class if he doesn't want to. He doesn't even bother to look at those he doesn't think deserves his attention. So, Jimin can't help but wonder what on Earth he did to deserve this strange boys attention.

Chapter  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

Yoonmin University Fanfiction. Multiple Chapters. Warnings Don’t Apply. Good for General Audiences.

You can also read it on: Archive Of Our Own and Fanfiction.net

Chapter Nine:

Jimin woke up at three in the morning to his phone buzzing softly by his head. It jostled him from a particularly pleasant dream, but that didn't make him hesitate to drag himself out of bed and into the hall to take the call. He didn't even check the caller-id. He knew that to get a call at three in the morning it must be important. Whatever it was anyway.

The door clicked shut behind him and he slid the green call button across his screen.

"Hello?" He mumbled groggily.

"Is it true?"

The voice wasn't in any way familiar and it made Jimin's brain do a quick mental restart.

"Is what true?"

"Is it true that… Oh, you know! Don't make me say it!"

Jimin wasn't really able to keep up with everything happening. Partly because he was too tired to wrap his head around it. Partly because the words made no sense to him whatsoever.

"Who is this?" Jimin finally asked.

"Don't be stupid," the voice responded. Why didn't he sound tired at all? It was way too early for anyone to reasonably be up. "It's Kim Minjun!"

Jimin vaguely remembered graduating with someone with that name. But he knew that he hadn't been very close to them at all. Maybe one of his friends had? He could somewhat picture a face.

"How do you even have my phone number?" He continued. At this point he let his back hit the wall and slide down to the floor, tiredly palming his face with his hand.

"It's free domain on the Facebook page. Anyways, is it true that you're a prostitute?"

Jimin fell silent for a moment, suddenly feeling wide awake. He noted the way that his breath hitched in his throat, how his body stiffened at the words.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't tell me you really don't know? This is a little awkward…"

Minjun went silent for a moment.

"I guess it doesn't hurt to catch you up," he finally decided.

Jimin was pretty dazed but the end consensus of the whole situation was clear. Jimin's best friend in high school, Hajoon, one day recently created a facebook group exposing everything he had ever disliked about Jimin and invited almost everyone in their school to join. It evolved into everyone describing how shitty Jimin was and everything Jimin had ever done that could be considered bad. The group was apparently extremely active and had been so since the first day it was opened. The fact that Jimin hadn't found it on his own, or that his friends here hadn't yet discovered it was nothing short of a miracle.

After hanging up with Minjun, Jimin opened up Facebook to look at the group and suddenly realized why his phone had been going off. Apparently, just about everyone who had gone to school with him had something bad to say about him. Even the people that Jimin had been relatively close to had made a post. Some of them. A lot of them, even had the guts to tag him in their posts.

Park Jimin the pretty boy…. Can't imagine he is doing anything productive nowadays…

God Park Jimin was the absolute worst, has he not killed himself yet? He was so pathetic in high school I just imagined he'd get around to it soon.

Okay but, one time Park Jimin chose food over me. FOOD OVER ME. Why does he think he's too good to hang out with his girlfriend?

I don't even know why people liked Park Jimin, he's got such a feminine way about him, I'm not convinced he isn't a girl even to this day lol.

The longer Jimin scrolled the page the further his heart sank.

He had always known he wasn't perfect. He'd have to be more self-absorbed than many people thought he was to think that he was in any way so. Still, he hadn't thought that given the opportunity so many people would have something bad to say about him.

The further he got in, the worse Jimin's heart sank. Sleep was now a thing of the past. He didn't think he would ever sleep again after reading all of this.

He considered not thinking about it too much but sadly thinking about not thinking really just meant him thinking about it more and more.

He closed his eyes and he just saw the Facebook page in his mind, scrolling through every post again and again. When he opened his eyes, he couldn't prevent the words swirling around in his mind, reminding him of what he had been looking at. He looked at the clock.

He felt like he had been up for days. It was only 7 am.

7 am, the cafeteria was open.

Jimin got to his feet, hesitantly packing his bag for the day. He took everything he would need for the day… He didn't imagine he would come back anytime soon, he had a lot of classes to go to and in-between… He'd probably just try his best to distract himself.

He crept out of the bedroom and made his way down the hallway. As he did he brushed past someone in his hall who he didn't know. They murmured something after him, but Jimin figured it was a coincidence, other than an actual statement. It was too early for anyone to be fully functional anyways.

Not that Jimin is capable of doing anything properly on his own. He always asks for help and then stares at everyone with that stupid smirk of his while everyone goes out of their way to help him.

Jimin groaned and rubbed his head with the palm of his head aggravatedly.

