#missing burn knuckles shenanigans hours

[butteredshrimpnsweets]

“HEY WHO ORDERED MILK?!!!”

“THAT’S VASCO’S!!”

The Leader and The Brains

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

In the Middle

One of your boyfriends tries to rile up the other.

You get caught in the middle in more ways than one.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Explicit, minors BE GONE

Trigger Warnings: None really

AO3: Here |  Want to support me? I have a Kofi

There were pros and cons to having two boyfriends.

You fought a never ending battle pulling hair from the shower drain. You had double the texts to reply to; double the calls to return. No matter how comfortable you were when you fell asleep, you always woke up with a crick in your neck and someone’s elbow in your face.

Hizashi craved attention more than oxygen and sulked if he felt even slightly neglected. He spent just as much time chasing kisses as he did styling his hair. He sang in the shower, the bathtub, the rain and was only too eager to drag one or both of you in for a duet. You learned the hard way not to stand next to him in front of the bathroom mirror, for he would bump his hips against yours until you sang along to the radio with him and you’d ended up with eyeliner halfway across your face more than once.

He would spend the day pouting if no one gave him a good morning kiss and drew smiley faces in ketchup if left to plate up at dinner. He was a handful and a terrible influence; the polar opposite of your other boyfriend in every possible way.

Shouta was neither loud nor demanding. He could go days without talking, much less singing, and was happiest dozing off on the couch with his head in someone’s lap. His affections were subtle and easy to miss, while the emotions behind them were anything but. He met you halfway when you reached out to touch him and smiled in his sleep if you kissed him on the forehead. He would complain if you wriggled into his arms while he was working, but rearrange his position to accommodate you nonetheless.

Hizashi needed attention, while Shouta rarely sought it and nine times out of ten you and Hizashi were the ones who did all of the seducing.

Today was no exception to that particular rule.

Summer had hit Musutafu seemingly overnight. It was too hot to sleep or even snuggle on the couch. All you seemed to do lately was curl up on the floor in front of the electric fan in as many clothes as you could bear, while Hizashi stood on the balcony in a tank and shorts, stretching like a cat and mopping the sweat from his brow. It was too hot for leather and too humid for hairspray- sacrifices he had had to make, but was far from happy about.

Shouta remained relatively unchanged. He still went out at night to patrol the streets and continued to plan classes on his laptop on the couch, changing into thinner clothes, but remaining otherwise unaffected.

He was on his laptop, in fact, on this day in particular, drafting out a plan for 1-A’s future training exercises. In the meantime, Hizashi had opened up the box of popsicles you’d been keeping in the freezer and the pair of you took turns in front of the electric fan.

It was only a matter of time before the quiet, heat and lack of attention got to Hizashi and he had rested his head on your lap, golden hair splayed across your thighs. At first it was enough to snake one of his hands under your shirt and cup your breast, but before long that too lost its appeal. He shot side glances at Shouta every so often, sighing and running his tongue over the popsicle.

And so it was you found yourself caught in a battle of wills.

Hizashi waited for Shouta to look over before touching his tongue to the ice. If his gaze lasted longer than a couple of seconds, Hizashi would curl his tongue. Shouta made a point to catch his eye and not react.

Both sides were too stubborn to cave and, as usual, it fell to you to break the tension.

You took the popsicle from Hizashi and leaned back, running your own tongue over the ice. It was on the verge of melting and syrup dripped onto your shirt, causing you to gasp most theatrically and pull the shirt away from your body as if it wasn’t in the least bit planned. At first Hizashi had pouted when you stole his popsicle, but now he was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“It’s rude to take things without asking, (Name),” he said, sitting up. “The least you can do is share.”

You held out the popsicle and he sucked at the end, leaning back to allow you to do the same. You made sure to moan far louder than was necessary, as if it was something far less innocent than a popsicle.

“Ahhh, it’s getting all over my mouth,” you said, wiping the syrup from your lips and chin. “What am I going to do?”

“I can help with that,” said Hizashi, seconds before grazing his lips over yours, checking to see if Shouta was watching before deepening the kiss.

His lips were cold and he tasted of mangoes, the same flavour as the popsicle you’d been sharing. It was sweet, but the realisation that Shouta had stopped typing was far sweeter.

Shouta didn’t seek attention out, that much was true, but he sure as shit hated being left out of the action.

~~~~~

It was only a matter of time before you ended up on your hands and knees in the bedroom. You dug your nails into the bedcovers as Hizashi gripped your hips and took you from behind, all while Shouta bunched your hair in his hands, kneeling in front of you and thrusting into your mouth.

You barreled forward every time Hizashi slammed his hips into yours, moaning from the sensation of his dick hitting the one spot that made your toes curl.

The sounds Shouta was making were obscene. The vibrations of your moans against his dick combined with the way each thrust sent it deeper down your throat left him trembling. He could do little more than hold onto your hair and even then his hands were shaking.

Hizashi was absurdly quiet, all things considered, though you couldn’t turn your head to see why. You got your answer when he made a wet sound behind you and let out a moan, something icy landing on the small of your back.

“Hizashi...are you...are you still eating the popsicle?”

“No.”

More syrup landed on your back.

“Maybe.”

You heard the smack of his lips as he put it back in his mouth only moments before he took up such an ungodly pace that you took Shouta’s cock into your hand and jerked him off, grabbing onto the bed covers so tightly that your knuckles went white. The tension inside of you was too much to bear. You felt like you were going to explode.

You squeezed your eyes shut and squealed as you came undone, mind falling blank and legs shaking. It was like an electric shock burning through your core, leaving you unable to do anything but absorb each pulse.

Hizashi slowed down to enjoy the feel of you cumming on his dick, but the reprieve lasted only a few short moments. He guided you down onto the bed and over onto your back, shifting positions with Shouta, who lifted your knees over his shoulders.

He didn't have remotely the same stamina as Hizashi. You doubted any human did. He was, however, girthier and only too happy to torment you with it. He took you slow and deep, dragging sighs from your lips at the overstimulation. You were still having aftershocks from cumming the first time and saw stars each time his hips hit yours.

You turned your head to lick the tip of Hizashi’s dick, matching the pressure and speed of Shouta’s thrusts. Hizashi sucked in a deep breath, leaning over to grab Shouta by the hair and moan into his mouth.

The first time you had ever had sex with Hizashi, he shattered every window in your apartment building. You had laughed it off as an earthquake, though got the feeling no one believed you.

You had learned the hard way that he was loud when he came and the easiest way to prevent it was to stifle the sound before it could leave his lips, be it with a gag, by sitting on his face, preoccupying him with a blowjob or, as was the case now, with kissing.

You lay on your back and watched them nip at each other’s lips, waves of pleasure rushing through you. You were glad Shouta was holding onto your legs, for it felt as if the bones had left your body.

Hizashi was the next to come, whimpering into Shouta’s kisses as his dick twitched. He sat up and gave himself a final couple of tugs before spilling over your chest. Shouta followed suit, sitting up onto his knees and coming across your stomach.

Double the boyfriends, you considered fleetingly, double the mess.

~~~~

You stayed in bed for at least an hour after that, catching your breath and basking in the afterglow. It was still unbearably hot and no one was particularly enthusiastic about putting on clothes, even though the heat from one other’s bodies swiftly overpowered any relief from the electric fan.

“Why is it that whenever you two have shenanigans I end up in the middle?”

You could hear the fatigue in your own voice; the perfect compliment to how heavy your eyelids felt.

“I thought you liked being in the middle,” said Hizashi, only to squeak as you poked him in the ribs.

“I suppose I should take a bath,” you groaned, peeling Shouta’s arms from your waist and untangling your legs from Hizashi’s.

Your legs were more than a little floppy, but you disguised it by dropping to your knees to pick up your discarded clothes.

“(Name),” said Shouta, “wait.”

You turned to him, heart fluttering. Ordinarily he tolerated hugs at best, but on the rare occasions you managed to keep him awake after sex he was the biggest cuddler you’d ever met.

Maybe he wanted you to go back to bed.

Maybe he wanted to join you in the bath.

“Yes?”

“You’re blocking the fan.”

You turned to the fan behind you, heart sinking.

“And they say romance is dead,” you muttered, stepping out of the room.

Hizashi and Shouta closed their eyes, enjoying the feel of the cool air against their exposed skin. The peaceful moment was soon over, though, for seconds later you slipped your arm back through the doorway and flicked the off switch.

“Hey!!”

“(Name)!”

“Switch it back on, switch it back on!”

“Make me,” you said, sticking out your tongue and closing the door behind you.

“Oooooh,” Hizashi huffed, climbing out of bed. “When I catch you…”

He ran out of the bedroom and chased you through the apartment, paying little heed to the fact that you were both as naked as the day you were born.

Shouta turned over onto his side and fluffed his pillow.

He could sleep through just about anything; a fire alarm...hot weather...

...and, apparently, the sound of his two idiot lovers spraying one another with water.

[iwritefanfictionnottragedies]

21 Questions (George Weasley x Reader)

First Year: The year in which she was extraordinarily lonely, by no fault of her own. Second Year: The year in which it was imperative that she lay low, for apparent fear of... interacting? Third Year: The year in which, unwittingly, she made a friend. Forth Year: The year in which she became his accomplice in mischief, much to her chagrin. Fifth Year: The year in which he became her ally in conflict, despite her being a cantankerous cow. Sixth Year: The year in which she felt inexplicably... sweaty, to be honest. Seventh Year: The year of questions, some of which were superfluous and some of which were very much consequential. FLUFFY STORY UNDER THE CUT

First Year: The year in which she was extraordinarily lonely, by no fault of her own.

Within 24 hours of her Hogwarts Acceptance letter being delivered her parents had packed their bags and disappeared, as they were muggles who were fearful of what they could not understand. They left her with her belongings, as well as €1,000 and, well, trauma. She was a witch, she was 11 years old, and she was alone. So, alone she went to Diagon Alley to purchase her school supplies. Alone she patiently waited for September 1st. Alone she boarded the Hogwarts Express. Alone, she had decided, was okay.

Months passed by, and even the most observant eye would say that she was thriving. She excelled in her studies, and always wore a smile when speaking with her classmates. She was quiet, but friendly. However, while she was technically no longer alone, a new problem had arisen: she was still lonely. Second Year: The year in which it was imperative that she lay low, for apparent fear of... interacting?

Third Year: The year in which, unwittingly, she made a friend.

Sitting on the floor of the empty Gryffindor common room, she examined her textbooks, which she had laid out in front of the fireplace. In the dim moonlight and the glow of the fireplace, she stared at their cracked spines and ripped covers. Many of them were missing pages in key chapters, particularly her Charms book. "Epoximise" she whispered, her wand pointed at her Potions textbook. A thin coat of adhesive appeared on the book cover, and she laid a page from the Daily Prophet atop it to keep the book from falling apart any further. She smiled at her handiwork before moving on to the Transfiguration textbook. "Epoximise" she whispered again. As the sticky adhesive appeared on the cover of the book, she heard footsteps behind her, which made her jump.

"Easy there, no need to be jumpy." said the lanky ginger boy, "Just a fellow late-night trouble maker here." She smiled at the boy, who she recognized to be one of the Weasley twins. She looked down at the floor, remembering her books. Hurriedly she began to gather them, but the boy sat next to her and said "Don't be embarrassed! I've done that tons of times to my books." She looked at him quizzically and asked "You have? And here I thought I was being creative!" He laughed and said "Oh, it's not creativity. It's poor people ingenuity, I know it when I see it." She let out a laugh, possibly the first laugh to leave her lips in a year. It felt delightful.

"I must apologize," she said, "I know that we've met before, of course, but I can't remember if you are Fred or George." He flipped his hands through the pages of one of the books on the floor and he smiled. "Yes, of course we've met! I'm George," he said, "it's a million times easier to tell us apart when you get to know us really." She nodded, and began to pick up her books to retreat to her dorm. "Here, let me help you!" said George as he reached for her Transfiguration book. "No, wait!" she yelled, and as she attempted to swat his hand away her hand landed atop the book right next to his. "What's wrong?" he asked, looking at her with concern. She rolled her eyes and said "George, we're glued together by my book." He laughed loudly, and she shushed him. "Well then, just undo the charm." he suggested. She gave a sheepish smile and said "Mate, you'll never guess what pages are missing from my Charms textbook..."

They laughed together at the ridiculousness of their situation. "Well," she said, "I'd normally say that we should go see Madame Pomfrey, but obviously she'd know that we were out of the dorms past curfew." George replied, "I guess we'll have to sit here and chat until the morning. It's okay though. I think we'll be best friends by sunrise, if you ask me."

Forth Year: The year in which she became his accomplice in mischief, much to her chagrin.

The courtyard was buzzing with life as many students chose to spend their Saturday enjoying the brisk Autumn air. Sitting on the ground against a tree, she rubbed her temples out of frustration. "I almost made it through an entire year of friendship without getting roped into your... shenanigans. I was so close!" she huffed. "Well," George said, "Close only counts in horseshoes and lemonade." She snorted, "Hand grenades." Fred noticeably perked up at the mention of explosives, but she cut his thought process short. "The saying is horseshoes and hand gren--" she paused, "You know what? Yep. It's lemonade. Now, tell me what you need my assistance with, so that I can go back to... not assisting you." The twins laughed. "We'll make it brief," said Fred, "but I can't promise that you won't be addicting to our 'shenanigans' by the end of the evening. So, here's where we need you..."

By the end of the year she had been given detention on 9 occasions for her participation in their hijinks.

Fifth Year: The year in which he became her ally in conflict, despite her being a cantankerous cow.

"LET GO OF ME," she shouted as she strained against George's grip, "I'M GOING TO BREAK HER FUCKING LEG, AND I'LL BREAK YOURS TOO IF YOU DON'T LET ME GO." George continued to hold her back even as she violently pushed and pulled against him, attempting to break free so that she could reach Alicia Spinnet. Across the common room, Alicia simply smiled as she stood behind Fred. "I don't know what her problem is." Alicia said feigning innocence, "I was only being honest with her, as a friend, and the next thing I know she is attacking me!" She let out a loud, sarcastic laugh, and lunged toward Alicia. George tightened his grip on her and said. "ALRIGHT, you cantankerous cow! Tell me your side of the story!" She shot him an angry glare.

They stepped away to the corner of the room. George gave her a very serious look but hesitantly nodded so that she'd begin talking. "George, she was talking shit." she said. George gave an exasperated sigh and asked, "Enough for you to want to break her legs?" She inhaled deeply, gathering her thoughts. "George," she said, "she was talking about my parents. She was taking the piss about me being abandoned. That's not okay. I'm not okay." Her eyes met his, and he saw the tears forming in her eyes. "Okay," he said, anger burning through him, "let's do this."

George turned towards Alicia, fire in his eyes, and cracked his knuckles. She gasped and said "You wouldn't hit a girl!" George laughed and drew his wand and said, "No, I wouldn't hit a girl. My mum raised me better than that! I'll curse a girl though." Her eyes grew wide as he waved his wand in her direction. "Mimblewimble," he cast the tongue-tying curse on her, "Hopefully this will teach you to keep my best friend's name out of your mouth."

When the dust settled, she nudged George's arm and asked, "Did you really call me a cantankerous cow?" He laughed and said, "I stand by what I said, honestly. But you're my cantankerous cow, so it's fine."

Sixth Year: The year in which she felt inexplicably... sweaty, to be honest.

In the early hours of the morning, she was awakened by Hermione. She grumbled and rolled over, "Please Hermione, just a few more minutes." Hermione laughed and said "Listen, I'm already being generous. You've received a much more pleasant wake up call than Ron and Harry did. If you get up right now, and dress at lightning speed, you'll have time for a cup of coffee before we leave for the Quidditch Cup." She rolled out of bed and traversed the dim hallways and steep stairs of the Burrow. She entered the kitchen to find that George was already working on coffee. She took a look at him, noting that his hair was tousled in various directions from a poor nights' sleep. He was still wearing what he'd slept in, a maroon pair of pajama pants. He had no shirt on, a detail impossible for her to ignore. As much effort as she made, she couldn't take her eyes off of him.

"SHITE!" George yelped, burning his hand on the coffee pot and breaking her trance. "Need any help?" she asked. He looked up and his exhausted eyes met hers, and he smiled. "Of course I do," he said, "can you grab two mugs?" She nodded and crossed the room, avoiding making eye contact with him and his bare chest as she squeezed past him in the narrow path between the sink and the kitchen island. She laughed at herself as she grabbed the coffee mugs. 'Merlin, woman. It's just George, nothing you haven't seen before.'

She crossed the room again, but this time as she attempted to squeeze past him he stopped her in the narrow space. She was caught between the countertop and George, and her heart began to race. His face was close to hers, and he looked her in the eye with a serious look of determination. "So," he said, "How are you feeling about this?" She audibly gulped and broke eye contact to look down at this toned chest again. "I- um, I don't know how I feel about this," she said, "I feel... sweaty, to be honest. Is it hot in here?" George laughed loudly and grabbed the coffee mugs out of her hands, moving away from her to pour coffee. "I wasn't talking about our proximity," he said shaking his head, "I was asking how you were feeling about tonight's quidditch match." The two burst out in laughter, the kind of laughter that makes your belly ache and tears gather in your eyes.

When they settled down, he slid her the cup of coffee. "Have you been staring at my chest?" He asked, a curious and entertained tone in his voice. "Obviously," she said with a nervous chuckle. "It's okay," he said, "to be fair, sometimes I stare at your chest too." He peered down at her cleavage and then winked at her flirtatiously, and she playfully punched him in the arm. However, she felt the blood rush to her face, and it was then that she knew that she was in trouble.

