#she has launched him down a path she can’t follow

[verbenaa]

to eden | chapter seven

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: If there was ever a moment that Rin regretted drinking all of that wine it would be now as Astarion peers at her with thinly veiled interest, baiting her. All it takes is those few words for the mood of their conversation to change, Astarion twisting it to something darker and more seductive.

She absolutely hates the way her body reacts at the sound of his voice nearer to her, a familiar fire kindling deep in her belly and her heart skipping a beat.

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F!Tav

𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 5,814

𝒶/𝓃: hey let's just pretend it hasn't taken me 5 weeks to write this, ok? but for real, I'm so happy to be back on my regular grind and posting again! I hope you all like this chapter, and I'm excited to keep writing for these two idiots 🫡 let me know your thoughts in the comments and thank you to every single one of you who take the time to read, like, comment, reblog etc. you all mean the world to me!!!!! love you all byeeeeee

ao3 here

masterlist

Something in the air is wrong.

Whatever that something is, though, Rin can’t quite place her finger on. 

But there’s something off in smell of the air, the cloying scent of rotting leaves and decay sickening her, souring her stomach as they creep along the narrow pathway. 

Or perhaps it is the dead breeze that rattles bare branches as it carries the memory of death on its ghostly wind, the feeling of it making her shudder and turn in on herself with every brush of it against her skin.

All of it just wrong, wrong, wrong.

Rin bites her lip as she moves down the narrow path carefully on their trek further and further into this cursed world, fingers aching to grab at the blade she keeps strapped to her back if only to make herself feel a little bit better lest anything decide to surprise her by launching itself into stabbing range. 

Her chest is uncomfortably tight here, a subtle fear she will never admit out loud curling around her ribs, squeezing itself around her lungs with every breath she takes. 

Even Astarion has been left on edge, his hand gripping tight around a knife as he walks on Rin’s left, ever silent as he steps with care and his eyes rove back and forth along the darkness.

Perhaps the most wrong thing, though, is the one that they follow. The one who she had summoned with that lyre she had pilfered off of the corpse of that drow weeks and weeks ago in the depths of the goblin’s lair; plucking at its strings to play a haunting melody befitting of the horror that skitters on eight legs ahead of them along the trodden path towards Moonrise Towers.

Kar’niss, with his too many eyes and lips pulled into an eerie grin that the light from the moon lantern he carries does nothing to soften the lines of, sharp claws curled around the long post.

The Absolute really did pull a certain type, didn’t it? 

Rin sighs softly as her steps quicken, abhorring the idea of being any closer to Kar’niss than necessary but her fear of whatever it is lurking out in the darkness far surpasses her distrust of the drider.

But as they round a corner, she sees a movement in the shadows of a ruined building just beyond the path—subtle, barely recognizable in the darkness. Another a sweep of her eyes and she notices that there are people—real, living people—hiding all around them with weapons drawn and at the ready.

She’s not the only one who notices either, Astarion already adjusting his grip on the dagger as he readies it to throw and Shadowheart brandishing her glaive as she calls upon her dark Lady. 

And as Kar’niss calls for battle against the so-called heretics hiding in shadows, one thing becomes crystal clear: the Harpers’ mean to kill.  

It’s a split second decision, one she communicates through the rarely used tadpole that sits idle in her brain.

Kill the drider, he’s not the only ticket into Moonrise. 

They’ll manage without him.

Rin shares a brief, sweeping glance among her companions, all of them meeting her gaze in resolute agreement, and whether that agreement is for the sake of morality or for violence she doesn’t care, as long as they’ll fight along her side against whatever horrors await on the path ahead.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

The tightness in her chest doesn’t go away inside the warmth of the Last Light Inn but it loosens the smallest bit, no longer strangling around her insides as a candlelit glow washes over them and the Harpers mill about on all sides.

The goblet of wine she holds in her hand certainly doesn’t hurt, either. 

Jaheira—the one and only fabled hero of many a tale—looks at her from across the wide table, the strange upwards tick of her lips and carefully blank look in her eyes decidedly suspicious.

Rin takes a delicate sniff of the goblet in her hand, scenting a slight medicinal bitterness that doesn’t quite belong swirling amongst the red liquid. “Jaheira, I have to ask. Did you poison my wine?”

“This vintage is over a century old, you know. I’m sure a few drops of truth serum won’t affect the taste. Much.” The druid’s smile widens as she regards Rin with an appraising look, tawny eyes narrowing with interest as she waits for her next move.

“Well, in that case, even more reason to drink. Have you poisoned many people or am I one of the first?” Rin takes a dainty sip of the burgundy liquid, eyebrows raised pointedly towards the other woman as she swallows down the wine, the taste of it just a touch too bitter as she refrains from pulling a face at the acidity. “It’s an honor, either way.”

She doesn’t see but hears Astarion sputter behind her, face contorted into what she can only imagine as an expression of pure disbelief, positively aghast at her impulsivity as he scoffs.

Astarion’s apparent annoyance at her drinking the wine only serves to strengthen her resolve—a lovely, if unexpected, bonus that makes her smile.

