#or at least he hasn’t quite settled into his rhythm yet

[buildoblivionthenwewilltalk]

four to doomsday is a funny serial because it’s objectively kinda dull but it’s so SO good at showing us what makes fivey and his friends tick

[myreia]

DIVERGENCE OF THE HEART

CHAPTER TEN: HEART OF LIGHT

Chapter Rating: Mature Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Aymeric de Borel, Thancred Waters, Hilda Ware Pairings: Aureia/Aymeric, Aureia/Thancred, Thancred/Hilda Chapter Words: 6,640 Notes: Set during the Heavensward patches. This chapter contains some sensuality, but nothing explicit. Summary: Aureia Malathar may have made a name for herself in Ishgard, but her deeds come with a hefty personal toll. Despite her victories at the Grand Melee she has never felt more unsure of herself. Her relationship with Thancred—the person she thought knew her the best—is strained, yet she cannot abandon him. Aymeric is falling for her harder with each passing day, yet she cannot bring herself to accept it. All may be fair in love and war, but at least war is predictable. Love on the other hand… Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 Read on AO3

The cold is in her bones.

Aureia wakes with a jerk, forcing her crusted eyes open. A tangle of covers and bedsheets twist around her, the silk sticking her to her bare skin, but it is not enough to stave off the cold. Grumbling quietly to herself, she pulls her knees tightly into her chest and pulls the covers up to her chin. Aymeric rumbles beside her, still asleep, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. She must have drifted away from him during the night.

Carefully, she inches across the mattress and nuzzles against him, seeking his warmth. Her legs tangle with his, her freezing feet nudging him. How he can be so warm is beyond her. With a sigh, she rests her head against his chest and casts an eye around the room, idly debating the benefits of getting up against those of staying put.

The hearth has long since burned out, leaving behind nothing but dust-grey ash. The candles have snuffed themselves out. A bright sun seeps in from behind the closed curtains, the heavy velvet absorbing the light. It’s impossible to tell the time of day—and she finds she doesn’t care. The day can wait a little longer.

She slept soundly last night. It’s odd. Unexpected, even. Historically she hasn’t slept well in unfamiliar locations, some instinct buried deep within her jolting her awake every quarter bell before she can truly lose consciousness. Considering she has never shared her bed with anyone, she never thought it would be so comforting. Pleasant. She is so restless at night, often waking at the drop of a hat, she thought she would find it grating to share her intimate space with another. And yet she has woken refreshed with a kind of happiness she can’t quite explain. Perhaps last night a part of her understood unconditionally that she was safe in Aymeric’s arms.

Protected.

“By the Fury, your feet are cold.”

Aureia jolts up, surprised. Aymeric’s voice is thick and husky with sleep. He gazes at her through heavy-lidded eyes, grinning sheepishly. How long has he been awake?

She jerks her foot away. “I’m sorry—”

He puts a finger to her lips and shakes his head. She falls silent and waits, heart thrumming in her chest, delighting at the warmth of his fingers against her skin as he brushes her cheek. He leans in and presses an open, luxurious kiss to her mouth. There is nothing rushed about his movements—the swift excitement of the night before has faded to a slow, ardent burn, like the long-lasting coals that sustain a hearth throughout the night.

He draws back, his forehead presses to hers. “Perhaps we can be in agreement this morning,” he murmurs, a hand cradling the back of her neck. “No more apologies. It may very well do us some good.”

She chuckles and kisses him quickly. “I can agree to that.”

“Good.”

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her down. Shifting her weight, she hooks a leg over his hips and rolls on top of him, dragging the bedcovers with her. She settles down comfortably, pressed between the warmth of his body and the weight of the covers, and loses herself in kissing him. With her mind half-asleep, it is easy not to think of anything else.

A low sound rumbles in his throat and he draws back. “It is far too cold, even for me,” he says. “The hearth should not stay unlit. Allow me—”

She shakes her head and presses a finger to his lips. “I’m not ready to get up yet,” she murmurs. “Look.”

He tilts his head, brows drawn together in confusion. With a mischievous smirk, Aureia raises her hand and tugs on her aether, creating a tiny ball of flame. It dances between her fingertips and she twists her hand, sending the spark sailing across the room. It lands in the hearth and coaxes a fire to life, warmth spreading throughout the room from the crackling flames.

Aymeric lets out a long sigh and chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course. Why did that never occur to me—?”

She grins and cuts him off with a kiss.

Time passes. With the hearth lit, Aureia has become far too comfortable to consider getting up from bed. She rests her head against his chest and closes her eyes, feeling the steady pulse of his heart. The sounds of the street echo from beyond the windows—early morning pedestrians winding their way through the Pillars, knights to the training grounds, minor nobility to their places of work, high house aristocrats out for their morning walk. It all feels so distant, so unimportant, the way the world moves on without them.

Aymeric exhales a slow breath and holds her close, one hand stroking the planes of her back. She holds her breath, wondering if he will ask about the brands. To her surprise, she finds herself willing—almost eager—to tell him. It is not a discussion she can trust with many.

The question never comes.

She relaxes, the knot in her stomach unravelling, and somehow it makes her even more grateful for him. He would know, would he not? The toll war takes on you, body and soul. For some scars to heal, you must let them be no more than that. Scars.

He drags a hand through her hair, toying with the locks, and his fingers brush the tip of her ear. A pause. She can hear his hesitance, as if doubting the thought in his mind. She presses her lips together, attempting to contain her smile.

“I have an admittedly foolish and personal question,” he says after a moment.

She forces back a laugh. “I don’t think any question could be too personal now, do you? Foolish, on the other hand—”

He gives her a look.

“I promise, I’ll do my best not to tease you. What is it?”  

“I suppose my own curiosity often serves me my own embarrassment by the plateful. But indeed, over the course of the past year, I have oft wondered… Well… To put it plainly, when we first met I admit I was quite smitten with you.”

“All ready?”

“You are a beautiful woman, Aureia, why would I not be?”

A lump forms in her throat. The way he says it—as an objective truth that cannot be denied—makes her heart throb. It takes a significant amount of effort to keep her mouth shut and take the compliment.

“But I remember then, those few years ago,” he continues. “You wore your hair differently then. Longer. There was red within the black, was there not? I am merely curious as to why.”

She sighs, reluctantly considering her answer. An innocuous question from his point of view, perhaps, but not so much for her. “My hair does what it wants,” she says. “The red is some reaction to my aether, I’m not sure. Kallias—my brother—had it, too.”

The words slip out far too easily. She curses inwardly, regretting her carelessness. This opens too many questions, questions that lead to dangerous places—but he says nothing. If he is curious, he does not press. Warmth floods her, affection coursing through her veins. She could kiss him now, if he wasn’t waiting for her to finish her explanation.

“I cut it off after the bloody banquet,” she continues. “Tataru can tell you, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Hacked away with a knife. Half of Thanalan could recognize me on sight. It was the fastest way to… blend into the crowd, I suppose.”

Her teeth scrape her bottom lip. There is more to the story than that—things she wishes she could tell him. Things she wonders if she should. But the mere thought of it makes her throat tighten and her jaw clench, the secrets desperate to stay hidden. It may have been a decision fuelled by practicality, but cutting her hair hurt nonetheless.

In Garlemald her hair was cropped short. Not by her choice, no, but by that of her superiors. It had taken years for it to grow out after her defection. A small, personal act of continued defiance.

She closes her eyes and tucks the thought away. “I dye it now to keep the red out,” she finishes. “Messy, but easier than a glamour. I suppose I don’t need to now that Ul’dah isn’t out for my blood. Everyone knows what I look like regardless of what I do, but… I like keeping something of myself for myself. Does that make sense?”

His hand slips from her back. Gently, he coaxes her chin up and meets her gaze. “I do,” he says. “But Aureia, I fear sometimes you wish for nothing more than to hide yourself from the world. You do not need to hide. At the very least, not from me.”

Her heart pounds, the threat of tears panging in her eyes. She blinks them back and presses an aching, shaky kiss to his mouth. It’s the only thing she can think to do. The only thing she wants to do.

He chuckles and threads his hands in her hair, indulging the kiss. They linger in the moment, enjoying the slow-paced effortlessness of their morning together. Somehow here, wrapped in each other in his bed, there is nothing here but themselves. The urgencies of their daily lives can be put aside, shut out by the closed door. At least for now.

At least for a little longer.

Aymeric disentangles himself from her and throws the covers back. “Do you have many thoughts on tea?” he asks.

Aureia makes a face and tugs on the blankets, cocooning herself within them. “As in…?” she replies, prompting him to clarify. He slides to the edge of the bed and stretches an arm, working out a kink in his shoulder. Her gaze lingers on his bare back, indulging perhaps a little too much in the sight. He is awfully pretty, she must admit. “Do I like it? I suppose so. Some kinds, not all. Tataru makes it best, though she has a habit of spiking it with one remedy or another. If she happens to serve you tea, I would approach it with caution, you might get more than what you were asking for—”

He laughs. Shaking his head, he finishes his stretch and turns around, pushing a knee into the mattress as he leans across to kiss her forehead. “I am asking if you would like some, dearest,” he murmurs affectionately.  

She wriggles beneath the covers. “Oh,” she says. It’s hard to tell whether the flush on her cheeks is from her mistake or his use of the word dearest. “Yes. Please.”

He smiles and draws back, rising smoothly from the bed. Pulling a long dressing gown from the back of an armchair, he shrugs it on and pads across the room on bare feet. He retrieves a tray, a teapot, a jar of tea leaves and a couple of porcelain cups so fancy they should really only be used for polite company. As he sets about brewing the tea over the hearth, she wonders whether he could call on his staff to bring them something. The gesture of making it himself means something, even if she doesn’t have the words for it.

Aureia curls inwards, tucking her knees into her chest. She burrows beneath the covers, distracted by opposing thoughts. On one hand, she should get up and help. She is his… guest? Friend? Visitor? She doesn’t know what to call herself now, and lingering on it for too long leaves her reaching for words she does not want to contend with. On the other, a part of her buried deep within enjoys the thought of Aymeric doting on her. It is so counterintuitive to who she is that it terrifies her, but she likes it all the same.

“Not keen to be an early riser, I take it?” he asks, breaking the silence.

She smiles. “I can be,” she replies playfully. “But not every day. You’ll have to forgive me for staying put, I seem to remember that someone took off my clothes and left them outside.”

He coughs sheepishly, the tips of his ears turning red. “I do recall that same event. Rather well, I might add.”

She trades looks with him, unable to hide her smile. With a dramatic sigh, she throws the covers off and sits up, scooting to the edge of the bed. Her skin prickles without their warmth, goosepimples running down her arms. “But I suppose if you insist, I might have to help myself.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, watching her with adoring amusement. Her feet touch the floor and she saunters to the bureau and ransacks the drawers. She finds an old undershirt, the blue so faded it is almost grey, and pulls it on over her head. The hem reaches to just above her knees, covering her ass, and the sleeves dangle far past her hands. The open collar is deep on her, dipping between her breasts.

The shirt smells like him. She likes it—not that she is going to mention it.

Pleased, Aureia wanders across the room and sinks into an armchair, throwing her legs casually over the armrests. She tugs idly at the too-long sleeves, rolling them up to her wrists as Aymeric finishes brewing the tea and pours it into the cups. He proffers one to her and leans in, kissing her.

“Thank you,” she says, lingering in the kiss.

He murmurs something in return, his voice too husky to make out the words, and withdraws to his own armchair. She raises the cup, the porcelain warm against her palms, and takes a sip. He brewed it in the Ishgardian way, of course—the boiled yak’s milk is smooth and creamy, the tea rich in flavour.

It is calming, drinking this tea in front of a roaring hearth with him. Though her mind whirls, reaching for words to fill the silence for some reason that escapes her, she cannot deny the comfort of being here with him. There is something wonderful about this quiet morning spent together, a natural extension of the night before.

And it is alarmingly domestic.

She can’t make sense of their relationship. What is Aymeric to her now? What is she to him? They care for each other, yes, but there is so much left unsaid. So much undetermined. They have sailed right past the borders of friendship and landed in new waters. There are a half-dozen words to describe two people who care for each other who have slept together. Lovers, paramours, partners. A couple. None of it feels right.

She tries not to think about the gossip they will cause, the assumptions that will be made the moment she is seen regularly visiting the manor. She knows she will again.  

I do not wish for this to be the only night I share with you. I would look to tomorrow. And the day after. And every day that is yet to come.

She sips at her tea, hoping it will dissolve the lump in her throat. Apart of her yearns to run—accept herself as the wayward warrior who is better on her own. That would be the easiest path. Rude, yes, too walk away now after everything, but no doubt the safest in the long run. She can’t hurt him if she walks away now.

She doesn’t know how to navigate this. She doesn’t know what to do with this level of affection and intimacy. She imagined her first time would be some rough and tumble affair in a grungy inn, pursuing sex for the sake of sex. It’s what Hilda would do. A fun diversion. Someone to enjoy herself with before returning to more important matters.

But she isn’t Hilda. She can’t leave and disappear into the Ishgardian morning, pretending nothing has happened. She can’t walk away from him so easily. That isn’t her. To leave would be wrong, but to stay is to accept that their relationship is becoming something she may not be prepared to give.

Aureia drains her tea and rotates the cup in her hands, jittering a leg against the armrest. Should she speak? Break the silence? The topic must be on his mind as much as it is on hers. He is the only thing that makes sense in her life.

Ugh. You’re such a fool. Why are you making this more complicated than it needs to be? You’re happy, aren’t you?  

She pauses, frozen, feeling nothing but the slow beat of her heart pulsing in her chest. Her gaze flicks across the room to Aymeric, taking him in. He lounges comfortably in hid chair and drinks his tea, a peaceful expression on his face. Looking at him now, how quiet and relaxed he is… It makes her happy. He makes her happy.

And it has been a very long time since she has felt that way.

Aymeric has caught her looking at him. “Is something the matter?” he asks. “Is it not to your liking?” 

Aureia smiles. “No, no,” she says quickly. “Nothing like that.” She stretches, leaning far over her chair’s armrest to push her empty cup onto a nearby table. “I was lost in thought, that’s all.”

He raises an eyebrow and calmly sips his tea. “Oh? May I inquire as to what about?”

She rises to her feet and pads across the floor, bare feet sinking into the thick rug. He tilts his head as she approaches, his gaze lingering on the way his shirt clings to her body. She has heard—or read, to be more specific, in those damnable romance chapbooks—the phrase undressed with their eyes and thought it ridiculous. She both loves and hates that it makes sense to her now.

“Something about you,” she says, stopping in front of him. She rests a hand on the back of his armchair and leans in, pressing her mouth to his.

A soft groan escapes him, scuffing his cup against the table as he puts it down blind. “About me?”

She smiles against his lips and deepens the kiss. “About you, yes,” she says and presses a knee into his chair for support. Her fingers tangle in his hair, cradling the back of his neck.

In response he runs his hands down her back and slips them beneath the hem of his shirt, cupping her ass. “And what would that be, pray tell?” he murmurs and sweeps her into his lap.

She laughs with delight, straddling him comfortably, and kisses him again. His shirt tangles around her, riding up, and he runs a hand along her upper thigh. A little shiver tingles at the nape of her neck, threatening to run down her spine. “It’s a secret,” she says. “Perhaps you’ll get it out of me one day.”

He chuckles huskily and kisses her. “Perhaps I will, yes,” he replies, indulging her teasing playfulness. “Perhaps that day will even be today—but in a moment. Stay here, yes?”

She nods and shifts her weight off him, squeezing between him and the armrest. He plants a quick kiss to her forehead and rises from the chair, crossing the floor swiftly and disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. She curls up in his chair, tugging idly at his shirt. Realistically, she knows they should dress and prepare for the day. They can’t stay locked up here together forever. But the slow, lazy intimacy of the morning has an addictive wonder to it, one neither of them wish to break. For once it is broken, they may never get it back.

The longer that door stays closed and the world shut out, the longer they can pretend they are the only two people in the world.

A rap on the door. Polite, swift—and insistent.

Aureia stiffens, glancing across the room with the hope to see Aymeric return. But he does not. The rap sounds again, sharp with professionalism, and she curls tighter into the chair. Marcel must be on the other side. And whatever he has to say must be urgent.

With an exasperated sigh, she rolls out of the chair and stands up, smoothing her shirt down and tying the front as best she can. This is the last conversation she wants to have with Aymeric’s butler, but she might as well get it over with. Marcel was never going to approve of her, so what should it matter?

Brushing her hair sharply behind her ears in a last attempt to make herself presentable, she strides across the room and yanks the door open mid-knock.

As expected, Marcel is on the other side. The butler drops his raised hand to his side and bows, a picture of professionalism. His gaze skates over her, staring her in the face while avoiding lingering on the loose shirt. “Mistress Malathar,” he says coldly. “A fine day to you.”

“Thank you, Marcel,” she replies, equally icy. “Is there a reason for your presence here or—” She stops short as the realization hits. Day? Not morning? How long were she and Aymeric lounging in bed?  

He smiles with stiff politeness. “You have my assurance that I would never dare impose upon my lord unless it was of the utmost necessity.” Why does his tone make her feel like they are playing a game, saying one thing with their words but meaning something else? It is the kind of false politeness that saturates the Ishgardian aristocracy and it makes her gut twist. “A messenger has arrived from House Fortemps and awaits Ser Aymeric in the parlour below.”

She blinks, fighting to keep her expression neutral. Tempting though it is to scowl and shut the door in his face, she knows that is not a rational solution. “Did this messenger give any indication what this is about?” she asks.

“No, he did not—which should inform you that it is a matter too sensitive to be entrusted to a senior members of the household staff. Perhaps it is Scion business. Urgent. Or so I gather.”

The echo of her words last night do not go unnoticed. She would dearly love to punch him in the face, but she suspects Aymeric wouldn’t appreciate that. “Right. Thank you. I’ll tell him.”

Marcel fixes her with an even stare. “Mistress Malathar, if I may impart some advice—”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“But if I may.”

It is not a request.

She grimaces and relents. He is going to impart his advice whether she likes it or not, so she might as well be polite about it… as much as she can. “Very well.”

“Take heed and take care. Once this secret escapes it will not be contained. A blossoming relationship may be enchanting at first, but there will come a time soon enough when you both must face the demands of Ishgardian society. Conceal what you must from whom you must, but know that the longer you prolong your secrecy, the more difficult it will become.”

“I know that.”

“You may know, yes, but you may not realize. I do not wish for your actions to harm Ser Aymeric.”

“Harm him?” she stutters, baffled. “I—”

He exhales a long breath. “Think on it. Have some consideration, mademoiselle, I beg of you.”

She chews her lower lip, still too stunned for words.

“Regardless, I have ensured that your clothes have been laundered and pressed and your boots retrieved,” Marcel continues with clipped professionalism. He steps aside, a narrow sliver of light from the bedroom cascading into the study beyond him, and gestures to Aymeric’s desk. Her clothes and jacket sit neatly folded on the surface, her boots resting against the side. She isn’t sure what to make of the gesture. Though it may be a kindness, it feels like a slap on the wrist.

Ugh. Ishgard.  

“I imagine you wish to make yourself presentable.”

She smiles begrudgingly. “Thank you. I—”

“Is something the matter, Marcel?” Aymeric’s voice calls from across the room. “Has something urgent occurred?”

Aureia closes her eyes and presses her lips together tightly. This is exactly the kind of situation she dreaded. If only the stubborn butler had stubbornly knocked, left his message, and retired…

“Certainly, my lord,” Marcel says calmly. “Master Artoirel awaits in the parlour—”

She blinks at the mention of the name. Artoirel, serving as messenger? Why him? Why now? Why couldn’t Marcel have told her directly? Why did he wait for Aymeric to appear before saying anything? Then again she shouldn’t be surprised that Marcel was upfront with him and not with her. He is lord of the manor. She has no merit in this household. 

“Alphinaud Leveilleur makes preparations to move on Xelphatol. In your absence, Count Edmont has ordered a contingent of knights to secure the entrance—”

“In my absence? I would have overseen the operation, as I drafted in my missive—”

“My lord, with permission, you did not finish your missive.”

The silence in the room is deafening. The implication could not be more clear.

Aymeric passes a hand over his face. “He is well within his rights to deploy his knights as he sees fit. Xelphatol is within striking distance of Camp Dragonhead. I was to ask him to do so.”

“Ser, if I may, perhaps it is well that the lord count has acted on your behalf,” Marcel says with blunt weariness. “I cannot conceive a world where the count would act counter to your best wishes. As Lucia has told you many times before, delegation is not a fault, but the mark of a true leader. That Alphinaud Leveilleur and Count Edmont have taken the initiative only means, in no uncertain terms, that you have steadfast allies.”

Aymeric lets out a long breath. “Thank you for your honesty, Marcel,” he says. “You are right, as you often are. Return to the parlour and inform Artoirel I will meet with him shortly.”

“At once, my lord.”

“And Marcel… perhaps say nothing of my guest, yes?”

The butler fixes him with a stern look. “Of course, my lord.”

With a short bow to both of them, Marcel withdraws across the study and disappears into the hallways, closing the door firmly behind him.

“Of course it’s Artoirel,” Aureia says bitterly.

“Yes, and I will meet with him forthwith, love.” Aymeric plants an abrupt kiss to her forehead and moves past her, digging through his wardrobe for appropriate clothes. The gesture is blunt, hurried—though he hasn’t outright said, she senses annoyance. Not with Marcel nor with Artoirel, but with her. Or perhaps the situation. “Stay here while he briefs me on forthcoming events. I suspect you will need to prepare, the Scions will no doubt wish to dispatch you alongside Master Leveilleur.”

He dresses swiftly, pulling on a tailored shirt and trousers in a matter of moments—far easier to manage than his uniform which, she recalls, was left outside in the study. Did Marcel press and launder those as well? She may be as good as dirt in his eyes, but the old butler does care deeply for Aymeric.

“I’d rather go back to bed,” she says.

He pauses, halfway through lacing up his boots. “Would that time were not against us,” he says. “Perhaps one day it can be so, but for now we cannot afford selfishness. Our responsibilities will not wait—”

“I know,” she interrupts. How can she make him understand? It’s not that she wants to forgo her responsibilities—the Warriors of Darkness must be dealt with, and if she is the only one who can put a stop to them summoning Garuda, then she will do it. But that does not change how her heart aches at the disruption to this morning and how badly she clings to it. Could they not have had another bell of peace? “But still—”

“Get dressed. I will see to Artoirel.” He meets her eyes, his expression softening in apology. There is conflict in him, torn between the man who wishes to stay and love her and the politician who must leave to lead his nation. With a heavy sigh, he leans down and kisses her, his thumb brushing her cheek. He lingers in the kiss and pulls away, leaving her in the study’s semi-darkness without another word.

One click of the door later and the reality of the situation comes rushing home like Vylbrand’s tides. She stands immovable in the threshold, a chill once again pricking at her skin. She feels naked beneath his oversized shirt—an absurd observation consider that she is, in fact, naked beneath his shirt—but she feels exposed now, and filled with regret. Perhaps she should have been more careful, maintained some form of respectability in front of Marcel.

She chews the inside of her cheek, irritably eyeing her clothes on Aymeric’s desk. So clean, so neat, folded with care. She doubts they have ever been so well cared for than in the hands of Marcel’s staff. Is this what aristocracy is? Glorified parenting by a group of judgmental manservants who—

For gods’ sake, calm down. You’re being ridiculous.  

She inhales a deep breath. She cannot—does not—want to unravel what the butler’s actions could or could not mean. This is new territory for him as much as it is for her. For Aymeric. She knows realistically Marcel will do whatever he must to protect the good name of his lord’s house from gossip and hearsay. Besides, she should be thankful. If she wants her privacy, she will have to twist some lie for Artoirel to explain her presence at the manor. Muddy and crumpled clothes from the night before will not help in that regard.

If she is honest with herself, her anger at Marcel is a distraction. Something easier to dig her teeth to divert her attention from the painful truth: she doesn’t know what to do about Thancred. Right now, the last thing she wants is to look at him. But Scion business is Scion business. There will be little she can do to avoid him while he is in Ishgard.

A loud meow sounds in the darkness and a bushy orange tail flicks from around the couch. Sylvaine trots into view a moment later and winds around Aureia’s legs. He nuzzles her calves, butting his head gently against them, and meows again.

She smiles. “Well, at least one of us has common sense,” she says, petting him gently. Her hand disappears into his pillow of majestic fluff.

Sylvaine purrs contently, enjoying the moment, then scurries through the gap in her legs and into the bedroom. With a sigh, she grabs her clothes and boots and follows him. As expected, the cat is nowhere to be found. Knowing she cannot procrastinate any longer, she dresses quickly and mechanically. Aymeric’s bedchambers feels large and empty without him. The manor is uncomfortably quiet, too large to relay sound from the floor below. Even the streets outside are silent, devoid of foot traffic.

She is displaced without him. Overwhelmed. The high ceilings are too high, the rich furnishings too rich, the warm hearth too warm. She misses the simplicity of the Forgotten Knight, alcoholic reek and all.

Fastening the last button of her shirt, Aureia shrugs on her coat and smooths it down. The red leather is pliable beneath her hands, soft and familiar. When she attaches her rapier to her belt, the weapon’s weight tugs at her hip, a reminder of who she is and what she is capable of. Small comforts, perhaps, but important ones.

The walk through the upstairs is unbearably long. Though she strides at an even pace, the heels of her boots clicking confidently against the polished wood, the hallway stretches out for an eternity. Where last night it was cozy now it is stark and drafty, harsh streams of sunlight flowing in through frost-laced windows. She shivers, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Perhaps she should re-consider getting a fur-lined cloak, Thancred was always on her ass about it…

She slows her pace, her ears pricking up. For a moment she thought she heard the echo of voices, but there is nothing now. Shrugging, she rounds the corner and steps onto the staircase landing, squinting in the bright light of the foyer’s chandelier.

A familiar figure leans against the wall, arms crossed and picking at her nails with mild disinterest in her surroundings. Her head jolts up at the sound of Aureia’s footsteps and her ruby gaze sweeps the stairs, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

“About time you showed up,” Hilda says, adjusting her stance, watching her closely as she descends. “I was wondering where in this labyrinth you’d run off to.”

“Maybe keep wondering to a minimum,” Aureia replies, regretting her choice of words as soon as they are out of her mouth. Not that it matters—was there really any way of answering that question without raising Hilda’s suspicions?

Hilda raises an eyebrow and her smile only grows. “Aye, captain, I’ll consider it.”

“What are you doing here, Hilda? I didn’t think you enjoyed hanging around the Pillars unless strictly necessary.”