"Get out of my head," he grumbled to himself. It didn't make the thought go away. Jimin was so lost in his thoughts like that all day that nothing really seemed to establish well. He couldn't study or watch television. He couldn't focus on his classes, and it only got worse when he skipped his Economics class. The intention had been, well completely honestly it had been to avoid Yoongi.

That boy could read him like a book, and so could the rest of his friends. He had to avoid them as much as possible today, what if they found out that he was not actually a likable person? He couldn't imagine one of his few new friends in college finding out about the Facebook page… If his current friends were okay to pretend like they liked him… Maybe that was okay for now, but if Yoongi who didn't pretend to like anything for even a second found out about the page. If he heard his flaws… He would leave him.

Oh, god, he could lose Yoongi as a friend.

Jimin took a deep shaky breath and paused outside of his bedroom door, feeling a little dizzy. Maybe he shouldn't return to his dorm. He wasn't in a good place, the others would detect it, the others would leave him if they knew he knew that he was awful.

Even in his haze, Jimin knew that he was being dramatic. He swallowed deeply and raised his hand to the doorknob, his fingers were trembling. He closed his eyes.

Don't be suspicious, don't be suspicious.

He pushed the door to his room open and immediately attracted the attention of pretty much everyone there. He smiled.

"Hey."

"What's wrong?" Taehyung asked immediately. Jimin scrunched his face together in confusion.

"What isn't wrong, am I right?" He joked with a smile.

"You left really early this morning, we were a little worried," Taehyung insisted. "And then we saw you but you didn't see us…"

Jimin shrugged it off.

"You're being dramatic," he insisted. He sat down at his desk and began to pull his homework out of his bag. He thought that the studious behavior would make him seem better, but apparently, it just made him that more suspicious. In an instant, Namjoon had placed his hand on his shoulder. It made Jimin jump.

"Jimin, are you alright?" Namjoon finally asked. "You've been high strung all day."

The rest of the room nodded their agreement. Jimin didn't respond so Jin added to the conversation.

"Yoongi says you've been avoiding him today."

Jimin bit his lip nervously, he hadn't thought that Yoongi would notice.

"It's nothing," he mumbled, but even as he spoke the tears began to drip from his eyes. He sniffled, a little too loudly. "It's just been a really bad day."

The tears began to flow more freely and he sunk to the floor in an attempt to bury the sorrow from his friends. He hadn't wanted to drag anyone else into this stupid situation, but even so here he was. In an instant Hoseok and Taehyung were on him, their arms wrapped around his body as it shook with strangled sobs.

"Jimin, what happened?" Namjoon asked him softly. Jimin wanted to keep lying about it, but he knew in the end that now he might as well just tell the truth.

"I got a call last night from Minjun," he explained.

"Minjun?" Taehyung interrupted his eyebrows scrunching together.

"We graduated with him," Jimin explained, even though he was crying he was able to muster a rather nonchalant look and a shrug. "I didn't remember him at first either."

"Jimin," Jin hissed. "What did Minjun say?"

"Oh," Jimin replied. "Right um, he told me that Hajoon started a Facebook page against me and pretty much it's just a bunch of posts talking about what an awful person I am."

The tears rolled down Jimin's cheeks again as he thought about the posts.

"Why do any of you guys even bother with me? Why do you pretend to be my friends?" He asked desperately. "I'm awful, I'm clearly utterly and completely awful-"

Jimin suddenly got up, pushing his friends away from him.

"I-I should move out, I can still do that. Why do you guys spend any time with me at all? Why does Min Yoongi want to get to know me?!"

"Jimin-"

"Don't start," Jimin blurted. "You guys must hate me."

A commotion from Jimin's bed dragged him out of his state of reverie. He didn't look at the bed, he just paused, fat warm tears rolling down his cheeks as he stared at the first person, he could make eye contact with. It ended up being Jin.

"Is there someone else in this room?"

Jin nodded silently. Jimin shut his eyes tightly.

"Please tell me it's not Min Yoongi."

He heard the bed shake a little as someone climbed down it, and in a moment, there was an undeniable presence right next to him.

"It is."

Jimin wasn't sure what to say, so instead, he didn't say anything. He just turned around a gazed at Yoongi, feeling pained.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Yoongi demanded. Jimin found he couldn't look at Yoongi very long without feeling guilty. Not because he had initially felt bad about keeping the information from the boy. He didn't really- well, he hadn't not until he saw that look on Yoongi's face. His gaze was a little harder then Jimin was used to seeing it, his eyebrows drawn in towards one another tighter. He was actually upset by this.

"I didn't want to worry-"

"Who is doing it?"

Yoongi's interruption was curt. It was clear he wanted to explode but was holding back significantly. Jimin appreciated that.

"You don't-"

"I don't care if I know him or not, what's his name?" Yoongi reiterated. Jimin didn't hesitate.