With a shrug, she downs the rest of the goblet, another aggravated noise escaping the vampire from where he stands alongside Shadowheart, who releases a deep, weary sigh. “Still better than what the tieflings gave us back at the Grove.”

The wine goes down easily despite the taste of the truth serum, the flame of the taper wavering slightly as she sets her now empty goblet down onto the table between them. “So, what sort of burning questions do you need to ask me so badly that you decided to spike my drink in order to get the answers?”

“I had to know if you could be trusted. One can never be too careful when dealing with the Absolute. So I decided to add a few drops of a truth serum to your wine to speed up the process.” Jaheira finally takes a drink of her own wine, her eyes darting down to the now empty goblet resting innocuously between them. “Though I didn’t quite expect you to drink all of it.”

“One must live beyond expectation, don’t you agree?” An ungentlemanly snort sounds from behind her that Rin ignores, her most winning smile plastered on her face as she eyes the druid in front of her. 

The truth serum feels…strange as it begins to work its way through her body and up into her head; a certain weightlessness taking hold of her mind, as though she had drank one glass too many of wine, though with all of her thoughts and inhibitions still perfectly in place—not a one muddled or confusing or unnecessarily scandalous.

There is a certain inclination that rises up over all the others, a peculiar feeling that begs to break free of her lips with every question Jaheira asks, no lies able to be told under the potion’s spell.

And thus, the truth spills free from Rin’s lips.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

Rin slouches inelegantly against the back wall of the great room, eyes bouncing from person to person as she surveys the space. Such lodgings were more than they could have asked for, really. 

At least, in terms of what she expected to find on their little jaunt to these lands.

It certainly beats camping out at Moonrise, or she assumes as much. Rin doubts that whoever’s in charge over there would have the hospitality to serve her wine upon arrival much like Jaheira had, even if it was technically poisoned.

And so, under the famed druid’s blessing they had successfully made their camp and put away their armor—exchanging hard leather and heavy metal for worn-in linen and thin spun cotton, blissfuly free from the pressing darkness of the shadow curse and the menace of the Absolute, if only for the night.

Really, Rin’s only problem was the fact that her ankle still smarts somewhat from where Jaheira’s vines had held her a bit too tight for her liking earlier, leaving behind a small twinge of pain that she should probably have Shadowheart heal, if only she could be bothered to go find the cleric wherever she was busy sulking.

That, and, maybe the truth serum she had drank a little while ago that was still swirling around happily in her brain, though she can feel the power it holds over her weakening as the minutes go by. 

It was perhaps not her brightest idea to drink the wine. Her companions were quite vocal of their disapproval of such a decision afterwards. But it had earned them Jaheira’s tentative trust, and what good was it to make allies if they weren’t going to be heroes of legend? 

An evening spent with a little bit of klauthgrass in her system was a small price to pay for such a boon.

Or so she hoped.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rin sees a familiar figure making their way towards where she lurks at the back of the room, clearly intent on ruining her peace if the look of discontent Astarion levels at her as he stalks over is anything to go by.

Oh Gods, must it be him? She would gladly take anyone else’s conversation on a night like tonight, where truths threaten to break free when faced with nothing more than a mere question. She had already put in hard work of avoiding him earlier as they built their camp, finding reason after reason to skirt away elsewhere anytime he seemed to near her.

With a bracing breath, she takes a long drink from her cup to mentally prepare herself for whatever scolding it is that will fall from those beautiful lips with razor-sharp accuracy. 

He’s had the time to prepare it, thanks to all of her efforts to stave him away so far that evening.

Astarion sidles over to her, somehow managing to look more elegant than usual when he leans back against the wall next to her—perfectly casual and the picture of charm as he props a leg up, knee bent and arms crossed in front of his broad chest. He looks almost mesmerizing in the warmth of the inn, dancing candlelight reflecting off his snowy hair and illuminating his pale skin to near perfection. 

It’s a pity that the illusion of it all will be ruined by that poor attitude of his.

“Do tell, darling, was the wine worth it?” Irritation sparks on the edge of the words as they slice through the air, the level of judgment so easily revealed by such a simple sentence almost impressive.

She readies herself for the now familiar pull of the klauthgrass in her mind as it loosens her lips, any number of truths ready to slip free at his urging of her, and she has no doubt that Astarion is intending to waste such an opportunity.

Rin sends him a cursory glance as she takes another sip from her goblet, painting an easy smile on her lips. “I would say so, yes. It’s not everyday a girl like me from the Lower City gets to drink from such an expensive bottle.”

“Next time you want a nice bottle of wine, let me steal it for you instead of doing something utterly stupid that could have ruined our entire plan,” Astarion speaks through gritted teeth, voice kept low as he growls at her. 

“I thought you liked a little chaos in your day.” Rin can’t help the snicker that sneaks into the words, hiding it behind the cup that she raises to her lips.

“There’s sowing a bit of chaos and outright idiocy. You, my dear, are straddling the line a bit too close.”

“Why, Astarion, I didn’t know you cared.” The words are simpering in the way she knows Astarion will just hate, daring a glance up at the vampire beside her just in time to see his eyes roll.