“The Leveilleur boy was quite worried, you know. About your whereabouts. Seems you missed an important meeting, which your Scion friends have assured me is quite unlike you. Somehow I was wrangled into the search. I’m glad my instincts have paid off—if only to best Thancred at his game.”

Her jaw clenches at the off-hand comment. Returning Hilda’s smile, she hops down the final steps and joins her at the foyer threshold. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she says. “I left my weapons here after dinner last night.”

Hilda’s eyes shine with amusement. “Aye, I’m sure. Weapons.”

“Well, I’m not about to go to Xelphatol unarmed.”

“If anyone could go to Xelphatol unarmed and decimate whatever tomfoolery the Ixal are planning now with your bare fists, it would be you.”

“Not exactly a compliment, Hilda.”

She raises an eyebrow, taken aback by sudden bitterness. Aureia makes a face, but cannot muster an apology or an explanation. Though the comment is casual and well-meaning, it grates on her that even her closest friend in Ishgard can’t go a minute without reminded her of what she is. A one-person army. The solution to the impossible. A tool of war. How many Ixal has she slain now? How many times has she stripped them of their god?

The Warriors of Darkness must be stopped, yes, but no one has stopped to consider another way. The Scions made decisions in her absence, Count Edmont released his orders. It will be a long fight up the slope of the mountain. If she wanted a different outcome, she shouldn’t have given into distractions. She should never have sought out Aymeric.

“Fury take me, what is with that look?” Hilda’s voice echoes in her ears, snapping her out of her thoughts. Her friend stares at her with concern, adjusting her arms across her chest. “The world could be coming to an end for all I know. For the record, I hope it ain’t. Not when shit’s finally getting good.”

Aureia sighs and sidles up next to her, leaning firmly against the wall. “It won’t. I’ll make sure of that.”

Her lips twitch. “You know, if you need me to shoot someone, say the word. Real enemies or real assholes—whichever is the problem, I have your back.”

She smiles, grateful. “Thanks, Hilda.”

Somewhere in the depths of the manor, a door closes. Boots click against the floor, punctuated by the intense murmur of familiar voices. Aymeric and Artoirel round the corner deep in heated conversation. Though their tone is polite, neither of them can quite mask their annoyance.

“…I will not play messenger between you and my father on this matter—”

“And yet you are still here, are you not?”

“As a favour to him, yes. And in honour of my duty to my house. You should understand something of that by now. Ishgard and the House of Lords are not your sole responsibility.”

“I am aware, thank you.”

“Aymeric, I tell you this as a friend first and a brother second. He has only the best intentions—”

Aymeric clears his throat and slows to a stop. Artoirel cuts off mid-sentence, his gaze sweeping across the foyer to find Aureia and Hilda leaning against the wall. His jaw snaps closed and he regards them warmly, swallowing the conversation and his pride. Behind the smile, his eyes are weary. Worn.

“Mistress Malathar,” he says, bowing deeply. “Good day. I am glad to see you well.”

“Thank you.” She does not return the bow. “How is your brother?”

“Well. The count wishes to convey—” Artoirel stumbles, realizing that she has flipped the script. It was not his father she asked about first, but Emmanellain. He chuckles, covering his mistake, and shakes his head. “Apologies. My brother is as well as can be. Under the weather after he was caught outside in that storm last night, but otherwise well.” 

Poor Emmanellain. She can’t fathom what the boy was up to, but Artoirel seems insistent on judging him regardless of what he does. “Good.”

“As I was saying, my father desires to convey his best wishes for your mission today. Our knights are preparing for your journey to Xelphatol as we speak.”

That’s not why you came here, Artoirel, and you know it. She fixes him with a steely gaze. Knowing Ishgardian nobility, getting him to admit it outright is next to impossible. “Give Edmont my thanks. His kindness in assisting the Scions of the Seventh Dawn is always appreciated.”

“I shall, my lady.” Artoirel bows again, falling back on stiff politeness. “He is always happy to lend his expertise should others become otherwise occupied. Delegation is the key to success, is it not?”

“So I’ve heard.”

A faint flush reddens his cheeks. “I know you have other concerns now, Aureia. But as I am here, my father—”

Hilda shoves her elbow into Aureia’s side, silencing her before she can speak. With a jaunty smile, she pushes off the wall and takes a stand before the Elezen men. She is not a small person by any means, but she is dwarfed next to them. “Ah, Artoirel, my favourite lordling,” she says with a wink. “I’m sure Aureia would love to stay and chat, but she has other matters to attend to right now. She came to collect her weapons and she has. Best we be off.”

She turns on a heel and strides purposefully to the doors and throws them open.

Aureia winces at the bright sunlight, her expression contorting. She is grateful for the exit Hilda has given her, but her heart is panging. This is too sudden, too rushed. If only she had more time with Aymeric to say a proper goodbye. Privately.

Damn it, Artoirel.

She raises her head, meeting his eyes. Aymeric smiles faintly, his gaze lingering on her. There is a hint of the ardent, passionate man from last night in his face, the one who cares little for arbitrary rules. For a moment, she wonders whether he will close the distance between them and kiss her goodbye. She can envision it well enough.

But he does not.

He gives her one last aching look. “Be safe, Aureia,” he says softly. “I will wait for news of your endeavours most earnestly.”

She smiles. “You will be the first to know. I promise you that.”

Without a further word, she turns her back on him and strides out into daylight.

[biboybuckley]

i’m always a sucker for forehead kisses or just soft warm cuddles if that sparks anything?

Eddie gets to watch as it happens this time. He doesn’t leave the room for beers and come back to a softly snoring Buck passed out on his couch. No, this time… this time it happens slowly. They’re watching some movie- Eddie hasn’t really been able to pay attention, far too distracted by his own thoughts and how fucking soft Buck looks like this, curled up on Eddie’s sofa- and Eddie gets to see as Buck’s blinks grow longer, slower. As his head droops lower, finally resting on his own shoulder. How his breaths slow, becoming deep and even. How the lines of his face melt away as he’s lulled deeper and deeper into sleep. 

It isn’t until Eddie’s absolutely positive that Buck’s asleep that he begins to talk, his voice barely above a whisper as he studies Buck’s face.

“I lied to you,” he confesses, his fingers absently picking at a loose threat in the fabric of the couch. “I didn’t mean to- not really, at least. I just…” Eddie takes a slow, heavy breath, closing his eyes for a moment.”I don’t know how to tell you that you’re the last thing I saw as I fell. That my last thought wasn’t This is it, but It’s okay. He’s okay. I don’t know how to tell you that and not also tell you that it brought me peace, knowing you were okay. Knowing that I wasn’t losing you. It’s selfish- I know that. But- even then, man, I knew that if you died, I would too. The part of me that matters, at least. And it did. It did die. I felt-” his voice trembles and he moves his fingers to wrap around Buck’s wrist softly, pausing for a moment until he can find the rhythm of the other man’s heart.

“I felt myself die. I died with you, when your heart stopped. I was dead for three minutes. I think they were probably the longest minutes of my life, Buck. And I was- I was just a ghost after that. Barely there, hanging on by a thread as you fought to come back. I couldn’t- I couldn’t even look at you. It just hurt so fucking much, to see you like that. To not be able to do anything. I just- I couldn’t. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you earlier.”

Eddie’s fingers trace up Buck’s arm, featherlight even over the sweater, up to his face, tracing over the birthmark above his eyebrow carefully. Buck huffs softly in his sleep, turning his face further into Eddie’s touch. Something warm and gooey melts inside Eddie’s chest, seeping into his veins like golden honey as he catches his breath, properly cradling the side of Buck’s face now. “I’m sorry I’m not brave enough to tell you yet. I will,” he promises, the oath settling next to his heart. He brushes his thumb over Buck’s cheekbone. “Soon. When we’re both ready.”

Buck makes a soft sound in his sleep, shifting a little. Eddie can’t quite help himself, he leans forward, crossing the short distance between them, and presses his lips to Buck’s forehead, brushing over his birthmark ever so softly. He pulls back after a few moments, an ache building in his chest. He wants, so much. Soon, his mind murmurs, his heart beating along with the promise. He smiles softly.

Then- Buck’s eyelashes flutter, his eyes opening slowly. He blinks owlishly at Eddie, who��s frozen with his hand fitted along Buck’s jaw. He can’t move, his breath caught in his throat. But Buck’s mouth merely lifts in a soft smile, turning further into Eddie’s touch, his lips brushing the inside of Eddie’s wrist as his eyes fall closed. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs sleepily against Eddie’s skin, shifting slightly to make more room for Eddie to slot in beside him. He opens his eyes again, meeting Eddie’s gaze with tired blue eyes filled to the brim with love and whispers, “Please.”

Eddie swallows hard, nodding carefully. “Yeah,” he breathes, brushing his thumb across Buck’s cheek. “Yeah, of course.” It takes a bit of fumbling (especially with a very groggy Buck), but they make it work- Eddie lying on the couch on his back, Buck curled into his side, one leg thrown across one of Eddie’s, Eddie’s arms around Buck’s waist, buck’s face pillows on Eddie’s chest. 

For the first time since Buck’s heart stopped, Eddie feels like he’s truly breathing.

[legendsofmyriad]

Legends of Myriad: Arc One - Chapter 17: Sunlight and Dust

Speeding wheels kicked up a shower of sand, churning up the pale grains and spitting them onto the deep tracks. The heavy fabric canopy protecting them from the scorching sun billowed with the steady momentum and carried a cooling air current into the vehicle. 

“Do you mind tightening that rope?” Rhena asked, waving to the loose cord fluttering frantically from the tail of the car. 

With a soft grunt, Alek shuffled onto his knees and twisted round. Rough canvas shaved against his wrist as he extended his arm to grab the rope, his fingers feeling for the frayed fibres until he finally snatched hold. Heaving himself inside, he coiled it around the bar and secured it with a tight knot. 

“Thanks. Been meaning to get it fixed, but… well…” Frustration scrunched at her face as she held up her bandaged limb and winced at the tingled ache. The infernal bandages not only limited her movement but also made it impossible for her to fix her car sufficiently. Cas had brought her inside the house multiple times after discovering her with vehicle components balanced on an uplifted thigh and tools in her mouth, desperately trying to prove she could still manage. She maintained she could, but for the sake of her worried partner she relented. 

“Are you sure you’re good to be driving with an injury like that?” Alek questioned, settling into his seat and straightening the seatbelt over his lap. 

“It’s not that bad anymore. The doctors are just being cautious with the bandages,” Rhena assured him. “Besides, I can drive with my feet if I need to.”

“You’ve done that before?”

“Course I have,” she laughed. “You won’t find a vector racer who hasn’t tested it at least once. There have been a few races where drivers had no choice but to resort to it. Some even do it just to show off, but the Racing Federation has cracked down on it quite hard over the past few years.” 

Inhaling at the humid air, he tried not to think about the accidents she must have seen after racers had taken those reckless risks. Yet the dangers didn’t deter Rhena and others from participating in the sport, and he figured there must have been a significant payoff for them to put their lives on the line in such a way. “What got you into racing?” he inquired curiously. 

“My dad,” she said, gaze drifting to the steering wheel as a wistful smile played on her lips. “He was an incredible racer, but he had to stop. His body couldn’t keep up with the demands anymore. My old coach saw my talent and convinced my parents to let me do some trial runs. Mum hated the idea. She always told me how terrified she was whenever my dad raced and she didn’t want to go through that again, but she never stopped me.” 

“They let you choose?” 

“Yeah. They did.” Glimpsing into the top mirror, she noticed a pensive look cross his features. “Did your parents not give you a choice in what you wanted to do?” 

“Not really,” Alek replied, picking at his thumbs. “When the Sunbreak Army was established, they pushed for me to be a part of it. I think they assumed it would boost them up the social ladder.”

“What would you have chosen?”

With a dismissive shrug, he heaved a short, exasperated breath. “I don’t know, but it would have been nice for them to ask me before sending in my application to the Academy.” 

As the wheels crossed a densely packed span of dunes, Rhena adjusted herself in her seat to the rhythm of the bumps and lifts. The further they got from civilisation, the more the ground flattened, and the rainbow hues from the towering translucent structures floated in patches on the grains. 

“Are they natural?” Alek asked, gesturing to the crystalline formations. “Or do people make them?” 

“They’re all natural,” Rhena told him. “The sand sometimes gets so hot that it turns into glass. As more is blown onto it and heats, it grows. Some of these are hundreds of years old.” 

Leaning into the rock and sway of the vehicle, Alek pushed aside the fabric drape and shielded his eyes from the harsh sunlight, drinking in the sight of the soaring towers. 

“It’s quite valuable,” Rhena added, “but nobody dares to go near them since they give off rather nasty burns.” 

“I know that from experience,” Alek grumbled. He inched forward and raised his sleeve, displaying the raw, red splotches on his skin. Most of them had blistered and begun to heal, but a few stubbornly remained, and he resisted the temptation to scratch at them. 

The driver let out a teasing coo of endearment. “Looks like you’re becoming a real sandboy, huh?” she chuckled warmly, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder to the pile of cardboard cartons on the seats next to him. “Check the top box. Should be some green jars. You see them?” 

“This one?” Alek said, rooting in the packaging and removing a stout jade jar. 

“That’s it. Shove some of that on your burns and they’ll heal up in no time.”

He pried the lid open and placed it at his side, applying some of the gooey salve to the angry marks. An immediate sense of relief cooled his aches and appeased the tension in his muscles. 

“Keep that if you want,” Rhena said, “I’ve got plenty.” 

With gratitude in his eyes, Alek thanked her and spread a little more on his injuries before shoving the container into his satchel. 

He peeked out again at the rolling plains and locked onto the silvery white column gushing light into the sky. Home called to him, familiar and comforting, but the soldier within his soul reminded him he wasn’t done with his mission yet. 

“Shit,” Rhena hissed as the vehicle bounced down a steep dune, wheels grinding on the rough terrain. 

Bracing himself through the shakes and wobbles, Alek leaned through the gap between the driver and the passenger seats. “Everything okay?” he asked. As she yanked at the gear stick, a disgruntled whir emitted from beneath the car. “Is it supposed to do that?” 

“All part of the fun,” Rhena replied. She clicked at the buttons beside the steering wheel and the exhaust released a pitiful splutter, as though to converse with the grating rumble of the engine. 

“Still part of the fun?”

“Of course.”

“Is that why it smells like rotting eggs in here?” 

Rhena grunted under her breath about backseat drivers and altered the controls, slowing them gradually to balance the unbridled rise and fall. The clanging pipes subsided, but the scraping persisted, its constant growling making her uneasy. She’d checked the car before they set off, going through her list and ticking off each item. Yet the gears protested and the smell of hot sulphur intensified. 

Jolting the wheel and spinning it to its limit, she pulled over on flatter land and locked the handbrake. “Okay,” she whistled, “let’s have a look at you, you pain in the arse.” 

For a moment, Alek thought she was addressing him and poked at his chest, brows curving downwards like a kicked puppy until she tapped on the car and gave him a tickled laugh. 

She squatted down and angled herself to peer at the connectors underneath. Gushes of uncomfortable heat poured from the lower engine and she rose with a short huff. She moved to the front and hauled up the bonnet. “Found you,” she muttered, balancing on her toes to lean over and dig out a clump of damp dirt. “Looks like there’s a nasty blockage in one of the main valves. Some of the water leaked and sand got stuck. Might take a bit to clear.”

With a vigilant jump, Alek made the steep step down onto the searing sands. A silver-tinged stream of light rose from behind a dune, and he lifted his shawl above his eyes to block the radiant glare of sunlight. “It doesn’t seem too far to the gateway. I can walk it if you want to stay here and mend the car.”

“You sure?” Rhena said, peeking around the bonnet with her sludge-smothered hands still inside the piping. At the fearless nod, she gestured to the boot. “There are some metal poles in there. Was going to use them to replace the struts, but take one of them just in case you need it.” 

“I’ll be fine, I have my magic,” Alek said, showing her his palm and letting it gleam. 

“Magic or not, sometimes you’re better clobbering something and making a dash for it,” Rhena pressed. 

He sensed she wouldn’t let him go alone unless he agreed to her conditions, so he selected a pole the length of his forearm and swung it a few times to get used to the weight. 

“There you go, sandboy,” she teased. She watched him twirl it with controlled rotations of his wrist before he struck out at the air with an audible whoosh. “Mind you don’t wear yourself out.” 

“I’m a trained soldier,” he said, flipping the pipe behind his back and snatching it with the other hand. “Well, almost. I still have my final year at the Academy to complete, and then I’ll be eligible to join the Sunbreak Army, and there’s a lot of rigorous training after that before I-” He paused at Rhena’s arched eyebrow and secured the make-shift weapon to his bicep band. “I’m just going to, um, see to the gateway, and check that everything is… you know… all right.” 

“If you’re not back in an hour, I’ll come looking for you,” she called after him, swiping the red curls stuck to her forehead with her thumb. “No promises, but I’ll try not to spook you.”

Alek climbed the last metres of the dune on all fours, his hands sinking into the uncomfortably warm sand. At the top, he caught his breath and took in the view of the open land below. Azuris police tape fluttered by a concrete circle and a lengthy shadow stretched from a cave nearby. 

Descending the hill, he kept an arm behind himself in case of any slips, and ignited a small orb once in the shade. A crudely cut plate of corrugated metal covered the cave mouth and he traced the bumps until he felt the biting edges. The ends hadn’t been welded to secure it, and glancing about as though someone out there in the pale nothingness would spot him, he wriggled his fingers into the bottom corner gap and drove a strengthened pulse of magic into it. In creaking inches, it curled, and he coaxed it further until he had enough room to crawl through. 

Inside, the wide tunnel gave way to smaller, darker passages that he navigated with caution, following the magnetic buzz of the gateway until he came to the round auditorium.  

Before he could inspect the glittering portal, a body slammed into his side and knocked him down, the solid, gritty surface stealing the breath from his lungs. Wheezing, he skimmed the skeletal remains and decomposing corpses on the ground, clambering to his feet to launch a spark of magic at the approaching assailant. His spells did nothing, bouncing off shredded clothes. With a flick of his hand, he raised an enchanted shield and retreated. The man walked straight through and smirked. 

A wave of panic washed over the student as he realised his powers were worthless, and he explored alternative options. Limbs cricking and resetting with each movement, the creature advanced at speed, avoiding the sunlit spots cutting through the broken ceiling. 

Alek evaded the swipe with a drop and a roll, poising for a counterattack. Think, he urged himself. Your magic may be useless but… 

An idea struck him as the monster’s pale wrist scratched a bloom of sunlight and a hiss tore from his flesh. In the faint glow, Alek could see the strange angle of his jawbone and a fresh scar. 

“The gateway needs more blood,” the vampyre spoke, almost in a frenzied panic. “This one does not lead to Lucarian as it should. Just some barren world.”

“Look, I can help,” Alek said, hoping to avoid a violent confrontation. “I know the man who made these. He’ll fix it.”

“No. No! The right sacrifice opened the gateway all those centuries ago, and it will get me home now.”

The creature sped at him again, but this time Alek snatched the pipe attached to his shoulder band, forcing his magic to steel his muscles and swinging up into the attacker’s chin. With a sickening snap, the pole shattered through bone and cartilage and sent him stumbling into the brandished sunlight. He let out a piercing wail and the warrior student lifted the weapon, thrusting it down through rib cage and unbeating heart until it pinned him to the ground. 

The creature’s body writhed and twisted, spilling a haunting shriek that the cave walls absorbed. When it finally burst, all that remained was a pile of dust and sand, and the contorted, angled pole. 

* * *

“Come on, give me a break, just work,” Rhena growled. With her arm straining to extend through the driver’s window, she shimmied the ignition key until the valves spat and emitted a revolting churn. “I got it all out. What else is wrong with you?” 

Returning to the exposed mechanisms of the car, she flew into an exasperated tirade and rubbed the grease and sweat from her palms as she rummaged in the tool bag on the ground. She chose a shovelled instrument and climbed up onto the bumper to get a clearer view of the pipes. After wriggling around them, she found the smallest one and unhooked it. Wet sand belched from the barely opened gap and she scrambled to unlock the hatch in the floor of the engine casing. Coagulated clumps dumped themselves into the shade. 

“You better be easy to clean,” Rhena warned the sorry mass of soggy sediment as it oozed over the cables. “Otherwise, Cas will not be happy.” 

With a bit of effort, she managed to snag most of the splodges before they landed on the prongs or lodged in the cogwheels, and mopped up the rest with little resistance. Once the sludge began to temper, she mended the minor leak in the overflow pipes and reinforced them with canvas tape for the ride home. 

“Get through all that,” she challenged, striding backwards to survey her handiwork and thrusting her hands onto her hips like the mechanics in the adverts did after completing a tricky repair. With a snort at her own antics, she checked the coolant levels on the dashboard metre and turned the key in the ignition again. The engine sputtered and hacked before decisively settling into a smooth purr, and Rhena gave the hood a reassuring pat. “That’s what I want to hear. Takes a little time and care, is all. Worth the wait, huh?” 

Alek shot down the dune in a frantic sprint, his gasps for air coming out in flustered wheezes. He surveyed the rising incline behind him as though trying to wipe something off his chin with his shoulder.  

“There you are,” Rhena said. “The car is up and running again. You get the scans you needed?”

“Yeah… I um…” He squinted at the apex of the dune he’d run down and pressed his lips into a tight line, struggling to ignore the uneasy twinge in his chest.

“That’s good, I suppose.” The vector racer waggled her fingers in front of his face to snap him out of his daze. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

A faint whimper warbled in Alek’s throat as he fought against the trembles wracking his body. How could he explain what he’d witnessed? He wasn’t sure if he believed it himself. “This is going to sound really weird.” 

“Weirder than the stuff you’ve already told me?” 

“Way weirder.” 

Rhena folded her arms and eyed the tight grip he kept on the dented pole. Crimson blobs collected on the metal and stained his blanched knuckles. 

“So I arrived at the gateway and this guy… this thing, just attacked me. Threw me right on the floor like I weighed nothing. I got up and tried to use my magic, but it was worthless against him.” 

“What do you mean ‘thing’?” Rhena questioned. “Was it a man or not?” 

“I’m not sure,” Alek admitted, voice faltering. “He seemed kind of human, but his eyes were blood red, and he was gangly and grey, and he was desperate to kill me. I smacked him with the pipe and he slipped in some sunlight. I certainly wasn’t waiting for him to get back up, so I stabbed him with it and he… he… screamed a bit. And poof.” He used his fingers to mimic an explosion and stared at his bloodied digits. 

“Poof?” 

“He burst into dust. Don’t know whether it was the sun that killed him or the pole, but the only creature I know of that does that is a vampyre.” He dragged in a deep breath and reconsidered his conclusion, but his initial assessment remained unchanged. Despite his extensive research on Eternity, there was no mention of a haggard man like the one he’d encountered, leading him to believe that he must have come from elsewhere. “But they’re a myth. They aren’t real.”

“Perhaps they are,” Rhena shrugged, shutting and securing the bonnet quietly so as not to spook him further. He appeared helpless, his gaze darting back and forth and his knuckles growing taut as he clasped the metal piping close to his torso. “Oh, kid, you’ve got yourself into some right trouble, haven’t you?”

“I hope not.” 

Gently extracting the pipe from his grip, she slid it in the boot with the others and prompted him to the backseats. She climbed into the driver’s seat and activated the motors, setting her feet on the pedals. “Whatever it was, it sounds like it’s gone,” she said encouragingly. “If it makes you feel any better, there have been no reports of vampyres or other mythical creatures, so that one in the cave may have been stranded here alone.” 

Alek glanced out of the flailing mesh. The endless stretch of pallid grains extended to the radiant azure sky, and the crawling figure he expected to spot never showed.

He acknowledged her reassurances with a mumble, but his furrowed brow housed his lingering doubts. While the reviving gateways offered the possibility of wonderful opportunities, it also opened the floodgates to thousands of horrific monsters waiting for new worlds to consume. You’re getting ahead of yourself, he scolded. Others like him may not be a threat.

“You’ve only got a few scrapes and bruises,” Rhena said, examining the weeping cuts and fresh bruises near his collarbone and up his wrists. “It’s nothing some bandages and a cup of warm lemon tea won’t solve.” 

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

You’re The Reason | Eric Matthews

Add yourself to my taglist! | Here’s my masterlist!

Requested: Yes/No

A/N: My first Boy Meets World fic! Gah! I hope you like this! Couldn’t stay away from the JATP boys though, so it’s kinda like a JATP x BMW crossover... Lemme know what you think! 

Pairing: Eric x Fem!Reader

Song(s) used: none

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, party

Words: 4,028

Eric Matthews. The goofy, charming oldest boy of Alan and Amy. My best friend since forever. Our parents always told us the story about how we met in the sandbox in Kindergarten. I was building sandcastles when Jason, Eric’s first best friend, came to ruin them. Eric, being the charmer he always had been, told Jason off and pushed him out of the sandbox before helping me rebuild my sand castle. Ever since that day, the two of us had been the best of friends. 

We did everything together. Everything from play dates to eating ice cream to going to middle school and eventually high school. Though we never graduated together as my parents had to move when I was 16. We moved to Los Angeles and never returned to Philadelphia. Eric and I were so torn. We had promised we would keep in contact and the first few months were hard, but we eventually found a rhythm in our long-distance friendship. 

Every evening, we would call each other except for the weekends as those were date-weekends where both of us went out on dates. But come Sunday evening, we’d both be on the phone, telling the other what had happened during said dates. 

During summer vacation, Eric would come to L.A. to visit me or I’d go back to Philly, just so we could hang out together for a few days. Those had always been my favorite days. We’d reconnect and find that spark again we always used to have, which, in its turn, brought us closer and made the next few months a little less hard when all we could hear was each other’s voice. 

Last summer, however, I realized that I’d rather kiss those beautiful pink lips than stare at them as he talked about yet another girl he took out over the weekend and made out with. It stung, to say the least, but I couldn’t tell him how I felt. We were miles apart from one another, it would just hurt more. 

Though what hurt even worse was when Eric called me one time in the middle of the night, crying. Confused and worried, I listened to him as he let everything he was feeling out of his system. 

“Mister Feeny is retiring, Cory’s going to college and eloped with Topanga tonight and I just– everything’s changing and I don’t know what to do about it. I wanna stop time and just go back to the way things were. All of us in high school, Cory and Topanga fighting over God-knows-what or Shawn and Cory getting into even more trouble. And you… Not miles away from me…” 

I choked back tears as I listened to him. He sounded so broken, so lost. I wished I could just hold him and let him cry as he spoke about how he felt. I wished I was in Philadelphia instead of Los Feliz, a place I didn’t quite belong. 

“I’m sorry, Eric, I wish I could make things better for you…” I said, my voice just above a whisper, afraid I would cry if I spoke any louder. 