Seventh Year: The year of questions, some of which were superfluous and some of which were very much consequential.

She and George crawled out of the 3rd floor window of the Burrow, laughing she clumsily held onto him for dear life. It was the first day of Summer break before their seventh year, and they were thrilled that Molly had invited her to stay with them until their term began. At George's suggestion, they laid next to each other, precariously perched on the rooftop, to watch the sunset. Their laughter died down as they watched the pink sky turn orange. "How exactly do people watch the sunset?" she asked, "What do we talk about? Do we just sit in silence?" He let out a low chuckle and said, "21 Questions, how about that?" She raised an eyebrow and replied, "I suppose that works. You go first." They both stared up at the sky, and George sifted through his brain for a good question. "Where do you want to be in 10 years?" he asked. Her eyes went wide. "Oh, serious questions." she said, "I suppose I want to be teaching by then. Potions, obviously. Married, might eve have a bun in the proverbial oven. My turn now! What's the luckiest thing that's ever happened to you?" He said "Easy. Meeting you." "That's a copout." she protested. "No it's not. My turn now." he said, "If you could commit one crime without getting caught, what would you do?" Her heart skipped a beat, but she was quick to reply with "I'd steal your heart. My turn. Who do-" "WAIT, do you hear sirens?" he interrupted, "I think they're coming for you." She rolled her eyes. "Shut up," she said, "Who do you look up to the most?" With a seriousness in his voice, George replied "You."

There was a silence that followed, but her thoughts filled that silence with a million questions. Before any of those questions could make the journey from her brain to her mouth, George's hand found hers and held it gently. Her heart began to race. "You're such a git," she said, " You're just trying to make me flustered. It's your turn, as your question." He didn't laugh. "Do you ever think about me?" he asked, "I mean, about us. Together?" She gave his hand a squeeze. "Honestly?" she asked. "Honestly."

"I think about it all the time." she said quietly.

He released her hand, and her heart dropped. Then he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. He body was close to hers, and his eyes were starting intently at her. Her eyes were still on the sky, too nervous to look at him. "It's your turn." His voice was barely above a whisper. "How do you know if you've fallen for someone?" Without hesitation he said, "When you want to share the world with them."

Finally she met his gaze as she rolled onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow, matching his position. With their faces only inches apart, his eyes searched hers looking for a sign that she understood the meaning in his words. Her eyes glanced down from his eyes to his lips, and then back again. "It's your turn, George." He moved closer, his breath tickling her lips as he spoke. "Can I kiss you?" She smirked and whispered back, "I'd be quite confused if you didn't."

Gently, he leaned in and quickly brushed his lips against hers. She rolled onto her back, pulling him on top of her. "Kiss me again" she said. And so, he did. One of his hands found it's way to her waist, and her hands found their way to his hair. They were a tangle of limps and lips and desire, but it was cut short by one final burning question. "My turn," said George, "is cereal a soup?"

The pair burst into laughter, and he rolled himself onto his back and laid next to her. As she laughed, she couldn't help but think to herself that perhaps this was the start of something bigger than either of them could have anticipated. However, even if it wasn't, she knew that this would be a Summer to remember.

[sp00kymulderr]

After Hours (Javier Peña x Reader)

Warnings: 18+ please! NSFW.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,692

A/N: Quick one-shot for the anon who sent an ask about late night office shenanigans with Javi. Enjoy! Feel free to comment/reblog/let me know what you think as always.

                                                      ***

Javier is staring at you from across the office. Without even looking up you can feel his gaze on you. You wish like hell he’d stop.

It makes butterflies dance in your stomach, the feeling too familiar to you since you’ve started doing...whatever it is the two of you are doing. It’s physical and intimate, but it’s not a relationship - that’s very clear. You know he doesn’t want that, although sometimes you think he assumes he can’t want that. Truth be told it’s so good that you don’t really mind either way.

What you do mind is the way he’s walking over to you now. That look on his face, the fire in his eyes. You know that look well enough, but you’ve never seen it on him here in the office. You’d agreed to keep your work and private lives separate – seeing no need to make anything so casual public.

But you’re already flustered, trying damn hard not to look at him as he approaches. Willing the butterflies to go away. He shouldn’t be allowed to make you feel this way.

“Hey, beautiful” he drawls, in that low, smooth tone that makes you think too many sinful things at once. “Missed you this morning, you should’ve woken me up so I could give you a proper goodbye” He flashes a charming smile at you and you already feel a heat starting to smoulder inside.

And oh, does he know exactly what he’s doing. Leaning down towards you with his hands on the desk in front of you until he’s close enough that if you wanted to, you could lean up a bit and kiss him.

Maybe you want to, but you’re sure as hell not going to.

“Agent Peña, I think you’re forgetting where we are” you mutter, trying so hard not to give in. He doesn’t half make it difficult, because he looks so damn good and when you look up you’re staring straight in to those deep, dark eyes.

“I think you’re forgetting how late it is” he responds in kind, half amused, pushing up and moving round to perch on the other side of the desk next to you.

When he’s not in your way any more, you realise the office is actually empty. You have no idea when everyone left, so caught up in your work and still plenty left to do but no real desire to do it now he’s here.

Looking back to him, he raises an eyebrow and smirks just a little. A challenge.

Well...this is interesting. How are you supposed to resist?

There’s something of a thrill to it, of course, when you push the chair back and stand up. Letting him draw you in with hands on your hips pulling you to him. Letting him initiate the kiss that sends a bolt of lightning through your bodies. In your naivety this feels almost dangerous, him holding you like this, slipping his tongue in to your mouth to meet yours. It starts you burning.

“Shall we get out of here?” you suggest, eyeing him “Go back to yours?”

He moves his hands that were on your hips down, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him again, kissing you fierce and fiery.

“I have a better idea” he simpers, pushing against you slightly. He’s already getting hard, you wonder if he has a thing for this. “I’ve spent all day thinking about you. How good you look today, how much I want to have you. Need you, baby” he’s murmurs as his lips skate along your jaw, down your neck. A well placed kiss there making you moan and then inhale sharply when teeth graze against the same spot.

That’s it, you’re done for. You’re well and truly screwed.

Or, you’re about to let Javier Peña screw you.

On your desk. At the US Embassy.

Everything goes at a blinding pace from there. A flurry of bruising kisses and nimble fingers ensues, crashing your lips against each other as you move together until you’ve switched positions, him nestled between your legs. You’re so distracted by the passion and impulsivity of it all that you barely notice his hands pulling on your skirt until it’s basically around your waist.

“Javi, what if we get caught?” you question, between moans as he presses fingers against you over your underwear. At this point you might already be too far gone to really care about the answer.

“Trust me, hermosa, we won’t. Oh” he lets out a moan as he pushes your panties to one side and runs a finger along your slit, one hand gripping your thigh hard and encouraging you to spread your legs wider. “Trust me” he says again, bringing his lips to yours once more as he pushes a finger inside of you, finding you already so wet for him.

“Fuck” you gasp against his lips, as he curls a finger inside of you again and again before drawing it out and then adding another.

He brings his thumb up to your clit and runs it in circles and every concern, every thought leaves your brain. Blank. You could be at work, or you could be in the middle of the rainforest and you’d have no clue. You might’ve forgotten your own name if he wasn’t whispering it in your ear, whispering how beautiful you look and how good you are and how much he wants you.

“Javi. Oh god, Javi” you open your eyes and see for yourself the visceral reaction he has to the way you moan his name. Like it’s the only thing he ever wants to hear, the lust untamed in his features as he works you almost to breaking point.

Looking down, his cock is straining in his pants and you want nothing more than that suddenly. One swift move and lot more self control than you thought you had, has you reaching down to still his hand. You look at him, and he stares back at you, waiting to hear you say it.

“Please- Javi, please”

“Say it” he urges, fixing you with a gaze that is almost begging, at the same time drawing his fingers out of you slowly.

“Fuck me, Javier. Fuck. Please, I need it - You” you stammer, hands already working on the belt and buttons of his tight jeans.

“Turn around” his voice is thick with want.

You do, no hesitation, letting his hand on your lower back guide you to bend yourself over the desk.  This is really, really happening. He slides your underwear off of you quickly, guiding you to spread your legs apart. You can feel goosebumps forming on the backs of your thighs, and you shiver either in anticipation or from the cold air you don’t know.

Everything is quiet, apart from the two of you breathing hard. For a moment it’s too quiet and then he’s pushing in to you slowly, filling you, with a groan and you whimper at the feel of it. He’s so good, so thick and hot inside of you when he bottoms out. It’s almost too much as he holds there for a moment or two, giving you both time to enjoy that feeling before he starts moving and an even better one takes over.

Slow at first, tender, and then when he feels you relax it’s all you can do to grasp on to the desk, trying to move your hips to meet his suddenly ruthless pace. He’s not rushing, that’s not it, this just isn’t the time and place for sweet, slow sex. His grunts and groans fill your ears as he fucks you like his life depends on it, thrusts not faltering as he moans your name and praises you in Spanish.

You whine, stuttering out your own string of praises and curses, when he knots and hand in your hair and pulls lightly. Other hand on your hip might leave bruises but you don’t give a damn right now. In fact you whimper when he let’s go of you there, but only for a moment as those fingers find their way to your clit again and he begins to work it mercilessly.

You were already set to explode, tension built so tight in you. It only takes another minute or two, his fingers viciously circling the little bundle of nerves, until the tight-wire in your core snaps in two and the force of it surges through your body. You cry out, legs shaking, knuckles white from holding on to the desk like it’s your anchor to reality.

“That’s right, just like that” he breathes out, feeling you come apart as he keeps fucking you, slowing his pace slightly as he takes in the feel of you tightening around him.

When his thrusts get harder and slower you know he’s almost there, you wish you could see his face properly. Javi on the edge is always a sight to behold and you’re sure he wouldn’t let you down now. Instead you squeeze around him, encouraging him, and in a moment he’s emptying inside of you with a hiss and a moan, calling out your name.

For a small while, when you’re both done, he leans over you and peppers little kisses along your shoulders and back. His breath hot on your skin, body soft and warm against yours.

When he’s pulled out of you, and you’ve cleaned each other up, you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of what just happened. In the heat of the moment it was an insane turn on, but now you keep thinking how the poor soul who could’ve walked in on the two of you like that would have reacted.

“You make me do crazy things, Peña” you respond to his inquisitive look.

“Glad to know it” he replies with a smirk, lighting up a cigarette before he speaks again. “So...how about we go do more crazy things at my place? We should leave, don’t want to get caught”

He gets a smack for that, but he already knows your answer.

So much for getting any more work done tonight.

                                                           ***

[legolaslovely]

Hero

A/N: HAPPY FILI FRIDAY FRIENDS HAVE SOME FLUFF! OMG truly what a great day. This happened after watching An Unexpected Journey again and I freaked out over my baby’s safety even though I know what happens and that he’s fine in that one! Ugh. Such stress. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this story and the whole day! Whoooo! As always, everyone lives always. 

Pairing: Fili x Reader

Word Count: 1,522

Warnings: SPOILERS lol you’ve all seen the movie but still, FLUFF, leetle angst for plot.

Summary: Fili comforts his wife (Y/N) when she gets upset by the stories about the dangers the dwarfs faced on the quest to reclaim Erebor.

ALSO KURDUWE = MY HEART AKA MY NEW FAVORITE WORD SQUEAL BYE (also hey! this is a photo edit I made yay!)

Supper had run long into the night. You had been sitting in your usual seat between Fili and Kili for hours now, drinking and listening to the stories of the company. It had been a few weeks since you were all able to dine together and the energy was high and the ale was flowing. You leaned back in your seat and pictured the tales you’d heard countless times, enjoying every second of it. Even Thorin was letting loose and telling stories of his few shenanigans with Dwalin when everyone lived in the Blue Mountains.

You couldn’t remember quite how many mugs of drink you’d taken yourself but you did your best to keep up with them. Whenever you laughed extra hard or asked about a detail of some fudged story, Fili’s fingers would brush over yours and squeeze them. You even caught him staring a few times and it shot excitement and desire into your stomach. You knew that look of his well and could only imagine what he had in store for you when you returned to your shared chambers.

‘Well, at least I wasn’t reduced to throwing burning pine cones at him!” Dwalin bellowed over the table in answer to Thorin’s teasing. “Remember that, eh?”

Kili groaned but held a bright grin on his face. “Yes, Dwalin, we remember. Even (Y/N) knows the story so well she could tell it herself.” He slung an arm around you and you laughed even though you hated that story. It never failed to send your gut into your throat. You sighed, knowing what was coming.

“Forced up into the trees, no less!” Dwalin went on.

You looked down and watched Fili’s thumb run over your knuckles as he held your hand tightly. Your gazes met and you couldn’t help but smile at his blue eyes that were shining with the late hour and the many drinks.

“Hey! (Y/N)! I’m tellin’ ya a story!” Dwalin’s cry made your head spin around to him.

“I’m so sorry. Please, go on.” You did a pretty good job of hiding your chuckle until Kili shot you a look with a roll of his eyes.

“So, there we are,” Dwalin said, “Climbin’ the trees like ladders- and let me tell you, I can make a good ladder-”

“Best ladders in all of Erebor!” Thorin said with his drink raised high in the air. Cheers followed and Dwalin grumbled over them.

Dwalin stood, slamming his hand on the table to silence the crowd. Then he held his mug out in front of him. “And we can see ‘em comin’. They’re running like a giant’s on their tail and they’re headed straight fer us. Ori, here, he’s pissin’ his trousers-”

“I was not!” Ori cried. He looked to you in desperation over the commotion that followed. “I did not!”

You reached over the table to him. “I believe you, Ori. Let Dwalin have his fun, hm?”

Ori slunk back in his seat and you chuckled, again turning your attention to the other head of the table. Everyone grew quiet again, knowing what was coming, but wanting to hear it from Dwalin again like a bunch of dwarflings sitting at his feet.

“We’re stuck in the trees, every last one of us, with no place left to go. Can’t reach ‘em with our swords or axes, we can only wait until they come to us. The nasty demon wargs are snarlin’ and snappin’ at us, waiting for their command when out of the trees comes the devil himself. I couldna  believe me eyes. Azog was alive and he was after blood, he was. Thought Thorin was gonna shit his trousers.”

All laughed at that, but you couldn’t get a smile to crack your stern countenance. You’d heard the stories over and over about how many times the company cheated death on their quest to Erebor and most of them you could handle by now but this one sent your stomach bubbling every time you were forced to listen to it. Your jaw clenched and you stared at Fili’s hand completely enveloping yours and you tried hard to distance yourself from the story and swallow the lump growing in your throat.

Dwalin’s fist slamming the table made you jump. “’Bring me their heads! Drink their blood!’ And then they were after us. Bitin’ off the branches below with their huge teeth. The size of Glamdring, their teeth were!” There was some argument to that, but he continued. “Tree after tree fallin’ so we had to jump to the next one and pray we caught a branch unless we fell right into their jaws. Gloin, he almost fell right down to the ground, but I caught him and threw ‘im with all my might to the last tree in the row! Don’t lie, Gloin, you know it’s true!” Dwalin leaned his hands on the table and lowered his voice, making everyone else creep in. “Every last one of us on that last wee little tree and BOOM! It falls and holds to the ground by one root! And we’re all hangin’ over the damn cliff waitin’ for the wargs to come and snatch us off one by one!”

You sucked in a breath and turned to Fili. “I’m tired, amrâlimê.” You whispered under the story telling. “I’m going to bed, but you stay here and have your fun.” You smiled, took his chin in your fingers and kissed his lips before sneaking out of your seat.

“Don’t leave now!” Thorin yelled to you, but you waved him off.

“You’re gonna miss the best part! Your husband there, he threw the first pine cone!” Dwalin bellowed.

“Oh, I know all about Fili’s heroics,” you said, barely turning to them to hide the tears stuck in your eyes. You thanked Mahal your voice sounded strong and unaffected by your emotion. “Good night, all.”

They called their answer to you and you hurried out of the hall before you heard any more of the story. The moment you reached the corridor, you felt your tears finally fall down your face and you wiped them away with a huffed groan. How ridiculous were you being? They’re all fine! You knew how the story ended. But knowing they were in that much danger-

Your eyes flew open when you felt warm hands on your cheeks. Fili stood before you and kissed your forehead. You sighed. “You weren’t supposed to follow me.”

“How could I not when I know you’re upset, kurduwê?” he said.

You ran your hands over his sides and rested them on either side of his waist. “I’m being absurd! But I just-I cannot listen to those stories, Fili.”

“It’s all right,” he whispered, swiping his thumbs over your cheekbones. “I know that. And Dwalin knows it as well when he hasn’t been guzzling ale for hours on end.”

“He’s proud of what you accomplished. As he should be! And as I am. But knowing that you were in so much danger… And Kili as well- all of them, I’ll never be able to joke about such things. And I have enough to fuel my nightmares without picturing it all over again.” You sniffed, feeling more tears tug at your chest and Fili pulled you close to him and wrapped his arms tight around you. Your voice caught in your throat. “It hurts, amrâlimê. I don’t know any other way to explain the feeling.” You tried to hold in a sob but it found its way out anyway.

His fingers ran through your hair and he placed countless soft kisses on your temple as he held you close. When your breathing slowed, he said, “I don’t like hearing the stories either.”

“No?”

“Nothing seems heroic or glorious when you think you’re about to die. It’s terrifying. I don’t like reliving those moments or hearing the tales grow tall and untrue.”