“I don’t,” Astarion says cooly. “but I’ve been forced to go along with all of your awful little ideas so far and I would hate to see all my efforts wasted when I could have been enjoying myself in a tavern somewhere else instead.”

“Oh, please,” Rin huffs as she rolls her eyes, taking another drink. “You know perfectly well that you’re welcome to walk away whenever you feel like it.”

She shifts her weight as she attempts to ignore the imperious look Astarion sends her, wincing slightly as her ankle protests the movement.

Astarion gives a questioning look to the leg in question, his gaze assessing her for any weakness that he can exploit, much to her eternal chagrin. “Problem with your ankle, darling?”

She should have known that he would have noticed, eventually. He had been watching her all night, after all; a scowl etched onto his pretty features as he followed her every move with narrowed eyes as she talked to everyone else but him, no doubt preparing his every complaint for her. 

“Mm, yes,” Rin hums in confirmation, the word sneaking out without her consent thanks to the truth serum. She glares down at her dusty boots and the well-treaded rug covering the floor, its pattern long faded. “Jaheira’s vines were a bit tight for my liking. Not my preferred way to be restrained, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Oh?” Astarion’s voice drops an octave as he leans in further towards her, almost conspiratorial as his eyes gleam at the opportunity he hears in her words. “Do tell, what is your preferred way to be restrained, then?”

If there was ever a moment that Rin regretted drinking all of that wine it would be now as Astarion peers at her with thinly veiled interest, baiting her. All it takes is those few words for the mood of their conversation to change, Astarion twisting it to something darker and more seductive.

She absolutely hates the way her body reacts at the sound of his voice nearer to her, a familiar fire kindling deep in her belly as her heart skips a beat.

“With ribbons, obviously. Or maybe silk.” Her cheeks flush. Damn the klauthgrass.

She’s never been tied up, at least not like that; though the image is one that’s hard to brush away. She can see it far too easily in her imagination: Astarion between her legs, a lovely length of ribbon tied around her wrists, an actual bed— 

Rin brushes the thought away with a cough, taking a long drink from her wine in hopes of distraction.

“Oh, so is that the way you like it? Who knew that our little leader wants the nicest bottles of wine to drink from and the prettiest of ribbons to be wrapped all around her.” He’s teasing her and Rin wishes she could be angry with him but the image he paints is one that’s far too tempting for her to simply ignore.

“I do.” The truth pulls free from her once more, and she bites her lip in an effort to avoid saying anything else incriminating as a smirk slides across plush lips that she would like nothing more than to press her own against.

“And tell me, sweet thing, what else do you like?” Astarion leans in further, his lips practically brushing against the shell of her ear. She still can’t help the blush that has stolen its way across her face though she’s more than willing to blame it on the alcohol or the truth serum rather than his effect on her.

Rin stands perfectly still, resisting the urge to turn towards him as she sips from her wine, eyes looking at anything but him. She knows he expects her to reply with some sort of temptation that he can file away to tease her with later, at a moment when it’s most inopportune. 

But instead, another sort of answer comes to her mind first. One that she can barely stand to admit to herself, let alone speak aloud to him or anyone else.

She won’t allow the words to come out, working as hard as she can against the truth serum as it works its way deep into her mind, speaking to her with whispered words to let it out, let the truth set you free, tell him, tell him. 

“I like lots of things, Astarion. I love a good book, some well-aged cheese, winning a game of cards…I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

It’s a blessing, at first, that Astarion doesn’t answer her, the silence between them dragging as she mentally releases a sigh of relief that he abandoned that particular line of questioning and accepted the string of truths she managed to utter instead of the one that is bursting to be let free.

But when another beat of silence goes by unfilled with his honeyed words and she finally turns to look his way, her head snapping to the side, she finds his gaze on someone else.

Rin’s brow furrows as she follows Astarion’s line of sight only for her frown to deepen when she sees exactly who it is that has captured his attention. 

There, on the far side of the room sitting at one of the lanceboard tables that line the wall lurks an unfortunately familiar face. One that she had rather hoped to not have to see again after their last meeting outside of the Blighted Village.

Rin breaths out a noise of disbelief as all of the ease and relief she had been feeling earlier disappear into the ether. “Does he have no one else to bother?” 

Astarion deigns to leave her question unanswered, simply shooting her a look with a brow perfectly raised that stirs suspicion deep in her stomach, whatever idea it is brewing in that brain of his one Rin has distinct feeling she will not approve of.

Grim determination settles along his features as he pushes off the wall and strides forward, stepping confidently across the worn floorboard and threadbare rugs without waiting to see if she will follow.

Rin hastily sets her goblet down on the bar several steps away, the wine sloshing over the side of the silver cup in ruby red drops and onto the stained wood below. One of the tieflings from the Grove, Rolan if she remembered correctly, briefly looks up from where he is buried in his own drink to send her a glare as he broods pitifully in his seat.

She barely manages to catch up, arriving just in time to hear Raphael’s low drawl, swallowing down the grimace that threatens to break free and instead settling for a placid smile that gives nothing away to the cambion now in front of her.

“Well, well, well. And what is it we have here?”