Eric sighed on the other side of the line. “Why don’t you just– come home? Study at Pennbrook with me?” I stuttered and stumbled over my words, unsure what to say to him. 

It wasn’t like I thought about it. I’m an adult, I could change my whole life around and move back to Philadelphia. Back to Eric. But while that sounded all beautiful and wonderful and like a dream come true, I couldn’t just drop everything here. I had my new friends, a college degree I needed to finish. 

“Come on, babe. You know you want to…” Eric pleaded, knowing all-too-well what was going on in my mind right now even though he couldn’t see me. “I know I want you to.” 

I heaved in a deep breath. “I can’t, Eric… I gotta finish my degree here. I gotta–” Just as I wanted to continue summing up reasons as to why I wouldn’t be able to go back to him, four guys I knew like the back of my hand entered my dorm and jumped onto my bed. I didn’t even need to see who it was to know who it was. “Guys– I’m on the phone here,” I scolded them as the floppy-haired guy gave me his best smoulder. “Lukas, no.” 

“It’s alright, y/n,” I heard Eric say, though I could tell it wasn’t actually okay. “You go back to your friends. You stay put. Okay? Whatever makes you happiest.” 

“But you make me h–” Before I could even finish my sentence, Eric had hung up the phone. “Happiest…” I mumbled before placing the horn back on the receiver. 

“You okay?” the  blonde guy I knew best as Alex Mercer asked me solemnly. 

I pressed my lips together. “No– not really…” 

Luke wrapped his arms around my waist and snuggled into my neck while Reggie sat on the end of my bed with his legs crossed. “I think you ought to go visit him,” he said. 

“What?”

“No, seriously. You miss him, he misses you and you clearly need each other right now. Go back to Philly, y/n. Even if it’s just for the weekend.” For once, Reggie actually spoke some sense. 

“Yeah, I mean, you clearly miss each other and you need each other right now. And maybe, whilst you’re there, you can figure out whether you’d wanna move back to Philly or come back to us,” Alex added. 

I had met Luke, Reggie, Alex and Bobby during orientation day, along with Rose, my roommate. There hadn’t been a day where we didn’t spend time together. All six of us were sewn to the hip. Wherever one went, the others went too. A lot of people called Rose and I their groupies as the four of them had started a band way back in high school. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say those four were actually married to one another. 

But to be fair, Alex and Reggie were speaking some truth now. I did miss Eric. I missed him tremendously. And maybe, once there, I could see that Los Angeles was truly where I belonged or if I should stay in Philadelphia with Eric… It was the ultimate life test. 

I heaved in a deep breath before lifting my hand to ring the doorbell at apartment 3E. Nerves bunched in the pit of my stomach and my hands were getting clammy. I wasn’t even sure if Eric was home. I wasn’t even sure if coming over was such a splendid idea. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. 

Even less so when a tall fiery red-haired girl opened up the door. My throat dried up for a second. Did I get the wrong apartment? Eric hadn’t told me about a girl roommate or anything. All I knew was that he lived with Jack and Shawn. Though I figured since Shawn had gotten into Pennbrook too, he might’ve moved into a dorm with Cory. 

“Hi, can I–” the girl stopped in her tracks as she let her eyes glide over me. “You’re y/n, aren’t you?” Her lips curled up into a smile. “Eric has told me so much about you!” 

The nerves in my stomach made room for fluttery butterflies. Eric talked about me. Even to girls as pretty as this one. Knowing Eric the way I do, I didn’t think he ever would. ‘Girl repellant’ he’d call it. 

“Uhm… Yeah… I wanted to surprise him… Is he here?” 

The girl chuckled. “Believe it or not, but he’s actually in class right now.” 

“Eric? In class?” 

She nodded her head, her lips curling up into a smirk. “I’m heading to campus now, you wanna come? His class is almost over.” 

It definitely beat sitting here, waiting for him. 

“Sure,” I replied and the girl quickly went to grab her stuff before walking out and guiding me towards the elevator again. 

“I’m Rachel, by the way. I just moved in a couple days ago,” she said while pushing the button to call the elevator. 

Rachel. Roommate Rachel. She was definitely Eric’s type… A girl. 

“Eric hasn’t told me about you yet. For a second, I thought I was at the wrong apartment,” I said, chuckling a little. 

Rachel and I got into the elevator and she told me about how she wound up living with Jack and Eric. I had to admit to myself that I was only slightly jealous of the moves the two boys had made on her. Not that I cared about Jack hitting on Rachel, but I did care about Eric doing it. 

The red-haired fury led me towards campus and we talked all the way there. Mostly about Eric. She asked me questions about our childhood and I told her every single story about him. It wasn’t hard talking about Eric. Everything we went through together flowed out of me like a waterfall. A waterfall of Eric-filled stories. 

“Oh, look. He’s at the Student Union, as predicted,” Rachel said, pointing towards where Eric, Jack, Shawn and Cory were seated on the sofas, sipping coffee. 

A smile involuntarily crept its way up to my face. Eric Matthews. Seeing him now made my heart beat faster and my stomach fill up with all sorts of butterflies. My LA boys were right. I did miss him tremendously. 

“Come on, let’s go say hi!” Rachel urged, pulling me along by my wrist. 

“Don’t you have a class to go to?” 

She shook her red mane. “I’d rather see this beautiful reunion,” she said. 

Cory was the first one who met my eyes. His laughter made room for confusion to then turn into delight. “Y/N?” he exclaimed, causing everyone’s head to turn my way before he got up to embrace me. Jack and Shawn hugged me next and when I turned to Eric, he was still seated on the couch with his cup of coffee halfway to his lips. 

“What are you doing here?” he finally asked. 

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear nervously. “What? Aren’t you happy to see me?” 

His wide eyes turned back to normal and as he put his cup on the coffee table in front of him, he blabbed while getting up to hug me. “Wha– of course I’m happy to see you, y/n. I just didn’t expect you to come? Don’t you have classes and stuff?”  

I inhaled the familiar scent of Eric Matthews. As my senses filled up with him, my nerves finally calmed down. I was home. 

“I wanted to surprise you…” 

His hands cupped my face as he regarded me. He inspected every inch of my face as if to see if I was complete and really there. “And surprised I am,” he whispered. 

Shawn handed me a cup of coffee as we all settled back onto the couch. They asked me questions about LA and about college in LA, and I answered each and every one of them. It felt good being with this gang again. It was like coming back home. 

Eric took me everywhere that weekend. Friday night, we went to Chubbie’s. On Saturday, he took me back home where I reacquainted with Alan and Amy, and we spent some time with Morgan. 

Now it was Saturday night and we were all at the club for a good party. I was three drinks in and chatting with Rachel at the bar. I had grown close to her over the two days I had been here. Just like Rose, she always knew exactly what to say. And she listened. She listened to all my sorrows and worries. She really listened. 

“I think you’re in love with Eric,” she stated before taking a swig of her beer. 

“What? No! I–” She raised an eyebrow at me. “I am in love with Eric…” 

She let out a cackle. “Ha! I knew it!” 

“I can’t act up on my feelings though, Rachel. We live miles apart. Being friends is already hard enough, I don’t even wanna know what being a couple would do to us. If Eric would reciprocate my feelings, that is.” 

“Would you believe me if I told you Eric is in love with you too?” 

“No.” 

“Well, he is! The way his eyes light up when he talks about you… It’s pure love. Sure, he can be a bit daft and he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, but when he talks about you, he almost becomes poetic.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” I said and sipped from my beer again. 

Rachel shook her head at me. “See for yourself.” She pointed somewhere behind me and the second I turned around, Eric was in front of me with those big, sparkly eyes of his and that goofy smile I’d come to love. 

“Dance with me, baby!” he shouted and pulled me along to the dance floor. As I looked back at Rachel, she gave me a knowing look. She wasn’t right. She couldn’t be. 

“I need you to stay,” he slurred, clearly having drank one too many beers. “Please, can’t you stay?” 

“Eric,” I sighed, “You know I can’t. I’ve got –” 

“A degree to finish and friends to go back to, I know, I know…” 

I pressed my lips together in a thin line as I watched him. He was still moving, swaying from side to side to the music, but there was a lot less enthusiasm behind than before we started talking. 

“Hey,” I started and placed my hands on his shoulders. “You know I would stay if I could, right? I just – I can’t, Eric.” 

“Yes, you can, y/n. You can stay here, transfer to Pennbrook, live with me and Jack and Rachel. Be here. With me.” 

His offer sounded alluring. A little too alluring. The alcohol coursing in my veins almost made me say ‘yes’, but the sober part of me knew that wouldn’t be a good idea. “I need a better reason than that, Eric.”

“I’ve got more reasons for you to stay.” 

“Gimme one.” 

Before I could properly process what was happening, Eric grabbed my face and pressed his lips to mine in a deep kiss. As we pulled apart for a moment, I had to take a breather and process what had just happened. 

“That’s a good reason,” I whispered before kissing him again. 

I didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the fact that we’d actually wanted to do that for a long time, but the rest of the night we spent together, making out in a corner of the club until Rachel and Jack pulled us apart and brought us back to the apartment. Eric and I fell asleep together on the couch, cuddled up. The place where I’d wanted to fall asleep for months now. The place where I belonged.

It felt weird waking up in his arms. Not that we hadn’t done that before, but the events that preceded it were new. I hadn’t ever been kissed the way Eric had kissed me last night. It was with so much passion and love that filled up all my senses, that sobered me up almost straight away. 

Though, when he woke, it was like nothing happened. 

He didn’t speak about it, and changed the subject whenever I tried to. I didn’t know what had gone wrong. It was probably a mistake on his part. He probably didn’t want to kiss me. It was probably the alcohol speaking and not his heart. He didn’t love me the same way I loved him. 

It was all a mistake. 

“How was your night?” Alan asked playfully when we entered the Matthews’ kitchen for lunch on Sunday. 

“Good! We had fun,” I replied and glanced over at Eric. He had jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he moved over towards the fridge. 

“It was okay,” he spoke and shoved a knife right through my chest. 

I had no clue what I had done wrong or what had gone wrong. All I knew was that Eric was giving me the cold shoulder. The kiss must’ve been a mistake. It must’ve been something he didn’t even want to do and it was just the alcohol taking over. And now it had ruined our entire friendship. 

“When’s your flight back home?” Amy queried. 

I placed my knife and fork down as I had just finished the delicious lunch Amy had made all of us. “Tonight at eight,” I responded with a nervous smile. My stomach churned when I felt Eric tense up next to me. 

“Back to Northridge then, huh? Must be a big change going from cold Philadelphia back to warm and sunny LA,” Alan said with a smile and I nodded my head. 

“It’s gonna be quite the di–” before I could finish my sentence, Eric had shoved his chair back and without uttering a word, he stormed out of the kitchen. I could feel my heart break in my chest. He seemed angry. Frustrated. All of the things I didn’t want him to be before I went back to LA.

“I’ll go check on him,” I said and carefully slid my chair back before following Eric outside. 

He sat on the cushioned bench where we have had many a talk before as the sun set and the stars appeared into the sky. Though right now, it seemed awfully dark and gloomy. Nothing like what it used to feel like. 

“Eric, are you okay?” I plopped down next to him, placing my hand on his shoulder. 

He scoffed. “No, I’m not okay. You know, I didn’t ask you to come here. I didn’t ask you to visit me. I didn’t ask and so I couldn’t prepare for you to leave… Again.” 

“Eric, I’m sorry. I thought it would be nice to surprise you. I–” I stopped talking as soon as he shot up from the bench and took a few steps away from me. He looked angry and sad at the same time and it broke my heart even further. 

“Don’t you know how much it kills me to see you go every time? But at least in the summer, I can prep myself for the goodbye that’s about to follow. I can prep myself for the heartache and now that I didn’t see it coming, I’m not ready for you to go.” 

I opened my mouth to say something else, but before I could, he gave me another glare and then stormed off to God-knows-where. I couldn’t move. I was frozen to the bench. My best friend just yelled at me and ran off. I didn’t even say goodbye to him. 

“Miss y/l/n, what a surprise,” a familiar voice sounded, causing me to snap my head towards the older man that stood in the next-door garden on the other side of the white fence. 

I smiled at him, but I knew it wasn’t genuine and I knew he knew it wasn’t. “Hey Mister Feeny.” 

“Are you okay?” he asked and opened the small gate. He made a beeline towards me and sat down on the bench next to me. 

I heaved in a deep breath, breathing in the familiarity of my old teacher. “No, I –” I mulled over my words. “I missed Eric, so I came to surprise him but I think it might’ve not been such a good idea.” 

“Why not?”

“‘Cause now he’s mad at me because he couldn’t prepare himself for me leaving…” I mumbled, focusing on the rings on my fingers as I twisted them around and around. “I don’t know what to do, Mister Feeny. I wanna stay with Eric, but I’ve got a life in LA. I’ve got friends and I’ve got Northridge and my family still lives there too…” 

I looked up to see my favorite teacher regard me with such a tender and familiar look. He felt sorry for me and I also knew there was a  pep-talk coming in a few seconds. Though at that moment, I wasn’t sure if I was in the mood for that pep-talk. 

“I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Miss Lawrence when she came to me with her dilemma,” he started wistfully, the only way Mister Feeny ever spoke. “You stay at Northridge unless you have a good reason not to.” 

My mind immediately went to last night’s events when Eric kissed me after he told me he had reasons for me to stay. If I had a reason, it would be Eric. Eric would be the one and only reason for me to move back to Philadelphia and I couldn’t lie when I said Eric weighs out every other reason I had for going back to LA. 

“I think you know what to do, Miss y/l/n,” he said before placing a comforting hand on my shoulder and getting up again. 

“Hey, Mister Feeny,” he stopped halfway to his house. “You’re a good teacher, you know that?” The genuine and heartwarming smile that curled Feeny’s lips upwards made me feel nostalgic. I had missed that man. 

“Thank you, Miss y/l/n. And you’re a good student.” 

As Mister Feeny returned to his home, I couldn’t help but think everything over. Every thought, every moment of the past weekend seeped back into my mind. There was only one way to stop my thoughts and I knew exactly what it was.  

“Y/N?” His voice caused me to snap out of my thoughts. There he was. Finally. “What are you still doing here?” he asked, visibly getting nervous. “I thought you’d gone home?” 

 I patted the spot next to me on the cushioned bench. Eric hesitantly took the spot, but I could tell he was tense and didn’t quite know what to do. He didn’t look at me and his hands fiddled around in his lap. 

“I am home.” 

Now he looked up at me. Confusion was written all over his face, a look I had seen on him before. The reminder of everything I ever told him that confused him made me giggle a little. 

“What do you mean? Don’t you have to get back to LA? Back home?” He turned his face back to the sky. It was starting to get dark out and the stars above us were starting to make an appearance, along with the bright moon. 

“I talked to Feeny and he told me that I should go back to Northridge…” I watched Eric’s jaw clench. “Unless I had a good reason not to.” 

He turned his head to face me again. “Is there a good reason?” 

I sighed. “I thought about it. I’ve got reasons to go back. Like my degree and my friends out there, my family…” Eric slowly nodded his head and I knew his mind was already preparing him for me to say I was going to go back. “But there’s one reason that makes me wanna stay here. One reason that outweighs all the other reasons.”

“And what’s that?” 

A soft smile befell my lips as I leaned in and cautiously pressed my lips to his. Last night’s memories seeped back into my mind. 

“You’re the reason, Eric Matthews.” 

He smiled as his eyes darted from mine to my lips and back before he fully kissed me on the lips. I couldn’t help but giggle before melting completely into the kiss, into him. After years of being best friends and months of pining for him, I was finally kissing my best friend. I had finally given into my feelings. 

And I was making the right decision. I knew that now. I knew that moving back to Philadelphia would be the right choice. I would be moving back home. Back with Eric. Close to Cory and Shawn and Jack and Topanga. All of my friends from when we were younger. Home. 

The only thing left to do now was break the news to my friends in LA… 

But that was a problem for later. 

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[stargazingthenightaway]

See Something You Like? Part 1

Pairing: Rebels Rex x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Warning: NSFW 18+ Sexual tension, dirty thoughts, praise kink, size kink, Oral (female receiving) unwanted attention (not from main character) Dom!Rex

A/N: So I’ve decided to write a few, but what I thought would be a one shot has turned into this monster, so I’ve decided to break it down. Not sure how long it’ll be, but I get the feeling it’ll be at least 3 parts. This is inspired by @samrubio art especially her Rex pieces, go check it out! Also, if I missed any warning tags, let me know :)

It was a rarity for the firing range to be this empty. Usually it was crammed to the walls with training drills for new recruits, post mission vent sessions with the faceless targets or if you were unlucky, the cocky fly-boys trying to one-up each other, seeing who had the better ‘blaster’. If you were really unlucky, instead of leaving, their attention would turn to whoever they thought would enjoy their company, which consisted of what barely passed as a conversation before leading to the real objective, servicing the dangly bit between their legs. Their limp pick up line “I’ve got another blaster you can handle sweet cheeks” was in just as much need of an overhaul as their piloting skills. Sadly, you’ve been on the receiving end of these lack-lustre ‘invitations’ far too often and are quick to shut them down. It’s become so repetitive you can time it to the second when they make their appearance. All these boys are the same, give them a flight suit, a ship and they think they’re the Maker’s gift to the galaxy. 

‘They’re just so immature’ you think to yourself, a scowl on your face. Your last rebuffed fly-boy hasn’t gotten the memo that you’re not interested and continues to pester you. As if you’d want to spend 30 seconds listening to a dying bantha grunt into your ear, fumbling to get himself off and counting down until you’re smothered in dissatisfaction. Hard. Pass.

The only reason you have some peace is because they’re out on a mission, but you will take the reprieve. It’s a joy to have an opportunity to fit in some blaster practice without an audience. While you weren’t the worst shot in the rebellion, you certainly weren’t the best, but with enough practice you hope you’ll be placed on some off-planet missions. 

Sliding into an empty booth, you pick up one of the safety helmets, placing it on your head and type in one of the easier simulation codes on the keypad on the side of the wall. As the program calibrates, you remove the blaster from its holster on your thigh, flicking off the safety and settling into your stance. Breathe in, breathe out, shoot. This mantra helps get a rhythm going and soon you’re oblivious to everything around you except your target. The steady stream of blaster fire rings out, mixed with the sounds of high tings for each successful hit and clunky thunks with each miss. It’s pleasing to note that with each round there are more tings than there are thunks. Soon you’re drifting off with the repetitive movements, your thoughts going through your encounters with him.

Captain Rex, member of the Ghost crew and key participant of the rebellion. A legend in his own right. You had first seen him in passing, bringing up some data pads needed for a debrief and you just happened to look in his direction as you were leaving, and stars did you look. He was thick everywhere. His armour did nothing to hide his size as your gaze travelled from his barrel chest, to his thick waist, finally ending at his powerful thighs. Rex has the kind of body that makes you want to rub yourself all over him like a nexu in heat. As he spoke with Agent Fulcrum, Rex crossed his arms over his chest, pulling his shirt tight over his biceps, and your mouth watered. You were so busy ogling that Rex had finished his conversation and looked over your way.

Seeing you staring he gives you a small smirk and a wink before mouthing “see something you like?” You swear he flexed his arms a bit as he did that.

The smirk on his face grows as you feel your face heat up, hightailing it out of the debriefing room and making your way back to your office. It’s quite a while before your blush goes away, and more than one person asks if you’re feeling well. 

The next time you saw him was a bit more hands-on and it still makes you clench your thighs together when you recall this particular memory. You’d been paired as sparring partners, and if you thought Rex looked good in his armour, he was downright edible stripped down to a simple training shirt and grey sweatpants. The shirt stretched in all the right places and the pants were loose enough to provide movement where it was needed, but just snug enough to tease you about what he was packing.

You were so distracted that he easily put you on your back, repeatedly. Each time he knocked you over his thighs would bracket your own, your hands pinned by your head and the rest of his body caging you in. How in the Sith hells were you supposed to concentrate if this was exactly where you wanted to be! You clawed at whatever self-restraint you still possessed to not rub up against him, but maker he made it difficult. 

After the final throw Rex settled on your thighs and smirked down at you “What’s the matter mesh’la?” He took in your flushed cheeks, “You seem distracted, I didn’t think you’d take everything I gave you so easily.” 

Your face was on fire, your brain traitorously giving you ideas of what else you’d take from him, and how well you’d enjoy it.

“Surely you can get me on my back.” You eyes snapped up to his, “all you need to do is use your hips and thrust.”

Fuck.

You felt yourself get wet as a throb built up between your legs from just his voice alone. You needed to finish whatever this had become so you could finish your own needs, preferably in the privacy of your own bunk. With a strength that surprised even you, you took Rex’s advice to thrust your hips up, bracing you leg to provide enough leverage to push him over. The look of surprise on his face that you took his words to heart was something you would never forget. 

As you settled over his waist, his hands came up to your sides, sliding down to rest on your hips, keeping you in place. 

“Knew you could do it” His surprise had turned into a beatific smile, looking up at you as his hands squeezed your hips. “Good girl.”

The triumphant words die on your lips as you look down at him and see exactly how you’re positioned. Your hands are braced on his chest and your thighs have splayed out to the sides to fit over his waist. There is a pleasant ache along your inner thighs from the stretch. If anyone saw the suggestive scene of the pair of you right now, the gossip hotline would be buzzing for months. You made a motion to move but Rex’s hands keep you snug against himself. His thumbs had made their way under the edge of your shirt and traced light circles over your skin. Arousal flooded your veins and you felt your slick starting to soak your panties. 

You look back up to Rex’s face and he tightens his grip “See something you like mesh’la?”

Before you could answer the door burst open, causing the two of you to startle, zoning back in to the present. Chatter filled the room as Wolffe and Gregor brought in the next group of ‘shinies’ for sparring practice. The bubble of intimacy had burst and you hurriedly got off Rex, babbling some thanks about the advice before bolting out of the room. That was six weeks ago, the Ghost having left on a mission, taking Rex with them.

The buzzer in your booth goes off, signalling the end of the simulation. You’re not ready to head back to the responsibilities of intelligence just yet, so you up the intensity of another exercise and when you’re happy with your rhythm, let your thoughts turn back to Rex. 

He’d become the prominent figure in all your fantasies. Before that, neither your toys or your hands would work to get you off, leaving you frustrated and horny. In a fit of desperation you thought back to your spar, but instead of sitting on Rex’s waist you were sitting on his face.

You imagined how his arms would wrap around your thighs, muscles flexing to make sure you stay exactly where he wants you to, and that’s on his tongue. Moans fill the room as he slowly eats you out, long licks up your folds to harsh sucks on your clit. The vibrations from his groans sending you spiralling to the edge, only for him to back off when you’re so close, leaving you sobbing and trembling with need. He’d leave little nibbles and bites along your inner thighs as he waits for the trembling to stop, and his beard, fuck. Rex would nuzzle the side of his face along your legs, leaving more marks that you were his. Letting you know that he was the only one that could give you the satisfaction you craved. You’d squirm, just to feel him tighten his hold, knowing that he controlled your pleasure. 

“Look at me,” he’d growl before licking up your slit, drinking you down, “want you to keep your eyes on me when you cum on my tongue.” This sends another rush of slick from your core, the feeling in your belly coiled tight, waiting to snap. You yelp as there’s a sharp bite to your thigh.

“You like it when I tell you to watch” Rex grins from between your thighs, and you can see the evidence of your arousal glistening on his beard. Stars that is hot. There is a feral look in his golden eyes “Next time I’ll make sure to fuck you in front of a mirror, show you how wet you get for me.”

Your needy whine of approval turns into a lascivious moan as Rex plunges his tongue into your heat, rapidly bringing your orgasm back to the edge, but this time he doesn’t stop. His tongue speeds up, alternating between fluttering around your opening and pushing in as far as he can, nose pressed into your clit. All too soon you’re flying over the edge into sweet oblivion.

With a choked scream you cum, legs clamped tight around Rex’s head, his arms pulling you closer as his tongue working furiously to collect everything that you give him. He groans in delight and that sets off another small orgasm which has you seeing white. When you finally come down from your high you look back down at Rex, a blissed out expression on your face. 

Rex has to practically lift you off him, moving you down so that you’re straddling his waist and conveniently nestling his cock between your folds, and that’s another part of him you’re all too eager to get to know. 

As you bask in the afterglow of your orgasm, Rex puts a hand around the back of your neck, pulling your closer. You don’t need to be force sensitive to feel how smug he is, it’s written all over his face and the possessive arm draped around your waist. 

He nuzzles your nose when you’re close enough, before whispering two devastating words “Good girl.”

A blaring sound yanks you out of your daydream, and you realize that you’ve stopped shooting at the targets. The noise is the warning alarm that the simulation will shut off after 30 more seconds of inactivity. What it is is an inconvenience. You slam the pause button a little more forcefully than you need to, too riled up from your own fantasy simulation. It seems to have worked a little too well, judging by ache between your legs. 

Putting the safety back on your blaster, you drop it onto the shelf in front of the booth opening. Thinking back, there was something in Rex’s eyes as he called you “good girl”  that you can’t quite put your finger on. Discovering that you enjoyed being praised was one thing, but it seemed that Rex was holding something back, something that had to do with that phrase. Not knowing what it was set you on edge, that it could be something about you and that feeling didn’t sit well. 

There was just something about him that makes you crave his attention, wanting to please him so he’d call you “good girl” again. You shiver as you think about how he looked between your thighs, how wide you had to stretch to fit him between you legs. 

You groan to yourself, knowing you’re well and truly gone on this man, and that you’d let him do whatever he wanted, just as long as you could be his good girl. You lean forward against the small shelf, burying your head in your arms.

“Fuuuuck me.” 

“Am I interrupting something, mesh’la?”

To be continued

[cellard0ors]

Fic: Movement (4/5)

Still working on this for @peachworthy. Should wrap up sometime this week or next and then the full thing'll get posted to AO3. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 here for now!

They decide to do it on a Saturday night.

Link has the weekend off from work and no classes. Rhett’s schedule is also free. They discuss the matter in terse terms, both seeming nervous about the idea, but neither backing down.

As such, Saturday rolls around with little fanfare until late into the evening. An evening that finds Link sitting on the couch, one of his legs jiggling and bouncing about as he waits for Rhett.

Rhett comes out to the living room holding a pillow and he offers it to Link. Link looks at it with some confusion and his friend clears his throat, eyes darting away, “For your lap.”

“My-?” Link looks down and then to Rhett and then…oh. Link colors, realizing that the pillow is to be used in order to cover any potentially ‘arising’ situation on his part. Feel exposed yet stubborn, he remarks dryly, “Don’t think I’ll need that.”