“Are you telling me that Dwalin didn’t actually throw Gloin a hundred feet in the air?” you asked.

Fili laughed and you reveled in the sound and the feeling of it rolling through his chest under your hands. He leaned to your lips and kissed you, and then led you through the corridors with a hand around your waist. “Let’s go to bed, kurduwê. Where we’re both safe, hm?”

You rested your head on his shoulder. “Yes, please. I can’t wait to slide into bed and fall asleep until midday tomorrow,” you chuckled.

You felt Fili nose your neck. “And what if I have other plans for you?” he growled in your ear.

“What kind of plans?” you asked, spinning out of his arms and sloping against the door to your chambers when you reached it. His eyes had grown dark as he stared at you and bent to kiss your neck.

“You know exactly what kind of plans,” he said.

You giggled and ran inside, squealing when he swatted at your bottom under your skirts. “Hey!”

“What? I threw the first pine cone! Don’t I deserve a handful every now and then?”

“Get in here, hero,” you said, watching him close the door behind him.

Taglist! Message to join! @emrfangirl @misslongcep @raindancer2004 @ladybugg1235 @xxbyimm @burningcoffeetimetravel @fizzyxcustard @fire-flv

Tagging those who may enjoy! If you don’t want to be tagged, that’s okay! Let me know. @deepestfirefun @teagarages @therealpamdiaz

[nostalgic-pancakes]

Room 73- Chapter 3/8

The ghost is spoken to, but we also see more character trauma. (at least Virgil and Logan are having an okay time)

Pairings: Implied Thomas/OC, implied sibling-y c!Terrence and c!Valerie, sibling-y Analogical, Creativitwins and Moceit, platonic DLAMPR (soon to have a T in it!), and Romantic husbands Remile! (Also married parents but they don’t have names yet)

Read on AO3!

Word count: 2217

Warnings: References to shifty parenting, unhealthy relationships with food, depression, and of course, the general angst that comes with being yanno... dead for about a century with implications of period-typical sexism and the fallout that death has on your loved ones. Stay safe!

Other notes: Hi! I know this is sooner than usual (and also a bit shorter than usual) but I really wanted to get this out early, because there's two other things I'm working on! A c!Thomas-centric number+1 with friends and side interactions, and a Cartoon Therapy oneshot collection (with only cartoon therapy characters! no sides!) that has found family, Dot and Larry VS the internet, and everyone punting mitchell in the face because he deserves it. You can vote for which one you'd like to see posted FIRST on here! 

Now, sorry for that wall of text- here’s the chapter!

——————————————————————————–

Thomas didn’t have anything even remotely resembling a clue as to how he just did that. He hasn’t been able to so much as move for decades, now. Almost a century!

(The only reason he still knows the time is because classrooms date the boards. Everett is 96, Val 95, Terrence 87. )

But somehow, somehow these highschool kids around Thomas’s (? do ghost years count?) age managed to hear him hiss, and now he can talk to them.

In the words of that one kid here in the fifties who was usually half seas over, “ fucking shit!”

The one with the glasses (Logan? Or was it Nico? Naw, Logan.) is still tapping on the funny small glowing box. A phone, or something. (It looks too small to be a telephone, and it has no wires, but the future is pretty crazy!) and the other one, Janus is looking at the space that he inhabits like it’s on fire. Whatever else is happening today is happening, but the corner that Thomas lives in is definitely not on fire, that’s for sure.

Janus begins to step forward a bit, towards Thomas (!!!), and attempts to touch him. His hand goes through, like most things do (bar the occasional stray acid droplet, but they don’t burn anymore) and he pulls it back slowly.

Logan clears his throat, looking up from his ‘phone’ and at Thomas.

“Hello.” he says cautiously, not daring to hope. But Thomas can’t get the words out anymore, it’s like the single work took too much out of him to say it back. So he tries hissing in the morse code that Daddy taught him and (and he taught Val, because she’s amazing, woman or not) hoping, hoping they’d figure it out.

.... .. (hi)

Janus looks confused, but Logan lights up immediately, tapping frantically on his ‘phone’, until it shows something with morse code translations written on it.

“Could you possibly repeat that?” asks Logan, and he’s beaming, and that face is now one of the nicest faces he’s seen since he died. So Thomas tries again. It saps a little energy out of him, but not enough to really be an issue. Not like talking.

“Hello there, uh… do you have a name?”

- .... --- -- .- ... (Thomas)

“Thomas. That’s a nice name. Is it alright if we ask what year you ar- were from?” That question was unexpected, but one Thomas was willing to answer.

.---- ----. ..--- --... (1927)

“Nineteen twenty-seven”. Huh. Wasn’t this part of town a boy’s military school at some point back then?” asks Logan, and Thomas hisses again to signify the yes. He was a student there, under Pop’s behest, while Val stayed home to get ready for being married, even though she was all of eight years old and barely old enough to start her midwife training with basic first aid.

He wonders if she ever got to join the Red Cross like she’d dreamed to do. He hopes so.

Logan’s still asking questions, but Thomas is getting tired again, and the extra clarity letting him reminisce about his family is not helping at all. He makes a series of somewhat weaker clicks, trying to convey he’s tired, and Janus seems to pick up on it, patting Logan on the shoulder and motioning at the door for them to leave, citing a ‘Virgil and Patton’ (brothers?) as a reason to go soon, anyways. Logan huffs a bit, though clearly as a jest, and they say their goodbyes, probaby, based on their hand movements, but by now, Thomas has faded enough to lose a bit of track.

…

“Hey, Val.”

'___'

“Yeah, this is a gravestone. Didn’t expect you to reply. Well, I was always the talkative one before,a dn I can do it again.”

'___'

“So uh, Hey! It’s me again, Terrence, coming with the daisies as usual. I can’t believe that it’s me doing this, ya doof. It was supposed to be you, Val.”

'___'

“Yeah, I guess I should go back soon. Everett’s cold isn’t getting better, nor worse. I wonder what you’d do.”

'___'

“Yes, love you too. I hope you, Barry and Linda are doing alright up there. We’ll… probably see you soon anyways.”

'___'

“Hey- tell Thomas we said hello, and that we still miss him. All the time. Eighty years should be long enough, but it really isn’t, is it?”

(Tommy isn’t here.) …

“Okay, so you’re saying that the ghost, a literal ass ghost--”

“Language!” chirped Patton. It was starting to become routine. “Sorry Pat but okay, so a ghost talked to you over morse code??!!” Exclaimed Virgil, his tone getting more and more excited by the syllable.

“Yes, I literally just said that Virgil.” huffs Logan, pressing his knuckles to his temple. He loves his twin, but times like this really test his (already dwindling) patience with shenanigans.

“Okay, so what did he tell you??” asks Virgil, looking almost starry-eyes with the sheer level of excitement. It’s been a while since Virgil was this excited about something.

Logan clears his throat and taps Janus’s shoulder, taking him away from something he was talking about with Patton, which was involving hushed voices of some sort. Janus extracts the notebook from one of the many, many button-up pockets in his cloak (Patton is good at economical design, whie Janus handles the drama), after scrambling around for a few seconds trying to locate first the book, then the page, handing it to him very quickly before jumping right back into his conversation with Patton. Logan is mildly perturbed by this action, but tries to ‘roll with it’, as Roman would say if he took the bus.

“His name is Thomas, or at least we’re relatively sure that he’s a he, and he died in nineteen-twenty-seven. He was a student here back when the plot of land that is now Haley-Dove lower and upper secondary was a boy’s military school. He began to exhaust himself around here, so we dropped the questions.” Virgil nods, perusing the notes, scribbly as they are that Logan’s made as if they were a short story written by an author he really respects, like Leigh Bardugo, possibly. It makes Logan oddly happy to think about it that way. Virgil’s eyes keep widening over the course of his reading, to levels that are almost comical. Janus and Patton’s conversation has gotten a bit louder, but not enough to hear, still. At the moment, he can’t really bring himself to care. In the end, the bus stops before Virgil can finish reading, so Logan gives him the navy-covered notebook to keep for now and return for dinner, with the instruction to add in his own commentary and ideas on a different page.

Patton and Janus leave the bus last out of everyone, looking rather perturbed and avoiding each other’s gaze, though they’re still clutching each other’s hands tightly. Logan will likely ask what happened on Monday. For now, Amma is at the bus stop, waving at them. She’s the only Indian woman on the stop, so, decently easy to see. Amma picks up Logan’s bag, even though he’s insisted for years that he’s “adjusted accordingly for years, and does not require any assistance!”. Amma usually just retaliates that he shouldn’t need to get used to something with a rather strange expression, but he’s digressing now.

(She started saying it after middle school, and everything that happened there.)

“Hi!” she exclaims, while taking Logan’s bag. Virgil just has his laptop bag and notebook, with his headphones around his neck. They both smile the same.

“Hey, Amma. How’re you doing?” Practiced. Synced. It works every time, as Amma’s grin gets even wider, causing Virgil to start stimming with his ring and Logan to start flapping his own hands.

“Sooo- how’s your day? I see Logan’s notebook with you, V!”

“It’s for a…” Virgil looks at Logan, quietly betraying the fact that he has no clue what to say. Logan indicates to the lizard along the cobblestone path, and his twin’s expression changes into dawning comprehension, as he quickly finishes his sentence.

“It’s for a report on Lizards, Amma, that I’m doing with Remus. You know, Roman’s brother?” she nods, and then smirks.

“Oh, you mean the boy you have a cruuuuuusssshhhh on?” she teases, and Virgil goes red immediately, batting her hand away from his hair, where she was ruffling it.

Wait- how did Virgil have a crush on Roman? They had been friends for all of two weeks, and did not display any crush-like symptoms such as reddening of face, gushing about the crush for hours or purposely trying to get into more situations with the crush, or even doing simple things like taking an obnoxiously long time on singular texts. To his relief, Virgil shakes his head.

“No, it’s not a crush. He’s a good friend, but no.” he says, a bit more seriously, but not dismissively. To Logan, because Logan can hear those things, he says “Not yet.” Logan does not bring it up yet, because it feels like Virgil might need some process time for that, and besides, they share a room. Logan can grill him later, when Virgil is willing to be teased lightly. Or well, he hopes he’s light enough.

…

Mom and Dad are fighting again.

It’s not like the walls are soundproof, no matter what they seem to think. The argument is pretty typical. Small issue begins with civil conversation, becomes slight aggression as two very different people are unable to see eye to eye, and then someone in the middle of a bout of particularly aggressive mood makes an attack on personality, and then it’s all ‘fuck off’’s and crying.

Yeah. it’s a thing. But Remus and Roman know what to do- it’s the fight law. Headphones on, loud playlist on, door shut and internet in full use to avoid the fact that their parents are incapable of shutting the fuck up. This is fine.

Actually no, that’s what Roman says, but Remus knows it isn’t. Roman’s just too scared of conflict by now to bring it up. And who’s fault might that be, huh? (okay, so maybe Remus is a bit resentful.)

Whatever. It’s not like they’ll stop if he and Roman tell them. They’ve tried before.

The problem is that they’re good people. And parents. They definitely try to be the best parents possible. But Remus (unlike Roman) has never had the illusion that his parents are gods, only to have that slowly broken down over time to see his parents as people. They’ve always been people to him- people who try their hardest, but also fall flat in other areas, areas that also happen to be important.

But he should probably make his way to the kitchen to make some fruit salad. Roman probably isn’t going to eat anything else tonight, with how he seems to be doing. Otherwise, those stomach acids are going to gargle and gurgle till they consume his stomach whole! (it doesn’t feel fun to imagine that, so he stops)

(he’s so angry that those idiots thought it was a fucking joke. It’s something he and Virgil agree on, for sure.)

And if Remus tears the granola packet wrapper a little too harshly? Well, it’s not like anyone’s going to hear it at this rate.

…

Patton and Janus aren’t talking to each other, which is probably the one thing he never expected from them.

But they aren’t, and it’s becoming more concerning by the hour. They’re still hanging out together, currently working on one of their sewing projects- embroidering a hoodie in protection sigils as a paid commission for the witch’s girl, and they seem okay in each other’s presence, but they aren’t talking to each other. Just making overly meaningful eye contact, and looking away as quickly as they met eyes.

Patton in particular seems to be pretty upset, as a marked difference from his usual demeanor. He’s pricking his fingers left and right, something that never usually happens, choosing to hand stitch rather than go ahead with the sewing machine that he got for christmas, which was being used by Janus for the moment. In fact, Emile was about to get him some bandaids when he overheard them speak to each other for the first time since they got back.

“Pat, you can’t keep it in forever. You can't. It’ll kill you.”

Patton isn’t replying.

“It almost killed me, Pat please, please just… say something.” Patton does say something after that, but Emile can’t hear it, and he doesn’t feel like it’s something he’s meant to hear anyway. Janus lightens up after that, and Patton starts talking again, monosyllabically and softly, but Janus seems so relieved, that that must be a good thing.

Emile goes, heart heavy, and decides to speak with Remy about the best ways to show that they’re there for Janus and Patton. They’ve only been living with him for a few months, but they feel like their kids, and Emile (and definitely Remy- he’s the ultimate parent-friend) wants the best for them, and for them to be happy. They didn’t deserve the lot they got.

Hopefully, he and Remy can prove that yes, some things are

[shamelesslypoetic]

The Sugar Mentality

Summary: Virgil doesn’t like sweets. Patton will simply not stand for it. Shenanigans ensue as Roman and Logan make bedroom eyes at each other in the background. 

Wordcount: 3.5k

Pairings: Moxiety, background Logince

Warnings: A light make out at the end (but don’t take my word for what ‘light’ means) and cavity inducing fluff.

Read on ao3

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

Mm. Bliss.

Laying on the sun-warmed couch feeling all dreamy and smiley and happy, Patton settled fully beside his very own personal cuddle partner. Except Virgil was much more than that; Virgil was his boyfriend. Through relentless waves of emotions, countless brief glances and a thousand smiles exchanged across the rooms, it was finally true. 

Patton marveled at the word ‘boyfriend’, letting it roll pleasantly around in his head. He was enjoying a cup of hot chocolate laden with marshmallows, reveling in Virgil’s warmth, taking in the fruity shampoo he used to wake himself up in the mornings, and another smoky smell Patton couldn’t quite place. He took a sip of his drink as Virgil went on with a ramble about My Chemical Romance’s music that Patton had long since lost track of, absorbed by Virgil’s eyes, his bangs, his fingers, his everything. Just, him, in all his glory. 

Virgil, without missing a bit, twirled an imaginary mustache and Patton licked the cream away from his own upper lip. 

To mask that he hadn’t been paying undivided attention to his shadowy but angelic songbird, Patton pressed the rim of his mug to Virgil’s mouth, offering him some of the chocolatey goodness.

“No thanks,” Virgil’s nose scrunched up—more often than not an adorable expression that Patton held as dear as any of Virgil’s faces. But this time he leaned his head back slightly too. “I don’t like marshmallows.”

A blanket of silence draped across them as Patton’s heart sank to his stomach in shock.

Virgil, ever fine-tuned to the signs of distress, asked, “Pat? Are you—?”  

“But, but how can you not like marshmallows?” 

Patton gave his boyfriend a doe-eyed, incredulous stare as he propped himself up on his elbows, practically sprawled across the anxious side’s lank form. They were flush from chest to knee. 

Virgil’s face relaxed into a fond smile, moving the hair out of Patton’s face with just three of his fingers, feather light as he brushed the stray strands back from the slope of Patton’s freckled forehead. Tentative, despite the fact they’d just been cuddling on the couch with cat videos on Virgil’s phone. Patton wondered how Virgil could be so open, full of affection, and adoration in certain situations, yet so hesitant and closed off in others. 

A clear example of the anxious side’s shyness presented itself in the way Virgil barely let himself touch Patton’s skin as he spoke, “I don’t know, Pat, I just never found them particularly tasty.” His eyes averted away as he fiddled with his fingers. Patton took his hand and gently traced his fingertips along Virgil’s knuckles, urging him to breathe out the tension. “They’re too sweet, sugary enough to turn bitter. And their texture’s kinda all wrong.”

“Does that mean you’ve never tried them?”

“No, I have!” Virgil chuckled. “I just wasn’t keen.”

“Wh-What about other sweets?” Patton tried desperately, grabbing Virgil’s hand with a pleading look. “Chocolate! Cotton candy! Cookies!”

“I’m sorry, babe.” He didn’t sound very sorry, and the glint in his eyes as he pressed their foreheads together would not distract Patton from his question. “I can only handle so much sugar in my life with you here. You’re an overwhelming sweetness I’m far more willing to bear though.”

The little sparks fizzling in Patton’s stomach as Virgil leaned in for a kiss certainly distracted him. Their noses brushed first and then Virgil’s teasing smile dropped. He let out a short breath that warmed Patton from his lips to his shoulders and spread down his back in twinkling tingles. The contact was slow and sweet, Virgil’s lips like melted chocolate sliding against Patton’s mouth. 

Virgil shifted slightly, lacing his fingers with Patton’s and bringing his other hand to cup the side of his face. A slab of vanilla sunlight shined across Patton’s eyes and he opened them through a haze of delight to meet the warm caramel brown of Virgil’s. Then and there, he decided Virgil would grow to like sweets at any cost. Patton would make cakes and cookies and doughnuts and bring out all of his best cookbooks. Immediately. 

Virgil let out a deep throaty noise, not unlike a purr, followed by a low whine as Patton drew back. 

After he found a way off this couch then. Out of Virgil’s arms, out of his mind that screamed it didn’t want to have to move its body, out of this gumdrop sweet adoration. 