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

The smell of brimstone is still thick in the air after Raphael’s little disappearing act, cinders drifting down to dust the worn herringbone floors where he had been standing. 

Fucking Raphael and his fucking deals.

“He really has some nerve, doesn’t he?” Rin’s arms are crossed in front of her chest as she hmphs, turning to Astarion to hear what she assumes will be his agreement.

But instead, her vampiric friend is mysteriously absent from his place next to her; and with a turn of her head she sees Astarion stalking out of the large doors of the inn, pace clipped as he weaves through a sea of Harpers.

“Astarion!” Rin spins around, calling after his retreating figure once before following after him.

An unwelcome frustration bubbles in her chest alongside the beginnings of distress and she quickens her pace, his lithe form no doubt clinging to whatever shadows he can find outside. She’ll be lucky if she’s able to spot him at all with all the darkness that exists here, even with the incandescent glow of Selûne’s blessing reflecting off of everything it touches.

“Astarion, wait!” Rin’s voice caries across the yard as her feet patter across the patchy grass, dodging the armored bodies of the Harpers as she goes. Wherever Astarion is, he either doesn’t hear her or refuses to hear her as she moves closer and closer towards the outer edge of the protective circle of magic. 

Her steps slow as she enters their campsite and the liveliness of the inn seems worlds away here in the silence. There are no animals here—no birds chirping or bees buzzing, only an otherworldly quiet that has her ears buzzing.

With a turn of her head, she finally sees Astarion exactly where she thought he’d be, standing tense at the edge of the riverbank as he faces the bleak landscape across the black water.

“Was it necessary to walk so fast?” They’re all alone as she nears him, her footsteps painfully loud in the otherwise quiet of the night.

He whirls around to her, agitation rippling off of him in waves as he glares at her. “Do you not know how to take a hint, or are you really that dim?”

Rin rolls her eyes, breathing out a sigh of agitation. “I’m the dim one? What are you even thinking to consider making a deal with Raphael?” 

“What am I thinking? I am thinking that there is more to whatever the thing is that Cazador carved into back. I am thinking that I have to figure out what it is. I am thinking that Raphael is my best chance to get the information that I need.”

His voice echoes off the bare branches of the trees as he yells, bitterness coloring his tone as he glares at her, the precise shade of his eyes—an angry incarnadine, she thinks—cementing itself into her memory.

“I understand, Astarion. I do. But I don’t think you should make a deal with him. Not with Raphael.” Rin wrinkles her nose in distaste at the mere thought of the cambion being able to hold anything over any of their heads, but especially over Astarion’s.

“You do not understand a thing.” He seethes at her. “I have one chance, and one chance only, to get this information. You will not stop me.”

“I’m not stopping you,” She stands strong in the face of his anger, fingers curling as she balls them into fists, nails biting crescents in the flesh of her palms. “But do you really think Raphael can be trusted? What if he makes you sign your life away for it?"

“And do tell, dearest Rin, why do you care so much about what I do with my life?” He spits out the words as though they burn, eyes glinting with the knowledge that he can ask her whatever he wants and she’s powerless to do anything but answer.

With a start, she realizes it’s the first time he’s ever said her name aloud, at least to her own ears. The revelation settles over her with a hazy sort of wonder that has no place in their fight as she replays the sound of her name formed by lips in her mind, turning it over again and again.

And it’s suddenly so perfect—so Astarion—that the first time he ever utters her name out loud isn’t when he tries to charm her with cheap pick up lines or in the midst of pleasure as he takes her to bed, but instead practically shouted at her in anger during an argument. 

Frustration eddies out of her like the tide rolling back out to sea and an aching, unfamiliar tenderness for the man standing in front of her fills in the space that it leaves as her expression softens.

“Because I don’t want to see something bad happen to you, you idiot. Is that really so difficult to understand? Do you need me to spell it out for you word by word?” Rin’s hands reach out to grab at his shoulders, as though she could shake some sense into him.

It’s a truth she doesn’t mind speaking, not when Astarion just stands there staring at her in vague disbelief as the cogs in his brain work to solve the puzzle of her words and the ire that had burned so readily in his gaze extinguishes, somehow giving way to everything and nothing all at once—confusion, distrust, vulnerability. 

“I’ll make you a deal, instead. I may not be a devil but—”

“You’re devil enough, I assure you,” Astarion cuts in with a lukewarm murmur.

“As I was saying,” Rin glares up at him halfheartedly as her grip loosens on his shoulders. “let me make you a deal. I swear, upon my grave, that we can and will find another way. Without using Raphael’s help.”

Astarion looks at her curiously, arms held straight by his sides as he stands perfectly still underneath the warmth from her palms. “At the rate we’re going, your grave is likely to be on an unmarked hillside somewhere between here and Rivington, darling. Pick something better to promise me with,”

Her fingers move to absently run over the line of his shoulders as she shifts her attention to his collar and the ostentatious ruffles that decorate the front of his shirt, slightly rumpled and not at all put together the way Astarion likes to pretend himself to be.