Rhett lets out a loud laugh and pats him in the chest with it, “Trust me. If I’ve done my job right? You will.”

“…point taken,” Link says softly and he takes the pillow, settling it over his crotch. To be fair, he probably will pop wood. After all, he sometimes pops it when Rhett’s full clothed.

Nude?

Yeah.

Link presses down on the pillow harder, even the errant thought of a nude Rhett causing a stirring. Rhett walks to the television and fiddles with the remote.

An app that Link’s noticed before, but never bothered with, is clicked on. Erotes Plus. The screenshots for the videos that come up are…certainly something. Link looks away, almost overwhelmed by all the bare flesh before him. The titles of the videos are also a bit much. Rhett notices and Link can hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “Prude.”

Link scowls and glares back at him and the screen. He is nota prude. However, titles such as ‘Lonely Housewife Squirts for The First Time’ and ‘He Rides His Daddy Dry’ would take anybody aback. At least Link would like to think so – he supposes some people are more immune than others. After all, his own history with porn is on the small side.

During puberty he’d taken his healthy peeks at nude magazines and a few of his friends had snuck out adult VHS tapes to check out, but for the most part it hadn’t interested him. Granted, this was probably due to his eventual discovery that – while he appreciated the female form – it didn’t draw his interest quite like the male one did.

And finding gay porn? Where he grew up? Yeah, pretty much a completely impossibility. And then – when he’d finally managed to snag some – it had, once more, disappointed. It all just seemed so cold and callous. Like a business transaction with a boatload of grunting. Not at all to his tastes.

Rhett, scrolling through the videos, finally finds one titled simply ‘Movement’ and turns to Link with an apprehensive glance, “Still plenty of time to say ‘no’.”

Link’s throat is dry. Unlike some of the other screenshots, this one is vaguer. It’s two forms silhouetted in shadow. One of those forms is Rhett. Link feels numb as he speaks, “I’m good.”

Rhett clicks the video and it begins.

He moves over and sits near Link, lounging against the other side of the couch in an oh-so-casual way. As if an adult video starring him hasn’t just begun to play.

The film opens with a lithe redhead in a yoga outfit doing various poses. While this is being shown the title card appears followed by the starring and since Link highly doubts Rhett goes by ‘Jenessa Star’, he can’t help but chuckle at, “‘Donatello Velvet’?”

“What?” Rhett asks simply and Link gestures to the television, “That’s you, isn’t it?”

“Problem?”

“That’s the screen name you chose?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it, I just don’t see you as a ‘Donatello’,” Link grins at him and Rhett laughs, rubbing one finger along his top lip thoughtfully, “What would you’d’ve gone with then?”

“If I was doing adult film?” Link asks and at Rhett’s nod, he crosses his arms and thinks, “I don’t know…Bevin, maybe?”

Rhett tosses his head back and laughs and Link feels a fissure of delight at that sound, just as he always does. He turns back and the redhead’s poses have become…much more complex. Almost painful looking as she contorts herself to degrees Link wouldn’t think possible and then she rises, stretching out and that’s when Rhett enters.

Or maybe it would be better to think of it as Donatello enters. Yes, it’s a little easier that way and Link does his best to cling to that, to try and stay nonchalant as he offers dryly, “Well, well – there’s a familiar lookin’ fella.”

Rhett just hums and they both watch as he walks up to the woman. He runs his hands along her shoulders and down her arms, whispering into her neck huskily, “Good form.”

Link can’t help but let out a snort. Rhett rolls his eyes, “Okay, okay – I know, I know. Dialogue’s a bit-?”

“Bad?”

“…it could use some improvement.”

“Uh huh,” Link just beams and hey, this isn’t so bad. Cheesy and kind of silly and maybe it will just stay like this. Light and fun. For all Link knows, they won’t even watch the whole thing. Maybe just some of it and then they can turn on something els-!

Rhett begins kissing Jenessa’s neck, white teeth visibly dragging along her skin and Link’s whole body tightens. A phantom sting starts along the same side of his neck that Rhett’s touching on Jenessa. Jenessa’s whole throat arches back, a pleasured moan leaving her and Rhett’s tongue is…very pink.

Link’s Adam’s apple bobs as he says (much huskier than he’d like) “N-Nice camera work…”

Rhett just hums, “Mac’s always had a good eye.”

“Mac?”

“Mackenzie, the director of this one.”

Link just lets out a sound of acknowledgement as he watches Rhett reach around Jenessa and tug at her tank top. Tug until her small, pointed breasts pop free. He cups them in his hands and he has…great hands.

They looks so tan against her skin, palms rough and big, and Jenessa lets out a full throttle moan. Rhett teases the pink tips, fingertips agile as they play along the sensitive flesh, as they circle around her areolas.

She whimpers and turns, kisses him fully, passionately, and it’s…messy. Wet. Link can feel his whole heart thump hard at the sight. Janessa’s hair is shorter than Rhett’s – cropped close to her scalp and Rhett’s hands have abandoned her chest to run through the short strands.

Link barely stops himself from reaching up and touching his own hair, instinctively wanting to mimic how that might feel. To imagine Rhett doing it to him.

He tries not to fidget and talking, talking will help, “Surprised this isn’t more, ah, instant.”

Rhett shrugs, “Foreplay’s a thing, man.”

“No, I know,” Link knows his voice pitches a little high at this, defensive, “Just…figured, mean...’s porn…”

“Some of the earlier videos on here are like that, but when EP got bought out, the new owners took the company in a different direction.”

“EP?”

“Erotes Plus. The platform these films are on,” Rhett explains and then he starts mentioning a few things about different production companies and distributors and the like, but Link is too distracted because Jenessa is now fully naked and Rhett is on his knees between her legs, feasting on her moist lower lips.

The silken tip of his tongue is parting her, dancing along the bundle of nerves that is her clit and her head is tossed back on a loud, wild whine.

Her pale body undulates and she’s gripping his long hair so hard. Link feels as if he’s having an out of body experience. This is his roommate. His friend. The man he’s secretly in love with.

And he’s pleasuring this woman with such…focus. With intensity and finesse and when he rises, his erection is clear, straining at the linen pants that are containing it. Link points to the screen weakly, “Hippie clothes.”

The comment is stupid and unhelpful, but Rhett just laughs, “Yeah – kinda the theme of this series. I’m like, a Yoga Instructor or something? Least that's the way it was explained to me, so – linen pants, cotton top – I mean, we’ve had better costumes, but for this shoot-!”

Rhett is talking some more but, again, Link is barely listening. His eyes are transfixed by what’s taking place on the screen. Janessa easily strips off Rhett’s shirt and then his pants and – No. Underwear.

Link is seeing Rhett’s dick. It’s there…thick, but not as big as his own, a visible vein running along one side. Dusky dark and with a blushing pink tip and gently curling hair hiding his full, taunt sack…

“Link? Buddy? You doin’ alright?”

“Fine.”

“Lookin’ like you seen a ghost," Rhett teases, but there’s a breathless quality to his words, “My body all that bad?”

Link just shakes his head and watches as Jenessa strokes Rhett, as his head falls back and he lets out a shuddering gasp that Link feels in his very bones.

Link is suddenly very, very thankful for the pillow that bobs some as it reacts to the situation taking place beneath it. That situation being Link’s own dick perking upwards, making his jeans tight and constrictive.

“You…?” Something Rhett said finally seems to click in Link’s head, “You said this is a series?”

“Yup,” Rhett murmurs and now the film shows him pressing Jenessa against one of the studio walls and she raises one leg high. Insanely high. It’s a very gymnastic level move and Rhett slots his cock up with her opening, sliding hard and deep into her body.

Jenessa lets out a wail of pleasure as he presses in and she holds that leg up – all strength and grace as he begins to move within her at a steady rhythm.

Her hips answer some, but it’s more about how…open she is. And how deep he’s getting. They’re eyes are locked as he picks up his pace, rocketing in and out of her, shaking her whole form with his thrusts, her tiny breasts jiggling with each movement and movement, they call this…

“Got an award for this one.”

Thank God. That one comment draws Link back to some semblance of sanity even as his body quickens with an unspeakable longing, a carnal hunger that aches, “Really?”

“Uh huh,” Rhett says with no small amount of pride, “Best Sex Scene.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I mean, I owe it to her to be honest,” he waves to the screen, “She’s the one turning herself into a pretzel throughout this thing. Same for the rest of ‘em. They kept finding co-stars for me to work with who had had extensive training in this sort of body contortion. It was just my job to, uh, well…”

Rhett waves again and the answer is obvious: to fuck them through it. Link is not at all limber. In fact, he’s kind of a klutz. Nothing to match up with someone like this.

For some reason, this realization leaves him hollow. Cold. His arousal dims some, “Where’d you get the award from?”

“XRCO.”

Link makes some sound that would imply he understands, but he doesn’t. Rhett sighs, “Got nominated for Most Popular Male Performer on Pornhub but lost to Johnny Rockwell. Guy deserved it though. Performance he did that year was nuts.”

Link’s lost in the vocal cacophony that is erupting from the television speakers. Moans, gasps, grunts, cries of sheer ecstasy as Rhett and Janessa really ramp it up.

They’re in a different position now, Jenessa’s body once more arched at a crazy angle and Rhett's just...really getting in there. His hips are pumping double time, like a jackhammer, and she is loving it.

Her blue eyes are flashing with adoration, her lips curled in that moue that speaks to an almost pleasurable pain and Link can’t help but ask, “Are the others with her?”

Rhett takes a moment to process the question and when he realizes Link is asking about the other films in the series, he shakes his head, “Nah, man. You don’t usually have repeating partners. Like I said, they found other people who could bend in weird ways. The sequel to this sees me with Julian St. Croix. Great guy. Really smart. He’s actually working on another doctorate. Plans on working in the tech field when he retires, which – money he’s making, should be pretty damned soon. You want me to dial that up?”

Link just shakes his head. The idea of watching Rhett doing something like this with yet another person and with a man no less…

He feels crappy for, well, feeling crappy. This is Rhett’s job. He shouldn’t take this personally.

Besides, it’s not like Rhett knows how Link feels about him. To him, they’re just friends and he should play the part of friend – be a friend, a good friend, “I can see why you won the award, Rhett. You’re doing a…a great job. Real good acting.”

The sound of the shocked (yet oddly sharp) laughter that leaves Rhett at that actually causes Link to finally look at him.

Rhett’s face is a ruddy red, like he’s embarrassed or something, and he’s looking at Link with a bit of a wildfire in his eyes, “‘Good acting? Are you serious?”

Link finally shifts about on the couch (which feels fantastic considering his body has been fighting off a plethora of sensations for a while now) as he fully turns to him, pillow still firmly in place, “Of course! I mean, it-it seems like you’re really into this girl,” he gestures to the screen, “when you’re doing this and I imagine that’d take some acting chops.”

He chews on his bottom lip and lowers his gaze, hands ghosting over the pillow as he talks to it more than Rhett, “Un-unless you really are into her.”

“Into her?” Rhett pokes one finger over to the television, “Into Janessa?”

“Yeah, I mean…if-if you two are a couple or-or were one or-?”

“Me and Janessa?” Rhett asks incredulously and some of the heat seems to leave him. Link gets the impression that Rhett had, for a moment, been mad or affronted by Link’s well intentioned compliment, but now is completely changing track. Now Rhett seems charmingly baffled, “You think I’m into Janessa?”

“I-I was just saying if you’re not into her in this,” Link waves to the screen where (seeing as the volume is dying down) it would seem the film is reaching its conclusion, “Then the acting is good and if you are-!”

“I’m not,” Rhett confirms firmly, “I am very much not, nor was I ever, into Janessa. We’re friendly, but we’d never work as a couple, man. She likes cats.”

Rhett says the last as if it’s a blasphemy and Link can’t help but giggle, suddenly feeling bright and light even though he knows better than to do so, “Problem?”

“Not a big fan of lil demons…”

“Noted, “Link sighs and he feels much, much better. The film is finally over, he’s seen some of Rhett’s work, and he can now say the following with sheer confidence, “I’m proud of you.”

And with that, Rhett freezes. He freezes solid, back going ram rod straight, and his eyes – they’re as round as dinner plates.

Big and green and looking at Link like’s a wild anomaly and Link worries that maybe he, somehow, inadvertently offended him with the remark so he’s quick to explain, “I-I mean it, bo. I’m proud of you. Going out there and-and doing something like this. Being so…so exposed and vulnerable and for anyone to see and yeah, sure, I mean, I guess it’s just for people to-to beat off to or whatever, but when you think about it, it’s something that brings people pleasure, which is a lot better than bringing something bad into people's lives and I know some would argue that porn is like, some gateway into violent dark tendencies or whatever, but for the average person it’s a good thing to explore and the fact you can so freely provide that to them and not be ashamed-!”

Link is blathering.

He’s a blathering idiot.

But he feels like if he stops talking, Rhett might snap at him. Or be mad. Or-!

But instead Rhett just shakes his head and whispers, “You’re unbelievable.”

Link’s diatribe cuts off. His blood stops in his veins. He feels completely seized.

“I’ve been trying so hard…fighting with everything in me,” Rhett breathes and he just…eases forward, eases closer. He’s in Link’s personal space and Link wonders if he should back up or something.

He can feel the heat coming off Rhett’s skin. His breath is bathing Link’s face as he rasps, “But I can’t anymore. You’ll have to forgive me, but…”

Rhett kisses him.

Rhett. Kisses. Him.

Rhett kisses Link.

Their lips meet in the smallest, quickest, sweetest little peck. The sound of it, the quick wet click of their lips…it’s earth shattering, sound-barrier breaking.

And Link feels his whole nervous system lurch at it. And Rhett is still looking at him, searching his eyes wildly. Link blinks and licks his lips and tries to speak, but there’s nothing to say.

Rhett just grins softly, “Bad for business…that’s what you are…”

Link’s gaze dips to Rhett’s mouth. To his lips. Lips that were on his seconds ago. His eyes feel heavy lidded as he gulps and Rhett just huffs as he kisses him again. Again.

Another kiss and this one is more than just a peck. This one? This one is the one Link’s been dreaming of, the one he’s been wishing for.

This kiss is perfect.

[tetsuwhore]

𝐭𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐚 | 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐲𝐮𝐮𝐣𝐢

Night Club AU! Series: Vol ii.

‘In you, he found a blazing fire that sent adrenaline coursing through his veins, and in you, he found a sense of familiarity that embraced his heart in a comforting warmth.”

Description: your eyes always hold a plethora of emotions - hunger; desperation; ache; lust. but never love. 

Warning: explicit smut - light degradation, unprotected sex, overstimulation, a bit of ‘knife’ play (???), toxic behavior, unhealthy emotional attachments, angst, mentions of alcohol, drug use

Word Count: 3.7k

Song Rec: Breed by Crim3s

back to masterlist?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Terushima Yuuji liked thrill. 

He refused to take anything too seriously, adopting an ideology that consisted of chasing after whatever granted him that adrenaline-induced rush of pleasure - perhaps to the point where it was almost hedonism. And when reprimanded for his carefree attitude, he’d simply laugh and clap the person on the back, proclaiming something along the lines of how he wanted to “live, not survive”. 

It was perhaps also part of the reason why he found himself coming back again. 

It’s loud. Terushima allows himself to revel in the feeling of the thumping bass, the powerful vibrations reverberating through his body and intermingling with the prickling of the tequila-induced buzz. He succumbs to the psychotropic waves clouding his mind, drifting through his head in wispy tendrils that teeter on the edge of feeling almost tangible. 

(He doesn’t remember much about what he took to even reach his current state - at least, nothing beyond the fact that the boy who offered him the capsule was cute and had really soft lips. 

Then again, not like he really gives a flying fuck about much else anyway.)

His eyes flutter open, and he’s greeted with a blurry kaleidoscope of flashing fluorescent green and purple. It’s captivating, but his eyelids feel far too heavy, so he allows them to fall shut again. The movements of his body become second nature - he gives into the techno beat, morphing his form into becoming one with the moving sea of bodies. 

Yes, Terushima Yuuji liked thrill. Still, he was only human. And like every other human, he was a creature of habit - one that felt uncomfortable with change, and sought after the familiarity of things. While the loud atmosphere and substance use that came with rave culture may not have been the most conventional sources of comfort, it was what Terushima always found himself reverting back to. 

He parts his eyes again. This time, he sees you. 

Terushima watches you, angling himself so he can look past the crowd in between and catch a better glimpse of your face, dewy and illuminated by the black light. You’re not there alone - there’s a man behind you, his lips attached to your neck, and a woman in front, gripping your hands to her hips.

And yet, your eyes are fixated on him. 

Time seems to be moving just the slightest bit slower now. Terushima watches as the flashing hues of purple, pink and green slowly fade away, blacking out the mass of dancing bodies. 

Suddenly, his world is an abyss, and all he can see is you. 

You, seductively swaying your hips, meandering your form in slow, fluid movements that remind him of a charmed snake. You, as you return his gaze with equal intensity, a mischievous glint dancing around your eyes and inviting him closer, closer, closer-

He’s abruptly pulled out of his trance when you blink, breaking the connection, before turning away and disappearing into the crowd. 

Time rushes at a dizzying pace now as he pushes through the tight gaps of the packed bodies before him, bronze eyes flicking back and forth as they scour for your familiar form. Terushima remembers the fateful night when he had first caught your eye. He knew then - as he spent the remainder of it in a dark corner, hoisting you up against a wall and fucking you into oblivion - that he was hooked. 

Every time after that was always like this - you walking away, and him chasing after you. 

Still, Terushima finds that he doesn’t quite mind the chase. He doesn’t mind working himself ragged, running with all his being. Not when it’s the sweetness of your lips and the warmth of your arms waiting for him at the finish line. 

So yes, Terushima Yuuji sought after thrill. 

Terushima Yuuji sought after comfort. 

Terushima Yuuji sought after you. 

Because in you, he found a blazing fire that sent adrenaline coursing through his veins, and in you, he found a sense of familiarity that embraced his heart in a comforting warmth.

* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚

He breathes a heavy sigh of relief when he finally finds you in the bathroom at the end of the club hallway. You’re leaning against the sink counter, metal file in hand as you casually swipe it across the tips of your nails. Nudging himself into the dim space, he reaches for the latch, only to find it broken. 

“Want me to find a way to keep this door locked?”

“Leave it,” you reply coolly, “It’s far from the main hall anyway. And if someone does decide to come in, ‘least they’ll get to watch a nice show, hmm?”

Grinning, he pulls the door closed before turning back around and advancing closer to your form. Your head is still tilted away from him, the sharp chafing of the file sounding through the bathroom as you speak. 

“You kept me waiting, Terushima.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, angel,” Terushima murmurs, hands gripping the counter on either side of where you’re standing, “I’ll make it up to you, yeah?” His lips are just barely ghosting over yours, eyes fluttering shut as he inches forward to close the distance between you two.

Then, he feels it. 

Cold metal pressed up against the underside of his chin. It’s sharper than he expects - the pointed end threatens to pierce through his skin, warning him from moving any closer. 

“Not so fast, baby.”

You’re donning a slight smile, with your arm poised up as you lightly press the nail file against his throat, edging him away from your face. “Careful there, sweetheart,” a slow grin forms on his face as he speaks, “You could really hurt me with that.” 

“I could.”

Terushima feels the file drop down ever so slightly. Ah. So that’s what you wanted. 

His grin grows as he steadies himself by gripping the counter before slowly crouching his body down. You’ve got your eyes locked with his in a piercing gaze, your hand slowly moving downward. And yet, the file remains dangerously close to his throat, lightly grazing his skin as he continues his descent. 

He’s kneeling before you now. 

It’s instinctual - the movement of his hands as he brushes them up the outsides of your legs. Rough palms graze the expanse of your skin, inching higher and higher as Terushima reacquaints himself with your softness, with the familiarity of the texture. He’s almost restless by the time he reaches the hem of your skirt, hastily bunching it up over your hips.

But once again, just as he’s inching himself forward, bringing his face closer to the alluring scent of your heat, he’s stopped. Groaning, he pulls back, golden eyes flitting up at you in impatience. “C’mon, baby, lemme taste you.” 

Your hand doesn’t budge. 

“...please? Just wanna take care of you.” 

And you finally, finally pull away, leaving him free to nudge his face up between your thighs. It’s been a whole week, and he would’ve loved to savour the moment, to take his sweet time reveling in the feel of your skin. But he can’t; not with how he’s overloaded with the scent of sin, of your arousal dampening the fabric of your panties. 

Terushima wastes no time looping his fingers into the bands of your underwear before yanking them off, absentmindedly tossing them aside in a forgotten corner. Parting your legs wider, he moves forward, tilting his head up until his lips are directly under your dripping folds.

His ears perk up at the sound of your sharp intake of breath as you await his next move in eager trepidation. It’s satisfying, having you on the waiting end for a change. He can’t help the smug smile on his face as he pokes his tongue out, just barely ghosting it along your labia. 

Then, in one fell sweep, he swipes it along the length of your inner folds, from your leaking slit, all the way up to your throbbing clit. And, oh, it’s so, so gratifying, hearing the soft whines you let out as he trails the slick muscle across every inch of your hot, needy cunt. 

One of your hands has found purchase in his hair, fingers lightly carding through the blond strands. He can vaguely make out murmurs of how it feels ‘so good!’, and how you want ‘more, more, more!’ Oh, he hasn’t even gotten to the best part yet. He would give you more, alright. 

He pulls away briefly, smirking to himself at your petulant whine upon the loss of contact. Terushima taps the hand currently nestled in his hair. “Hold on tight, yeah, babe?” Your brows furrow in confusion, lips parting to question what he intended on doing-

Your words fall flat on the tiled floor, replaced instead, by a sharp whimper. 

Snickering, Terushima flattens out his tongue and repeats the motion, rolling the cold metal ball right against the swollen head of your clit. A sudden clattering on his left interrupts his rhythm, forcing his eyes to the source of said disturbance. His peripheral view catches sight of it - the nail file, fallen free from your shaky hands. 

A rough tug on his scalp pulls his attention back to you, refocusing his efforts on bringing you closer and closer to the edge. His large palms are spayed flat against the outside of your quivering thighs, fingers indenting the thick of your flesh as he presses you up against the edge of the counter.

“Wait, T-Terushima, I- I can’t keep- fuck-”

He braces himself just in time as your legs give way, bringing your weak form down entirely on his broad shoulders. Hearing you whimper at the lack of support, he hushes you, toned arms snaking underneath the back of your thighs to settle you on top of him. 

“Easy, sweetheart. I gotcha.” 

Your breath stutters in surprise when he gets himself back up, with you still perched on his shoulders and forearms, before planting you on top of the counter. Pressing his hands against the back of your knees, he pushes them up until your thighs are pulled as close to your chest as they can go. 

It’s likely uncomfortable for you - having your body pressed up in half, your neck awkwardly angled so you can rest your head against the mirror behind you. And yet, you tuck your arms under the back of your knees to hold your legs in place, teary-eyed and eager as you wait for him to continue his assault on your pussy. 

The shift in power is perfectly evident in how sweetly you whine, and whimper, and beg for him when he moves his face back to your warm cunt, lapping his tongue in heavy strokes. He takes full advantage of the cool piercing adorning the slick muscle, catching it beneath the sensitive hood of your little nub. 

It certainly becomes crystal clear when you hit your climax, moaning out a shrill string of profanities that graduate to whiny pleas of his name when he doesn’t stop. He can’t help chuckling, even with his lips glued to your overstimulated clit, upon hearing your weak cries of how it was ‘t-too much!’, and could he ‘please, p-please, stop, please!’ 

And as he watches the tears stream down your cheeks as you squirm in his hold, bears witness to your descent into a beautiful, frenzied depravity, Terushima knows it’s clear. 

You’re no longer the one in charge.

You’re all limp and boneless in his arms once he eases you back upright, looping your arms around his neck in a weak hold as you press yourself up against his hard chest for support. And you’re so soft, so compliant - it’d be no effort to rile you up, to taunt you and take advantage of your current vulnerability. 

But no, he couldn’t. 

(Terushima liked to tell himself that the whole sadistic dom thing just wasn’t his style. At the very least, it provided some semblance of an excuse to avoid confronting the fact that he just liked being sweet on you. 

And only you.)

Terushima gathers you in his arms with an uncharacteristic tenderness, cupping your cheek to tilt your face up towards him. “Fuck, I missed you, angel. I’m gonna take care of you now, ‘kay?”

He chuckles at the dazed expression worn on your features, lightly brushing his thumb across your trembling lower lip. And then, he connects them with his own. 

He allows himself to get wrapped up in your arms, to inhale the sweetness of your perfume, to tangle his tongue with yours. Terushima allows himself to be enveloped in you. And as he pulls you infinitely closer into his hold, presses his body against every inch of your softness, he thinks it’s almost intimate. 

Almost. 

Because as you muster up more energy, as you recover from the exhaustion of your previous orgasms, you reciprocate his kisses with hard vigour. Your hands, previously looped tight around his neck, now dig almost painfully hard into the fabric covering his back, tugging the cloth so tight that he can hear the sound of ripping threads. The soft saccharine of your touch dissolves, giving way to bitter, bitter desire. 

And when you pull away, hastily yanking his shirt over his head, Terushima catches a glimpse of your eyes. They’re blown wide, and bursting with a plethora of emotions that he attempts to place.

Hunger. Desperation. Ache. Need. Lust.

But not love. 

The intimacy is practically non-existent when you bend forward, urging him to unzip his pants and fuck you over the counter. He can’t see your face as clearly, he can’t kiss your lips, he can’t hold you like he wants to-

But he does it anyway, gripping your hips in a bruising hold and driving forward into your hot cunt in one hard thrust. Because he’ll take it; he’ll take any scrap he can get, just so long as he can spend another moment pressed up against you. 

Terushima snakes his fingers down your front, gathering the slickness smeared across your clit. Holding them up in front of you, he grips your head back by your hair, forcing your face up. 

“Look at how wet you are, baby,” he separates his fingers in a spread V, the fluid strings of your arousal glistening under the light. “Who got you like this, hmm? Who’s got you dripping like a little slut?” the taunts flow out in hisses, partly because of how hard you’re clamping down on his dick, mostly because of the red, hot frustration coursing through his veins. “Was it that man you were prancing around with back there? Or maybe, it was-”

“No, nooo,” you’re practically gurgling on your words from the recklessness of his movements, “It’s y-you, it’s you, i-it’s you, Teru-”

A dark laugh bubbles past his lips as he rolls his lips in another punishing thrust, “None of that, baby. It’s Yuuji.” 

“I-It’s because of you, Y-Yuuji! All, ah- all because of- of you..”