"Kim Hajoon."

Yoongi exhaled sharply from his nose, which gave Jimin an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

"Why didn't you tell me about this when you first found out?" Yoongi asked, his voice still a little scary. Jimin lowered his eyes from Yoongi's again, so Yoongi moved to force Jimin to catch his gaze. "You should have told me as soon as you found out. The moment you knew."

Yoongi's hand suddenly shot forward, stopping not far from Jimin's own hand. Jimin squinted at it, realizing after only a few moments that Yoongi had wanted to grab his wrist, but needed permission first. He moved his hand forward, and Yoongi took it.

His attitude was odd, to say the least. He was clearly angry, his nostrils flustered a little, and he couldn't keep eye contact with Jimin for long. He was being rougher than usual, and he wasn't as soft as Jimin had gotten used to him being. Even so, the warm touch was clearly supposed to be comforting. It was a gentle momentary caress. Warm skin against cold skin. Jimin found it to be very welcoming.

"Yoongi hyung…"

Yoongi dropped Jimin's hand and turned around.

"I've got to go."

And without another word, he left the room. All eyes fell on Jin when he left but Jin clearly didn't have any answers for them.

"I don't keep secrets from Yoongi," Jin explained with a shrug. "I've never seen him react like this to anything."

Jimin's heart sank in his chest. Suddenly, he was worried about something different than his friends hating him. Suddenly, it didn't matter if anyone else in the world hated him. Not all of his Facebook, not every single person he had ever gone to school with. Suddenly, the only person he didn't want to hate him was Min Yoongi.

God, he really hoped he hadn't messed everything up.

Yoongi wasn't at class the next day. Jimin only went to economics that day, and he only went to economics to see Yoongi, and Yoongi wasn't even there. He spent all day worrying about it. Was Yoongi mad at him? What had he meant when he asked for Hajoon's name? Why had he just left?

He rubbed his hand against his face and tried to focus on his work. He was in college dammit, he had homework to worry about, he didn't have time to just stress over Yoongi all the time.

He was finally settling back into his work… Did 7+7 equal 14 or was he delusional? Should probably check. That was of course when something jostled his attention away from his work and to the tall boy who had suddenly joined his side.

"Let's go out Jimin," Namjoon suggested softly. "We can go to a party, you can get your mind off of everything. I'll keep an eye on you."

Jimin brushed off the suggestion, barely glancing up from his Math.

"I should focus, I have an exam Monday," he said instead. He could feel the doubtful look Namjoon was giving him so he turned around and offered him a smile. "I'm okay. I just need some time alone."

Namjoon was hesitant, but he nodded slowly.

"Okay," he agreed quietly.

The others were even more hesitant to leave Jimin alone. They seemed to think that if he was alone, he would get worse. He appreciated the concern, but deep down he knew that it would be okay. He was already worrying less about the Facebook page. Everyone on it was acquaintances and people he hadn't known well or at all. The people he had been closest with in high school weren't in the Facebook group. The only one who was was Hajoon, and honestly, Jimin didn't care what he thought anymore. There was a reason Jimin wasn't friends with Hajoon any more and if he had hated Jimin so much, he clearly wasn't a good friend in the first place.

What now bugged Jimin, more than the bullies, more than anything else, was what happened to Yoongi.

Jimin was jostled from his thoughts by a sharp knock at the door. He wrinkled his nose and set his pencil down.

Before he opened the door, he peeked through the peephole. Dark curly hair, wide brown eyes, eyebrows creased, lips trembling. Hajoon?

Jimin practically ripped the door open. He knew Hajoon well, they had been best friends for four years, and he knew a concerned expression when he saw one.

"Hajoon, what are you doing here? Are you alright?" He blurted uncertainly. Once the door was open, he was able to really assess the situation. He scrunched his nose. "Yoo-Yoongi?"

Hajoon opened his mouth but Yoongi spoke first.

"Hey," he spoke softly.

"You weren't in class," Jimin murmured. He suddenly remembered how messy his hair was and ran his fingers through the strands to try and tidy it. Of course, once that was fixed Jimin realized that he was dressed like a total slob, cause he hadn't expected to see anyone other than his close friends that night. He shrunk behind the door a little.

"I was busy," Yoongi responded. His eyes briefly wandered away from Jimin, floating towards Hajoon.

"Right!" Jimin blurted. "Hajoon, are you okay?"

Something flickered through Hajoon's eyes, but he looked away as soon as it happened.

"Ye-yeah."

Jimin couldn't help his concern. He reached forward, grabbing Hajoon's wrist.

"Seriously, Hajoon, what's going on?"

Yoongi had a strong glare fixed on Jimin that he mostly chose to ignore. He'd deal with Yoongi in a moment.