“Is swearing on my grave not devilish enough?” Her fingers run lightly over the ruffles of his shirt, the linen softened by time as she fluffs them back to rights. “How about my soul then?”

“It’s a step in the right direction, at least.” He’s infinitely haughty as he huffs, glancing away to look instead at one of the nearby trees that surround their campsite.

“You’re impossible.” Rin lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, then. I swear to you, on my soul,” she waves a hand through the air to add embellishment to her words. “that we will find a way without Raphael’s help. We can figure it out, I have faith.”

Rin knows her words have no actual binding, no infernal magic present to swirl around them and make her words true. She knows that it’s not even a real promise she can make, and certainly not a good enough one to ever tempt him. 

But it’s all she has to offer him, and she can only hope it will be enough.

Astarion’s eyes snap back to hers, narrowing as he raises an elegant brow. “Faith in what? I hardly think the Gods are listening. Or care, for that matter.”

“Well,” Rin’s fingers stop, biting her lip in consideration at his question as she waits for an answer, the true answer, to come to her unbidden with the help of the truth serum that still lingers. “faith in us, I suppose.”

It’s maybe the worst thing she’s ever said, the words coming out far too soft and—ugh, gods—sweet. But the most terrible thing about it is that she doesn’t hate the way that the truth feels slipping free from her lips nearly as much as she knows she should.

She needs to stop talking before she digs herself into an even deeper hole. Perhaps she should start taking off her clothes in hopes to distract him.

Her hands return to action in the wake of her honesty, smoothing them over his collar once, twice, before averting her eyes from his to glance at where her fingers begin to twine around the ties at his throat.

“That’s a terrible plan, you know.” 

Rin pulls at one of the strings perhaps a tad harder than necessary as she looks up once more with a glare at the ready. Any retort she has dies on her lips as she meets his eyes; wholly unprepared for the sheer intensity simmering there in the depths of his gaze.

Her hold softens on the laces, fingers going slack as she swallows. She’s unsure exactly of what name to put to look she sees—not lust, or anger; but something else—as those familiar dark crimson eyes flit down to her lips and she suddenly finds it much harder to breathe.

“Well, it’s better than anything you could ever come up with, that’s for sure.” She speaks in barely a whisper, Astarion watching every single word fall from her lips before his eyes trail their way up and over her features as if memorizing every detail before finding her own gaze.

A new kind of anticipation, one that she’s never felt before, curls in her stomach as Astarion releases a vexing sigh. “I haven’t the faintest idea of what you could mean. My plans are always excellent.” 

The words are pompous, irritating; and a part of her wishes desperately that she could hate him for all his arrogance and put-on charm, but instead something in her chest swells as she huffs out a short laugh.

With an impossible slowness, Astarion dips his head towards her, lashes half lowered over darkened eyes that still stare at her own, no doubt a fever-bright green as her freckled cheeks flush under the fullness of his attention. 

A breath catches in Rin’s throat as she angles her face up to meet him, the tips of their noses brushing as his lips close in on her own. She’s eager for the feeling of his kiss, has been wishing for it all evening—a fact she’s only willing to admit with the help of the truth serum.

And as her lashes flutter shut against her cheeks and her palms press flat against the planes of his chest, heart jumping against her breast as his lips are nothing but a hairsbreadth away; a familiar voice booms out from some distance behind them.

“Oi, Rin, Fangs!” The moment shatters as Karlach’s voice fills the camp, carrying far as it breaks through the silence surrounding them.

Rin’s eyes blink open wide just as Astarion takes two hasty steps backwards, surprise flashing over his features before he covers it masterfully, an impenetrable wall back in place within mere seconds.

Her hand raises to her still untouched lips, mourning the loss of his closeness as she stands bewildered by their almost kiss.

Astarion straightens his shirt, brushing out an imaginary wrinkle as he looses a breath, refusing to meet her eyes. “I will keep your…offer in mind, darling, but no promises.”

“It’s your choice in the end Astarion, but…I don’t like it.” Rin fights to keep the minute disappointment she feels from crossing over her features. She knew it was nothing more than a fools’ errand to try and sway him, but she doesn’t regret it. 

Not yet, at least.

“Well, it’s a good thing it’s not your decision to make, isn’t it?”

A frown settles between her brows as Astarion finishes his assessment of himself and finally looks at her again, any figment of emotion that had been there mere moments ago effectively washed away as he dons the mask of a charlatan once more.

“Right. Well, goodnight. Don’t you worry your pretty little head over it.” Astarion sends her one of his trademark smirks as he rolls his shoulders back, standing up straight as he looks down his nose at her. “Unless, of course, you want to be thinking of me. In that case, feel free to worry over me to your heart’s content.” 

With one last, maddening little wave he retreats to his tent without sparing her a single glance, leaving Rin to stand there alone in the middle of camp, a hand still poised over her lips and discontent coiling in her chest.

Karlach finally emerges from between two tents, a frothy pint in hand that she uses to gesture towards Rin, ale threatening to spill over the edge as she inclines her horned head in greeting. “Hey, Solider! Want to come join for a game of cards or some shit like that?”