“That’s right. All because of me. Because you’re, uh- you’re mine, aren’t you?” he makes sure to punctuate every next word with a particularly hard thrust, “All. Fucking. M-Mine.” 

(His. His. His.)

And you’re slobbering over your words, spewing out some sort of garbled nonsense that can hardly even be considered speech. But it’s okay. It doesn’t matter now, not when you’re both so close to your highs. His fingers return down to your clit, rubbing harsh circles in tandem with the feverish jerks of his hips. 

Terushima yanks your head back up again, lips pressed hard against your neck as he mouths kisses and nips along your skin. Yellow eyes glisten as they burn into your expression in the mirror, reserving it into his permanent memory. The dark pupils follow every contortion of your features, every scrunch of the skin around your tightly shut eyes, every tremble of your lips as they fall open to paint the silent bathroom vibrant with your frenetic moans. 

Terushima decides, then, that this is how you look prettiest. Even slathered in sweat, and even under the harsh, white bathroom light - you’re beautiful. You’re beautiful when you’re held in his arms, you’re beautiful when you’re falling apart under his touch, you’re beautiful when you’re stuffed full of his cock. 

You’re beautiful when he can, even if just for a second, pretend you’re his. 

* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚

He’s hunched over, arms pulled around himself as he attempts to placate his staggering breaths. You’re in a similar condition, gripping the edge of the counter in a tight hold to stabilize yourself. 

“Fuck, Terushima-” he looks up at your sharp tone, willing away the quiet hurt that resurfaces upon hearing you revert back to his family name, “You came inside! I’m gonna have to go clean up, and-” 

It’s not long before he’s back on his knees again, having coaxed you into letting him ‘clean’ you up himself. 

Terushima resigns himself to lazier strokes this time, squirming his tongue past your slit and curling it along your quivering inner walls. He licks out every bit of you, angling his head closer so he can scoop out every drop of your essence mixed with his cum. 

He can feel the light tremors of your movements as you sigh, allowing your head to loll back as your fingers thread across his scalp. There’s no frenzied jerking, no desperate jutting of your hips into his face. Instead, it’s replaced by a full bodied tremble that crawls down every inch of your skin as you near your high. 

But, wait, wait-

What is he-

You tilt your head back down to eye him in curiosity. The movements of his slick muscle - previously lazy and languid, with no particular direction - now seem almost… methodical. What is he doing with his tongue?

And then, as you concentrate hard on figuring it out, realization dawns on you. Is he- Oh, god, is he-

“Are you-” your eyes fall wide in disbelief, “Are you spelling out your name?”

The playful look in his eyes is answer enough. But before you can press any further, right when he gets to the very last letter, you’re coming undone, head instinctively falling back as you release a final whimper of his name. 

* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚

“So, again next week?”

You’re in front of the mirror, hands busy redoing your smeared makeup and smoothening your mussed hair. You freeze at his words, temporarily shifting your focus away from your dishevelled appearance to look back at where he’s sitting, leaned up against the wall.

“Uh, I- I don’t think so, Terushima.” The look you send him is laced with guilt and discomfort. “Read between the lines,” it practically pleads with him, “and don’t make me have to spell it out for you.” 

Terushima picks up on your discomfort, on your hesitance, on the finality of your words. He isn’t stupid. What he is though, is petty. 

“Oh?” he asks in mock ignorance, “The week after, then?” 

“Terushima…” your voice trails off as you bite your lip, eyes flitting back and forth between him and the floor. He clenches his palms into fists as he speaks. 

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” 

You flinch at the venom in his tone, nervously eyeing his fuming state. “Yeah, um, I’m seeing someone.” You straighten yourself out, voice relatively unwavering as you attempt to remain calm. “I think it might be serious this time. And they- they want to become exclusive now. So, uh- we can’t… We need to stop, Terushima.”

He’s completely sobered up. There’s no alcohol, no substance clouding his mind. He registers every word, every sentence falling from your lips with a painful consciousness. 

It gives rise to red, hot anger, as he shoots you an accusatory glare. “So you were using me then? You knew, you knew how I- how I felt and you-”

“H-Hey, that’s not fair-” 

“You were using me as your fucking side piece!” Terushima almost regrets the harshness of his words when he sees the tinge of hurt flash across your face, but the frustration and jealousy overtake his guilt. “You knew, you knew, you fucking knew!” 

(Knew that all he had ever wanted was for you to be his. 

He leaves the words unspoken. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud, can’t breathe tangibility into the thought, because god fucking damn, another ounce of vulnerability would kill him.)

“Okay, okay, Terushima, I-” you edge closer to the door, speaking quietly in an attempt to placate him, “I’m going to leave now.” 

“No! Wait-” He sits up from the floor, eyes welling up in tears and frustration as he watches you go still at the doorway. Terushima attempts to finish his sentence, to put out his thoughts, his one final request. But, he can’t- fuck, he can’t- He pushes himself, forcing the words out from within him, but they remain painfully lodged in his throat, and- and fuck, he’s choking, and-

“Terushima?” 

Your voice pulls him out of his stupor. They come out hoarse and heavy, but Terushima manages to string the words together, “J-Just say it! That you’re mine… Just o-once, please, please…” 

(His. His. His.)

Your voice comes out in barely a whisper, “Terushima, you know I-”

“Lie to me then! Just as o-one final kindness, please…”  

And you look at him, sitting down on the dirty tiles, tears trailing down his cheeks. That look unsettles him. It’s not harsh enough to be disgust, no, your expression bears no malice. And yet, it’s not invested enough to be concern. 

Pity. It’s pity. 

“I’m sorry, Terushima, but doing that would be beyond cruel.” 

The sobs rain heavy and free once he hears the door click shut. It’s not long before the fatigue and exhaustion weigh down on him, and soon, even sitting up takes too much effort. Terushima lowers himself down until he can feel the cool tile against his cheek. The bathroom floor is disgusting, caked with filth and grime. It smells. He’s too tired to care. 

And then, just as he’s about to close his eyes, to allow himself some reprieve in the abyss of sleep, his peripheral catches it.

Your nail file, laying abandoned a few inches away from him. 

He’s not sure why, but it makes him cry harder.

[moonlit-raven-haven]

The Past II

Where the reader and Harry no longer speak.

This is unedited!

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: angst, car accident, mentions of blood, hospital environment

A/N: Here’s part two! I hope you guys enjoy it :) I’ve decided to make this a mini series with maybe four parts, so stay tuned! There will be information at the very end regarding tag lists.

This series is inspire by the Instagram edit below :)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by 𝕤𝕜𝕪 (@stylessr1) on Oct 2, 2020 at 3:19pm PDT

“Oh don’t worry ‘bout it hun, I’m just glad ya got here safely.” Y/N hears Anne’s voice comfort him as she hears wheels slowly being dragged across the floor and the closing of the door. Y/N felt frozen, unsure of what to do. Five years with no contact with the man that was speaking to his mum and sister in the living room they once used to spend hours talking in. Now they’re strangers, perhaps she was more of a stranger to him; the tabloids don’t exactly keep track of everyday people.

“I’m sure you’re hungry, there’s some leftover food in the kitchen from dinner.” Anne says, a smile evident in her voice as Y/N hears two steps of footsteps walking towards the kitchen. Her heartbeat increases more, this time the change is noticeable as she hears the uneven rhythm in her ears.

“Finish setting up the games for us Gem!” Anne calls out to her daughter as she steps into the kitchen, Harry trailing only a few steps behind her. Y/N has her back turned to the entrance of the kitchen, not finding the strength to turn around, although she knew it would be necessary eventually, but the longer she could avoid it, the slightly more at ease she felt. Her hands are gripping the edge of the sink, her knuckles white due to the pressure. She finally hears Anne’s light footsteps, followed by slightly heavier ones and a small gasp.

As Harry walked into the kitchen, looking up in the direction of the sink, where the refrigerator happens to be, he can’t help the small gasp that escapes past his lips as he sees the girl hunched over the sink, her hands gripping onto the edge of the sink as if her life depends on it. He hasn’t seen or contacted her in five years, and she never tried, having changed his number and blocked her out of his life in a slow but obvious manner. Suddenly the winter coat he’s wearing over his hoodie feels a lot warmer than usual, and his hands become clammy. The guilt is eating him up, but happiness is right next to the guilt, happiness to see that she’s okay, happiness that they’re in the same room after five years.

“Y/N?” His voice is like a sweet melody to her ears, being able to hear it more clearly she can hear the grogginess to his voice; the way it would sound every time he came home after a long flight. There’s a hint of shock, happiness, and something else she can’t quite put her finger on. And despite still feeling frozen in place, the grip she held on the sink counter loosens as she takes a deep breath and turns around, still hearing her heartbeat in her ears.

It was cheesy really, feeling like your breath is being taken away after seeing someone for the first time, or seeing them for the first time in years. But that’s what she felt in her chest, the air leaving her lungs, much like when Harry would return home and go to her house, embracing her so tightly she could no longer breathe. Y/N had seen pictures of him online and magazines, but having him in front of her didn’t compare. His face has matured more since she last saw him five years ago, stubble adorning his face, completing the medium length of his curly, chestnut hair. His legs are covered by black skinny jeans, and his feet by black Gucci boots, a signature look she had seen over the past several years in magazines. He wears a gray hoodie, a black jacket over it to keep warm in the cold weather, and her heart beat seems to quicken just a little more, it’s the jacket she had gotten him years ago, and the memory is crystal clear.

“Harry! Would you please wear a jacket?!” Her tone was serious and worried, fearing that he would get sick. They were going out for dinner at the local diner around the corner from their flat and to say it was cold out was an understatement.

“Okay mum.” Harry had rolled his eyes at her playfully, heading over to their shared closet and pulling out a gray hoodie, he pulled it over his body and headed back to the living room where Y/N was patiently waiting for him, despite her stomach growling.

“There, happy?” Harry asked her, his voice sounding like one of a snappy teenager who had to do something against their own will. Y/N shakes her head.

“It’s the coldest day of the year, and you’re wearing a hoodie that’ll barely keep you warm...you need a winter coat Harry.”

“I don’t have one.” Harry responded to her, causing Y/N to raise her eyebrow at him.

“You live in the UK and don’t own a winter coat?” She had questioned incredulously.

“Correct.”

“You’re unbelievable Styles.” Y/N had said with a shake of her head and a small laugh. They walked over to the diner, and as she suspected, Harry was shivering once they got inside, sitting next to her in the booth. It was unusual for them to do so, preferring to look at one another directly, rather than having to turn their heads when they spoke, but in that moment Harry needed to return to his normal body temperature. Y/N had hummed a soft “living in the UK without a winter coat” under her breath, causing Harry to laugh softly as their food was brought to them and they began to eat.

The day after, Harry had one final meeting with management and the boys, the one calling the official end of One Direction. So Y/N had taken it upon herself to go shopping to find a winter coat for Harry, her idiotic best friend who did not own a winter coat, plus, she hoped it would be able to boost his mood a bit. She had settled on a long black coat, simple but stylish and fitting whatever outfit he might have chosen to wear. She headed home with the coat in its own zip up bag, she could have put it in a gift bag, but she had felt it wasn’t necessary; the coat was more of a necessity rather than a gift. Harry had not come home yet, so she hung the coat on their bedroom door and then began to cook dinner.

When Harry returned to their shared flat, they had embraced, and Y/N smiled up at him, her attention temporarily away from the food on the stove.

“I got you something, it’s in the room.” She had said, the smile adorning her features made his heart beat a little faster than usual, something he had noticed but chosen to ignore, telling himself that he was excited for the item she had bought him and nothing more. He had walked over to their room, grinning from ear to ear as he unzipped the clear plastic bag and ran his fingers over the slightly rough material. Harry unsheathed the jacket from its bag and hanger, shrugging it over his body. He walked out into the living room with a smile on his face, doing a little twirl and posing with a hand on his hip once he faced her.

“How do I look?” Harry had questioned as he watched Y/N place their plates of food onto their table.

“Absolutely dashing, as usual.” Y/N had complimented as she walked over to him and fixed the collar, she gently patted it in place before looking up at him with doe eyes. He was mesmerizing to say the least, the way his hair was tied back in a messy bun, and his green eyes looked directly at her. Unconsciously they moved closer to one another, Harry’s breath fanning gently over her face.

“Thank you, love…really needed a winter coat...and a little mood booster.” Harry had said, his tone sincere, because he genuinely did appreciate her actions.

“O’course….plus you had gotten me that satchel...had to make up for it somehow…” Y/N had said with the smile that Harry had grown to love. He couldn’t deny his feelings anymore, he loved her.

He had leaned in closer to her face, but Y/N had moved away, her heart beating rapidly as she cleared her throat.

“We should probably eat before dinner gets cold.” She had said rather nervously.

“Oh right, yeah, o’course.” Harry replied, his throat was dry, and his heart had felt more heavy than it ever had.

They made their way over to their table, where they sat down and quietly ate dinner. They weren’t laughing and talking like they normally did, but instead there was a heavy silence weighing over them, and Y/N knows it’s her fault. She had wanted to kiss him, but she was unsure if she could really cross that line. Her doubts and worries had gotten the best of her. What if things didn’t work out and years of friendship went down the drain? But little did she know that would happen eventually. After that day, Harry began to keep his distance from her, it was slow, starting off with leaving the house often, to coming home late for dinner, often returning once she had gone to bed. Then he moved out, saying that their flat had gotten too cramped, which wasn’t a lie, it had gotten cramped with tension that had become unbearable. Eventually he stopped visiting her, and the calls completely stopped, and the texts had come to an abrupt halt. And then he changed his number, his address was unknown to her as he had said he wanted to keep it a surprise for when she came over the first time, but that day had never come. She had tried hard to contact him, even asking Anne and Gemma to talk to him, but it was no use. Harry had slipped from her fingers, and she couldn’t even try to get him back.

So caught up in the painful memory, Y/N didn’t realize that a tear fell down her cheek, or that Harry moved closer to her, his face full of worry as Anne left the room, saying something about the food being in the refrigerator and to heat it up.

“Hey Harry.” Y/N finally replies, wiping the stray tear off of her face, and she feels an urgency to leave, not sure if she can handle being around the man she called her best friend for so many years, the man she had loved but refused to go further than friends, afraid she would lose him.

“Um...I should really get going, especially since they’re expecting a storm.” She says, refusing to make eye contact with him as she moves past him, shrugging on her discarded coat and swinging her satchel over her shoulder.

“You kept it.” Harry states, although it sounds like more of a question as he looks at the worn down satchel hanging on the side of her body.

“You kept the coat.” Her voice falters in the slightest, but it’s enough for Harry to notice. At the mention of the coat he tenses, his mind briefly wandering to the day she bought it for him. He wants to tell her that he’s an idiot, and that he should’ve talked to her instead of running away like he did, but he can’t bring himself to do it, scared that he’ll mess things up even further.

“Um...like I said, I should really get going…” She mumbles softly, finally looking up at him and looking directly into his eyes for the first time in five years. They look their same vibrant green, but tired, perhaps from the long flight, or maybe the emotional exhaustion he surely felt the way she did in this very moment.

“You should stay...haven’t talked in awhile…I could make us some tea.” Harry offers, it was almost as if he wants to restart that tradition they had all those years ago, but Y/N shakes her head and makes her way to exit the kitchen, seeing that Anne and Gemma had begun a game already.

“Storm is starting, I should really get going…” Y/N says, her voice is no longer a whisper, but the various emotions can be heard, her eyes tearing up. The rain can be heard hitting the window, it’s soft, but she knows that in time it’ll get harder, making a dangerous ride home. She tells herself that she needs to leave for her own safety, rather than needing to be away from Harry. She had spent nights with Anne and Gemma when stoma would occur, so he excuse was lame, not thought of thoroughly.

“Please stay, love…” Harry’s voice is pleading, he wants to fix things, talk it out, explain himself and why he had acted the way he did. Y/N feels her heart ache, the dull pain gone, now replaced by the painful pang she had learned to ignore; overcome by emotion, she snaps.

“You don’t have the right to call me that anymore Harry! You left me, couldn’t even explain yourself...couldn’t even talk to me ‘bout it. I tried to contact you, but you pushed me away like I meant nothing, Harry! Absolutely nothing…” Y/N voice starts off strong, but cracks as her body shakes with emotion and tears begin to fall down her face. Harry is stunned, the guilt is now coursing through his body, realizing how badly he has hurt her. He moves closer to her, attempts to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she moves away from him, her eyes getting a slight red tint to them as she shakes her head.

“I need to go…” She murmurs, walking away from him, and as she walks into the living room she sees Anne and Gemma looking at her worriedly, the words Y/N had said moments before were enough for them to get a glimpse into the untold story that ended Y/N and Harry’s friendship.

“Sorry Anne and Gemma...can I get a rain check on game night?” Y/N asks with a sad smile as she walks over to the women and embraces them.

“Of course, Y/N. Are you sure you’re alright to drive? The storm seems to have finally picked up.” Anne says worriedly, and Y/N finally hears the rain pelting down against the window, and while she knows it probably isn’t safe for her to drive, especially with her heightened emotions, she refuses to stay another minute in the house where Harry would try and talk to her.

“I’ll be alright Anne. Thank you guys for dinner.” And with one final wave Y/N is out the door, gripping onto her coat and satchel as the heavy raindrops call against her clothing, becoming soaked in a matter of seconds. She runs to her car, pulling the keys out the satchel and unlocking it before climbing in, shivering at the cold clothes that now clinged to her body. She shrugs the satchel off and puts in the passenger's seat, putting her keys in the ignition and turning it on, waiting for the car to heat up before turning the heat on. She sees Harry run out of the warm house, his hair clinging onto his face as his hoodie takes on a dark gray color from the rain, it was rather really cinematic really.

“Y/N! Please!” She hears Harry shout, his voice muffled by the loud rain and comfort of her car. Y/N shakes her head and drives off, her hands gripping the steering wheel the same way she had done with the counter of the kitchen sink minutes before. Her mind is clouded with thoughts and memories, her eyes becoming heavy with tears, blurring her vision. I should pull over, compose myself. She thinks to herself, but decides against it; the quicker she got home the quicker she could break down in the comfort of her flat.

Her mind keeps wandering to the scene that played out at Anne’s house, causing the tears in her eyes to finally fall down her face, and she wants to stop crying, but she can't. Y/N’s vision becomes more blurry than before, and her mind is elsewhere, not truly focusing on the road in front of her, which is why she doesn’t notice the traffic signal she ignored, the red light now barley processing in her mind as a car crashes straight into the passenger's side of her car. The impact takes her by surprise as she’s suddenly very aware of her spinning car, and she grips the steering wheel, trying desperately to gain control of her car again, but it’s of no use as she crashes into the traffic light, the impact isn’t as hard as it should’ve been due to her breaking, but the traffic light still flickers, going black just like her vision.

-*-*-*-

Y/N’s eyes strain open, bright fluorescent lights filling her vision before adjusting, finding herself in a hospital room. She hears the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the soft click of the IV drip, oxygen being pumped into her lungs in a small steady stream.

“Hey you.” She hears a soft gruff voice next to her, the voice she recognizes as Mark’s, her boyfriend of two years.

“Hey babe.” Y/N says with a weak smile as his hand finds her, slowly bringing it up to his lips and kissing her knuckles gently.

“Was worried ‘bout you when I got the call, thankfully nothing too serious, just a sprained wrist on your other hand and a small cut to your forehead…but why didn’t you stay at Anne’s like you normally do when there’s storms?” He questions softly, concern filling his orbs as he squeezes her hand gently.

“Um...just wanted to get home…” Y/N lies to him. Despite being together for two years, Mark knew nothing of her past with Harry, or why she avoided talking about him whenever Mark would bring up some new headline about Harry and his success. As far as Mark is aware, Harry is another celebrity out of reach from their lives.

-*-*-*-

Anne received a call minutes after the accident, being one of Y/N emergency contacts. Harry was in the living room, his face between his hands as Gemma tried to comfort him while scolding him for messing up such a good friendship all those years ago. But when Anne walked in with a serious look on her face the two looked up at her worriedly.

“What happened?” Harry was the first one to speak up, removing his hands that had once been covering his face.

“It’s um...it’s Y/N...she’s been in a car accident.” Anne said quietly, and upon seeing Harry’s face become anguished, she quickly followed her statement with an urgent, “She’s okay.” And Harry’s face is washed with relief.

“We should go.” Harry says, his clothes were still drenched when he got up from his spot on the couch, leaving a wet spot from where he sat.

“You should change first hun, don’t want you getting sick, or have people recognize you.” Anne quickly chimed in before he could have walked out the door. Harry had nodded, quickly understanding the second part to her statement. He was wearing the same clothes from the airport, making it possible for someone to recognize him easier. He hums a “I’ll be right back” before disappearing upstairs with his luggage.

-*-*-*-

Upon arriving at the hospital after a rather treacherous and slow car ride, they all climb out of Anne’s car and head towards the entrance of the hospital, umbrellas in hand. They receive guest passes before making their way up to the second floor of the hospital. Harry is anxiously biting his lip, because despite not talking to Y/N for five years, he still cares deeply for her, only worsening his guilt about the whole situation.

They finally reach her room number and Anne opens the door quietly, making Y/N and Mark’s quiet moment watching television come to a halt.

“I’ll be back in a bit to give you three...four...some privacy.” Mark says to the group, planting a gentle kiss on Y/N’s forehead. He leaves the room, his brows slightly furrowed at the sight of Harry Styles in the room, visiting his girlfriend, throwing him in a loop. And as he makes his way down to the cafeteria for a coffee, the pieces slowly start to assemble in his head, the reason Y/N didn’t like to talk about the famous star, and why she probably hadn’t stayed at Anne’s house like she normally did; the two have history.

Harry closes the door gently once Mark exits the room, his face scrunching up slightly in distaste at seeing Y/N with another man who wasn’t him, even if her and Harry were never truly together, it still hurts. He recalls when he came home after his first solo tour, he was having dinner with Anne and Gemma, the topic of Y/N briefly coming up.

“Oh Y/N is so wonderful darling! It’s such a shame you two stopped talking.” Anne had commented over dinner.

“Yeah, she’s wonderful...deserve the whole world.” Harry had replied quietly, a small smile coming onto his face at the mention of the girl.

“She’s got a boyfriend now, his name is Mark...seems serious if you ask me.” Anne added as she had taken a sip of her wine. Harry had felt a pang in his chest when he heard the word boyfriend, wishing that it was him and not some other bloke. But Harry had foolishly run out of Y/N’s life.

“Does she seem happy?” Harry had asked seconds after, a hint of jealousy to his tone, a hint of jealousy that he truly had no right to have.

“Yeah...seem a bit tense there, Harry, almost jealous…” Gemma had finally chimed into the conversation. Harry had simply laughed at her comment, shaking his head as he denied the claims of jealousy, carrying their conversation elsewhere as dinner continued.

That was two years ago now, she has been with Mark for two years. Mark is the one making her happy, kissing her, taking her out, buying her gifts, making sure she’s treated properly, not Harry. He no longer has a place in her life, at least he thinks he doesn’t. So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realize that Anne and Gemma had left the room, leaving Harry and Y/N alone. Harry clears his throat.

“Where are Gemma and my mum?” Harry asks Y/N, his voice a bit hoarse.

“Went to the cafeteria, said that we should talk…” Y/N says as she looks up at him from her position on the bed, and for the first time since entering her room, Harry looks at her, wincing at the cut on her head, part of her hair dried with blood, and her wrist wrapped in a bandage. And he can’t help the bubble of guilt within him that seems to grow more; it was his fault she was on the bed, if he had stayed quiet, she would’ve probably gotten home safely, or been willing to spend the night at Anne’s house.

“You okay, Harry?...” Y/N asks quietly, noticing his lack of words or movement, and the tears that fell down his face. She is still mad at him, but above all, she is hurt, but she still can’t stop herself from caring about him. Harry, finally noticing his tears he shakes his head and sniffles, wiping his face clean with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“‘M okay lo- Y/N...thank you for caring.” He says softly, quickly catching on to the mistake he almost made once again.

“I should get going…” Harry says softly. He knew Anne told Y/N that her and Harry would need to talk to fix things, but her willingness to do is what makes him head for the door.

“Harry! Wait...I reckon we really do need to talk.” Y/N calls out after him from her position on the hospital bed.

“Uh...yeah, just not right now Y/N. I really should get going…” He catches himself trying to run away again, and quickly stops himself. “When do you get discharged?” He questions, still standing by the door as he turns to face her.

“Tomorrow morning.” Y/N states with a small smile, one that almost manages to make him feel better in an instant, but he doesn’t allow himself to feel better, he deserves what he’s feeling after having been the cause of her emotional turmoil, the reason she’s in that bed.

“Dinner tomorrow? My place? 7’oclock. We could talk and catch up.” Harry proposes, fiddling with his fingers nervously.

“Dinner tomorrow, your place, 7’oclock.” Y/N repeats softly, perhaps they could try and go back to normal, be as close as they once had, as best friends. Harry hums in response, nodding his head before opening the door and gently closing it behind him, leaving Y/N with a gentle smile on her face and a heart that no longer aches as much.

-*-*-*-

A/N: I will be making a two master lists for Harry Styles content! :) One for ALL Harry Styles fics I will do in the future, and one for JUST this fic. Comment “All Harry fics” or “Just this Harry fic” if you would like to be added.

[freddiekluger]

BBC GHOSTS FICLET: thomas thorne, reluctantly bi

hi i made this shitpost and ran with it, enjoy

—

The ghosts are gearing up for an argument. again. last week, it was the ethical ramifications of keeping Piers Morgan on an otherwise delightful breakfast program, and the week before it was whether or not Julian should be banned from music club (they settled for a temporary period of non-participatory attendance. There’s only so many times he can swing his hips while singing Boyz II Men before you have to preface his performances with an R18+). This week, it looks like one Regency era poet was to be the subject of debate.

There was plenty about Thomas that prompted the irresistible urge to slap him across the face, as Julian had often remarked, but it’s last night’s binge of the Pride & Prejudice BBC miniseries that has everyone in a tizzy. Thomas had somehow found himself loudly appreciating the Colin-Firth-in-a-wet-shirt lake scene along with Kitty and Mary (even Fanny deigned to saucily raise an eyebrow), and he’s starting to get the impression it’s thrown the others off their rhythm.

“Don’t be ridiculous! Feeling admiration for the muscular intensity of the male form, and being able to express it, is a basic part of appreciating Life’s beauty,” thomas proclaims with the overwhelming confidence of a flat earther adressing a panel of scientists.