Giving tender touches to show all his clumsy words couldn’t do justice, Patton completely fell into strong, grounded eyes and Virgil’s kisses and Virgil’s voice and Virgil, Virgil, Virgil.

A few hours later, once Virgil had had his fill of snuggles (for the time being), found Patton in the sunlit kitchen wearing his favorite polka patterned apron. His eyes roved over the counter with an indecisive frown. The flour, eggs, butter and sugar rudely neglected to transform into delicious cookies that would fill the mindscape with a warm aroma sure to lure Virgil out of his room. Patton forgave them, shifting his gaze to his cookbook and skimming the words.

“Patton,” Logan’s voice jolted the moral side awake, hands safely clasped around the heavy book to keep it from falling. “Would you be so kind as to remind me why Roman and I are here?”

What he meant to say was, Patton belatedly realized: My room’s door was locked and we were making out, how dare you interrupt us for such silly displays!

“To help me bake these cookies, of course!” Patton explained as he took the book from Logan. The moral side’s arms stooped under the weight, wiggling like overcooked noodles as he hefted it onto the counter with a puff of flour. “Hey, Lo, do you think milk chocolate would be better for this recipe?”

“You’ve never asked before, Padre,” said a still flushed Roman. His mouth had a ‘just punched’ look like he’d unevenly smeared lipstick across his face and since Roman’s make up applying skills were top notch, Patton couldn’t help but be a teeny tiny bit embarrassed as their gazes met. “What gives?”

“These have to be perfect,” Patton explained, hot to the tips of his ears. “They’re for Virgil!”

Roman’s tune changed into a passionate flurry immediately, his eyes lighting up. “Ah, I see, an endeavor of the heart!”

“I thought,” Logan interrupted, tone reserved. God, he could be scary sometimes, “you said on May 24th, seven weeks, four hours and thirty two minutes ago that any food will automatically be good if done with love and care.” There was an expectant pause. “And a dash of sugar,” Logan relented.

Patton turned to Roman for assistance, who’s lidded eyes took a moment before opening long enough to scold Logan instead of continuing to admire the logical side. “My love! These aren’t just any old cookies! Our Padre has asked for assistance in his quest to woo Surly Temple! We must deliver!”

“Well, if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s assistance,” said Logan.

“A little vague, my dearest nerd.”

“Feel free to take the words out of my mouth and twist them on your tongue any time, my halfwit.”

Patton cleared his throat. Logan staggered back as gracefully as one could, having unknowingly taken a few steps towards Roman. He blushed as he adjusted his neck tie. 

Roman grinned proudly before sashaying towards Patton, hands eagerly clasping together. “Let the baking commence!”

A disaster, Logan called it; a marvelous attempt at baking done in the fashion only a true prince could achieve, Roman retorted. However much Patton wanted to encourage Roman though, the first batch of cookies came out lumps of coal that Roman slathered with icing and cream to mask the...overwhelmingly wonderful taste.

“Perhaps it was a bad idea letting Roman be in charge of taking the tray out.”

Patton went about doing chores and Logan needed to answer Thomas’ call. Who else could Patton have asked?

Fixing his gaze on Roman, Logan continued, “Especially since he doesn’t have much finesse when handling heat.”

Patton couldn’t help but notice the hint at an inside joke even as Logan’s wryness only invited a ghost of a smile to his features.

“I do, thank you very much!” Roman managed to say through his offended princey noises. Which were louder than usual…for some reason? “I only burned them because I’m hot as heck.”

Logan shook his head. Patton’s next words withered on his lips as Virgil came rushing down the stairs. “Guys! I smelled smoke! What’s happening?” 

Catching sight of the tray, he stopped short and stared. His shoulders dropped from their tense line, fists eased open as his face became lax, then confused.

No, Logan had been right. It was a very bad idea leaving it up to Roman.

“Finding Emo! Huzzah!” Roman said. Why did he look so happy? “These fiends have put down my stupendous work. Would you mind taking a bite and disproving their drivel?”

Virgil gave Roman an unimpressed look. Thank goodness. 

“Sure, whatever.”

Wait, what was that? Why was Virgil reaching for the white-painted black bricks?

Patton tried to say something as Virgil popped a ‘cookie’ into his mouth but found he couldn’t. He waited for Virgil to spit it out, to grimace, to scrunch his nose up, or to do anything. Instead, Virgil inhaled sharply, swallowing. 

His eyes didn’t waver as he brushed off crumbs from his lips.

“Mm,” Virgil hummed. “These are actually really good, Princey. You makin’ more?”

For a moment, they all thought his usual sarcasm took over in such crucially called-for situations, but then he reached for another one and they all looked on in horror. Even Roman.

Virgil’s chewing sent a crunch-crunch like gravel rumbling through the kitchen. His eyes slid between their faces as he swallowed. “What?”

Instead of luring Virgil out with the aroma of cookies as planned, Patton had to go get the anxious side and resist the invitation for cuddles Virgil made. Red faced and mildly tired from kneading the dough, he longed for the embrace more than ever, but as his situation deemed it necessary, he ushered Virgil down the stairs, placing him in front of the dining table. A fresh batch full of chocolate chips with golden honey glaze waited for him.

“Oh,” Virgil breathed, eyeing the tray uncertainly. “These look really nice. Just kinda...too sugary?”

Roman snorted, reaching for one after the long wait where Patton had to repeatedly swat his hands away from the raw dough. “Just try it, Gerard Gay.”

Under their expectant gazes, Virgil ambled towards the sweets, almost sheepish as he took a bite. He winced, though it was evident he’d tried not to.  

“These are…lovely, Pat,” Virgil said, smiling a smile absent from his eyes. “But I think the chocolate is a bit much so I’ll pass, thanks.”

Patton slumped, a tiny niggle of disappointment zinging through him. He quickly shoved it down. He wouldn’t give up. He hadn’t even started yet. No tree falls from the first blow, after all. Even if Morality didn’t favour cutting down trees in the first place.

Logan looked up from his book, wide-eyed as Roman spluttered, “But, how can you not like chocolate?”

From then on it was a series of trials and errors, ending mostly in the same way the first event had.

The following endeavour was Project Cotton Candy. Patton wanted to give Virgil the full carnival experience complete with the delicate spun sugar melting on your tongue as soon as it entered your mouth. He had Roman arrange a date in the mindscape in exchange for two coconut cream pies. 

And by the sweet pasta, he’d delivered. 

The creative side perfected the weather into a cloudy, airy atmosphere that sent a soft breeze into Virgil’s hair. As Patton took him from one ride to another, the Ferris wheel lights reflected rainbows in Virgil’s eyes and Patton found neither of them could stop smiling. Until.

“Pat, this date to the mind carnival is amazing, really,” Virgil said, squeezing Patton’s unoccupied hand. “I couldn’t be having more fun.” He glanced down at the cone of cotton candy in Patton’s other hand. “But, I don’t want the cotton candy. Can we go on the dark train again?”

The next morning, Patton managed to rouse himself out of bed and be rid of yesterday’s roller coaster nausea before Virgil could wake up. A cake with chocolate icing, blueberries and all sorts of decorations stood proudly in the kitchen not two hours later with Roman’s swirly ‘Happy Birthday, Virgil!’ written in icing on the top. In stunning script, Roman repeatedly pointed out.

“Pat, my birthday’s in December.”

That was right. Just a tiny oversight on the creative and moral sides’ parts. 

But at least Virgil took a slice and didn’t grimace like a lemon had been shoved down his throat.

“Pat, I’m sorry,” Virgil said to the weekend’s macaroons, eyes on them instead of Patton’s sugar-dusted face. “I’m allergic to coconuts.”

“Pat!” Virgil said on one morning’s breakfast table. “I don’t want the waffles, honestly!” He dumped his round, perfectly golden circles onto Roman’s plate. “Let Roman have them.”

For the most part, Patton didn’t mind. The food, never wasted, was happily gobbled up by anyone close enough. Patton loved making the sweets anyway but the question of how Virgil could stand for this sort of happiness to be left unshared still baffled him. 

Patton sank into the couch, tummy hurting from all the waffles he’d eaten to compensate for the stupidly hollow feeling in his stomach. The toasted, buttery circles didn’t taste like they usually did, as if a plate of water had been dumped over the top and dried by the time Patton took a bite.

After a while, Virgil had caught on to his game. Patton had seen suspicions dance in that pretty head of his but only smiled over his food all the while. Patton was no quitter after all. He would keep persevering like Roman on his quests, like Logan nearing his deadlines, like someone trying to make his boyfriend happier.

Virgil wandered into the living room as if breaching past unregulated territory, voice scratchy and barely audible. “Pat? Are you mad at me?”

“No, of course not, kiddo!” It was, even in Patton’s opinion, unseemly that he called Virgil ‘kiddo’ when they’d made out for a lengthy period of time not a day before and he shook his head, going on, “I just thought—”

“Oh, thank Brendon Urie!” Virgil cut him off with a relieved sigh. “Every time you came up with another one I thought you were gonna give up on me altogether.”

“What?” Patton propped himself up, the words flicking him on the raw. “Virgil, sweetheart, of course not. I love you.”

“I know. I love you too.” A subtle difference in the lilt of Virgil’s voice, even as he lowered it on those magical three words, told Patton he meant it that way. His tone shifted into one of worry immediately after, fingers knotting with reckless abandon. “But you’ve been working so hard on ‘em I felt kinda a lot bad.”

“It’s nothing a few cuddles can’t fix,” Patton soothed, patting the space next to him on the couch.

“Look at you, so cute…” Virgil muttered, almost absently. “Now how can I say no to this?”

“I DON’T KNOW HOW TO SAY NO TO THIS!” Roman trilled across the living room, bustling overhead and riffing like a stupidly talented moron. “OH MY GOD HE LOOKS SO HELPLESS, AND HIS BODY’S SAYING HELL YES!”

“Shut up, Princey!” Virgil growled, staring daggers from where he stood. 

Roman’s voice continued in the same tone he’d sang Hamilton in, fading slightly as he made his way to Logan’s room. “To not like sweets! Virgil, you must have forgotten the Earth’s oldest language! The one of skin on skin and wind in trees! Oh, how my heart mourns for your self-inflicted misery!”

Virgil’s jaw clenched and his brows bumped but the scowl softened. Or was that just Patton, unable to see Virgil for anything other than the one he loved and treasured, never feared?

“Shut up or I’m coming over there and pounding you into the ground!”

Roman cooed back, voice distant, “I appreciate the offer but I have a boyfriend.”

A decisive click as Logan’s door room opened and shut guided Virgil down onto the couch’s pillows with a grunt. His face was blushed a deep red, nose flaring slightly from that little argument, lips parted as his breaths came in a hitched in-out in-out. 

“I’ll be right back,” Patton whispered as he pressed a quick kiss to Virgil’s forehead, finding something in Virgil’s high cheekbones and his violet-veiled eyes.

What Roman had said about skin was only vaguely related to the cogs working in Patton’s head, but he was pretty sure this was a brilliant idea. A very non-Patton idea, too. It led him to his stash of spare marshmallows and what remained of the Nutella jar in the pantry. With such ingredients in the mix, this could only be described as sweet.

After lightly garnishing a few marshmallows with some chocolate, Patton appeared in front of Virgil. “Close your eyes!”

Patton’s urgency forced Virgil into a sitting position, weary eyes wandering until they settled on his boyfriend’s hidden hands. “What do you have behind your back?”

“Viiirrge!” Patton whined, not giving himself a chance to start feeling ridiculous. “Close! Your! Eyes!”

Virgil huffed out a confused laugh, but obliged. “Fine, fine.”

“No peeking!” Patton sat back down on the couch. He had no idea what he was doing. “Open your mouth for me.” He draped a thigh across Virgil’s lap in a too casual to be natural move. 

“Babe, is there a point to this or…?”

Patton’s face heated up even more, Logan would say he’d caught glandular fever. His voice broke with rising desperation. “Just do it, please!”

Patton set the chocolate covered marshmallow into his mouth and bent, closed his eyes, breathed in, breathed out and ignored his heart trying to break through his ribcage. 

Virgil’s voice came out garbled, “P-Patton, what’re—!”

Too shakily to be gentle, Patton reeled forward, colliding with Virgil in a messy, wet meshing of lips. His rapid breathing steadied as Virgil’s hands found their way to his hips and gripped there. Virgil tensed for the first few moments, bony shoulder digging into Patton’s but he didn’t lean back and sure enough, relaxed, his heart a steady thump-thump reverberating in Patton’s chest.

Patton’s every cell scorched as he pushed his tongue into Virgil’s mouth, the taste of his mint toothpaste and the chocolate and marshmallow overwhelming. This wasn’t quite what he pictured and most of their previous kisses, as they’d decided to take things slow, were soft, hesitant. But this was different. Patton’s body had been locked in a trance ever since the idea lodged itself into his cobbled brain. Even after, the only anchors stopping him from floating in mid-air were Virgil’s lips, Virgil’s hands gliding across his back, Virgil’s hair in his hands like mounds of silk and shuddering breaths and half-giggles, half a delicious sound an entirely different sweetness from the one melting on both their tongues. 

Patton didn’t know the days that had passed or the soreness in hours spent preparing sweets. He didn’t know the birds were twittering outside or that the microwave was beeping far off. He only knew the taste of caramel, milky white where the tips of his fingers roamed. He only knew the cold burn of mint in his lungs and faint traces of chocolate and marshmallow. There was only this, only his body being coaxed onto Virgil’s lap, only the back of his head supported by Virgil’s fingers. Their eyes opened slowly, lips unwilling to part as quivering smiles met in the internim. The two sides stared for a moment, caramel brown into blueberry blue, caught. Patton looked away first, hiding his face in the crook of Virgil’s neck and at long last tasting its curve like his own personal lollipop.

Virgil’s hand slipped under Patton’s shirt to his lower back, the touch itself feather light, the press of it heated, eager. “Maybe marshmallows aren’t so bad after all,” Virgil rasped, raising Patton’s face to his level. Patton grinned at him, all smiley and dreamy and happy again, drawing ever so slightly closer. “Can you—?”

Patton didn’t wait long enough to let the anxious side finish his sentence but when he grabbed another marshmallow off the plate Virgil didn’t hesitate to meet him.

“Yes,” Virgil’s lips said against him. “Yes, yes, yes…” Again and again, turning from a whisper to a rasp to something less a word then just one syllable holding for a second and then fading into the air. 

Patton smiled, melting into a relaxed puddle of giggling joy. He’d gotten his wish. It was giddy, the thought. He couldn’t tell how long it had taken in this addled state of mind but as he leaned in again, it was all he could think of. 

The kisses that followed attempted at a proper lock but, interrupted by gentle smiles and bubbling laughter from both sides, only ended in the occasional peck. Patton, through a thudding heart and shaking fingers, couldn’t remember ever being happier. 

Victory is sweet.

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

A/N: Huge thank you to @ace-corvid for beta reading this, they're a life saver and their edits were very very much appreciated! Also thank you to my qpp and treasure @drown-in-lava-choke-on-rubies for her continued support. Love ya, my Ruby!

I hope the words are treating you all well. Stay safe! <3

Tag list (ask to be added/removed): @drown-in-lava-choke-on-rubies @ace-corvid @ymmm-someone @seouqi  @shitpost-sides @theraymondgem

[charonaraccoon]

Bridges (drabbles/prompts) Playing Cupid II (Daniel/Max, Kevin/Nico)  17. “I can’t do this without you.”

Max welcomes him with a tight hug, Daniel immediately dives into. They stand in the hallway of Max’s hotel room for a moment and simply exist in each other’s arms for the first time in days of being apart. Max draws firm circles over his back and Daniel buries his nose in the crook of his neck, tightening his already vice-like embrace for another second. It’s been hours since they last saw each other in the pit lane, days since they’ve talked to each other and almost a week since their last time alone. Their jobs, their lives got in between too often and it hits them now more than ever that Daniel’s decision to change teams, their decision, has it’s downsides alongside the new freedom, the calmness, the closeness. Max cradles Daniel’s back and cups the back of his neck in a delicate touch. “I’ve missed you.” “I’ve missed you, too.” Daniel savours the familiar and rich scent of Max’s aftershave for another moment and finally lets go of his shoulders, just to cup his cheeks. “So goddamn much.” He says before leaning in for a deep and longing kiss. Max’s soft exhale tickles his eyelashes and Daniel nips at his lower lip playfully, before finally pulling away. Max smiles at him, daringly and tired at the same time and it’s a downright beautiful sight to Daniel, who returns the smile immediately.

“So?” Max asks on his way to the living room, visibly exhausted but with the aura of contentment wavering around him. “How’s it going? What’s the status of our Hulknussen hook-up plan? Your text sounded urgent.” “It is, but… Hulknussen, really?” “They both are absolute dumb nuts with anger management problems, so…” Daniel just chuckles at the German-English wordplay and leaves the statement about recklessness, coming from Max Verstappen of all people, uncommented. He just snorts and flops down on the white sofa. They’ve both had long days, but the energetic buzz in Max’s voice infects Daniel’s mood in an instant. "Yeah, I do have a plan actually. But I can’t do this without you.” Max laughs, rummages through the fridge and hands Daniel a cold water bottle before laying down on his back next to him, his head resting on the Aussie’s thigh. “Fire away then.” Daniel starts talking and although Max keeps himself from interrupting him in every third sentence, he can’t stop himself from shaking his head and laughing ironically. It just fuels Daniel’s enthusiasm and he sets forth his plan by talking with his whole body, eyes glistening with mischief and humour, hands flying through the air.