With nothing else to do, Rin turns towards Karlach with a smile and a nod before she heads back towards the wavering light of the inn in the distance with the intent to drink herself into absolute oblivion.

It’s easy to follow Karlach and fall back into the familiar routine of indulgence—to drink more wine and lie to herself that the blush that stains her cheeks the rest of the evening is from the klauthgrass, or the alcohol, or the laughter she shares with her friends and not at all because of the fact that Astarion had almost kissed her. 

It didn’t matter that they had shared far more than kisses already, bypassing the standard order of things and jumping straight into sleeping with one other. 

That was what they had both wanted, wasn’t it? 

And it was what Astarion’s silly little game has always been about, had it not? She still hadn’t been able to figure out the rules, but she was sure it had to do with her as his conquest—his prize—though for what reason she’s yet to glean. 

It was one thing to be friends who slept together. 

But it was another thing entirely to be friends who simply kiss, and the thought consumes her for the rest of night no matter how many more glasses she downs in hopes to chase it away.

It’s late when Rin finally lays down in her bedroll that night, the klauthgrass blissfully absent from her body yet her mind still swirling with the revelation that she is perhaps far more fucked than she would like to admit. 

She’s signed, sealed, and delivered her fate just as surely as she’s sealed another letter to him with a cheap wax seal, written when the last of that terrible, evil truth serum still poisoned her mind along with a few cups of wine too many. 

That stupid letter, one that is never to be delivered; the contents of which contain the answer to that damned question he asked her earlier.

And tell me, sweet thing, what else do you like?

And so she did the next best thing she could think of to rid herself of words that still begged to be spoken aloud; grabbing a piece of parchment and her quill and ink before sitting down to write the answer, hoping that she could seal the feelings into the ink on the page and leave them there to dry, freeing herself of them forever.

If she had any mind at all, she would march out of her tent and throw the letter into the roaring fire at the center of camp so that the words it contains could burn to cinders, never to be read.

Because Astarion could never, ever know that what she really liked—more than his body, his clever words, his awful sense of humor, or how lovely he looks when he focuses on his sewing next to her by the fire at night—was him.

[263adder]

Displacement

Chapter 1: Wave Hello

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46882966/chapters/118096369

Summary: Only the other week it was Changelings and Admiral Picard with his Merry Men. Now there's an unidentifiable anomaly ahead and Captain Shaw is getting a headache.

Liam Shaw x Reader

Part One | Part Two

“Captain, the anomaly is expanding.” Ensign La Forge warned from the helm.

“Full shields.” Seven ordered.

“Tactical?” Shaw asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the monitor and the rapidly growing orb that had abruptly appeared in their path.

“Still assessing. The energy signature keeps fluctuating.”

“Put us on Red Alert.” Shaw said.

The lights around the bridge pulsated, warning everyone on board to head to their stations. After the departure of Picard and his merry men, the crew of the exploratory vessel had hoped for a return to normality yet that didn’t seem to be on the cards. Little time had passed since their last adventure and they appeared to be under attack again.

“Ready phasers.” Seven added, moving away from comms to take her seat beside him.

The orb shimmered and grew again, this time releasing an energy wave that crashed into the ship.

“Shields holding steady.” La Forge responded.

“Captain.” The acting science officer, Lieutenant Yana, called out. “I’ve picked up something. Whatever this is, there’s biological signs within. Reading as… human lifeforms. Multiple.”

“Open a channel.” Shaw said. “This is Captain Shaw of the USS Titan. Does anyone copy? Are you in distress or in need of assistance?”

“No response, sir.”

“Hail again.”

Another wave, accompanied by a blinding light that dazed the crew for a split second. It faded, the orb still before them.

“No response.”

“Shields still holding.”

“We’re being hit with massive displacement waves, Captain.” Yana warned.

The shock wave and light lasted longer this time.

“Shields are still up, but something is transporting aboard. I can’t block it, or get a lock on to redirect it away from us.”

“Biological?” Seven asked.

“Yes, Commander. One human lifeform. It’s being transported to… Deck 8.”

Seven, along with a security detail, head for the coordinates.

“Lieutenant, launch a probe. Let’s see what this thing is.” Shaw orders. “Helm, move us away from the anomaly. Nice and steady.”

“Aye, Captain.”

As the ship reversed, another wave, another flash then nothing lay before them except the dark, unforgiving recess of deep space. The bridge lay silent for a moment, everyone waiting to see if it would return but it appeared they were once again alone on the fringes of Federation territory.

“Captain, the anomaly has vanished.”

“I can see that Lieutenant.” Shaw replied dryly, tapping his communicator. “Shaw to Commander Seven. Report?”

“Unresponsive human female, unarmed. En route to sickbay.”

“Acknowledged, I’ll meet you there. Ensign Esmar, send a report to Star Fleet Command with the coordinates of the anomaly, more details to follow.”

“Aye, sir.”

On his way into the turbo-lift, Shaw informed: “Lieutenant Mura, you have the bridge.”

*           *           *

Commander Seven of Nine waited for him by the medbay doors, her security team stationed outside, arms folded while the doctors worked around a figure on the bio-bed that she kept a trained eye on.