He may be glaring at him, but nonetheless, Jimin had a feeling the boy wasn't actually mad at him. So, he didn't mind coming to a compromise in his brain, deciding that he would get to the one he cared about the most about later.

"I came to… apologize."

Jimin squinted.

"Apologize?"

Hajoon noded, but the action was strained. As long as Jimin had known the other boy, he had always been bad at apologizing. It was pretty difficult to apologize, after all, when you never thought you were in the wrong. Jimin had never seen his friend apologize sincerely to anyone. So seeing him even attempt to apologize when he knew Jimin knew he couldn't so do was odd.

"Look, the Facebook thing was overly cruel. Truth is, I… I missed you, and I was made because you were doing so great, and you're so smart, and you've got all kind of friends, and you're such a damn pretty boy-" Hajoon interrupted himself, and took a soft shaky breath. "And I'm struggling a lot. Honestly, I was only really mad for ten minutes but the Facebook page grew out of control."

Even odder, this apology (aside from the tangent) seemed to be sincere. Jimin knew it was he couldn't emphasize enough that he knew Hajoon. He knew what Hajjon said and thought and did better than he knew himself because being friends with Hajoon meant that everything was about Hajoon.

"I never meant to hurt you Jimmy-" Another reason Jimin didn't really miss Hajoon. He knew Jimin hated to be called Jimmy. Yet, he still did it. "I'm really sorry."

Despite it all, Jimin wasn't upset. He wasn't happy or reassured, but he was no longer upset. All he wanted was to get Hajoon out of here and to talk to Yoongi. Yoongi. Wow, he had been really worried about Yoongi…

"I accept your apology," Jimin said forcing a smile onto his lips. "But you didn't have to come all this way just to apologize and… Why is Yoongi with you?"

"I drove to your hometown. Nice city. We ran into one another," Yoongi explained. Jimin's jaw dropped.

"You what?"

"He threatened me," Hajoon murmured. Yoongi shifted at the comment, which in turn made Hajoon yelp.

"Get out of here, I don't want you seeing Jimin anymore."

That, definitely explained why Hajoon had been so freaked out earlier. Jimin had honestly expected Hajoon to argue with the order, or at least ignore the statement. He wasn't in anyway obedient. Jimin couldn't think of a time in which he had listened to anyone else. Not at all, much less right away. But the minute the command left Yoongi's lips, Hajoon was bowing deeply.

"Thank you, for your time," he blurted. "See you around Jimin."

Jimin opened his mouth to protest, to say that it was ridiculous that Hajoon was actually afraid of him, but before he could Hajoon had disappeared down the hall. Jimin stared after him.

"Didn't you drive him here?"

Yoongi's eyes were on Jimin and Jimin only. He tried to ignore that as he stared after his ex-friend.

"Yes, yes I did," he agreed. Jimin quirked his head towards Jimin and raised an eyebrow at him.

"How's going to get back home, we're a few hours out." Yoongi shrugged offhandedly. Jimin thought it was cute… Nice really to be in Yoongi's presence again, when he noticed that he was coming closer.

He wrinkled his eyebrows a little, and subconsciously shifted away from Yoongi, finding his behavior a little odd. It didn't help in any way though, because Yoongi just grew closer. There was an off-air about him suddenly. He kept staring at Jimin, seeming like he didn't care about anything other than that moment right then and there. Jimin wasn't used to anyone being this… Intense towards him. Only him teasing people like that his way.

Somehow Yoongi's fingers found themselves tangled in Jimin's hair, sliding the rough the strands until his warm hand found itself to the back of his neck. Jimin was in the moment lost in Yoongi's wide thoughtful eyes, unable to think of much other than the fact that Yoongi was right in front of him, touching him, making his heart pound at a hundred miles an hour... What was he going to do? The boy in question put pressure on the back of Jimin's neck with the palm of his hand, pushing Jimin's head forward slightly. Then he pressed his lips gingerly to the boy's forehead.

When Yoongi pulled away, Jimin almost didn't notice. The warmth of Yoongi's lips burned in the center of his forehead. Jimin raised a hand to touch it, feeling bewildered. Before he could question it, Yoongi was speaking.

"Were you upset?"

Jimin nervously ran his fingers through his hair ruffling up the strands that Yoongi had tidied. He considered speaking but… He decided he didn't trust his voice enough to. He just nodded slowly.

"Next time you're upset, come to me first."

Jimin's breath hitched in his throat. He couldn't think right about the sentence, and he certainly didn't have time to respond. Yoongi glanced at his watch and then withdrew from Jimin.

"I have to go, I'll see you in class."

And then he was gone, and Jimin was breathless.

Chapter Ten