“I don’t think saying, and this is a direct quote, that you'd ‘cover his torso in honey and lick it all off’ counts as appreciation, mate.” Pat was pretty sure Thomas had something he needed to share with the proverbial class- they’d been through it all already with the Captain, and Pat definitely wasn’t strong enough to do the four decades of lead up he was actually present for with the Captain all over again with Thomas. “Besides, I’m actually bisexual myself, so I know what I’m talking about.” He smiles warmly in the Captain’s direction, a gesture that goes unnoticed by Thomas.

“Well, that’s all well and good, Pat, but I assure you i’m no pathikos! One could say I’m as ‘straight’ as that chanteur from Wham!”

Julian snorts and leans back, forgetting the ghost thing for a second and almost falling right through the wall behind him. 

“I don’t think that means what you want it to mean,” Robin says, scratching his head.

Thomas was about to deliver a scathing retort when the sun, er Alison, strolls into the room (followed, as ever, by Kitty). Anyone could tell that she was on her way to do something else. Anyone, except Thomas, who’s already bounded up to her and begun to speak.

“Alison! Good morning. Did you sleep well? Of course you did, look at you- now would you kindly inform these simpletons that my objective, intellectual admiration of Mr Firth is nothing more? Honestly, one would think they had never even heard of a romantic friendship,” Thomas finishes with a scoff. It’s safe to say the others didn’t take to kindly to being called simpletons (except for Robin, who’s not quite sure what it means), but Alison manages to summon enough awakeness to respond to exactly one part of Thomas’s monologue. 

“Romantic friendships? You know those weren’t really a thing, right? People just said that so they could be gay and affectionate in public without getting jailed or losing their jobs.” Already tuning out, Alison continues on her mission, which turns out to be joining Mike in the kitchen for breakfast.

“She’s right, you know,” Humphrey chimes in from his place on the floor, startling a nearby Mary. 

“Is that why you got the ker-schhk?” Julian asks, miming a beheading.

“No, that was just a misunderstanding. Tax fraud, light treason, you know how it is.”

Julian nods. He does know.

Kitty sighs happily, “Oh, my mother had a romantic friendship! I remember I once saw her friend crawling under her skirt to help fix her petticoat. It must have been ticklish, I remember mother couldn’t stop shrieking. I always wanted a romantic friend of my own.” Her eyes flit briefly towards Mary, who’s unknowingly about to open the floodgates.

First, Robin barks out a laugh. “Case closed.” 

“Are Thomas’s late night meetings with the Captain not to be mentioned?”, Mary asks with a mischevous grin. 

Fanny rolls her eyes. “I think they were more than meetings, Mary.”

Julian adds a subtle “Whoomp, there it is”. Thomas was beginning to feel aggravated that the conversation had turned away from him (if his sexual proclivities were to be up for debate, at least let him be the centre of attention), but come on! He was just trying to do a nice thing for a friend- associate? fellow ghost who you have no choice but to stand?- and by the redness and failed attempts at denial coming out of the Captain, it looks like he regrets it. 

Alison, still in the kitchen, has tuned right back in and is doing her best not to laugh. Right now, her best is not very good.

At the same time as Alison’s eavesdropping and the Captain’s spluttering, Pat can’t help but yell “See?! THAT’S gay!”

Julian raises his hand. “I also ‘met up’ with Thorne more than once.”

“We agreed NOT to speak of that!”

“So did we, but now bloody Mary knows,” the Captain grumbles.

Mary isn’t done yet. “I once saws him firting with a plague spirit! Not the lady one, mind you, the tall one with the curled hair.”

Robin is starting to feel insecure- Thomas never once hit on him.

Thomas would have stood bolt upright, had he not already been standing. “I’ll have you know, Mary, that I would never have relations with a plague victim.”

"Didn’t stop you from tryin’ though, did it!”

Fanny’s arms are folded as ever, but her facial expressions are downright acrobatic. “Honestly, you’re almost as bad as Julian!” Julian looks a little too chuffed at that remark.

Thomas concedes. “Alright, I’ll grant you that. But I’m not a fool, I know the classics, it’s only gay if you’re on the bottom and I was n-”

Thomas is cut off by the ghosts yelling. They’re split on the reasons- Pat, Robin, and Julian are yelling because it hasn’t worked like that for thousands of years before Thomas was even born, while Mary, Fanny, and the Captain find Thomas’s assertion to be a hallmark case of Too Much Information. Humphrey and Kitty are on the fence, but just like to be included.

Alison has totally lost her composure now, prompting so much concern from Mike that he’s abandoned his cornflakes. 

"What’s wrong- is it a ghost thing?”

Alison nods.

"Care to explain?”

Alison takes a deep breath, racing through the details as quickly as possible to avoid falling behind while the ghosts continue to yell and wave their arms in the next room.

"I think Thomas has slept with Julian and the Captain and has been arguing with the rest of the ghosts that he’s completely heterosexual, while they all yell at him. Also Pat’s bisexual, I’m pretty sure Kitty’s mum had a lesbian lover, Humphrey was beheaded for tax fraud, and Robin’s upset that Thomas didn’t try to sleep with him because according to Mary he even tried it on with a plague ghost.”

Mike whistles. “They don’t waste any time, do they? Wait, how does T… Toby-”

"-Thomas.”

"Thomas, how does Thomas think he’s still straight?”

“Apparently, according to the classics, it’s not gay if you’re on top.” Alison lets out an amused groan. It appears Thomas’s total lack of awareness isn’t just limited to her boundaries.

Rejoining the ghosts, Thomas has finally raised his hands in defeat. “Fine! Maybe I am a little unisexual, or whatever it is you said.”

“Bisexual,” Pat and Julian say in unison. 

Thomas shrugs. It’s not like it matters to him anyway. Although that does explain one or two (or ten) encounters at Hampstead Heath back in his day. Doesn’t matter who they belong to, Thomas Thorne is a sucker for beautiful eyes and a few other things he’s far too gentlemanly to mention.

[valdomarx]

“How about we go visit April again?” Geralt asks Jaskier one morning, projecting as much casual indifference into the question as he can. “She did invite us back, and we’ll be passing by that way soon.”

Just two good friends going to visit a brothel to share a prostitute. Again. No big deal. No need to scare Jaskier off.

The road they’re travelling winds through the countryside toward the town where they’d met April and this thing between Jaskier and him had started. Geralt thinks he’s been very cunning in maneuvering them back in this direction.

“Oh.” Jaskier’s body language doesn’t change, but his heartbeat stutters then picks up into a hammering rhythm. “Sure,” he says, inspecting his nails, outwardly casual. “That could be fun.”

Jaskier doesn’t look like he’s about to run, so Geralt is going to count that as a win. He nods, once, and holds back a smile that threatens to spill out in anticipation.

.

April greets them warmly, with a hint of sparkle in her eyes, and they’re herded up to her room. It’s the same as before, the same obnoxiously red furnishings, the same musty smell of sex, and she is as appealing and lovely as ever.

Geralt can’t help but notice the difference in himself though: the weight of everything that’s happened since then, the inconvenient magnitude of his feelings, his growing understanding of just how much Jaskier means to him. It makes him nervous in a way he hasn’t felt since he was a boy, and he stamps down the urge to fidget.

April cocks her head at him, curious, like she can see he’s different too. He gives her a lopsided half smile and she nods, understanding.

“Good to see you again, big boy,” she says as she pulls his shirt off and runs fingertips down his chest. “You been well?”

Geralt sneaks a glance at Jaskier, who is kicking off his boots in the corner. “You gave me a lot to think about. It’s been an... illuminating few months.”

“Illuminating in a good way?”

Geralt ponders that. Yeah, all in all, considering what he’s got from it. “In a very good way.”

April smiles broadly, like she's pleased by that answer. “That’s my man,” she says, patting him on the cheek, and Geralt feels a ridiculous surge of pride. She divests Geralt of the rest of his clothes in an efficient manner, and she doesn’t seem to object to the fact Geralt is staring at Jaskier the entire time.

“There we go,” she says once she has Geralt naked. “You entertain yourself for a moment while I see to your dear friend, yeah?”

That’s easily done. Jaskier seems nervous too, hopping from one foot to the other, though April sets him at ease. Geralt stares, hungry and unabashed, as she peels away Jaskier’s layers of finery to reveal supple, smooth skin beneath. Geralt is half hard already from the anticipation, and he fists his cock in his hand as he watches Jaskier’s shirt slide from his shoulder, the tantalising glimpse of firm muscle exposed beneath.

Jaskier’s eyes flick to his, then down to his hand where he’s working himself over, then back to his face, and the most charming blush spreads over his cheeks. Geralt feels the urge to look away, the old instinct of shame kicking in, but he fights it back. He’s looking at Jaskier, and he likes what he sees. He wants Jaskier to know that, even if he isn’t quite ready to put it into words.

April sets herself down on her knees in front of Jaskier, unlacing his trousers with deft fingers. Jaskier is still looking at Geralt, bottom lip caught in his teeth, eyes a little wild, and they haven’t even got started yet. It’s a good look on him, Geralt thinks as he squeezes a little firmer around his cock, slides his hand a little faster. 

April peels off Jaskier’s trousers and he’s finally, deliciously naked, his cock bouncing free and settling in a hard line against his thigh. Broad shoulders, slender waist, thick thighs, hard cock. He is a feast, and Geralt is starving.

“Lovely,” April says, cheerfully. “Get yourself settled on the bed for me, sweetheart.” 

On somewhat shaky legs, Jaskier does so, sprawling himself on the bed and propping himself up on his elbows. His cheeks are pink and his hair is mussed and he’s beautiful. Geralt wants to devour him whole.

April looks from Jaskier to Geralt over her shoulder. “You too, my man,” she orders, and Geralt feels like he’s looking down on his body from high above as he arranges himself on the bed next to Jaskier, close enough to touch but keeping his hands to himself, at least for now.

“Much better,” she says, taking in the two of them on the bed, apparently satisfied. “But oh dear! How foolish of me. I suddenly realise I have left an urgent matter unattended to downstairs. You two can keep yourself amused for a moment while I see to it, right?”

“Most certainly, dear lady,” Jaskier says, seemingly calm, but Geralt can see the blush spreading from his cheeks down his neck. “Let us not detain you. We will gladly wait upon your pleasure.”

“Such considerate gentlemen,” April says, pulling on a robe and heading for the door. She gives Geralt a tiny wink as she departs. 

The door shuts and a heavy silence descends on the room. Geralt glances to his side and gets a tormenting glimpse of Jaskier, so near and yet so far away. He forces his eyes back up to the ceiling, determined not to come on too strong.

But the hairs on the back of his neck prickle when he feels Jaskier turn and look at him, the heat of his gaze running up and down the length of his body. 

“So…” Jaskier says, carefully light. “How should we amuse ourselves while we wait?”

Geralt has been thinking about this moment for weeks. He has plans. He was going to be eloquent. He was going to use his words. 

And then Jaskier looks at him, and smiles softly, and every thought he’s ever had goes flying out of his head. 

So he acts purely on instinct: he puts a hand around the back of Jaskier’s neck, he pulls him close, and he kisses him with everything he has.

Jaskier is hot and responsive, opening his mouth to welcome Geralt in, and the taste of him is as intoxicating as it is familiar. He tugs and Jaskier rolls onto him, their bodies pressed together from head to toe, and heat sparks from the base of Geralt’s spine to the tips of his fingers where they are entwined in Jaskier’s hair. He feels like he could drown like this, and he would die a happy man.

“Mphgh,” Jaskier says against his lips, all his usual composure apparently deserting him. 

So Geralt kisses him again, and that seems to be agreeable. Jaskier scrabbles at him, hands everywhere at once, frantic and frenzied. There’s an edge of desperation to it which makes something inside him shift uncomfortably. 

“Hey.” Geralt pulls back for a moment. “It’s okay. There’s no rush.”

A storm of emotions crosses Jaskier’s face in a matter of seconds. “There isn’t?” He visibly composes himself, rolling back onto his side. Geralt wants to chase after him, but he restrains himself, gives Jaskier the space he needs. “I thought…,” Jaskier trails off. “Well, I thought you might change your mind again. It’s not easy to tell what you want if you don’t talk about it.”

Right. Talking. Words. That had been the plan. 

Geralt takes a steadying breath. He can do this. He can do this for Jaskier.

“Last time we were here, April said something to me,” he begins. Jaskier looks over and tilts his head, curious. “She said that next time, we wouldn’t need her.” Jaskier goes a little pale, and he opens his mouth like he’s about to start making excuses. But Geralt doesn’t need to hear them. “I finally understand what she meant.”

Jaskier shuts his mouth. “Oh,” he says, tentative, like he’s not sure how this conversation is going to continue.

“It was never about the girls, was it?” Geralt says, daring to run a finger down Jaskier’s cheek. “All this time, it was always about you and me.”

Jaskier’s smile breaks through like the sun peeking between clouds. “You figured it out.” Then it morphs into a teasing grin, and he punches Geralt in the shoulder. “Took you long enough.”

Geralt’s chest is so light he feels like he could float away. “It did. I’m sorry if that hurt you.” Emboldened and free, he wraps a hand around the back of Jaskier’s neck, and it fits like it belongs there. “I want you, Jaskier, and I think I always have.” It's so startlingly clear, he wonders how he could ever have doubted it.

Jaskier laughs, and Geralt wants to wrap himself in that sound. “You can have me;” Jaskeir says, and he can’t stop smiling. “Any way and every way you want. I’m yours, you great idiot, and I have been for years.”

And that’s…. that’s everything that Geralt wants, and more than he can possibly deserve. The nameless thing which has been furiously beating inside his chest feels like it’s about to burst free and carry him away with it. 

This time, Jaskier kisses him, and Geralt lets himself luxuriate in this, in what he wants, in his Jaskier.

“How do you want me?” Jaskier asks, voice husky, and the myriad implications of that question have Geralt’s head spinning. But he knows. He knows what he wants.

“I want you to fuck me,” he says into Jaskier’s neck, and Jaskier gasps like he’s been handed a wonderful gift.

“It would be, with not the tiniest bit of exaggeration, my absolute pleasure,” Jaskier says, stroking a gentle hand down Geralt’s side.

Jaskier sits up and there’s suddenly no contact between them and Geralt makes a noise which, if he was absolutely forced to confront it, he would admit was a whine. Jaskier pets him indulgently and rummages around in the nightstand by the bed and, heaves bless April and her preparedness, finds a vial of oil there. 

When Jaskier settles between his legs, Geralt is expecting something hot and heavy, the desire that’s been building between them for months sharpened into something rough and desperate. 

He never would have imagined, not in a thousand years, the way Jaskier bends his head to kiss his down his stomach and across his thighs, lips trailing so softly, the rough grit of his stubble just coming in abrading his skin, as if he’s mapping every inch of Geralt’s body, as if this is what he has wanted all along. 

It’s heady and astounding, the sensation of being the object of Jaskier’s singular focus. His fingers and his lips trace every patch of skin he can find, and it’s almost overwhelming. Geralt feels adored. He feels cherished. 

It’s almost too much, his blood is rushing under his skin, he feels like he’s sinking, like he might simply melt apart, and all Jaskier has done is lavish attention on him.

“Come on, Jaskier,” he pleads, all thoughts of shame left far behind. “Please.”

Jaskier pauses and looks up at him, eyes shining bright. “Oh, Geralt,” he grins, “you sound so good when you beg.”

He’s going to object to that, he really is, but then he’s distracted by Jaskier bending to lick a stripe up his cock, and he nearly keens with the need for it. 

“Patience,” Jaskier chides, coating his fingers with oil. “I’ll give you what you need.”

You always do, Geralt thinks, and then Jaskier’s mouth is back on his cock and he stops thinking all together.

The first press of Jaskier’s finger at his entrance is so soft he barely notices it, there and then gone again, back and stroking him in careful circles. With Jaskier’s lips stretched around his cock his entire body is loose and pliant, and it’s easy for Jaskier’s fingers to slip inside and open him up. 

He loves this, in truth. Lying here and allowing Jaskier to lavish affection on him. For once there are no monsters to fight, no jeering villagers to block out, nothing for him to do but let himself be pleasured. And from the rapturous look on Jaskier’s face as he works him open, he’s not alone in his enjoyment.

He gives himself over to it, lets Jaskier prepare him as he sees fit, nothing in his mind but safe, comfortable trust. The burn around Jaskier’s fingers turns to a stretch, and any lingering hesitation slips away.

When Jaskier deems him ready, he withdraws his fingers and Geralt whimpers. But before he can protest, Jaskier is drawing himself up, nosing at Geralt’s neck and pressing sweet kisses to his skin.

“You ready?” Jaskier asks and fuck yes, of course he is, but he feels a bubble of warmth expand in his chest knowing that Jaskier cares enough to make sure he’s happy.

“Been ready for months,” Geralt growls, and Jaskier just laughs because they both know that isn’t true.

“My dearest witcher,” Jaskier says, soppy for a moment and so very fond, kissing Geralt with a tenderness that has that strange feeling deep in his chest squeezing more tightly. He squirms a bit at that, the wave of emotions threatening to overcome him, but Jaskier’s arms are around him and Jaskier’s weight is on top of him and he’s here, he’s grounded, and he has everything he needs is right here in this room.

When Jaskier pushes into him, slow and careful, it feels like the two of them are melding into one, like he’s being spread open but only so that he can make room inside for Jaskier. The stretching feeling increases and his breathing stutters, but Jaskier is there, a hand on his face, whispering sweet words of comfort.

Once he’s settled deep inside Geralt they take a moment to breathe, forehead to forehead, and then Jaskier starts to move and Geralt can’t contain the noise that punches out of him. Small thrusts at first, the drag of Jaskier’s cock inside him sending flares of sensation, and then building in a confident rhythm, and Jaskier’s so good at this, so good to him, like he knew he would be.

“You feel,” Jaskier gasps, “Gods, Geralt, you feel incredible.”

Geralt can’t speak, can barely comprehend the words, focused as he is on the slick slide of Jaskier inside him, the glowing hum of tension and pleasure where their bodies meet, the heat of Jaskier all around him.

“More?” Jaskier offers, and Geralt has no idea how anything could be more than this but he’s oh so very curious to find out.

He nods, and Jaskier spreads Geralt’s legs further, lifting one of his knees so he’s even more open. He thrusts again, and at this new angle his cock brushes deep inside Geralt and sends a sparkling bust of pleasure throughout his body, leaving him clawing at the sheets, at Jaskier’s sides, at his shoulders.

“So good for me,” Jaskier says, and Geralt shudders all over. “So beautiful.”

Geralt buries his face into the pillow, overwhelmed by the sensation and affection in concert, but Jaskier keeps up a steady stream of praise and kind words, and Geralt lets it wash over him, lets himself be carried away in a haze of adoration.

He floats, he soars, and for a time all that matters is the grace of their bodies moving together and the bubbling, building heat between them.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Jaskier says, breathy now, and Geralt knows in his bones that it’s true, that all the times they’ve spent together have been leading them here, that he can have Jaskier now like they were always meant to be. 

Sweat is pooling at Jaskier’s temples and his thrusts are getting messy, erratic, and Geralt loves it, loves seeing Jaskier undone, loves knowing that he caused it. Jaskier reaches down and wraps a hand around Geralt’s cock, pumping him in time, and it really only takes a few strokes until the building pleasure explodes out of him in a pure, bright white light.

He comes gasping Jaskier’s name, and for once he holds nothing back.

“Oh,” Jaskier says, like a sigh. “Oh Geralt.” And Geralt feels Jaskier tense and come inside him, slick  and wet, and the thought of being filled with the evidence of Jaskier’s pleasure sends his head reeling as much as the orgasm did.

Jaskier’s arms wobble where they’re supporting him and he collapses in a heap on top of Geralt, pulling out with as much care as can be managed in this position. It’s messy and frankly it should be kind of gross, but Geralt feels nothing but elation. 

.

Some time later there’s a knock at the door, and it’s pushed open to reveal April lounging in the door frame and sipping a mug of wine. 

She takes in them both, sweaty and disheveled, covered in reddening marks and sticky with each other’s seed, and raises an eyebrow. “Glad to see you two sorted it out,” she says, taking another swig of wine. 

Maybe Geralt should feel self-conscious, but Jaskier seems to have wrung every emotion that isn’t cosy contentment out of him. He gives her a dopey smile instead. 

“The other girls will be thrilled to hear you finally got your heads out of your arses,” she says.

Jaskier rouses himself with a stretch. “Other girls?”

“Oh yes, we have quite the letter-writing network between brothels. We like to keep each other up to date on the comings and goings of our favourite customers.”

Geralt and Jaskier share a look.

“After the incident with Florence we all hoped you two would pull your heads out of your arses. Even had a little betting pool going. Shame that I didn’t win, but it seems you finally got there in the end. Congrats!”

“Delighted to hear we’ve been providing you and the other ladies of the Continent with entertainment,” Jaskier says with a grin. “Though let it never be said that we’d leave a fine woman such as yourself wanting for coin, so you’ll find your payment on the dresser.”

April picks up the purse and gives a satisfied nod. “Such gentlemen, and for such easy work. Tell you what, I’m taking myself off to the bath house for some pleasure of my own. How about I let you two keep the room while I’m gone? Seems like you might be needing it for a little while longer.”

Jaskier eyes him and licks his lips, and Geralt feels heat racing under his skin and crawling up his neck.

“That would be appreciated,” Geralt says, and he does not blush. “I’m sure we’ll find a way to pass the time.”

[nom-central]

It’s always Electrical [Within Us vorefic]

There are 3 imposters among us.

Pilot wasn’t too sure of what to do with himself after hearing that. Nothing has happened to anyone yet, but...the knowledge made him uneasy. Who could he trust out of the whole crew? Any one of them could be an imposter...but with no evidence, who could really say who’s who? For now all he could do is work as usual, albeit far more cautiously than before. It was hard for him to keep his anxiety hidden from his son, but today he left him in the care of a trusted crewmate as he worked in electrical. At the very least he could trust Tau...and the captain of their ship, Dandy! He’ll have this taken care of in no time, he was always reliable and level headed. Reassured by the thought he worked in much better spirits, humming to himself as he did wiring. The sound of the door opening got his attention, and he turned to look at the ominous silhouette standing before him...

“Ah, Captain! Come to observe me today?

Pilot could recognize that cowboy hat anywhere, even if he couldn’t see him clearly in the lights he knew that was Dandy. Ever since the announcement he’s started coming around and observing crewmembers to ensure their safety, and so far it’s been effective at preventing attacks. He admired his dedication to keeping them all safe, and he felt comfortable knowing he was there. Remembering the fact that he had his helmet off, he flushed a bit in embarrassment. “Uh, sorry about having my helmet off. I know we’re supposed to keep em on, but I was having a hard time with these wires...I figured taking it off would help.” He chuckled a bit nervously as Dandy strides into the room, waving a hand dismissively. He was always rather quiet, but Pilot never minded it much. It just made him an excellent listener! "Oh, it's alright then? Okay, I'm gonna go back to wiring...you don't have to do this y'know, but I'm really glad you do. It makes us all feel safer." Dandy doesn't reply, but he's looking around the room somewhat anxiously. It takes Pilot a moment to pick up on what's wrong, and he speaks up again. "Don't worry, my little copilot is safe in Medbay today, didn't want him getting hurt in here. When I'm done here, we can go check on him together! He always liked you, eheheh." Dandy's shoulders slump in relief, and he nods at him. Satisfied with his response, he turns back to his task and gets back to work.

Dandy found himself staring at Pilot, not to ensure that he was working but purely because he was lost in thought. His son was safe, which was a relief...but he wasn't. The threat of the imposters loomed over Pilot's head and he wasn't even aware that he was currently in a room with one. He wasn't going to be harmed under Dandy's watch though, he may be an imposter but he is their captain. He had grown attached to this crew and wanted no harm to come to them, especially when it concerned Pilot...his fondness for him was quite strong. He was here to ensure his safety, but today his methods were about to get a bit more... drastic. He had overheard the other two imposters discussing their plans, they were tired of Dandy's soft nature and wanted to act on their own, with their first target being the oblivious guy who worked in Electrical...that meant Pilot. They thankfully haven’t come after him yet, but he knew he had to act fast...Dandy wasn’t made to fight and he wouldn’t be able to take on the other two once they came here. So what was he going to do to keep him safe? Easy. He was going to eat him before they could. The telltale pop of a helmet being removed got Pilot’s attention, and when he looked back he found that Dandy had removed his helmet as well. He had never seen it off before, and took a moment to admire his features. A good part of his face was obscured by the shadow of his hat, but he could see the stubble on his face and how the bright red of his eyes contrasted his warm tan skin. “Pilot...” His voice was far more clear now, his southern accent had a slight rasp to it and Pilot found himself blushing a bit. Who knew his captain was this handsome? His face seemed troubled, though...

“Er, yes? What’s the matter, captain?”

Dandy approaches him, kneeling down to his level and cupping his cheek. He was so cute...he almost wanted to forgo his plans here, he didn’t want to break his trust and scare him. But the alternative, the possibility of Pilot being hurt or killed...he couldn’t bear it. “I...I’m sorry for this, Pilot.” Pilot blinks in confusion, what was he apologizing for? "Uh...why? Is it the imposter thing? It can't possibly be your fault, you're doing everything you can to keep us safe--" He cuts himself off with a quiet gasp as he notices that Dandy now has a second set of smaller eyes, staring at him. Not only that, but he’s opened his mouth to reveal sharp rows of teeth and a long, black tongue. It grazes his cheek and he flinches back, horrified. “You’re--!!!” He doesn’t need to finish the sentence, they both know what he meant. He’s an imposter, the very thing he was supposed to be protecting the crew from.

“It won’t hurt, I promise. I have to do this to keep you safe.” Pilot tries to jerk away, but he finds that Dandy’s got a grip on him and he's a lot stronger than what he thought. He's left helplessly staring into the inky blackness of his mouth as it draws closer. He closes his eyes, expecting to be bitten on those sharp fangs...but he doesn't feel anything but cool wetness on his face. He opens his eyes to darkness, Dandy's insides are very dark and slimy, but for whatever reason he wasn't hurt or in excruciating pain. His tongue slides all around his face, not to taste but to slick him up for the trip. Pilot's still from the shock of it all, but the sound of a swallow pulls him back to reality. He was eating him whole and alive, and with another gulp pulling his head into his throat he begins to wriggle about in an attempt to free himself. Dandy keeps him held still for the most part, his strength is definitely not human as he continues to stubbornly gulp him down. Pilot can do nothing but await his fate as Dandy settles into a rhythm of swallows, he’s steadily drawing him deeper into the dark and slick confines of his body. He can feel himself starting to spill out into a more open space, is this his stomach...? It grows loudly as he starts to fill it, and the deep and consistent gulps from above tell him that this is his new resting place. As soon as he’s entirely inside he starts to struggle and kick around, getting himself covered in black slime. Dandy sighs, despite his nature as a shapeshifter Pilot still made a decent bulge in his stomach. He puts his own helmet back on, gently rubbing at him in an effort to calm down the muffled cries from his stomach. “Please, settle down...you won’t be hurt, I promise you. I’m just keeping you safe in here till-” Voices outside of Electrical get his attention, filling him with panic. He can’t be caught like this, he’s too full to defend himself or explain what’s going on. Grabbing Pilot’s fallen helmet he makes his way to a vent in the corner of the room, quickly squeezing himself inside. Pilot continues his struggling, but settles down as Dandy shushes him and encourages him to listen out. He can just barely hear them over the groans of his captain’s satisfied stomach, but the voices of the other two imposters fill his ears. Their vocal disappointment at their failure to devour Pilot makes him realize that Dandy was being true to his word, and that at the moment his stomach was the safest place for him. The bulge in his stomach settles down, and when they both hear the door to Electrical open and close once more he decides to speak up.