Max still shakes his head incredulously after Daniel has finished explaining his master plan and by now the Aussie looks seriously hurt and annoyed. “Okay, just so I get this straight.” Max says and his cheeks hurt from grinning so much. ”You want to lure them into the hotel with the terrible reason of watching a tennis match. You hate tennis and everyone knows that. And when they both are here you want to lock them into a lift. The same lift.” “Yes, Germany was a great inspiration. We’ll do it after the race, when they are too tired to put up a fight. You’ll text Kevin and I’ll make sure Nico is here.” Max’s frown deepens and he licks his lips. “Apart from the fact I don’t even have his number and on top of that being an incredibly stupid plan in general, you want me to bribe the manager of the hotel to shut down the electricity for the lift.” “Iheard, you’ve got a connection to him.” “I went on one – one - and quite disappointing date with his daughter, when I was sixteen, Daniel! That’s barely a connection!” Daniel furrows his brows and thinks about that for a second, before grinning widely. “We could as well set a fire somewhere. Maybe in one of the lounges upstairs. It should put the lift out of order.” Max huffs and shakes his head. “No, Daniel, we’re definitely not going to burn down this hotel.” “Do you have a better idea?” Max bites his lip. Actually, the plan isn’t that bad considering all the shenanigans they pulled off in the Red Bull garage during the last three years and they still can come up with a better alibi until Sunday.

He sighs in a surrendering gesture, catches Daniel’s hand mid-air before the Aussie can start blabbering again and plants it in his own hair instead. He closes his eyes and wiggles around until he finds a more comfortable position to lay down. “I’m going to talk to the manager.” He gives in and makes a big show of his dramatic sigh. “But we split the costs and Nico mustn’t ever know it was me.” Sharp blue meets warm brown, when Max opens his eyes and stares at Daniel intently. “I’m serious, Daniel, that guy scares me.” “Max, you’re not afraid of anyone or anything. But, yeah, sure. He just knows about our bet, but who doesn’t, really? He’s so ignorant when it comes to Kevin, that he doesn’t even realise how many bets there are about him and Kev making out or getting into a proper fist fight.” Max chuckles softly and closes his eyes again, leans into the touch, when Daniel starts to move his hand. “Yes, but to be honest, you and I were the same. It’s always the same, I guess. For everyone. You’re completely blind until you finally see.” He pauses still for a moment and when he opens his eyes and meets Daniel’s they are soft and deep and filled with affection. “I’m doing this, because I love you, you know that right?” Daniel wants to answer, but Max’s eyes flutter shut again and he yawns like a new born puppy. “And now stop talking, please. I had a long day with Marko and you may be one of Cupid’s gophers, but I’m definitely not.”

Daniel smiles broadly and lets his hand run through Max’s hair. It’s still damp from the shower and runs like water through his fingertips. He shakes his head and lets his knuckles graze over Max’s jawline, before grapping the TV remote and switching on the huge flat screen to fill the room with some mindless chatter.

“I appreciate it. And I love you, too.”

[ghostyprince]

Title: momentary peace

word count:3.633 fandom: Critical Role relationship: Caduceus Clay/Caleb Widogast summary: Caleb has insomnia and nightmares. Caduceus has tea, warm hugs, and soft lips.

author’s note: this is grossly sweet just like everything i ever wrote.

[READ ON AO3]

or read more here

It became a routine of some kind, Caleb showing up at Caduceus' room in the ungodly hours of the night. Neither of them really knew how long it started, a lot is happening in their lives all the time. Though Caleb is sure he stored the exact date away in the back of his mind, few of the information he ever learned was completely lost. That night, he was especially restless, the pictures of the past kept floating in front of his eyes whenever he closed them, he smelled the burning of flesh and the crackling of fire and the screaming of his parents were nearly deafening in his ears.

No matter how what side he turned on, he even tried covering his ears and screwing his eyes shut, nothing seemed to help.

Nott has been curled up at his side, sometimes it was enough, to bring Caleb back from the past. Sometimes she stayed up with him, holding Caleb and petting his hair, because he was her boy, and she’d do anything to make him feel better. Lately, Caleb felt way too guilty about that, so he tried to suffer through his brain’s nightly shenanigans alone. He couldn’t keep her up, Nott needed all the sleep she could get. He thought about just staying up, petting Frumpkin, and reading all night, but he can't afford to be too sleep-deprived either.

He tried, for a while, thirty minutes, then an hour. Sleep never came and the memories only got worse. Seeing Trent's face again, his scars started faintly aching and that's all he could take. Before his thoughts could spiral down into a panic attack, he sat up, careful to not wake Nott. Frumpkin was curled up between them, purring softly. When Caleb climbed out of the bed, the cat opened his eyes, and looked up at him curiously, waiting for an order.

"I'll be back shortly, go back to sleep." he whispered, and ran his hand along the spine of his companion, he could feel the familiar magic thrumming under his fingers.

Frumpkin laid his head back on Nott's small hand and shortly fall back to sleep. Caleb wished it would be that easy for him too. He headed down to the communal area but halted to a stop when he reached Fjord's and Caduceus' room. The door has been left ajar, and the smell of flowery fresh tea hit his nose. It was a welcome change after the smell of burning flesh that seemed to get stuck in his nose from all those years ago.

Caleb automatically reached for the door, but he stopped himself. Maybe he shouldn't. He shouldn't bother the firbolg with his problems. Fjord could be there too, and Caleb really didn’t feel like dealing with more than one person at the moment. Or anyone at all, for that matter. Before he could turn on his heels and go down, Caduceus' voice came from the room, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Would you like to come in, Mr. Caleb?" it was a gentle offer, no malice in his voice, there was never malice in Caduceus' voice. Yet, Caleb still felt his heart hammering in his chest. "Run, run, run" started the low chant in his head, like it often did in battles. He could still just go away, and they'd never have to talk about this.

Caduceus wouldn't even think it was really him, right? He would just think it was someone else, Caleb could–

Before he could stop himself, he was already pulling open the door. He saw Caduceus alone, sitting on the floor, back pressed against one of the beds. Fjord was not in the room, probably drinking downstairs. Caleb did not ask, he didn't say anything.

Caduceus studied him, standing there, and he thought Caleb looked awfully lost.

"Can't sleep? I have tea if you would like some, perhaps. It always helps me."

Caleb took a shaky breath, then a moment later nodded, stiff. His whole being was impossibly stiff as he shuffled over to Caduceus, sitting in front of him, leaving them both with a big bubble of personal space. Caduceus smiled at him but got nothing in return. It didn’t discourage him though.

After he fetched another cup for Caleb, he poured hot tea for both of them. Caleb grounded himself, breathing in the flowery steam, and carefully took a sip. The tea was too bitter, for his taste, but nice nonetheless.

"Would you like some honey? Or I could go down–" Caduceus wanted to offer to ask if they have some milk downstairs, but Caleb's quietly interrupted him.

"Ja" his voice was raspy and so tired, Caduceus almost frowned, concerned. Eventually, he just put some honey Jester gifted to him, into Caleb's cup. He kept the kind smile on his face, just like he often did with the grieving people he consulted at his home. He learned that some of them are not looking for sympathy, even if it's coming from a good place. His wizard friend didn't seem any different.

Caleb thanked him, pointedly avoiding eye contact. They were quiet, for long-long minutes. Caleb stared into his tea, taking small sips and Caduceus really felt like he should say something, but he didn't want to disturb the moment and risk Caleb running away. So they just sat there, until Caleb finished two cups of tea, in absolute silence.

However, Caduceus noticed how the stiffness slowly seeped away from his body with every sip, and he looked a tad more at peace than when he walked in. That was good. He gave Caleb a big, pleased smile, just as he looked up, and caught his gaze for a second. Just as quickly, Caleb tore away his eyes, standing up somewhat abruptly, feeling the heat climb up his neck and ears. It might not have been because of the tea.

"I think I took up enough of your time, I'm going to bed now and you should get some sleep too. Thank you for the tea, Mr. Clay." They both knew Caleb had meant something else too, not just the tea.

"Don't worry about it, I was awake anyway. And you can come anytime. I always have tea." Caduceus smiled at him again, not unkindly and Caleb hurried out of the room.

From then on, it became a tradition. Every other day, Caleb would just show up in his room, or Caduceus would deliberately sit downstairs if Fjord was in their room. They'd drink tea, without a word at first, then Caduceus filled up the silence with stories, of his home, anything that came to mind. Caleb listened, secretly grateful for the distraction.

One day, he'd sit next to Caduceus, instead of across the table and he'd start talking. Quiet and unsure, then just like he did usually when the rest of the Nein was present. Sometimes he'd bring Frumpkin, scarfed around his neck, or letting Caduceus pet and study him. He loved Frumpkin, musing about his soft fur and the patterns of it, and chuckling when Caleb made him blep, or dance on his hind legs.

Sometimes Caleb would help him with reading, pronouncing and explaining the more complicated words. He'd even joke around and bark out a laugh, which was a very rare sight, so Caduceus drank it all in, with delight. Trying to remember every aspect of Caleb's face when it was pulled into one of those genuine smiles, only for Caduceus to see.

They always made his heart flutter and like beetles were buzzing around in his stomach. He hasn't felt anything like this in long seasons, so it took him by surprise. He had a lot to think about.

Caduceus started paying for his own room whenever they stopped in an inn, just so he and Caleb won’t have to sit down in the communal area. When the others wondered why he just said he liked to stay up late and meditate, and he needed the quiet.

There were times when Caleb was especially in a bad mood, on those nights he got quiet and closed off again, putting his shields back up again, the ones Caduceus carefully peeled away. After a cup or two, Caleb finally spoke, telling him he had a nightmare again, he hadn’t had those in a few weeks, not since their daily meetings. Usually, by the time Caleb got back into bed, he was exhausted and just passed out.

He didn't mention any details about the dream, and Caduceus knew not to ask. Caleb’s hands stopped shaking after a while, but he was still in a foul mood when he stood to leave. So Caduceus blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

“Why don’t you sleep here? You can take the bed, it’s a bit small for me anyway.” Caleb froze and stared at him warily. Caduceus tried to be as genuine as possible, he really didn’t want Caleb to back to his room and be up all night. Maybe he wouldn’t visit Caduceus again, seeing how talking didn’t do much anymore. He found himself quite anxious over the possibility, realizing he’d miss the time they spent together more than he thought he would.

“That is very nice of you, Mr. Clay, but I wouldn’t want to bother you, I’m perfectly fine.”

On the contrary, Caleb’s hands were clutching at his worn coat, knuckles white.

“It wouldn’t be a bother at all, maybe the change of atmosphere would do some good.”

It was a bullshit excuse, and he knew Caleb saw right through it, but no other reason came to his mind. Relief flooded Caduceus when Caleb shut his eyes and nodded, shifting over to the bed.

The floor was mighty uncomfortable, his pillow and cover gave very little comfort, but Caduceus didn't complain. He listened and he could tell Caleb wasn’t asleep either, breathing uneven and somewhat frantic in the dark room.

Caleb desperately wanted to summon Frumpkin there, already missing the loud purring resonating through his chest, and petting the cat’s fur to keep his hands busy until he eventually passed out. That might wake Nott, though, so it wasn’t an option.

He wondered if Caduceus was asleep, a faint idea formed in his head, to ask him to climb next to Caleb. It would be a tight fit, but at least he wouldn't feel so damn anxious all night. It was discarded quickly with a mental scoff. As if he would ask anything like that out loud.

"Are you still awake?" Caduceus whispered when minutes passed by.

"Yes."

There was a pause and then Caduceus spoke again, carefully choosing his words.

"Would you mind sharing the bed? Maybe we both could sleep better. Only if you're comfortable with it, of course."

Caleb started to suspect that Caduceus is some sort of a mind reader, but that was another problem for another day. He didn't answer, and Caduceus was about to give up and keep trying to fall asleep, the uneven floor decks digging into his side, when a very faint "Ja, okay" came from the direction bed. If his hearing wasn't so excellent, he probably would've missed it.

Without saying anything more, Caduceus stood and crawled into bed, while Caleb shuffled to the side, as far as he could, nearly falling off. Caduceus smiled at him in the dark, apologetic.

"I'm sorry, this is a tiny bed for the two of us," he muttered, as he found a comfortable position.

Caleb laid very still and was mindful of not touching Caduceus in any shape or form. It's a miracle he even fell asleep. Caduceus watched him a little bit after his breathing evened out, Caleb looked so much more peaceful than he did when he was awake. The permanent frown disappeared, smoothing out his features. He wondered when the last time Caleb shared a bed with anyone except Nott was. Caduceus suspected the answer would sadden him quite a bit. But then again, when was the last time he shared a bed with anyone? A soft sigh escaped his lips, he missed his home and family quite a bit.

Caleb, to his surprise, had slept better than he had for months. It felt vaguely familiar when they shared a bed with Nott for the first time, but it was strangely different also. There was no point overthinking it, he supposed. (He would, later.) From then, when Caleb visited, he usually spent the night there, easing up to the presence of Caduceus next to him gradually more and more. It was a silent agreement between them.

On particularly bad nights, full of negative thoughts, and painful memories, Caleb scooted even closer, after Caduceus was fast asleep, and nestled against his side, seeking out warmth and comfort. He picked up the habit of stroking Caduceus' arm, only gentle touches to not wake him. His fur was coarser than Frumpkin's, but it felt just as therapeutic. And if Caduceus woke up and slipped his other arm under Caleb's waist, to pull him closer, none of them spoke a word about it.

Early in the morning, Caleb always slipped back into their shared room with Nott, to not alarm her with his absence. He did feel a tiny bit better after every night spent with Caduceus. It wasn’t a cure, it never would be and Caleb hadn’t expected it to be. He still felt miserable most of the time. Those nights were merely something to look forward to, one more reason to make him keep going, and there wasn’t a lot of those, so it was alright.

The problems came when they'd travel for a while, only stopping to camp on clearings. Most everyone would notice how tense Caleb became when they hadn't visited an inn in a while, but none of his friends really questioned it, he's been like that before. They thought he just had a bad week. Even if Jester or Beau would try talking to him, Caleb would shrug them off, assuring them that everything was alright. He wouldn’t even talk to Nott about it. Getting used to sleeping with Caduceus every other night mellowed him out a little, but all of that was gone as soon as they couldn't do that anymore. And Caleb hated himself because he missed it so much.

So to compensate, he tried to avoid Caduceus as much as he could. Now that his brain was going all day and night, Caleb started overthinking his relationship with Caduceus, coming to the conclusion that they need to end this. It was quite intimate at that point, and it wasn't something Caleb deserved at all.

Of course, Caduceus noticed being ignored, he always picks up on everything, and it’s not like Caleb tried to hide it too well, he was too frustrated and sleep-deprived.

Caduceus started sleeping closer to them than he did before. Nott was immediately suspicious, but he excused it by saying it was getting cold, and he's very big, and Caleb is pretty thin so they could share body heat more easily.

He didn't expect Caleb to protest and tell him blankly that they're going to be fine, but thank you Caduceus you're very nice. He felt a pang of disappointment but slept a few feet closer anyways. Just in case Caleb changes his mind. He had done that for days, persistently.

Until one night it happened. The others were already asleep, Caduceus being the only one awake, taking watch. It wasn’t necessary since Caleb came up with the protective dome, but Caduceus liked to listen to the sounds of nature. There was something peaceful in sleeping under the stars and feeling the grass on his palms and feet. Being so close to the Wildemother gave him hope that everything will be just fine. He heard Caleb toss, and turn, huffing, irritated with himself. Then he spoke, in a hushed tone. Caduceus needed a second to realize he was actually talking to him.

"You can come here if you would like." Thrilled, Caduceus did just that.

Next time they were in an inn, Caleb snuck into Caduceus' room again, who was waiting for him already. The tea was made of the Forestbrow family this time, and it was nice and minty. Caduceus hadn’t known them, but he imagined they were good people. Tea made from bad people was not great at all. They were both sitting on the bed this time, Caleb with his back to the bed frame, and Caduceus in front of him, knee brushing against Caleb's pulled up leg. They were practicing reading again, pressed close to each other, the book propped up between them.

Caleb by then was pretty comfortable with being this close to Caduceus, but still got a bit flushed when their hands would brush, or by Caduceus' soft voice would be too close to his ear. They were doing good progress though, and when Caduceus pronounced a particularly hard word with no help at all, Caleb beamed up at him, feeling proud.

Their eyes met for a moment and Caleb forcibly tore away his gaze, jerked back to reality, suddenly self-conscious. He's been red as a beet, he was sure of it. Caduceus' hand sneaked up to his shoulder, then the back of his neck, without warning. Caleb shivered, and looked up again, though only at Caduceus’ lips and chin, wondering what the pastel pink beard feels like against his skin. Or if the fuzz on his nose is the same softness as Frumpkin’s.

The sheer want, to just stretch his neck a little and close the distance between them took over him, punching the air out of his lungs. It was so sudden, he almost gave in, but Caleb was still a big coward. The fear of breaking whatever this was between them numbed him. Thoughts going miles per second, they managed to convince him out of doing anything at all. It's a bad idea, you will regret it, he's too good for you, too caring, youdon'tdeservethis.

Before Caleb could do something stupid, like stand up, and sprint out of the room, Caduceus's lips brushed over his and his mind abruptly turned off. It wasn't long, Caduceus pulled back just far enough to look at him, after a few seconds of Caleb being completely unresponsive.