“The anomaly?”

“Vanished. Our latest visitor?” Shaw asked cautiously. Whatever it was couldn’t be worse than what they’d just faced. At least he hoped it wasn’t; Shaw was getting too old to survive a third trip to the medbay in one month.

“Human female. Unconscious with internal haemorrhaging and a fractured ulna in the right forearm. It looks like the injuries were incurred on arrival. The transporter beam dropped her down a service ladder.”

“Lieutenant Yana launched a probe. Check on her progress, see if it picked up any data before the anomaly vanished. I’ve sent word to Starfleet to plot the coordinates of the anomaly so other passing vessels are on alert.” Shaw said, glancing away from their visitor to catch a thoughtful expression on his First Officer’s face.

“Commander?”

“Yana said we were hit with displacement waves. When I worked under Admiral Janeway…”

Shaw rolled his eyes, he couldn’t resist. Just like Seven couldn’t resist a namedrop.

“…I was informed that the event which propelled them to the Delta Quadrant involved displacement waves. Lieutenant Wildman did a considerable amount of research on the matter during the expedition and after our return to the Alpha Quadrant, and how the phenomena related to the Nacene. I’ll tell Yana to consult her publications. The anomaly must have amassed significant power to penetrate our shields. It seems unlikely it could disappear so thoroughly. Perhaps there is a trail to follow.”

“You suggest we go after it?”

“It could be a danger to other vessels. And we don’t know whether the other lifeforms aboard are in danger.”

Shaw exhaled sharply through his nose.

“The day Starfleet sends through your new command can’t come soon enough.” He said wryly. “You can take another ship on these wild goose chases of yours and leave me in peace.”

Seven smirked. “Is that why you gave me a commendation?”

She got the commendation because she deserved it, but he said: “Absolutely.” With a sigh, he agreed to her plan. “Keep me updated. And downscale the security team outside. One unconscious woman probably doesn’t require an entire squadron.”

Turning his attention to the medical team, Shaw took a seat on an empty bed while he waited for a chance to speak to his new Chief Medical Officer. T’plokan was currently running a cortical scanner over her patient who Shaw got a better look at. There was no uniform, although that didn’t mean she wasn’t Starfleet. Her clothes were tattered, cut in places to access her injuries. Considering she had fallen down a Jefferies tube, however, she looked remarkably well. The work, no doubt, of the Titan’s first-class medical officers.

How this woman have been inside the anomaly? By all outward appearance it had no physical capacity to take on passengers. Perhaps it was a conduit, taking people from one location to another? And yet it had shown multiple lifeforms aboard. Where were those people now?

It was useless speculating, Shaw was an engineer by trade – not a science officer.

T’plokan addressed him when her scan was complete. “Captain.”

“Doctor.”

“We’ve reset the bone, and the haemorrhaging is under control. There is no brain damage detected, she should wake up naturally in her own time. There were some residual particle traces on her clothes; I’ve sent the details to Lieutenant Yana in case it can help identify how she got here.”

“Is she in Federation database?”

“No, there wasn’t any match on her DNA or fingerprints.”

“That’s a shame. But good work, Doctor. I’ll keep someone stationed outside in case there’s any trouble when she wakes up. Notify me if she does.”

Shaw should have suspected who Seven would place on sentry duty, almost walking into Commander Musiker when he left the medical bay. He regarded her with a suspicious eye.

“Has your transfer from Starfleet Intelligence been completed yet? I wasn’t aware you were on the roaster.”

“It’s only temporary, Captain. Security shift change. Someone will relieve me at 1500 hours.”

“Hmm. I’ll check that they have.”

“Aye, Captain.” Raffi replied, looking far too smug for his liking.

*           *           *

Yana’s initial report was waiting in his ready room. He was barely halfway through, making a few additions to it before he would forward it to Starfleet, when his communicator chirped.

“Shaw.” He answered.

“Captain.” Raffi replied calmly. “I think our guest is in need of a formal welcome.”

“Acknowledged. On my way.”

Their visitor had backed herself into a corner, holding a medical tray like a club. She swiped at an approaching Raffi who deftly dogged her. The patient winced, slumping back against the wall.

The doctor was waiting with Commander Seven, both giving the disorientated woman space to breathe. Only Raffi tried to approach, her hands raised to show she wasn’t a threat.

“I advise you not to make many sudden movements. You’re still healing.” T’plokan said.

“Just relax.” Raffi encouraged. “You’re in a hospital. We’re just trying to fix you up.”

“This doesn’t look like a hospital to me.”

Raffi followed up. “Are hospitals different where you’re from?”

“Busier. Louder.” She replied through gritted teeth. “What is this, private? Clinic? None of you are wearing scrubs. You don’t even have masks.”

“You’re aboard our ship, the USS Titan.” Raffi explained.

“I’m on a ship? That doesn’t make any sense.” She huffed, struggling to stay upright. There was pain radiating from her abdomen and her right arm was hanging uselessly by her side, too sore to move. “How did I get here?”

“We were hoping you could tell us that.” Shaw said, making himself known.

“Return to the bed.” The doctor requested. “I can administer pain relief.”