“D-dandy...I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I thought you were going to kill me...” “No, I’m sorry for scaring you. I’ll let you out now that they’re gone, but...” “But? But what??” “I’m, ah, sort of stuck in the vents now. I underestimated how much you fill me...” Pilot sighed, it was just his luck that this would happen. At least he wasn’t going to be harmed, and the quiet burbling and gentle movements from his stomach was honestly very relaxing after that adrenaline rush. Dandy was of course going to free him, but...he hasn’t been this full and content in a long time. He’ll take being stuck as a minor blessing for now.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Two ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG

Word count: 3048

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour-rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Surprise! I wrote another chapter so I decided to go ahead and make another post. The reasoning behind this is I want to stay one month ahead and only one month ahead. That will give me a helpful buffer for when life happens but I don’t want to stockpile any more chapters than necessary. You know? So...here’s chapter two!

It’s nearing nightfall by the time we finally stop. My bones are stiff, my butt is sore, and my back hurts from all the tension I kept there out of fear that I would otherwise fall and be trampled under the horse’s quick-moving hooves.

Baranor slides down, reaching his arms up to me. I place my hands on his shoulders and allow him to help me off the horse. I stumble the moment my feet hit the ground.

Orophin—who I’ve yet to actually talk to—offers me a sympathetic smile. “Have you not ridden in a while? Take a short walk and stretch a little. It will help you feel less sore in the morning.”

I nod my thanks, tentatively releasing my hands from Baranor’s arms and turning away from the horses.

“Do not go far.” I jump. Haldir’s voice floats from the tree line just in front of us. I hadn’t seen him dismount, let alone climb into the branches. “We are not in guarded territory.”

With that ominous warning, I decide it’s best to stay close to the others. We’re near enough to the riverbank, so I hobble to the edge of the water and back again. Once movement comes a little easier, I extend my path to the tree line.

A voice to my left interrupts the silence. “Do you remember anything else?”

I yelp, placing a hand over my racing heart.

Rumil grins, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He hands me a canteen. “Sorry. I forget how terrible human senses are.”

I raise an eyebrow but bring the canteen to my lips, grateful for the drink. “And, what, elves are so much better?”

Mentally, I admonish myself for playing along. There’s no such thing as elves. Either they’re messing with me, or I really am having a wildly vivid dream.

Rumil nods, shrugging his shoulders in a way that suggests the answer is obvious. “Well, yes. We live longer, have better sight, hearing, reflexes. We do not tire as quickly as humans do, and we have a respect for our kin that the race of man cannot hope to imitate. I do not mean to offend.” He smiles, carrying a note of apology in his voice. “It’s only the truth.”

I shrug, unbothered by his comment. Because if elves exist in this world I dreamed up, why shouldn’t they be better than humans? It’s just as likely that I’ve imagined a race that’s worse than humans, and I only haven’t met them yet. “If you say so. But to answer your question, no, I don’t remember anything else. How long was I passed out?”

From his place by the now-grazing horses, Baranor answers. “Not long once we arrived, but I do not know how long you laid there before.”

“Yes, and you are quite lucky we arrived, especially with Baranor in tow.” Rumil winks, gripping my elbow and turning me back towards the part of the ground where I assume we will sleep tonight.

I give Baranor a questioning look.

He smiles awkwardly, a bit self-conscious. “I am quite skilled as a healer. I used the power in my spirit to call to your own. You were very nearly dead when we happened upon you.”

I file that information away. Power in my spirit…Probably something I’d read in a book once that my brain has brought up now. And these men I’m with—elves, I guess, according to the dream—must be people I know from…from…

But the fledgling thought dies away, leaving me with no more answers than before. I try to push back my disappointment, my logical side kicking in to soothe me. It’s okay. Soon the doctors will fix you, or you’ll wake up from this dream, and everything will be fine. You just have to wait. No point in getting freaked out.

Rumil, Baranor, and I settle on the high part of the riverbank. Orophin sits too, once he’s done refilling the canteens. I glance at the trees. I haven’t seen Haldir since we stopped riding. “Is he not going to join us?”

Orophin and Baranor exchange looks, but Rumil just snorts. “Likely not. As he said, we are neither in the territory guarded by the wardens of Lothlórien nor the patrols of Elrond. Someone has to watch for threats. More often than, not, Haldir insists on the job for himself. He doesn’t trust us to keep good enough watch.”

“That’s not it and you know it,” Orophin hisses, and I flinch at the anger in his voice, even though it wasn’t directed at me. I have no idea how Rumil keeps his face blank. The two stare each other down until Orophin speaks again, still through gritted teeth. “Go and collect the rations for dinner.”

Rumil rolls his eyes, but does as his brother says.

Baranor clears his throat, and I’m grateful when he changes the subject. He inclines his head towards me. “I see you are dressed for travel. Perhaps you were part of a company and got separated?”

Mildly perplexed, I look down at my body. Huh. He’s right. Something I had yet to take notice of is the clothes I wear — sturdy dark leggings, a deep green tunic, a red cloak, and thick leather boots. I haven’t the slightest idea how I conjured up these clothes, but Baranor is right — they’re perfect for this type of outdoor traveling.

Rumil returns and places a bundle of leaves in each of our hands. Inside seems to be bread and slices of some sort of fruit. Hesitantly, I take a bite. It’s surprisingly good.

“So how long until we reach this friend of yours?”

“Elrond,” Orophin informs, looking down the path we intend to continue on tomorrow. “Probably about thirteen more days, unless we hit bad weather. The mountains will take the longest, and traveling with a human will slow us down.” He realizes his words, eyes growing wide. “I don’t mean to be rude—”

“No, no, I get it.” I wave him off, picking at the bread in my hands. These elves sure have a bad view of me. “Humans suck.”

“At least it’s still spring,” Rumil supplies, trying to lighten the mood. “That will make our path through the Misty Mountains easier.”

“Right you are,” Baranor agrees, sipping from his canteen. “I detest crossing them in the snow.”

The three elves slip into easy conversation, exchanging stories of the worst travel conditions each has suffered, trying to one-up each other. While they talk, I place my bread back in its leaves and on the ground, no longer hungry. The stories they tell are quite detailed, and there’s this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I wouldn’t be able to make all this up…the landscape, the language, a whole new species with differing characteristics, vast knowledge of this world’s travel ways, four fully-thought-out ‘characters’, for lack of a better word….Dread and fear mingle with exhaustion and I slump, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and go to sleep for a very long time. Perhaps when I wake, all will be well.

The murmurs from those around me sound muffled. A hand wraps grips one of my shoulders, holding me upright, and Baranor’s voice comes from beside my ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head, feeling the weight of their eyes on me. “I’m just exhausted.”

He makes a noise of agreement. “Of course you are, I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

I try and wave off his apology, but it seems like too much effort to raise my arm over such a little thing. From the corner of my eye, I see Rumil stand and visit the horses. He returns carrying a rolled up mat and a folded blanket. He unfurls both, setting them on the ground between our gathering spot and the tree line. He beckons for me to join him and, with great effort, I stand without help, going to meet him as requested.

“Here. Sorry it’s not much. If we had known we’d be traveling with a lady, we would have brought much cushier sleeping provisions.”

I roll my tired eyes, realizing that he’s mocking me. “Goodnight, Rumil.”

He grins, sauntering off to rejoin his companions. “Goodnight, Cosima.”

I all but collapse on the mat, pulling the surprisingly warm blanket over my shoulders. Before I’m aware what’s happening, I’ve plunged into sleep.

{***}

Baranor woke me with the sun, and I’m very grateful to be leaning against him rather than directing the horse. I feel much too groggy to properly steer such a beast, especially given the fact that I have no idea how. Even though he must have stayed up most of the night, Haldir doesn’t look the slightest bit tired, and, on behalf of the bags underneath my eyes, I am thoroughly annoyed. He hasn’t said a word to me aside from the few sentences yesterday. I understand it a bit more now, though. He seems to be the leader of this group, and has either been charged with its security, or taken the task upon himself. Despite there not being another soul in sight, he rides at the front of our group—straight backed, stiff, his head on a near-constant swivel. Orophin tends to stay near one of Haldir’s shoulders—guarding his back and providing a sort of second watch, I presume. Rumil alternates between riding in-step with the horse Baranor and I occupy and cantering along behind us.

If riding was difficult yesterday, it is doubly so this morning.

Every bounce jolts though my bones, and I seem always on the verge of being tossed to the side, never quite able to fall into the rhythm the other four find so easily.  

Rumil pulls up beside us, seeming to showcase his perfect form. “Having trouble?”

I grit my teeth, but that only makes them clash together as the horse’s feet collide with the ground. “No.”

He snorts. “Toes up, heels down. Grip the horse with your legs, don’t put all that tension in your back. And if Baranor were human, you’d have strangled him by now. Loosen up.”

Baranor huffs out a laugh and takes an exaggerated breath when I relax my hold around him. “Finally, I can breathe!”

“So dramatic,” I mumble, rolling my eyes for Rumil’s benefit.

“What was that,” Baranor questions, though I know if he has as good hearing as he claims to have, he surely heard my comment.

“I said you’re a really great rider,” I shout.

The three of us dissolve into laughter, and I lose myself in this. For a moment, I forget that I am dreaming, that this is a strange world I made up in my head. I forget that I haven’t the slightest idea what comes next. Instead, I start to forge the first tentative bonds of friendship.

{***}

I am glad when we stop for the evening, and run through some stretches to try and help with the muscle aches. Rumil’s pointers certainly helped though, and I have hopes that perhaps this discomfort is only temporary. We still follow the river, and once again make camp in the space on the high, grassy bank. Bathing was an experience, but it was mercifully quick. The water was much too cold for my liking, so I washed as hastily as I could and then redressed, joining the others on the bank. I lean over to wring the water from my hair, the saturation making it seem nearly black. It’s getting quite long—almost too long, and I hope wherever we’re going has someone willing to cut it. Rumil watches me curiously as I take a spare cloth and scrunch my hair—bringing out its natural waves—but says nothing, only continues giving me an odd look. I guess with the stick-straight hair of he and his brothers, this would look unusual. Just as I am about to tease him for his staring, Haldir comes in to sight, looking quite severe.

“We have lost the cover of the trees. We will take watch in pairs, rotating halfway through the night. Orophin, Baranor—you take the first shift.”

They dutifully follow Haldir’s order, and I watch their faces as they pass. They show no signs of tiredness—no bags under their eyes, no yawning, in fact, not even a hair is out of place—but if it were me, I would be absolutely exhausted with all this staying up. And, though it is technically their turn to rest, Rumil and Haldir are still on their feet, occupying themselves with tending to the horses. I feel awful, peacefully sitting on my bedroll, messing with my hair and eating dinner, knowing I’ll get a full night’s sleep when none of them will have that luxury.

I return my food to the sack loaned to me and push myself to my feet, tentatively approaching Rumil and his brother. Rumil smiles in greeting. Haldir merely glances up and then back to his horse’s hoof he’s bending over to attend. Though I fight to keep my eyes open as it is, it’s not right for me to leave them to do all the work. So, I try to project energy I do not feel, and pose my question. “Do you want me to take a watch shift tonight?”

Haldir stiffens. Rumil raises his eyebrows and vibrates slightly—he’s holding back laughter! I give them my best unimpressed look.

Rumil tries to hide his amusement but can’t do away with his wide grin. “We appreciate the offer, really. But having a human stand watch when we have elves at our disposal? It would be the same to not set a watch at all.”

I huff, crossing my arms, trying to ignore the heat I feel in my cheeks. All this talk of how incapable humans are is getting a little old. “Well, there must be something I can do to help. I shouldn’t go straight to bed if the rest of you are still working.”

Rumil’s expression softens. He purses his lips, seeming to search for either a task for me or a way to turn me away.

“Do you know how to mend clothing?”

I’m momentarily caught off guard. Haldir hasn’t looked up from clearing his horse’s hooves, but it was definitely him who spoke.

Unbidden, the action of holding a ripped piece of cloth and using a needle and threat to bind it comes to mind. I must know how. So I answer in the affirmative. “Yeah, I think so.”

Haldir nods, straightening only to exchange one hoof for the other, never making eye contact with either me or his brother. “Good. There’s a blue tunic in my largest bag that needs mending, and one of Rumil’s too—that one’s red. Work with the light. Stop when you can’t see anymore and finish in the morning.”

I blink and feel my head tilt to the side. That’s the most he’s ever said to me. But it’s not even that he spoke, it’s how. Every syllable is crisp, curt, and succinct—a command in every sense of the word. I long-ago realized that Haldir is in charge of this little group, though now I wonder if he supervises in a larger capacity back in his home. I get the feeling he’s quite used to talking to people like this, and being obeyed.

But I did ask for something to do, so I don’t comment on his tone, only say my goodbyes and retrieve the shirts he’s described. They’re exactly where he said they would be and wrapped around a small sewing kit. I take the supplies and return to my bedroll, working through the sunset. When it grows too dark to see, I put the project away. Rumil and Haldir join me, bringing dinner with them. They set out their mats in a sort of triangle, and I realize somewhat belatedly that this allows each of us to watch the other’s back. It seems second-nature to them, to be cautions and on their guard, even during dinnertime and sleep.

I try to distract myself from that disconcerting thought. “Why are we going to meet this friend of yours anyway?”

Rumil’s gaze turns to his brother standing watch, a fond look in his eye. “There is an elleth there that Orophin is courting. Their time apart has been too long for his liking, so he is paying her a visit. It is dangerous to travel these lands alone, so Haldir and I took leave to accompany him.”

Courting. Elleth. Where am I finding all these words? I keep talking in an effort to distract myself. “That’s really sweet. Does Baranor usually go with you all, since he’s a healer?”

“Usually,” Rumil confirms. “He has extensive experience in the halls of healing, as well as healing on the battlefield, so he is an excellent addition to any company. Also Elrond—the friend we are taking you to—is an acclaimed healer himself, so he and Baranor enjoy conversing with each other.”

Haldir stretches his arms up, then reclines on his mat. “Better get some sleep, all of us. Rumil—we’re up in four hours.”

I take his advice, laying down on my own bedroll. Exhausted though I am, sleep evades me.

My mind runs a million miles an hour, piecing together bits of information from this world, trying to remember things from my home. And, all the while, thought takes root, sowing seeds of fear in my mind.

Because while I know this world isn’t real, and thus no harm can come to me here…Rumil said these lands are dangerous, and the increased watches only support my theory that we are under some kind of threat. I have no weapon with which to defend myself, let alone any skill, and while I know logically that I could throw myself off a cliff and still be fine….

What if that’s not the case?

I groan, rolling onto my back.

This is ridiculous. This place is made up. I’m trapped inside my own head, so I have no reason to be scared. Go to sleep.

And, when the moon is much higher in the sky, the exhaustion wins.

A/n Thanks for reading! You know how likes, comments, and reblogs make me smile. Let me know if you would like a tag! And if you’re having trouble being tagged (for some reason Tumblr isn’t letting me tag all of you?) try subscribing to the story on Ao3! That will update you when I post there. 

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @fangirl-nonsense @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole

**Strikethrough means Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you**

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

First Light

doing this thing | day 4 - somnophilia

Eskel wakes slowly to the sound of someone breathing softly next to him. He knows he didn't go to bed with anyone last night, but it's certainly not uncommon for him to wake up next to someone anyway - especially not when they've been drinking. But last night they weren't and he's not sure to what he owes this pleasure, not at least until he turns over to see him.

Half redirecting Lambert to have stumbled in to keep warm, he's surprised to find Jaskier instead, sprawled out like he owns the place. Eskel smiles to himself and props himself up on his elbow to get a better look at him. Jaskier squirms like he realizes he's being watched then kicks at the blankets. They're already barely covering him, draped low over his hips, but he kicks them off and, once fully exposed to the cool morning air, settles back against the mattress. If Eskel didn't know better, couldn't hear the slow but steady rhythm of his breath, he might think Jaskier was awake and doing this on purpose.

Absently, he wonders if Jaskier knows the effect he has on people, even when he's asleep. When he's awake, he smiles and flirts and puts on an act, but even fast asleep, he's so beautiful, so enticing that Eskel struggles to keep his hands to himself. He's reached out before he realizes it, stroking a hand down Jaskier's side and settling against his thigh. Jaskier hums in his sleep, pressing his hips into the touch and Eskel wonders, not for the first time, how Geralt has managed to resist him for so long.

He pushes the covers out of the way, uncaring as they slip from the end of the bed. Jaskier is soft and naked next to him and much more important than the state of his bedclothes.

Eskel dips down, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest, delighting in the way Jaskier's chest hair tickles his nose. He has to readjust, but he kisses a line down Jaskier's chest and stomach, stopping just below his navel. When he glances up, he finds Jaskier still fast asleep and his chest gets tight when he realizes the amount of trust Jaskier must have in him to let him do this.

They'd been drunk when Jaskier had pried out of him that he liked fucking people in their sleep and rather than being horrified, Jaskier had been intrigued. He'd asked about it, asked if he'd ever tried it with anyone and for once, Eskel had been honest. He and Geralt had tried years ago but Witchers are trained to be alert and Geralt had woken up every time Eskel had touched him. And there are very few others trusting enough to fall asleep in a Witcher's presence.

Jaskier had told him in no uncertain terms that he sleeps like the dead and when Eskel woke up the following morning with the bard naked in his bed, he'd taken it as an invitation - one that was incredibly well-received. It doesn't happen every night, doesn't even happen most nights, but every so often Eskel will wake up with Jaskier next to him and he's growing to love these days for more than just the sex.

Jaskier's cock is soft against his hip and Eskel nudges it with his nose, following up with a soft kiss to the tip. He likes the days when Jaskier is already hard, but he much prefers him like this. He likes to lick and suck at his soft skin, feel the silkiness of it against his tongue. He likes drawing it out, carefully teasing until his patience runs thin and he takes him into his mouth.

He sleeps through it, even as Eskel presses his tongue against him, sucks hard on his fattening cockhead. He shuts his eyes, hums around him as Jaskier swells between his lips, his own cock hanging heavy and forgotten between his legs. There's a soft groan from above him and Eskel flicks his eyes up to Jaskier's face. It's pinched in pleasure but shows no sign of waking and Eskel continues.

He sinks right to the base of Jaskier's cock, holding him like that as Jaskier's body shifts beneath him. It's been a while and Eskel aches to flip him over and fuck him hard, but that would wake him and he's not quite ready for that yet. He likes how soft Jaskier is when he's asleep, how easily he moves under Eskel's hands and he focuses on that as he bobs in Jaskier's lap, pulling him easily to full hardness.

When he's satisfied with the state of Jaskier's cock, Eskel moves on, kissing his way down Jaskier's thighs and nuzzling against the soft skin there. Fuck, he'd be happy to live between these thighs. Above him, Jaskier makes a series of sleepy moans and stretches his legs out, one hand slipping down over his cock.

Eskel hums and crawls back over to his spot next to him, gently shifting Jaskier onto his side. He gets a grunt of protest in response, but Jaskier doesn't wake. Satisfied, Eskel presses up against his back, sliding his cock between Jaskier's cheeks and running a hand down his side. He wants to hold out a little longer, but the first accidental shift of his hips sends lightning through his veins and his fingers grip tighter around Jaskier's hip, grinding against him again.

And Jaskier just mumbles softly in his sleep, pushing his hips back instinctively until Eskel can't possibly get any closer. He slips a hand around, wrapping around Jaskier's cock and stroking him slowly. His erection hasn't flagged in the slightest and as Eskel slips up to the head, he runs his thumb through the bead of pre-come collected there, using it to slick the way as he jerks him a little quicker.

He presses his nose into Jaskier's neck, sucking at the spot just under his jaw that he knows is so sensitive. Part of him considers coming just like this, rutting against his ass, but Jaskier likes waking up witch a cock inside him and Eskel won't deny him that. How could he, when Jaskier has given him everything he wants over and over again.

His fingers slip from Jaskier's cock, sliding over his hip and back between his legs. Eskel shifts his hips back as he drags his fingers along the seam of JAskier's thighs, slipping up between his cheeks. He presses against him tentatively and finds him already slick. He presses further and Jaskier's body accepts him easily, even when he adds a second finger. Fuck. He prepped himself already, knowing this is what was coming. It takes all his patience not to shove into him right then and there.

Carefully, Eskel adjusts himself, aligns his cock and gently nudges up against JAskier's hole. It's hot and tight and Eskel can't help the groan that slips from his lips as he breaches him. His fingers dig into soft skin and Jaskier shifts against him, pressing back against his chest.

There's a breathless oh and mumbled Eskel and Jaskier's hips shift down, encouraging the intrusion.

"Good morning," Eskel hums, his voice is low and thick with arousal.

"Mmm, certainly is." Jaskier slips his fingers between Eskel's against his hip, curls around them as he rocks his hips back onto him. Eskel lets him fully press back onto him before rolling his hips again, slow and steady.

He speeds up gradually, hyper-focused on Jaskier's hand where's it's wrapped around his own. He shows affection so easily and sometimes Eskel isn't quite sure what to do with it. But he drowns in it, takes every little thing Jaskier gives him and gives it back twofold.

Eskel's thrusts become quicker, his hips working to keep up with the aching need that sears through him. And Jaskier moans his approval, becoming less and less restrained until Eskel has to cover his mouth to keep him quiet. Jaskier is a noisy fuck, but he doesn't know why he expected any different.

There's a small part of him that wants to let him be as loud as he wants, to moan his desire to the entire keep and let everyone know who's bed he shares. But a larger part wants to keep him to himself, keep this locked away in his room for just the two of them to share.

Jaskier shudders against him, throwing his head back and turning out of Eskel's grip to kiss him. It's awkward, but it's hot and as Jaskier bites down on his lip, Eskel's hips slam forward into him. Jaskier moans into his mouth and Eskel can feel his legs shake as he comes. He's quick to reach up, wrapping a hand around Jaskier's cock and stroking him through the rush of his orgasm.

His own follows shortly and he's vaguely aware of Jaskier reaching back and running a hand through his hair as he fucks into him. Jaskier twists in his arms, kissing him sweet and soft even as Eskel continues rocking into him, short little thrusts that keep him buried deep even as his cock softens.

He pulls from Jaskier's mouth, pressing his nose into his neck and kissing his skin softly. "Thank you," he whispers, nuzzling against his neck.

"Oh my darling," Jaskier hums, leaning into the touch, "you know that I don't do this just for you, don't you?"

"Hm?"

"I want this, too," he breathes, "I want you."

Oh. He splutters and Jaskier huffs a quiet laugh. He pulls off Eskel's cock and turns in his arms, pressing a knee between his thighs and worming his was as close as he can. One hand comes up to stroke Eskel's cheek and he smiles as he presses his lips against his.

"You are so lovely."

Eskel doesn't have a response to that, so he holds him close and kisses him deeply, content for the moment, just to accept it.

[hongism]

helping hand - jisung x reader x seungmin

➻ pairing: seungmin x reader x jisung ➻ wc: 3.3k ➻ genre: pwp, smut ➻ rating: M, 18+ ➻ warnings: explicit smut, dom/sub themes, soft dom!seungmin, soft dom!jisung, sub!reader, threesome: mmf, blindfolds, double penetration, spit-roating, oral sex: f and m, fingering, anal fingering, toys, vibrators, spit play, praise, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating/swallowing, anal ➻ summary: in which seungmin walks in at the most inopportune moment

Jisung’s fingers pump in and out of you, drawing a high-pitched whine from your lips. You can’t see anything beyond the silk over your eyes, but not being able to see is causing every other sense to heighten. Each touch feels like fire lighting on your skin, every ghosting breath makes your hairs stand on end, and the soft kisses Jisung presses against your inner thighs send bolts of pleasure rushing through you. He hasn’t removed the small bullet vibrator from your ass, and it’s been running for at least thirty minutes by now.

Still, Jisung denies your orgasm. He stretches his fingers in your dripping cunt, a small sigh of satisfaction falling from his lips as you clench around his digits. At this rate, you will barely be able to hold yourself up any longer, ass perched high for Jisung to access and face pressed to the pillow. You want to reach around the back of your head and tug the silk blindfold away just so that you can see Jisung. You don’t, however, because as much as you want to push Jisung a little, you love it best when he holds you gently and treats you like a princess.

You ball your fists around the sheets under you as Jisung’s fingers curl and drag against your g-spot. A prolonged moan leaves you, and the sound causes Jisung to release a throaty chuckle.

“Calm down, baby girl. You’ll tell the whole dorm what we’re doing if you aren’t careful.” Your walls tighten around his fingers. Jisung hesitates, his shallow thrusts halting for the time being. “Oh, but I forgot that’s what my little princess loves. The thought of someone watching her cum, the idea of someone walking in and catching us in the act. Asking me if they can use her pretty little holes. If she can be their slut for a night. Is that it, princess?”

You sink your teeth into your lower lip, biting back the whine that threatens to escape, because whining would only confirm what Jisung said. All hopes of holding back go out the window when Jisung leans close and whispers with hot breath against the shell of your ear.

“Good thing I left the door unlocked then, huh?”

You cum with a start, hips jerking as the orgasm hits you out of the blue, and Jisung laughs to himself as you shake around his fingers. The laugh quickly morphs into small coos and gentle praises as he massages your thighs through the orgasm. You are still recovering from your high when Jisung flips you onto your back. All you can feel is the way the mattress dips and you assume that means that he’s crawling up on the bed with you. Sure enough, deft fingers reach around your head and let the blindfold fall away from your face. You blink against the sudden shift of lighting.

“How was that, baby girl? Up for another round?” Jisung inquires, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“Only if you fuck me properly this time,” you say with a small smile.

“You know I always do, princess.”