"I'm sorry, I may have read the situation wrong." He sounded hesitant, still searching Caleb's face for any sort of reaction, good or bad, but he had nothing to work with.

Finally, Caleb inhaled and slowly closed the book between them, same blank look on his face. He placed it on the table next to their neglected cups because books are sacred, and he wouldn’t let it get squashed between them. He's ridiculous.

And Caleb's been traveling with these weird-ass people for long enough, so he supposed he can be a little brave sometimes. So he proceeded to tug on Caduceus' shirt and press their lips together more firmly this time. They both only had their undershirt on, Caduceus's armor precisely folded next to Caleb's coat at the feet of the bed. Caleb still had his books strapped to his chest, it made him feel safe, acting as the last of his invisible shields between them.

Caduceus let out a puff of air he didn't realize he was holding, and couldn't help grinning into the kiss, as Caleb pulled him even closer, one hand on his cheek already. The bugs were buzzing in his stomach again, and he had to grip the bed frame with his free hand as the feeling of Caleb's tongue running along his lower lip suddenly made him a bit dizzy. Wow.

He was rather overwhelmed, but curiously mimicked Caleb and the way his breath hitched when their tongues met was delightful. Caleb's already pretty long beard felt unfamiliar against his jaw, a little scratchy, but it felt good. Caleb's hand was busy exploring the soft fuzz on his cheek and then brushing past one of his ears that twitched under his fingertips, while Caduceus experimentally but gently, tugged on a fistful of his hair. Caught off guard, Caleb groaned into the kiss, it felt like his whole body was on fire and for once it wasn’t freaking him out, in a bad way.

After long minutes, they had to pull away for air, both of them heaving, Caduceus stared back at him, and Caleb was expecting everything but the wonder and excitement on his face. His ears were just as flushed as Caleb's whole head has been probably, and now he was the one touching his cheek, lightly. Caleb couldn't help the crooked grin that overtook his expression, for once feeling content and his brain was blissfully quiet. He couldn't help touching his mouth like he was trying to make sure all of this was real.

"That was... Really nice." Caduceus hummed, expression melting into a pleased grin.

Caleb nodded, sheepishly. "Indeed."

Neither of them really knew what to say after that, and the quiet would soon become awkward if Caduceus hadn't leaned in, and they started all over again. Soon, he pressed Caleb even more into the bed frame, peppering his face with kisses, and going down his jaw and neck to bury his face in there, inhaling deeply.

He let out a happy sigh, breath tickling Caleb's skin, making him shudder once more. Caleb smelled mostly earthy, and like the outdoors, and maybe a bit smoky. For Caduceus, he kind of smelled like home. He started pressing kisses on Caleb's neck too, experimentally, enjoying the quiet, rumbly moan he got when using his tongue again.

They had an awful lot that needed to be talked about, eventually. Maybe days, or even weeks later.

At the moment though, words were overrated.

[agent-thorn]

Chased by Music

(prompts ‘masks’ and ‘against a wall’ for kinktober. NSFW under the cut)

@the-roanoke-society

The annual gala was in full swing as Caroline watched wistfully from the sidelines. She was here alone of course, and while she was having a wonderful time, she couldn’t help the twinge of wistfulness that panged in her chest. She drank herself giddy of some of the otherworldly wine and danced with her friends until her head spun. as Kieran was led away from their jig by a flushed Aly she felt a little sad for those who were unable to attend; a few agents were out on missions, an unlucky set of technical officers were taking turns keeping an eye on the gate and attending, and  then there were those who refused to attend. “An once-a-year party filled with a bacchanal’s worth of revelry and sexy hookups? It’d be too obvious.” She remembered Carter saying dismissively when asked if he were going. “I’m a whole party myself, if I were to attend the world might explode in shenanigans.” At the time she shrugged it off, but she couldn’t fight the loneliness that peaked its way through in the quiet moments of the night. She missed him and had secretly held out hope he would come. He had been distant lately, for a reason beyond her understanding, and she had held out hope that tonight would’ve been a chance for things to go back to normal. For them to talk, and laugh, and dance the night away. She was pulled from her thoughts by a gentle tap on her shoulder. Behind her a tall, mysteriously masked figure stood, with his hand extended in offer. ‘Just like a prince from the stories.’ She thought as she took his hand. No need to spend the night dwelling when there was a perfectly good distraction asking you to dance. The man immediately pulled her into a waltz, complete with turns and extravagant steps. She was bewitched. The entire dance floor seemed to melt away as she gazed into his mask, hoping to catch a glimpse of who lay underneath. The music dwindled down to a slow, dreamy number and Caroline completely lost track of herself. Following wherever he led with a giggle and leaning on him for support, partially for balance and mostly because she was entranced by his mystery and wanted to get closer. They raced down the hallway, chased by nothing but the music, and she could swear she heard his laugh- deep and free. She spotted a door, slightly ajar, and immediately pulled them inside. She only considered her next actions for a moment before pressing her lips to his. After only one blissful kiss, he pulled away, seeming about as sad as she was confused. “...Are you sure?” He whispered, voice a velvet whisper. So low still couldn’t identify it. She licked her lips in thought, noting with pride how he leaned forward ever so slightly in want. But the question remained- was she sure? Caroline was no prude and knew her way around a disappointing one-night stand. So why shouldn’t she have one tonight? It was the annual gala after all. She deserved some fun and pleasure where she could get it. She answered by drawing him into another kiss, longer this time. Running her tongue teasingly along his bottom lip. He groaned in response, plunging his hands into her hair (now ruined but worth it) and responding eagerly. ‘Wow he’s a great kisser.’ She thought to herself in a moment of clarity, and then he was kissing her neck and all thought went out the proverbial window. They continued like that for some time (Minutes? Hours? Caroline was far beyond being able to tell), pawing and kissing each other, only he never did more than she would. When she’d bite at his neck, he would give a small nip in return. Unbuttoning his shirt to massage at his, slim but defined, torso only received a gentle massage in return. His soft fondling was both arousing and frustrating her all at once. It finally reached a breaking point when she dared to cup him through his pants and jumped back as if she burned him. “What’s wrong? Is it me? Do you not want me?” She asked, suddenly feeling very insecure as the man in front of her tried to even out his breath, clearly restraining himself. “Oh Angel,” He finally said, hands tugging at his hair with unknown turmoil. “I want you more than you know. That’s the problem.” Finally, all the little familiarities clicked in her brain and Caroline perked up brightly. “Carter?” The man jumped back in shock and hit his head against the wall. “What?! No! I mean-... how’d you know it was me?” He asked bashfully, slowly pulling off his mask to reveal a familiar, If self-conscious, face. She only smiled and kissed him softly again. “No one else calls me ‘angel’ and means it like you. Now, where were we?” She grinned playfully, and she toyed with the collar of his shirt. Only to be disappointed as his hands carefully pulled hers away. “...you’re not disappointed... that it’s me?” “I’ve actually been hoping you would show up tonight. I thought you hated this kind of stuff.” “...wanted to surprise you.” He looked down and scuffed his foot shyly against the ground. She could only respond by grinning and pulling him closer, meeting him with a vigorous kiss. “Surprise.” She crooned, gasping at the end as he playfully nipped her jawline. “Wait wait wait.” She pleaded, voice coming out exactly as needy as she was feeling. When he pulled away confused, she only produced the forgotten mask with a questioning bite of her lip. He donned the mask once more and dove into her with renewed vigor. Kissing and groping each piece of skin he could reach, Caroline tried keeping up, but settled for gasping out loud as he hiked one of her legs over his hip. He slowly ground into her as he fumbled with the zipper in the back, tearing the seam a little as he pushed the fabric off her shoulders to expose more of her to him. Soon even that wasn’t enough as he gently hoisted her against the wall for more leverage. one hand gripping tightly as he supported her as the other drug his knuckles deftly along her panties, the sensation making her light-headed with anticipation. Finally when she couldn’t stand doing nothing as he massaged her outer-folds through the silken fabric, she once again took him in her hand. She almost squealed with joy as she found him already hard, and so much of him that it wouldn’t fit in both of her hands. Almost frantic with excitement, she freed him from the constraints of his pants. “Carter, I want you in me.” She breathed out as she tried focusing on stroking his cock, which was difficult to do since he had finally pushed past her underwear and was teasing her folds by spreading the wetness that had gathered. “Yeah?” He smirked, almost convincing her that he was teasing, but the inflection was too hopeful, too earnest: He wanted her as much, if not more, then she wanted him. Forgoing words as an answer, she kissed him deeply and pressed her body as close as she could. He took his thumb and gave her clit a slow once-over, dragging out the pleasure it gave as he pressed his fingers into her. With great care he prepped her, fingering her until she was whining with need and adequately stretched to take him. And with one, agonizingly slow movement, he was in. The world seemed to contract around them into the single focal point of where they were joined- sharp intakes of breath to retain control and the delicious burn of the slow slide of skin. Finally, she snapped, and thrusting her hips to meet his, fucked him like she wanted to. It was fast and near painful, but the full sensation with every snap of his hips, bringing her closer and closer to the edge, was more than worth it. His groaning voice, practically humming as he chanted her name only drove her desire further. He wanted her. She had this kind of power over him; the kind where he would beg if she willed it. He brought his thumb to his mouth, wetting it as he took it once more to her clit, adding in firm strokes in time with his hips, and all too soon she shattered around him. Only he didn’t stop. In fact, her orgasm seemed to reinvigorate him, giving him the boost of strength needed to hold her in his arms as she melted; driving into her relentlessly while still massaging her around him. This sent one aftershock after another crashing through her until she cried out once more, nails biting into him so tight she was sure to draw blood. It was only then that his pace became erratic, convulsing within her as he came. He slowly lowered her legs to the floor, resting his forehead against hers as he dragged out of her at a lethargic pace. Her eyes drank the sight of him, eyes closed in contentment and breathing light and even. He looked more at peace than she had seen in these past few weeks. before she could stop herself, she reached out and traced his hairline with her fingertips. He immediately leaned into her touch, like a flower searching for the sun. He pressed a warm kiss to her palm and sighed gratefully. “Want me to clean you up so you can go back to the party?” He asked, voice quiet and shaking. How he could think she’d want to go away from him after that she’d never know. “You kinda tore my dress a bit-“ “Oh god I’m so sorry!” “No, it’s ok. I got a room upstairs I can clean up at... would you care to join me?” He grinned, maniacally happy, as he stooped to heft her over his shoulder. Running them through the halls of the hotel as they were chased by their laughter and the music from the ballroom.

[eleanor-writes-stuff]

call now for a free gift! [part i/iii]

Six years after Rey's first Christmas with Ben and his family, unexpected gifts abound at the annual Organa-Solo-Skywalker(-Kenobi?) Christmas celebration.

Featuring: Organa-Solo-Skywalker shenanigans, a ton of major surprises, and fluff. Again with the fluff. It's always the damn fluff.

For Day 7 - Holiday of @reyloveweek.

It’s the overly-fluffy sign up now for a free trial! sequel no one asked for! Now with even more fluff, because I have no self control whatsoever. In keeping with tradition (well, when it comes to this specific series, anyway), please expect daily updates.

Also available on AO3.

A heavy arm slung across her middle. Warm breath tickling the shell of her ear. The barely discernible rise and fall of a chest pressed against her back.

The day begins much like any other, and it takes Rey a while to remember that this is the last Christmas Eve she and Ben will ever spend in this apartment of theirs, where they met and fell in love and built a life together.

“Hey,” Ben mumbles when she turns slightly to look at him, and his fingers instinctively curl around her waist to keep her near. “What time is it?”

Rey reaches blindly for her phone on the nightstand, unwilling to tear her eyes away from the sight of Ben trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. He’d come to bed late last night, something about catching up on work emails and making sure they’ve got everything they need for the trip. By the time Rey felt him crawl into bed, it must’ve been at least two in the morning.

It’s seven now, a whole hour before their alarm is set to go off. She tells Ben as much and whispers for him to go back to sleep, sighs happily when he pulls her closer to his chest and nuzzles into the curve of her neck before he lets sleep reclaim him.

She doesn’t take her own advice, chooses instead to catalog every little detail about their room. It’s not the room they started out in – they’d taken over the master bedroom a few years ago when Finn and Poe moved out – but over the years it’s turned into Rey’s favorite place in the world. Nothing bad ever happens in this room; she doesn’t allow it to, even has a rule about them resolving a fight before they can set foot into this space. It’s the safest place in the world to her, and soon she’ll be leaving it – and their home and her job and this city – behind for the great unknown.

Ben stirs behind her, tightens his grip on her and makes a tiny sound of contentment in the back of his throat before he settles back into sleep. He’s warm and comforting and home, and Rey knows that’ll never change no matter where they live, no matter what life-changing surprise life has in store for them.

Ben seems a little jumpy over breakfast, but he waves off her concern and blames it on a combination of sleep-deprivation and dreading whatever awaits them in Alderaan. It’s Leia’s first Christmas since stepping down as Senator, and there’s a distinct possibility she might’ve gone overboard with the planning now that she has the time to oversee every last detail.

They spend most of the three-hour drive coming up with increasingly outlandish predictions for what they’ll find at the Organa mansion, and by the time Rey suggests the possibility of Leia having mounted a sleigh along with a dozen reindeer on the roof, Ben seems back to his normal self.

He’s smiling even as he keeps his eyes on the road, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way she’s grown so fond of. His shoulders shake with restrained laughter, and when they roll to a stop at a red light he shakes his head at Rey’s ridiculousness and takes her hand over the gearbox to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

Now would be a good time.

Instead Rey beams back at him, surges forward to give him a peck on the cheek before she points out the now-green light. “Floor it, Solo,” she jokingly commands, and Ben uses his free hand to salute her with a chuckled aye aye, ma’am.

The car is filled with laughter and silliness and painfully off-key Christmas carols for the entirety of their drive through Takodana, but Rey observes a change in Ben as soon as they drive into Alderaan. He starts tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, and she catches him surreptitiously patting down his left pocket at least three times, as if checking for his keys or phone. When they take an unfamiliar route, she assumes he must be too busy thinking about whatever it is that’s troubling him to realize that he’s made a mistake.

“Babe, you missed the turn.”

Ben jumps. The Silencer is pretty spacious, but his sudden movement still brings his head dangerously close to the roof of the car. “Um, actually, I didn’t,” he tells her without meeting her eye, his hand wrapped around the wheel in a white-knuckled grip. “We’re making a quick detour.”

He guides them onto a road that cuts through the forest, one that Rey knows leads to the snow-capped mountains behind the Organa mansion. In an effort to ease the tension, she narrows her eyes at Ben and asks, “Benjamin Organa-Solo, is this the part where you take me deep into the forest and hide my body?”

She relaxes when Ben laughs and turns to her with a fond smile. “Sure, the past eight years have all been a part of my elaborate plan to kill you.”

“I know it’s a joke,” Rey tells him, “but you are exactly the kind of person who would come up with an eight-year plan to commit the perfect murder.”

Ben frowns without looking at her, paying close attention to the road as snowy gravel gives way to frozen-over dirt. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re meticulous and detail-orientated and the slightest bit anal-retentive, and I love you for it,” she shrugs.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Ben mutters wryly as they slowly come to a stop just a few feet away from a thicket of trees, where the dirt road ends and the snowy forest begins. “All right, we’re here.”

Here is the middle of nowhere, and Rey is tempted to make the murder joke again. But then Ben’s carefully getting out of the car and making his way over to her side, and when he opens her door it’s like a veil of calm has descended upon him. He offers her his hand and a bright, assuring smile, and so she lets him lead her into the forest.

Ben keeps his left hand in his pocket as they walk, and uses his shoulder to push aside some low-hanging branches before he gently tugs Rey into a familiar clearing.

It’s the lake behind the house, the one they sometimes walk to when they’re in need of a break from his family. The ice is never thick enough to walk on, but the thin layer of frost combined with the Alderaanian winter sun always makes for the most dazzling sight, a thousand pinpricks of light cutting through the thin layer of ice to bounce off the water underneath.

“It’s the lake,” Rey hears herself saying somewhat unnecessarily, and Ben just gives her a warm smile before he pulls her along to the edge of the lake. It’s beautiful and calming, and any other time Rey would’ve assumed they’re just here for a moment of peace before they get pulled into the madness that is the Organa-Skywalker-Solo holiday celebration.

But Ben’s left hand is still in his pocket, and he’s looking at her like she’s the true miracle here amidst this breathtaking show of Mother Nature’s beauty.

“Ben,” Rey whispers, her heart in her throat as the pieces fall into place. “Why are we here?”

“A month from now, you and I are going to leave behind everything we know to start a new life in Naboo,” he reminds her. “And I know that as excited as you are about this, you’re also terrified and sad to leave the only place that’s ever felt like home to you.”

Guilt begins to pool in her stomach, but Ben is so gentle and understanding and Ben about it that she doesn’t even bother denying it, just takes a deep breath and nods.

“I’m a little scared and sad too, Rey,” Ben admits, his fingers giving hers a reassuring squeeze. “Coruscant is… every single chapter of our story, so far, and it’s not going to be easy to leave that behind. But I thought maybe if we give this chapter of our lives a proper last page, the kind it deserves, then… maybe it’ll be easier to move forward and look to the future. Because at the end of the day, that’s what this is all about. It’s not an ending, it’s a new beginning for us, for our future together.”

Ben takes one step back, finally pulls his hand out of his pocket along with a tiny velvet drawstring pouch. He smiles when Rey drops his hand to bring both of hers to cover her mouth, and everything takes on a dreamlike-haze as she watches him get down on one knee.