“Hey, Jis — oh shit!” Whoever just came through the door did a whole 180 and more, body disappearing before you even get a good look at who just popped in. You and Jisung exchange baffled glances. “Sorry! I, uh, I-I didn’t know you were – um, preoccupied.”

Seungmin. Great. The look on Jisung’s face tells you all you need to know. Of course of all people, it had to be Seungmin. Seungmin who you’ve been eyeing not so subtly for the past few weeks, and Seungmin who always becomes a frequent subject when Jisung is fucking you.

“I bet you wish Seungmin would walk in right now.”

“Do you think Seungmin would want to share?”

“Why don’t you try screaming out Seungmin’s name this time?”

The list of examples could go on for days, but now you’re too busy shaking your head as Jisung’s smirk grows wider.

“No, it’s okay! What did you need, Seungmin?”

“I-I, uh, I just wanted to… uh, I wanted to chat for a bit. But it’s okay! I can wait!” Jisung’s eyes never leave yours as Seungmin speaks. It’s almost as though he’s waiting for permission of sorts, but you know that he has already made up his mind. He wouldn’t have spoken to Seungmin otherwise.

“No, come in. We’re not too busy.”

“Ji–”

“Come in, Seungmin.” Jisung’s tone holds more force and command than you’re used to hearing from him. In all honesty, the confidence he exudes turns you on beyond belief.

Seungmin’s head appears in the door again. He barely peeks in, eyes landing on your body for only a few seconds before he brings them up to Jisung. Said man waves the younger one in with a quick motion of his hand. Seungmin follows the order with haste and rushes into the room. He locks the door behind him, which is a bit of a disappointment because the excitement of being caught with Seungmin and Jisung is almost too much to think about.

“Ha, uh, need help with that?” Seungmin jokes, motioning to where you lie on the bed. Now that he’s inside the room, his eyes refuse to stop raking over your naked body. It’s a bit embarrassing to watch him fuck you with his eyes, but you’re already doing the same despite him being fully dressed.

“Absolutely, Seungmin, because you see, there’s something you don’t know about my dear little angel.” Jisung drags a finger up the expanse of your shin. You part your legs immediately as it reaches the inside of your knee. Seungmin’s eyes snap towards your core and the little bullet vibrator that’s barely visible at this angle. You can see the visible bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows roughly. “She has… what you would call a fantasy.”

“A fantasy?” Seungmin echoes, unable to pull his eyes off your body.

“Yes, yes. A fantasy that involves me, herself, and you.”

“A-And who?” Seungmin’s eyes bulge and he finally looks over to Jisung. The stare doesn’t linger long, because Seungmin drags his gaze over to meet your eyes next in search of confirmation. You nod ever so slightly, embarrassed to give in so easily but Jisung’s touch is too damn distracting. “Oh, so she’s like that then?”

There is a sudden shift to his tone. The shy boy who just darted into the room dissipates in an instant, leaving a man with sudden confidence. You don’t recognize him but it doesn’t stop a surge of arousal from going straight to your core. You slam your legs shut, clenching hard around Jisung’s hand, and Jisung laughs at your actions.

“That she is. A bit shy at first, though. I just worked her open so I could fuck her, but… but maybe you can fuck her pretty little mouth first. I know she’s thought of that before. Haven’t you, angel?”

You don’t answer Jisung’s question right away, and that’s your first mistake. Jisung reaches around you and lifts that cursed black silk. He places it over your eyes before you can say anything, fastening it tight behind your head.

“Since she doesn’t want to speak, she must want a cock in her mouth already. But it’s more fun to play a little, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Seungmin’s smooth voice rings through, so sultry and low that it nearly sounds like a purr. The mattress dips again but you recognize the weight as Jisung’s. He slides past you, flipping you back onto your hands and knees, and you pad forward with uncertainty as you try to find the edge of the bed. A breath of silence ensues. Then a jingle, pop of a button, zipper, and cloth hitting the floor. It must have been Seungmin’s pants.

Your suspicions are confirmed when fingers grip your chin all of a sudden. You drop your jaw immediately, already knowing what’s to come. Seungmin pushes the head of his member between your waiting lips. You nearly groan just at the sensation of having him in your mouth. It’s been a long-awaited fantasy for quite some time, even if it is embarrassing to admit. You drag your tongue over the underside of Seungmin’s cock. He tastes far different than Jisung – slightly sweeter and less musty – and there are more veins along his shaft. You can already tell that he’s not as thick or long as Jisung though, which would have been a knock to the man’s pride if that had not been the case. You swirl your tongue up to his tip, dragging over his slit and collecting the salty precum gathered there.

Behind you, Jisung settles into position. His cock prods at your slit and teases your hole. He doesn’t push in quite yet though; instead, he tugs the vibrator out of your ass in favor of stuffing you with a buttplug. You know exactly which one he picked up and put in you. The largest one in your collection with the bejeweled heart at the end. Him selecting that one tells you that he has further plans for Seungmin later on in the night. You swallow around Seungmin’s member at the thought of it. That is another fantasy you shared with Jisung. The idea of being stuffed full in both holes at the same time is tantalizing, and it seems that you might have that fantasy fulfilled tonight.

Seungmin groans above you, and you hum at the sound. Jisung thrusts into your tight heat all of a sudden. The thrust sends you deeper on Seungmin’s cock, and you gag a little as he hits the back of your throat with force. You don’t have time to brace yourself for the next thrusts because Jisung picks up a brutal rhythm that has you bobbing along Seungmin’s length without doing any work yourself. Seungmin wraps a hand around your hair, tangling in the locks so he can steady you when he begins to fuck into your mouth with shallow thrusts. You whine at the sensation. Each tug of your hair leaves tingles running over your body, your scalp itches as he pulls, and your cunt tightens around Jisung’s member. Seungmin staggers his thrusts, making sure to thrust into you when Jisung pulls out. It allows you to have zero relief, constantly being used and fucked into without relief, and it only causes your arousal to grow.

Behind the blindfold, your eyes are watery from the brutal thrusts hitting the back of your throat. You can’t get enough oxygen either and that leaves you with a hazy feeling. However, that hazy sensation makes each thrust feel better than the last. You cry out around Seungmin’s member as Jisung’s hand comes down on your bare ass. The sting of the spank sears across your skin in the best way. Seungmin pulls out of your mouth to let you catch your breath, slapping the tip of his cock against your swollen lips as you heave deep breaths.

“Cum in her mouth, Seungmin,” Jisung growls out. He slaps your ass again, this time just under the curve of your cheek, and you release a pathetic whimper. “She’s been dying to taste you.”

“P-Please, sir. I need – ah, I need your cum,” you beg with wide eyes.

Seungmin doesn’t need to be told twice. He pushes back into your wet mouth. The salty taste of his precum hits your tongue again, and you moan around him as he begins to thrust wildly. He has lost his rhythm and no longer staggers the thrusts, proving how close to an orgasm he is. You slack you jaw a little and let him have his way with your mouth. All of a sudden his thrusts falter, and hot cum spills down your throat. You cough as he pulls out, a few bits of stray semen catching on your lip. Seungmin cradles your chin as you cough, and there is concern in his eyes. You shake your head, heaving a gasp as you recover, and bring a hand up to collect the excess cum from your lips. A small giggle escapes you as feel the heat of Seungmin’s stare, and you push the cum onto your tongue.

As soon as you swallow, Seungmin brings his face down to yours and catches your lips with his own. You sigh into the kiss. He’s gentle and treats you like glass, the slightest brush of lips that leaves you wanting more. It’s hard to keep your lips connected with Jisung’s erratic thrusts, but Seungmin is persistent if nothing else.

Jisung suddenly shifts your position, pushing further under you and letting you sit back on your heels as he fucks into you. The mattress dips as Seungmin climbs onto it. He settles in front of you, lips never leaving yours.

“Can I take the blindfold off?” The words are obviously not directed at you, but the feeling of Seungmin’s hot breath over your wet lips leaves you shivering. Jisung must nod in response because the bright lights suddenly hit you. The silk falls away, and all you see is Seungmin’s coy smirk for a few moments. As your eyes adjust, his face comes into clear view. There’s a pretty flush to his cheeks, but you don’t get to look at it for long because Seungmin dips back in and kisses you. His tongue presses into your mouth this time, and you welcome him with yours. It’s hard to stay still with Jisung’s new angle; you feel as though you’re bouncing up against Seungmin’s lips. He manages to steady you enough to kiss you properly though.

As his tongue brushes over yours, you reach down between his legs and catch his softened member in your hand. His cock twitches at your touch. You grin against the kiss and stroke his length. It’s still slick with your saliva, making it easier to jerk him over. You thumb over the tip and drag a finger across his slit, bringing a groan out of him. The vibrations of his sound hit your tongue, and you shiver. You bring Seungmin back up to full hardness in no time. Jisung’s thrusts are starting to slow a little, which tells you that he’s close so you squeeze your walls around him to spur him on. The action works like a charm, and he releases a shaky moan as he cums into your heat.

There’s no time to think because Jisung is already tugging the plug out of your ass. He brings you against his chest, and you have to detach from Seungmin as Jisung positions you on top of his body. His cock is still soft as he presses against your puckered hole, but that doesn’t stop him from pushing into you. Your brows come together as he buries himself in your ass. The two of you don’t do this often – you can typically handle the plug but Jisung’s dick is much larger than a plug. He goes slowly though, stopping every time you squeeze around him, and waits until your muscles relax to finish burying himself in you.

His cum is dripping out of your other hole, and Seungmin’s attention is rapt on that. Jisung notices right away, a small laugh leaving his mouth as he sees how Seungmin watches you.

“You can fuck it back into her. She loves being stuffed full of cock.” The words are filthy, and you whine as you hear them.

“S-She really is perfect,” Seungmin mutters as he edges closer to your cunt. Jisung laughs into your ear then kisses your hairline gently. His next words are full of love and affection, and you can feel his gaze on you as he says them.

“Truly the best.”

You smile a little to yourself as you hear the praise then shift your hips to encourage Seungmin to come closer. He does, stroking his length a few times before lining up with your folds. Jisung’s cock fills you up so nicely already, and the sting is dissipating into pleasure. You know he won’t move until you’re absolutely ready. He continues to stay still as Seungmin pushes into you. The stretch is unimaginable. It burns and stings at first; the sensation of being split open as Seungmin buries his cock in your hole. His thrust is helped a bit by the excess cum in you that Jisung left. You’ve never felt so full in your life.

Jisung kisses along the shell of your ear as Seungmin moves, sensing your discomfort, and he whispers soft praises to you. It helps you relax, and eventually, you ease into the feeling. Your back loses some of its tension, and you slump against Jisung’s chest. Neither man moves until you tell them too though, both pairs of eyes dragging over your features with intensity.

“Pl… Please fu-fuck me,” you whisper. Jisung’s arm tightens around your chest.

Seungmin moves first, starting with two shallow thrusts that are meant to test your comfort. The drag of his member in you is the best pleasure you’ve ever felt – at least it is until Jisung starts moving. You’ve never felt anything like it. Two cocks fucking into you at the same time in different holes; you never would’ve imagined it could feel so fucking good.

Moans tumble from your lips as the two stagger their thrusts. One pulls out, the other thrusts in. Seungmin pounds against your cervix, cock dragging over your sweet spot, and Jisung’s cock is hard again in your ass. You can’t form any coherent thoughts or words. You babble curses and gasps as they fuck you. Your body is limp against Jisung’s chest, but he does all the work for you and holds you up at the same time. You cum sooner than expected; it only takes a handful of thrusts from both men for an orgasm to wash over you. They fuck you through it. Seungmin growls as he watches your eyes roll back, his thrusts growing sharper and harder. The pleasure of your orgasm along with two cocks in you is something you’ll be thinking about for the rest of your life.

Seungmin is the next to cum, and he fills you up just like Jisung did. His cum mixes with Jisung’s in you. Heat blossoms in your abdomen as he orgasms, and you squeeze your walls around his softening member to keep him in place. Jisung chases his orgasm wildly, hands moving to your hips to lift you higher as he fucks up into your ass. You whine from the sensation; your whole body is on fire and weak from the orgasms and overstimulation. It doesn’t stop Jisung for a second though. A few thrusts later, he’s cumming again. Hot seed spills into your ass, and Jisung slams his hips against yours a couple more times for good measure. His grip on your hips disappears. You slump back against him, spent and happy. Seungmin lingers over you, hands on either side of Jisung’s body on the mattress.

No one moves for what feels like hours. Your eyes flutter shut as the exhaustion hits you hard.

“That was…” Seungmin trails off, words failing him, and instead a low whistle comes out.

“Hot as fuck, yeah.” Jisung laughs against your hair. His hands wander up to find yours, intertwining your fingers as he smiles up at Seungmin. “We’re doing that again.”

“Not now please,” you sigh, barely able to open your eyes.

“No, no, angel. Not now, don’t worry. We’ll get you cleaned up and taken care of now.”

​​​☽     ☾

➻ requested by: anonymous ➻ prompts:

“Need help with that?”

big major rip to the quality of my banner ;-; it was so pretty and now ;-; god ;-; it’s awful ;-; im crying ;-;

[primasveraas-writing]

Finnpoe- “the wave, to the ocean”

Poe dies after a lifetime spent together. Finn deals with the aftermath of losing his partner and other half. It's the hardest thing he's ever done.

WORDS: 3030

XXX

Poe dies on a quiet summer evening. Their bedroom, packed with children and grandchildren, is silent aside from muffled cries. Outside their home, crickets chirp, overlapping and loud, enough so that Finn is thinking of their noisy chorus when his husband takes his last breath.

Everything and nothing changes- the Damerons have been mourning preemptively, and Poe’s death is not sudden. There is only sorrow in missing him, rather than the opportunities lost with the end of a life. They cry and comfort each other, as they have done for so many days prior, and they do not need to conjure up funeral plans. Poe wrote his first will when he was 19, and since then, he merely edited and revised his wishes as his life evolved.

Finn experiences his first second, night, week, as a widower. He and Poe spent a lifetime together, and then there is nothing.

Nothing is not nothing. It’s the unification of his entire family, of old friends and beings from all corners of the galaxy. Decades worth of meeting, knowing, loving people. That is the relief to the pain, that he may be surrounded by all the lives he and Poe have touched. His children don’t leave his side. 

Distinctly, Finn is aware that he needs them as much as they need him, but this is a role he has always struggled with. He hesitates to ask for help from the people who have just lost their father. They love and know him, but they cannot break through his veneer.

He can hide his grief with a gentle smile or a hug. It’s easier because he means it, but these moments are a droplet of joy amongst an ocean of sorrow. Still, on the surface, all appears well.

When Finn learned the ways of the Force, he became well attuned to the feelings of others. He knows the warm light of happiness, the fire of anger, and the stormy turmoil of pain. He knows that, try as one might, these feelings cannot be hidden or erased. He’s felt the pain of widows and the bereaved. It’s a beacon in the Force, overwhelming and blinding.

Rey can hardly look at him. He can feel her pain, he knows the hurt of his children. Finn knows that Rey must be drowning in his sorrow. He is lost, and he knows that Rey can feel this turmoil just as clearly as he lives it.

Yet she is the last to depart even after duty calls his children away. Weeks fade to months, and although there is no ground beneath Finn’s feet, something like normalcy returns.

It is not quite true that Rey leaves Finn. He examines what’s left of his life before him, and then he cannot stay on Yavin, in a place that still smells like Poe, every inch of their house defined by their life together. 

Finn finds a quiet corner of the galaxy, and he goes. Rey discovers a brief holo explaining why he’s left, and that is all. There’s a few frequencies she and his family can call on, but no coordinates with which to find him. It’s him and BB-8, and Finn is really, truly alone, for the first time since he was 21.

  In his new bed, it’s less strange to wake up alone. The mattress is smaller, and the sun shines in at a different angle than it did in his room on Yavin IV. Sometimes, there is still a phantom warmth next to him, and in the moments before Finn fully wakes, he can feel Poe there beside him. He’s not sure, but Finn thinks that he talks to Poe then. It makes his heart ache when he realizes, like a black hole in his chest weighing him down and sucking him into unfathomable depths of despair, because reality quickly sets in and he is talking to thin air.

He misses Poe. He wishes, more than anything, to hear his laugh, to have a conversation with him about the weather or something trivial, to hug his husband or hold his hand. He misses the warmth of his embrace, and he remembers the comfort that came along with it, but Finn remains cold and alone. Unreachable by design, by space and depression and grief.

Finn will heal by himself, first. He will experience every part of this pain, and that’s how it will be. The tide must swell before it can recede.

In the beginning, beautiful things do not inspire him to live. The sun shines after rain, and Finn thinks to himself that he would be at peace, if he rejoined the Force at this moment. He wouldn’t be without Poe any longer. That would be good. That would be easier.

So he waits to do just that. It has been so long since he’s lived without his family that Finn doesn’t expect to last long without them. He settles down on a small farm by the seaside, and a boy from a local village brings him food every week. He spends most of his days reading or watching the waves crash on the rocks below him.

Finn waits to die and he waits for the grief to lessen in the meantime. It follows him wherever he goes; it is his only companion, aside from a lonely droid and a child who doesn’t ever stay for longer than five minutes.

He misses his children. They are insistent on finding him, on visiting at the very least, but Finn declines every offer. He doesn’t want them to see another parent waste away, or for them to be pulled under by his grief. It is better, for everyone, that he is alone.

Finn weeps more during that period than he ever has before in his life. It hits him suddenly, making his knees weak and crumbling his resolve. He falls to the ground, hands covering his mouth to muffle the sobs. No one is there to hear him, but the sobs fight their way out anyway, and they always stop too soon, before any true release of sorrow can occur.

The beach, which is mostly jagged pebbles scattered below the cliff where he lives, is where Finn goes when he ventures to leave the house. He wonders, more than anything, if Poe would have liked it here, if they could have settled down here like they did on Yavin IV. It rains a lot here, too, but the air is dry instead of humid, and the air tastes perpetually of salt. Crickets still sing him to sleep every night, but they are joined by the rhythm of waves against the shore.

Finn likes this, though he thinks his husband would have never quite adjusted to this change. It’s peaceful here, but noisier than Yavin. It’s colder too, which Poe had never enjoyed.

Had never. Poe, in the past tense. This is easier to accept than the reality it belies. Now, he is away from the empty house and the grave. The only evidence of his loss is grief and memory, so perhaps this is why Finn thinks that maybe, just maybe, he could fly back home and find Poe waiting for him.

It is three months before Finn realizes: he is waiting for Poe. If he died, he would be reunited with him; if the grief disappeared, it could only mean a reunion. He is waiting for what may never come.

And he lives. And the grief never goes away.

-

Something like spring happens, half a cycle into his stay. The boy tells him in broken Basic that this means more rain, which Finn is surprised to discover is possible after endless days of downpour. After this comes planting season, which Finn surmised after living on a farming moon, with his husband who was raised on a farm. The boy laughs at him when he says this. Finn smiles for the first time in months.

It rains, and Finn lies in bed, wrapped in the blankets he brought from home, listening to the torrent against the roof. The cadence is different; the roof here is simple and stone, but if he closes his eyes, he can nearly imagine that he’s on Yavin, that Poe is beside him and they’re enjoying a lazy afternoon together.

This type of thinking hurts more than it heals. It happens on the nights that Finn cries himself to sleep. He longs for the past and impossible comforts, and the gaping hole in his chest widens.

His heart is dead weight in his chest, and it is cruel that he lives. There is nothing to live for. His family is strong enough to mourn him and live, and he has already shaped the galaxy into a place for them to thrive. There is nothing left for him in a universe devoid of his soulmate.

The boy and his family are harvesting the first of their crops. In addition to the plain bread and simple staples delivered to him at the beginning of the week, Finn receives a bag of purple berries and some other orange vegetables. He thanks the boy, who cites his mother, so Finn passes his thanks to the whole family. The next week, even more are entrusted to him, and Finn gains the impression that they have a surplus. When he grumbles that he’s only one person, that he can’t possibly eat this much, and that his droid can’t be expected to help him eat, the boy laughs at him again. Finn realizes he hasn’t talked to him beyond a brief thanks every week and a passing conversation once or twice. BB-8 is often powered down, too. It’s been a long time since Finn has heard laughter, or held a conversation.

He’s brought some sort of sweet bread the next week, made from the purple berries. Finn’s never had it before. It’s odd, to have lived so long and to still learn new things, especially in a place so lonely and from a being so young.

He asks the boy his name before he goes. It’s Becke, and he’s eight (this information seems attached to his introduction). Finn hadn’t known before. He hadn’t asked when he first arrived, only inquired to Becke’s mother if she knew anyone who could bring him groceries. She had nodded, and gestured to the blonde boy reluctantly holding her hand. He spoke the best Basic out of their family, and he needed to get out of her house more often.

Becke smiles at him, most of his teeth missing. It reminds him of a young girl, and her children that kept her parents and grandparents perpetually exhausted. Finn understands why his mother appointed him to this task.

Becke leaves that week, and this time, he hollers his goodbye over his shoulder as he retreats.

Finn smiles again.

-

Summer and fall mean that Finn is stuffed with fresh harvestables. Becke tells him about his afternoons helping on the farm, in short, slowly extracted sentences. Sometimes Becke comes in chattering (or complaining) about the work, and sometimes, Finn dares to ask a few questions. A rounded conversation takes a month and a half, but they both readily accept this pace. It’s enough for the attention span of an eight-year-old talking to an old man and the old man in question.

Becke talks about his family, and what he’s learning in school. It’s menial, yet Finn cares in the way that kind people do when a child talks. There are concerns and viewpoints only applicable through the eyes of a child, and it’s simpler than loneliness and pain, and one day, Becke spends an hour showing Finn his attempts at juggling with the fruit he brought that morning. He’s not exceptionally good at it, but Finn encourages him, and it is the lightest he’s felt since before Poe died.

The next week, Becke invites him to dinner with his family. Finn declines, but the week after that, another invitation is extended. He accepts.

Their communication is limited, but gestures and fragments of sentences are enough. They get by; Finn learns that Becke’s father and two older brothers have the same sense of humor as the boy- there is laughter to be found in even the most miserable of circumstances. Finn finds it hard to complain around them, especially when Becke’s mother, Ola, keeps loading his plate up with food, even once Finn starts protesting that it’s too much for him. The other men laugh, and Becke’s father tells him that no one can resist his wife’s will. So, he will be fed, and fed well.

By fall, Finn regularly makes the trek to their house for dinners. He helps Becke with his homework. Ola herself visits Finn, and the next afternoon, Becke arrives with cleaning supplies. Suddenly, Finn is not just looked after, he is cared for. He laughs and he talks, and he does not have to think of the grief and the pain.

He lives.

-

Sunset on the ocean is one of the most beautiful things Finn has ever seen. Orange light weaves through the tall grass on the edge of the cliffs and turns the water below golden. The skies fill with purple and pink clouds, mingling to create colors Finn has never dreamed of before.

He hopes, every evening, that he lives to see the next day’s magnificent sunset.

-

Finn knows that he could stay here forever, that he may live to see Becke grow into a man, that Ola will cook and clean and feed him until the end of his days. He is happy there, after thinking that he could never be happy again. There are simple and wonderful things, and Finn enjoys them all.

But as Becke gets older, and as the years pass, Finn thinks of his own grandchildren, how they must be growing and learning. They are without their Abuelo and their grandpa, and he does not get to see or know them.

If Finn returns, he will be reunited with those he loves most in the universe.

He will also have to face an old life, one that should have Poe in it but does no longer.

The choice is neither quick nor sudden. Becke is twelve; Finn is happy worlds away from Yavin.

But there is more. He misses his children’s laughter and the light of his grandkids. He misses his home and the richness of life in the jungle. He misses Rey and her eternal optimism, her smile.

He is not complete without these things. Infrequent, broken calls are not enough.

If he was meant to outlive Poe, then Finn must face that. He will do it, at last, with his family at his side.

Becke and Finn both weep when he leaves. He’d planned to do so on a sunny afternoon, but became delayed by last-minute repairs, so he hugs Becke and his family goodbye as the sun wavers just above the horizon. Its dying sunbeams illuminate Becke’s face, then the boy scrubs the tears off his cheeks. Finn manages one last goodbye before boarding his ship, and he watches the small family wave goodbye before they go, flying low towards the sunset before taking off to the stars.

He contacts his eldest first and tells her that he’s coming home. She breaks down in tears over the call, and promises to meet him on Yavin. They’ve missed him, she says, and they’re glad he’s coming home.

His children- three out of four who could make it in time- are waiting outside his house. They embrace him, holding him tight, and Finn does his best not to cry too excessively. He’s welcomed home, which matters most, and they’re glad to see him.

It hurts, to be back in the hastily dusted house. There are holos of Poe on the walls. His youngest son has Poe’s mannerisms; his youngest daughter has his same cheeky smile. 

But he loves them, and it’s worth the pain. 

He and the brunt of the grief are together again; he’s only a few klicks away from where Poe is buried. His children cling to his hands, and ask him how he is. BB-8 explains all of what he can of their absence, and when it’s Finn’s turn, all he can say is that he couldn’t stay.

Their acceptance of this fact hinges on Finn’s promises that eventually, he was happy. He was cared for and not truly alone. He came back to them.

His eldest corners Finn and tells him, with her jaw firmly set, that they missed him and in some ways, they lost both of their fathers at once. Finn bows his head and apologizes, but he could not stay. Without Poe, he had to learn to live again. He had to want to live again, and he couldn’t do that while so haunted by loss.

She doesn’t understand, not fully, but she accepts this and tells him she’s glad he’s home. He is too, and the joy of being back with his family overpowers the grief.

It’s storming, hours later, when they hear Rey arrive. She barges through the door, drenched, and wraps her arms around Finn, tears shining in her eyes. She missed him and she loves him, she murmurs, then she pulls back and offers him a watery smile

Finn had forgotten how much her presence lights up a room. Yavin hums with an energy that he has not felt in many years, and it rushes over Finn in excited waves. He can sense all the life nearby, from the frogs in the trees and the vines in the jungle, all the way to the tree standing over his husband’s and his parents’ graves.

There is beauty and life and death and pain. Finn can feel it all, and he knows it well. It’s pervasive throughout his life and his family and his home.

It’s a part of him and part of everything, and Finn understands. It will ache inside his chest then destroy him, and finally build him back up. Finn understands that he lives and will die loving and missing Poe.

But this is not the end.

“Picture a wave. In the ocean. You can see it, measure it, its height, the way the sunlight refracts when it passes through. And it's there. And you can see it, you know what it is. It's a wave. And then it crashes in the shore and it's gone. But the water is still there. The wave was just a different way for the water to be, for a little while. You know it's one conception of death for Buddhists: the wave returns to the ocean, where it came from and where it's supposed to be.” -The Good Place