They’ve discussed this before – of course they have, after six years together. But they’ve always been so casual about it that Rey sort of thought it would happen over breakfast one morning, or while they’re on the couch watching TV. He’d burn the French toast because he was distracted by her or she’d turn around to smile at him during a commercial break, and they’d share a moment of quiet understanding before one of them gathered the courage to say those two little words, short and sweet and to the point.

She’s dreamed of it, waited for the moment to come, fallen in love with the quiet elegance of the idea. But this, this is beautiful and perfect and them too.

On one knee – in jeans, in the snow -, Ben presents her with a ring she recognizes from pictures of his grandparents and smiles at her, that calm, assured smile from earlier, the one that says this is perfectly natural and there’s nothing to be nervous about and this is exactly where we’re meant to be.

“I know we’re starting our new lives in just a month, but I’ve waited eight years for us to build a future together, Rey, and you know I’m not the most patient of men,” they laugh and she cries and Ben’s smile grows the slightest bit wobbly. “So I’d like to start the rest of our life together today, if that’s okay with you. I’d like to promise you a lifetime of lazy mornings no matter where we are, an eternity together no matter where life takes us.”

Later, Ben will tell her that his leg started cramping up before he could pop the question. After, Rey will admit that the reason for her extra-loud sniff was to prevent her nose from running. But for now, everything about this moment is perfect. Even the persistent voice that’s been screaming tell him tell him tell him in the back of her head for the past three days falls silent as Ben finally asks:

“Rey, will you marry me?”

“You’re forty minutes late,” Leia tells them in lieu of a greeting when she opens the door to find Rey and Ben on her front porch. They’re hand-in-hand and smiling like fools and glowing, and she just sighs and shakes her head at them, begins to say, “Don’t tell me you’re late because you two were fooling around in the car–”

“Hi, Leia,” Rey says with a tiny wave of her left hand, and the older woman gasps as her hand shoots out to grab Rey’s.

Leia’s whole face lights up as she spots the ring on Rey’s finger, and she turns to Ben with the biggest smile on her face. “You didn’t.”

Ben grins. “I did.”

“Han!” she hollers into the house without looking away from the young couple. “Han, get your ass here right now!”

In the minute it takes for Han to stomp to the front door, Leia pulls them each into a hug, then a group hug, and Rey swears her eyes have grown shiny with tears but she’ll never accuse the great Senator Organa of getting weepy just because her son’s engaged.

Engaged. She and Ben are engaged.

Han appears at the door with his customary scowl, which quickly turns into a proud smirk once he realizes what’s going on.

“So you finally did it, huh?” he asks Ben, reaching out to clap his son on the shoulder. “Good for you, kid. And welcome to the family, Rey. Though god knows you’ll probably live to regret it.”

Leia turns to her husband with narrowed eyes. “You’re not surprised. Why aren’t you surprised?”

“The kid had to get advice somewhere, didn’t he?” Han shrugs, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway.

“Advice?” Leia echoes incredulously. “You’ve never even proposed to anyone! I did,” she tells Ben and Rey almost defensively. “I woke up to find him building a crib one morning, and I told him this might be the pregnancy hormones talking, but I think we should get married.”

“And so we did,” Han says with a rare smile as he reaches out to wrap an arm around Leia’s waist and pull her close. “But for the record, I was going to – so it counts. Had a ring and a plan and everything,” he mutters.

Leia snaps her head around, as if this is news to her. Knowing Han, it very well could be. “A plan? Really? Well, let’s hear it then.”

Ben shakes his head at his parents as they get swept away in their own little world of bickering. “Think that’ll be us in thirty years?” he whispers to Rey as Han steers Leia into the house with a hand on her lower back even as they continue to argue.

He sounds half-amused and half-terrified of the prospect, but Rey… Rey hears us in thirty years and falls in love with the thought of it.

Coming back to this 'verse makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. I hope reading this makes you guys feel the same way!

See you tomorrow, when Leia stumbles upon a huge surprise and then presents Rey and Ben with a surprise of her own. In the meantime, thank you for reading and as always, please feel free to like/reblog/comment/etc.!

[analogscum]

THE BURNING (1981, d. Tony Maylam)

Welcome to Camp Analog Scum! Now that summer is in full effect, we’ll be devoting this week to discussing two entries into one of the most hallowed subgenres in all of horror: the summer camp slasher flick! Following the massive success of Friday the 13th in 1980, small studios realized they had an easy formula to print some quick dough: find an idyllic summer camp somewhere in the Northeastern U.S., fill it up with hard-partying horny teenagers, and unleash a bloodthirsty psychopath with some kind of score to settle on them. It’s not hard to understand the universal appeal of the summer camp slasher flick: who doesn’t remember long July days running around in the woods, swimming in the lake, or the white-knuckled terror of a ghost story told ‘round the campfire? After all, a story can’t hurt you…unless it’s real.

Our first entry into this double feature, 1981’s The Burning, was somewhat lost to time for awhile. It was perhaps the first film to try and capitalize on Friday the 13th’s boffo box office, and while it got a more positive critical response than the film it was aping, audiences greeted the film lukewarmly, and it quickly faded from public consciousness thereafter. These days, thanks to re-releases from the likes of Scream Factory and Arrow, The Burning has finally found an adoring audience. I won’t lie, part of the reason I even did this summer camp-themed week in the first place was so that I could finally stop making excuses and watch this movie. And now, time for a controversial opinion: in terms of pure slasher bonafides, I think that this may be a better movie than the original Friday the 13th. Yeah, I said it!

If you grew up around New York and New Jersey, like yours truly, then you probably heard some variation on the legend of Cropsy, the madman who stalked the woods, looking for children to kill. The Burning takes this campfire classic and runs with it: we begin at Camp Blackfoot, sometime in the late 1970s. It’s after lights out, but a few of the older campers are plotting a prank on Cropsy, the groundskeeper of the camp. Quickly it becomes apparent that these kids fuckin’ hate Cropsy’s guts, but we never really get a clear answer as to why. Hey, sometimes kids just decide that a person sucks. The gang slowly make their way into Cropsy’s creepy-ass bunk, set something next to his bed, light that something on fire, then go knock on his window, stifling their laughter. Cropsy wakes up, and to his horror, sees what is burning next to his bed: a worm-ridden human skull! Wait, how did these pimple-faced little shits get their hands on a human skull?! Doesn’t matter, because Cropsy knocks over the skull and sets himself on fire! Oh fuck! Then he knocks over a canister of gasoline that is by his bed for some reason, and now he’s even more on fire! Oh fuuuuuuuuck! He runs out of the cabin, and he’s totally for real super duper on fire, and throws himself into the lake. The kids run off, their prank having turned into a crime scene.

Cut to five years later. Cropsy is getting wheeled out of the hospital or whatever. As he’s being rolled down this hallway, we hear all sorts of ADR voiceover recapping his stint in the burn ward: the skin grafts won’t take, there’s nothing we can do for you, try and forgive those kids, it was just an accident, etc. Suddenly, Cropsy is in Time’s Square, picking up a prostitute. Wait, I thought that this was a summer camp slasher flick? Anyway, she leads our giallo-ed out crispy critter up into her bedroom, understandably freaks out when she sees what he looks like, and then gets stabbed to death with a pair of scissors. If you look up “gratuitous” in the dictionary, its just a picture of this scene.

Now we’re back at camp, but this time it’s a different camp: Camp Stonewater. We meet our cast of characters: there’s Todd and Michelle, the head counselors; there’s Dave, the prankster; Eddie, the lothario; Karen, the virginal shy girl; Sally, the blonde bombshell; Glazer, the asshole bully; Alfred, the misanthropic nerd, and a few more. We get to spend quite awhile with these characters before the bloodshed happens, and we grow to like quite a few of them, so when the bloodshed actually begins, we’re more invested in the story, and more likely to get scared. I don’t know why this concept is so often lost on other filmmakers, but this is the main thing that this movie gets totally right. It’s also fun because these kids are played by some future notable faces: if you’ve seen a mob movie made after 1980, then you’ve seen Ned Eisenberg, who plays Eddie. A shockingly young Fisher Stevens plays a scrawny kid named Woodstock. We get to see future Oscar winner Holly Hunter in a small role as Sophie. And most notable of all is Dave, who is played by none other than Jason Alexander, when he still had a full head of hair! Talk about the Summer of George!

Some shenanigans happen. Alfred spies on Sally in the shower, and he’s a whiny dork about it. Glazer roughs him up a bit and throws him in the lake, because he’s decided that Sally is his girl, which is news to Sally. Dave and Woodstock help Alfred get revenge on Glazer by shooting him in the butt with a BB gun and mooning him. Constanza ass alert! These kids smoke cigarettes and read Playboys and talk openly about sex and jerking off, just like real teenagers do, and it’s very refreshing. At one point Alfred catches a glimpse of a weird, burnt up face in the window, but no one believes him, because he’s a total wet blanket about everything. There’s a really good fake-out scare involving Woodstock in a dark empty cabin which totally got me because even in my thirties I’m still freaked out by the dark. You don’t judge me, I judge you!

The next day, our gang jumps into some canoes and sets off on an overnight camping trip, somewhere near the former sight of Camp Blackfoot. What could go wrong?! That night, around a roaring campfire, Todd recounts the legend of Cropsy, who jumps out and tries to kill everyone! Aaaaaaaah! No, wait, it’s just Eddie in a rubber mask! Oh, Eddie! Speaking of Eddie, he convinces Karen, whom he has the hots for, to go skinny dipping with him in the lake. Karen is apprehensive, but she does have feelings for him, so she strips down and hops in. However, she gets uncomfortable when Eddie starts putting some moves on her, and keeps telling him to stop. Finally, Eddie gets super mad and tells her to leave him alone. In exchange for standing up for herself and refusing to be just another one of Eddie’s sexual conquests, Cropsy shows up and violently slits Karen’s throat with his trusty garden shears. Umm?

Now it’s morning, and Todd and Michelle are freaking out. Not only is Karen missing, but the canoes have disappeared. Eddie tells them what happened the night before with the skinny dipping and the blue balls and the anger, but Michelle is suspicious of him, despite telling Karen in an earlier scene that she should just let Eddie fuck her and get it over with. Whatever, Michelle. Todd gets the bright idea to build a raft out of twigs and branches and shit, which sounds hella stupid, but somehow actually works. They send a bunch of the kids, including Eddie and Woodstock, to row back to the camp and see if Karen or the missing canoes have turned up. Meanwhile, Glazer will not stop getting handsy with Sally, who keeps telling him no, which of course gets him super mad, and so finally to get him off her case, Sally is like, fine whatever meet me in the woods later and we’ll totally clown on each other in the nude, which is good enough to make Glazer stop pawing at her for awhile.

Back on the raft, everyone is tired and miserable. But look! There’s one of the missing canoes! Just floating there ominously in the middle of the river! Let’s row towards it! And so they row towards it, for what feels like 8 hours. Even though you can probably figure out what’s coming, they draw it out for such a ridiculously long time that you can’t help but hyperventilate a little bit. Just when they finally get right next to the canoe, who jumps out but our old pal Cropsy and them garden shears of his! In roughly twenty seconds he disposes of all of these kids in a very gory, graphic manner, and it’s awesome. So, so, so, so awesome. The amount of carnage that they manage to squeeze into these twenty seconds is awe inspiring. Well done, The Burning. Well done.

Meanwhile, Glazer and Sally are finally doing the horizontal polka, but of course Glazer blasts his sauce after like five pumps. Sad. But for some reason, Sally is kinda impressed? And she’s like, how long until you can drum up a new supply, because I’ve got a totally inexplicable case of the hornies. So Glazer is like, holy shit, ok, this truly never happens, sit tight, I’m going to head back to the campground and grab some matches so that we can make a fire. Good thing that Glazer wasn’t sleeping with Missy Elliot, because we all know how she feels about one minute men.

So of course as soon as Glazer leaves, Cropsy leaps out from behind the camera and turns Sally into his own personal shrubbery. Back at camp, Glazer grabs the matches, and for some reason, Alfred wakes up and decides to follow him. Dude, Alfred, what are you doing?! Being a voyeur has already gotten you in trouble once, and you know that Glazer is praying for any excuse he can find to shred you into pulled pork. Ill-advised, this plan is. As Alfred looks on, Glazer very, very, veeeeery slowly pulls back his and Sally’s sleeping back, which Cropsy was somehow hiding in? It’s confusing, but oh shit, Cropsy stabs the shit out of Glazer, and there’s so much blood. Peace out, Glazer.

Alfred runs back to the campground and wakes up Todd, who is understandably not super thrilled to be awoken by this neurotic dork at 4am or whatever, but Alfred runs one of his classic guilt trips on him, so they head into the woods, where Todd is shocked to find that yes, Glazer and Sally are both super duper dead. Oh no, Cropsy jumps up and smacks Todd on the side of the head, knocking him unconscious! Alfred runs around the woods for what feels like the entire first season of Cheers. The makeshift raft drifts back over to the campground, and to Michelle and the others’ chagrin, it’s full of the mutilated corpses of their friends.

Todd follows Alfred’s screams to a shack in the middle of the woods. We’re treated a suitably tense game of Cropsy and mouse as the creep stalks Todd through his lair. All of a sudden, there’s a flashback to the first scene: turns out, Todd was one of the kids who pulled the prank that turned Cropsy into fried chicken! Cropsy is brandishing a flame thrower, because this time, it’s…well, you know. We finally get a good look at the guy, and, well, he looks like if someone took an action figure of Sloth from the Goonies and put it in the microwave. Todd is about to get totally murderized by fire, but at the last moment, Alfred breaks free and stabs Cropsy with his own garden shears! Oh, the irony! Our two heroes are walking away, but oh crap, Cropsy is still alive! He grabs Alfred, but he breaks free and Todd smashes his head in with an axe before Alfred finishes the job with the flame thrower. Oh, the double irony!

As the police chopper in, we fade in on another campfire, and another set of campers. A counselor once again tells his rapt charges about the legend of Cropsy. The man himself may be dead, but he lives on in nightmares, just like Roger Ailes.

There are many reasons to recommend The Burning, and many of them are up on the screen. The acting is good, the cinematography is surprisingly artful, the story is well-paced, and the kills are fantastic. But The Burning is also an intriguing film due to some of the faces behind the camera. Weirdly enough, the film’s soundtrack was composed and performed by Rick Wakeman, the Arthurian legend-obsessed synth wizard from Yes. Though he occasionally dips into his typical ornate, switched on Bach territory, Wakeman also does deep, guttural digital terror surprisingly well. The film’s excellent, gory kills got their bite courtesy of the legendary Tom Savini. As the story goes, the makeup master was less than thrilled with the reveal of the undead Jason Voorhees at the end of his previous project, so he passed on the sequel in order to work on The Burning instead. Savini set out to outdo his work on Friday the 13th, and I personally think he succeeded. These kills are nasty and visceral and stock full of Grand Guignol madness. The only demerit is Cropsy’s burnt face, but in his defense, Savini only had three days to make it.

And then there’s the elephant in the room, in more ways than none: Harvey Weinstein. The film has the distinction of being one of Miramax’s first productions; Harvey and his brother Bob helped write the screenplay, alongside future Sopranos producer Brad Grey, and Harvey gave himself a “Created and Produced by” credit, whatever that means. Sadly, for as much as I enjoyed the movie as an 80s slasher, I found it to be nearly impossible to watch The Burning today without it being colored by what we now know about Weinstein. There’s been plenty of ink, digital or otherwise, spilled on how the Friday the 13th franchise punishes its characters with death for their sexual transgressions, but that trope is somewhat murkily applied to The Burning. Karen is punished with death for REFUSING to have sex with Eddie, whereas Sally is punished with death for giving in to Glazer’s sexual advances despite not wanting to. No matter if you’re the Madonna or the Whore, you’re still just gristle for the slaughter in the end. Given that this film’s “creator” may end this year as a convicted sex offender, could this film be a glimpse into his poisonous views on women? Turns out there were multiple monsters on the set of The Burning, but only one of them showed up onscreen.

[anamelesstraveler]

| AO3 | Link for mobile |

Smoke in our lungs

A SniperPilot fanfic. Rated T.

Part 1/2 | 3,629 words

All Cassian wants to do for New Years is drink, dance, and forget about his life for a little while.

“Sorry!”  A body stumbles into him, or Cassian sways into them. In the end, he isn’t sure.

What he is sure of is that he lifts his gaze and finds the most gorgeous big brown eyes looking back at him.

This story includes drunk New Year’s shenanigans, Cassian being a tired and needy drunk, and both of them being utter disasters. Welcome.

This one was originally for SniperPilot Winter’s New Years prompt. But.... I am a slow writer oops.

Part 1.

Cassian has, maybe, had a little too much to drink.

The tipsy,  floating warmth he’s been nursing has rapidly slid into a sluggish, dizzy crawl. The pounding bass that had vibrated along his skin only an hour ago is now a twisted, volatile thing that makes his flesh prickle. The music is a smear of wordless sound. The people around him aren’t quite a blur yet, but he’s too drunk to care about focusing on any of them. And yet he still keeps knocking back the drinks Kay dutifully offers him - what exactly Kay keeps ordering, he’s forgotten to ask, but they burn just right in his throat so he doesn’t bother.

The glass clanks awkwardly against the table as he goes to set it back. “I think you should slow down,” Kay says lightly. It sounds like an admonishment anyway.

“We had a deal, remember?” Cassian grunts. “You get to be guard dog as long as you keep bringing me drinks.”

“I believe the deal was that I let you drink as long as you don’t do anything stupid. Giving yourself alcohol poisoning is considered stupid by most standards, Cassian.”

“‘ven’t had near enough for that.” Cassian swipes back a stray lock of hair. His face feels hot and clammy after being on the dancefloor. “I’m going back out. Have another one of these when I get back?”

Instead of answering, Kay shoves a lukewarm bottle of water into his hand. “Drink at least another third of that before you go.”

He rolls his eyes, but does as he’s told anyway. “Sí, abuela,” he mutters between gulps.

“You’ll thank me tomorrow. Or in five minutes when you don’t pass out on the dancefloor.”

Cassian wanders off without giving a reply to that, desperate to feel the press of the crowd around him again; strangely addicted to the haze and heat of the music and the people. His half-drunk mind conjures parallels to the sea, of sinking into the crush. Of sinking into it and becoming not himself for however long he can manage it.

That’s all any of this is.

Cassian doesn’t usually enjoy this kind of partying - at all, in fact. He’s always had things he’d considered more important to do: studying and training drills and countless other things. But he’s spent too long with responsibility being his burden to carry. He’s devoted too much of his life to doing and fighting for what was right. Spent too long breaking off pieces of himself in the hopes that he could somehow make a difference. And after he’d wrung himself out, he’d knuckled down and done it all over again.

The paths are different now. Medical school comes with less risk of violence and death than the military had. But the cycle of responsibility and discipline feel the same to him when he’s exhausted and ready to collapse under his own weight. Like tonight, when all he wants is to forget about everything around him. Tonight is New Year’s Eve, and this time and this club might just be the perfect opportunity for Cassian to for it.

“Sorry!”  A body stumbles into him, or Cassian sways into them. In the end, he isn’t sure.

What he is sure of is that he lifts his gaze and finds the most gorgeous big brown eyes looking back at him. And then he must be stumbling, because a hand comes up to his arm to steady him. Cassian’s eyes dart down, tracking slowly up from the elegant hand  to toned forearm, up and up the slender, surprisingly strong form of the man in front of him. His eyes falter on the angle of a bearded jaw, the softening waves of long dark hair, and the quick movements of his soft-looking lips as he continues to ramble apologies at Cassian. (His brain may or may not blank entirely when the man’s tongue flicks out to nervously wet his lips.)

And then back to those eyes again. Those eyes that are watching him with curiosity and a hint of fear. Oh. Right.

Cassian waves a hand dismissively. “S’alright,” he mumbles, and then has to say it louder to be heard over the music. The stranger (the Unfairly Pretty stranger) leans, placing his empty glass on a ledge nearby. The shirt he’s wearing stretches enticingly across his frame as he does, and Cassian finds himself distracted again. When he straightens, it’s to brush apologetically at the new wet spot on Cassian’s shirt.

Ah. God, maybe Cassian really has had too much to drink tonight. “Let me get you another one,” he finds himself offering.

That (Too Kissable) mouth curves into a frown. “I’m the one who spilled the drink on you,” Entirely-Too-Attractive says.

“Did you?”

His question, at least, seems to put the beautiful stranger at ease. “How many have you had, man?” he asks, visibly biting back an amused smile.

“Too many,” Cassian admits. And then decides: fuck it, all he’s wanted tonight is to forget about being the one to plan, to think about the right way to do things. Fuck consequences. “Hey… hey, do you want to dance?”

The club is too dim and too bright in turn thanks to the light show up by the stage. So Cassian can’t see if the Doe Eyes is blushing or not. But by the startled, almost shy change in his body language, it’s a close thing. Which is… great, actually. It at least means that Cassian isn’t getting punched tonight. The lights flare brightly, and yes, he’s definitely blushing. “I-I’m not…” Cassian barely hears over the pulsing music. The rest is lost under it all, but after a few moments of blinking at the man’s expression, he sees the uncertainty there.

He leans unsteadily closer. “You can say no, it’s okay,” he says, taking the stranger off guard. Cassian is about to turn and leave, to let the unspoken rejection roll off his back, when Ridiculously Cute Smile reaches out to stop him. It may be the (several) drinks talking, but the single touch makes Cassian want to drag him closer and never let go.

(He’s known the man for all of two minutes and hasn’t even asked his name yet. It’s definitely the alcohol.)

“No, no, I do,” he yelps a little too loudly, right into Cassian’s ear. “I want to dance with you!” The spark of elation that wells up in Cassian is so overwhelming that he nearly misses his next words. “I just don’t usually…”

“You don’t have to impress me,” he laughs, a bit too rashly, and then pauses. That didn’t come out right. “You’re cute and I just want to feel you for a while.” That’s… probably not right either, but Dazzling Brown Eyes sputters and doesn’t protest as Cassian pulls him towards the dancefloor. They weave into the crowd, Cassian carelessly slipping past dancers absorbed in their own little worlds (some of them more… explicitly than others) in search of a clear space.

He turns and pulls the alluring stranger to him the moment they find space enough to breathe. His shame has been left behind somewhere between drinks, and so he doesn’t even question the urge to press up against this beautiful man with his Soulful Eyes and his Plush Mouth. Cassian can feel him jolt under his hands, but not away from him. “This okay?” he asks anyway, and mutters under his breath: “Please let this be okay.”

He gets distracted watching the man’s lips form unheard words, but gets his answer in the slight nod of his head. In the arms that come up around Cassian’s shoulders. It’s all the permission Cassian needs to let his hands slide around his slender waist, settling the lines of their bodies more firmly together.

It’s so easy to get lost in the thrum of the music, the hazy grind of the beat that seems to over take his own pounding heart. It’s even easier to get lost in his new companion, the two of them moving together with the music, unwilling to step apart for anything other than swaying against each other. And Cassian had known he would feel good, but he hadn’t anticipated the heat that crackles along his nerves everywhere that they touch. He hadn’t thought about the fact that he’d never want to let go.

All Cassian wants is to let his hands wander, to feel as much of this beautiful man as he can. But no, no, he knows he can’t go that far. Not yet. Not even though Cassian can feel the hot little gasp between them or the shiver that courses through the man’s body when Cassian’s hands make a thoughtless slide from his hips up his sides.

He ducks closer as soon as the music quiets for even a moment, pressing his lips to the man’s ear. “What’s your name?” Cassian has to know. He’ll hate himself if he doesn’t learn at least that much.

There’s a breath against his cheek as the man huddles close in return. “Bodhi,” he answers, and there’s a rasp in his voice, something breathless and exhilarating. Cassian wonders if that’s what he sounds like after he’s had the breath kissed from his lungs too.

“Bodhi,” Cassian tests the name on his tongue, and wonders if it’s just his imagination or the flickering lights, or if Bodhi’s eyes go dark at the sound. “Nice to meet you, Bodhi.” He certainly doesn’t imagine the sudden, almost musical laugh that bursts out of the man.

He falls in love then and there, he’s sure of it.

Their moment is shattered as the music starts up again. If Bodhi looks like he’s going to say anything else, it gets lost. Cassian loses track of how long they dance after that, one song blurring into the next. Bodhi is far more intoxicating than any drink he’s had tonight, and all Cassian can think of is staying like this, pressed almost intimately against him forever.

The music cuts out abruptly, startling them both, with the dj’s blaring announcement that midnight is almost upon them. The monitors on either side of the stage flare to life with footage from Time’s Square, and the cheering almost drowns out the start of the countdown to midnight. Thirty. Twenty-nine. His arms still around Bodhi’s waist, they stumble out of the way of the over enthusiastic dancers nearest them. All around them couples are clinging, people are making to find someone to kiss as the clock strikes midnight.

Twenty seconds, and Cassian turns to find Bodhi watching him. And Cassian forgets all about the chanting, shuffling crowd around them, and about the confines and dead ends of his life. He finally finds what he’s been looking for tonight, not in the bottom of a shot glass, but in the endless depth of Bodhi’s gaze.

Their lips meet at fourteen seconds to midnight.

There’s a gasp that mingles somewhere between them. Cassian doesn’t have time to figure out from who, because Bodhi hands come up, cradling the back of his neck and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss before Cassian’s dazed mind has a chance to catch up. He clutches Bodhi to him, lips parting at the tiniest flick of the other man’s tongue, desperately beckoning him. His knees threaten to buckle from the sheer force of his own desperate wanting.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

Around them the crowd shouts and screams. There are flashing lights and the soft touch of confetti raining down from the ceiling. Someone shoves into them in the chaos, knocking them apart. Cassian blinks down at Bodhi, wild and dazed. There’s confetti caught in Bodhi’s hair. He can stand it only long enough to take a breath before dipping his head for another kiss. “C’mon,” he breathes urgently against Bodhi’s lips, nipping them even as he starts to tug the man away from the crowd. They have to break their kisses to  make their way back off the dancefloor, and every second that Cassian isn’t kissing Bodhi feels like he’s suffocating.

He can’t be bothered to find a place more private, simply clutching Bodhi’s hand as they come free of the crowd and dragging him over to the nearest unoccupied alcove between the pillars and equipment. Cassian lets his back hit the wall, with more force than he’d planned for. It makes Bodhi stumble into him, makes him catch himself with a hand against Cassian’s chest and Cassian all but whimpers. He’ll feel ashamed over the sound come morning. Now all he can think of is getting Bodhi’s mouth back on his.

He’s dizzy even before Bodhi kisses him again, thankful that his weight is there to keep Cassian pinned to the wall and upright. Cassian sucks at hot, kiss-swollen lips, his face tingling from the scrape of the man’s beard. The hand at his chest slides up his throat to the hinge of his jaw, a gentle brush of fingertips at first and then tighter until Cassian’s mouth falls open for him. His hands cling to the back of Bodhi’s shirt, pawing at it in an uncoordinated effort to get his hands beneath it.

“Hey.” This close he can hear the husky whisper without straining.

Cassian’s response might as well be called a whine, chasing after Bodhi’s mouth. Everything feels too hot, too close. Like his skin has been pulled too tight. It all feels like too much and not enough. Like he’s dreaming and fighting not to wake up. He wants to drown himself in Bodhi’s kisses, in the weight of him; wants to grind down on the thigh that’s nudging between his legs until he forgets his own name. That’s all he wants - he just wants to not be for a few minutes.

“Hey… hey, shhh.” Bodhi’s voice is soft against the curve of his jaw now. The scratch and scrape of his facial hair is soothed by his lips pressing hot kisses. And it’s with a jolt that Cassian realizes there are words spilling out of his mouth.

“Please, fuck, I want-- I need this. Need you, please.”

He clenches his eyes shut.

“It’s okay. No, hey, look at me?” Warm hands cradle his face, patient and sweet, until Cassian takes a steadying breath and opens his eyes again. And Bodhi is there, still, not a figment of Cassian’s imagination or a hallucination brought on by the drinks he’s had. So heartbreakingly beautiful and gentle, and he’s watching Cassian with concern on his face. “You okay?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that one. It… doesn’t seem to soothe the growing worry flickering across Bodhi’s face.

“Okay, look, I’m going go up to the bar and get us some water. This is going a little fast. And then maybe we can… talk? About this? After you sober up a little.”

Cassian finds himself nodding. His heart is racing in his chest and he’s gone lightheaded. When Bodhi steps away Cassian sways a little, trying to regain balance. He’s so disoriented that he doesn’t think to stop Bodhi until he’s already slipping back out of the alcove.

Once Bodhi disappears among the other club goers, the sound from outside their little corner comes rushing back. The bass is so strong that it vibrates the walls. The chatter all around him is a constant undertow. It makes Cassian’s skin crawl. It’s a shock to his system - remembering just how much he dislikes places like this. The crowd on the dancefloor is no longer an anonymous comfort but a claustrophobic monster waiting to swallow him.

There’s no chance of keeping track of Bodhi’s progress in all this. Cassian should stay where he is - Bodhi had said he’d come back. Had said they’d talk. Hadn’t he? And maybe talking would lead back to kissing him again. But the longer he waits, the more Cassian feels ready to climb right out of his skin. And so he too sets off into the club again, in what is hopefully the general direction of the bar, cringing every time someone jostles by him.

But it’s not Bodhi that he finds. He wanders between people, disoriented in the flashing lights, and stumbles back upon Kay instead.

The moment he breaks through the crowd, his best friend looks up from the sharp brunette that’s taken up residence at the table with him. “There you are!” Kay shouts over the music. “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to…” His expression pinches suddenly, taking in the sight of Cassian. “Oh no. Absolutely not.”

“What?” Cassian mumbles. Distantly, he wonders what he must look like. He feels wrecked and shattered. (How - how? All they’d done was kiss.)

Kay climbs to his feet, turning to the petite woman and muttering apologies to her. She waves a hand at him, her eyes tracking down Cassian curiously. It’s all the observation of her Cassian can manage, because Kay is suddenly shuffling into his space, blocking his view. “Alright, we’re going home.”

“Kay--”

“Unsafe club sex is certainly on the list of stupid things, Cassian. I think you’ve had enough tonight.”

“I didn’t-- I wasn’t fucking anyone, Kay,” he snaps, his face feeling hot in the significantly cooler air around the tables.

“Yet. You’re glassy-eyed and you’re going to have some impressive beard burn tomorrow. Come on, I’m not releasing you on the world like this. You won’t make it five minutes with your dignity intact.” Kay tucks an arm around his shoulders despite the muttered protests Cassian gives, and steers him in the direction of the door. Cassian peers around him, eyes scanning futilely for Bodhi in the faces of people they pass. And with every person who is not Bodhi, the more the fight drains out of him.

It feels like Cassian has been walking through a dream. He lets Kay lead him from the club, lets the cold night air wash over him. The first breath of winter air exhausts him, like a switch being flipped. Everything is suddenly too much all at once, the cold and the bright lights grating on his senses. All he wants to do is go back to their apartment and sleep.

“Cassian?” Kay calls to him as they wait for their car to be brought up, startling him. His friend’s gaze is quiet and worried. “Are you alright? Do you feel sick?”

‘I was looking for someone,’ he wants to say. And: ‘I wanted to go home with him. He was too beautiful to be real.’ 

“M’okay,” he sighs. “I’m just… I’m tired. And drunk. Let’s just go home.” He all but falls into the passenger seat even without Kay’s urging. 

Inside the club, Bodhi returns to the little tucked away space to find it empty. He stares at the space that had once been occupied by… fuck, a gorgeous man that was too alluring to be real.  “Damnit,” he hisses under his breath. He sets the two water bottles he'd left to retrieve aside, eyes darting frantically around for any trace of him.

All he finds are the faces of strangers.

END PART 1.

[midnightluck]

justm3h: So have you ever done a fic where Ace finds Sabo first instead of the other way around? It’s usually Sabo finding Ace and then things happen.

Me: Well, I mean. Wish By Spirit, yeah? Like, it’s always gonna go down the same with Ace.

Well, but I suppose–

What about a scene where Ace catches that flash of blue out of the corner of his eye and turns, already regretting the impulse but he’s still not quite over it, only this time, it’s actually what he thought it was and what??? So he follows that top hat around town a few hours, comes to the conclusion that it really may be Sabo, but how? Why??? HOW???

And then some guys drag Sabo into a dark alley, making threatening gestures, and Ace promptly nopes so hard that the next thing he knows, his knuckles hurt, he’s throwing heat like burning, and the guys are on the ground in front of him while could-maybe-be Sabo is safe behind him.

And maybe-Sabo stands up, sighs, brushes off his hat, all, “was that really necessary? I mean, thank you, I suppose,” only he makes it sound all aggressive. Ace blinks, “what?” “Do you know how much being obvious it took to get them to notice me? You’ve just wrecked hours of hard work that I spent luring them into attacking me. Still, I suppose you meant well.” “Uh….” then Sabo squints at him, all, “you seem familiar, have we met before?” “You–don’t remember me?” “Hmmm…oh! Fire Fist Ace! Yes, I’ve seen your posters!” and Ace’s hopes quietly crumble in the background.

So Ace looks at this stranger who probably isn’t his dead brother and finds himself suddenly desperate to not let him walk off. “Sorry,” he says, because you always apologize first to Sabo, especially if you don’t mean it. “Uh, let me buy you lunch? As an apology?”

So they go get ramen and Sabo is very suspicious and on his best polite behavior, but this guy is familiar and comfortable and eats more than he does, which, really? But it means he doesn’t have to use table manners either, which is good because there’s a pounding behind his eyes that sounds like family and is making it hard to concentrate. Then Ace grabs the last bit of something or other and Sabo doesn’t think, just reaches out to bop his hand to make him drop it, but Ace sees it coming because that dish was always Sabo’s favorite and twists his wrist away, so likely-Sabo reaches in to grab the wrist and pulls the hand towards his own bowl and it’s a familiar dance they’ve done so often that neither even register the quick casual violence of it until some poor waiter says, “uh, sirs?” and they both snap, “not now, Luffy,” and then Ace huffs and gives up and lets his head fall to the table in quiet laughter and he’s absolutely not crying when definitely Sabo makes his victory noise and obnoxiously chomps down on his spoils.

Sabo squints at him, “you okay?” “Me? I ain’t the dead one here, geez.” “Dead? I’ve never been…” “How’d you get the scar, Sabo?” “How’d you know–” “How much of you is covered in scar? Cause that’s what happens when your boat explodes, isn’t it?” “…what–my boat–” “how much of you is missing, Sabo?” “I–none of me, nothing’s missing…” “I am!” “Ace, what are you–Ace…”

Idk I guess they eat and run and then Sabo bullies Ace into helping fix the mission? Then typical sibling shenanigans some more and nothing hurts ever.