Shaking her head, the patient insisted: “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I wasn’t being insincere. We really were hoping you could tell us.” Shaw restated. “You’ve been an unexpected addition to our complement.”

“What do you remember, honey?” Raffi asked. “Where were you before you were here.”

“At home.”

“Where’s home?”

“London.”

The crew shared a look. “On Earth?” Raffi clarified.

“On… obviously on Earth. What does that even mean?”

One of the computer monitors chirped, getting T’plokan’s attention.

“You haven’t told me where I am.” The patient accused, her eyes shifting rapidly between them as if expecting someone to lunge. “I thought we were sharing here.”

“Excuse me.” Shaw said apologetically, matching the woman’s dry tone. “Welcome aboard the USS Titan. We are a Constitution III class exploratory vessel, under the operation of Starfleet. I am Captain Liam Shaw. This is my First Officer, Seven of Nine. This is Doctor T’plokan and Commander Musiker.”

He pointed them all out.

“You can just call me Raffi, honey. What’s your name?”

The patient’s eyes were now fixed on Shaw, trying to process the information he had just given her through the haze of pain and disorientation. She couldn’t process how one moment she had been perfectly fine and was now in a hospital, clearly injured. But some of his words had managed to perforate her addled mind.

“What’s Starfleet?”

T’plokan took them all by surprise, using the patient’s growing unsteadiness and their confusion at her question to grab a hypospray. She rounded a bio-bed and swiftly pressed it against their patient’s neck, catching her when she lost consciousness. The tray clattered to the floor and Raffi raced forward to help get the woman back on the bio-bed.

Once the patient was situated, a neural calliper affixed to monitor her brain activity, T’plokan addressed the commanding officers.

“Lieutenant Yana finished assessing the material I sent. The fibres from the patient’s clothing has been carbon dated at over 380 years old. It came from the twenty first century.”

Shaw groaned.

A few days of peace now he was being accosted by an unidentified anomaly and a time traveller. The universe must hate him.

Raffi and Seven turned to each other.

“I know the Temporal Prime Directive told us what we could and couldn’t do in the past, but is there a procedure for someone who has travelled forward in time?” Raffi wondered.

“It would explain her lack of knowledge about how she arrived here.” Seven said. “Perhaps, like the Nacene, this anomaly used displacement waves to travel through time rather than space?”

“Do you think it brought her to the future on purpose?”

Shaw interrupted their hypothesising, his head already pulsating with annoyance. What he wouldn’t give for one straightforward mission.

“Commander Seven, send a report to Starfleet Command. I’m sure there must be a protocol in place for this kind of eventuality. Doctor, how long will the patient remain under sedation?”

“I estimate five to six hours. Ample time for her internal injuries to finish healing.”

“Well then, let’s hope Starfleet get back to us by then or we’re in for another awkward conversation. Dismissed.

* * *

I couldn't resist calling the TNG cast Picard and his merry men, because I loved Qpid. This is my first Star Trek fic and I don't often write reader inserts/OCs so be kind 😅 And thanks to @mental-bycatch for the encouragement.

[kalevalakryze]

Keshiri Jedi OC, you say? 👀👀👀 (Please tell me everything about her.)

HHHHHHHH BUCKLE UP AND TYSM

asdfghjkl omg I’ve been waiting for this moment that I don’t even know where to start hang on

So, this jumbled masterpiece ! This is some of her most basic information in Aurebesh, I was actively learning it as I was writing this out so I know my T’s and especially G’s are off, but basically:

Chessaf're'krudo, also known as Chess, or Jedi Knight Krudo. She was born on Keshiri (44BBY), but she’d only been on her home planet for a short time before a Chiss Jedi Master in their chunk of wild space had come for her. The Jedi delivered her to the temple so she could hone the force sensitivity that drove the Chiss Jedi to her. The Chiss Jedi named her themselves, which is why her name is of Chiss origin.

She is eventually taken in as Mace Windu’s padawan (31BBY) (my idea was keep the purples together because I thought it would be cool, but now I am just so genuinely in love with it), they butted heads a lot as master and Padawan, Chess didn’t want to be so detached from attachment, she wanted her friends to know she cared for them, was very vocal about her connections being what kept her good, and we know he has his connections, we know he cares, but he can’t express it as well as he wants to (coming from the interpretation of him I’ve gathered in Shatterpoint).

He’s an amazing Master though, and she knows that he cares in his own Emotionally Repressed Jedi ways. He’s tried to find information about her people so she could still connect to her culture, though so little is known about Kesh and the Keshiri, that he never came up with anything.

And when it comes to emotions, Chess always ran into Depa Billaba, who had yet to take on her own Padawan, who hadn’t dealt with the horrors of Haruun Kal. Depa gave her a support in someone who related to her doubts of being good enough for Mace, and helped her navigate his many different expressions of apathy to find his true feelings.

Both of Chess’s sabers are purple, because it’s the color she’d worn on her skin with pride, even when no one knew what she was, when jeers about her background would follow on various missions, every time she ignited her blade to train with mace, purple against purple as they moved through the forms, it was just right, it’s what the force wanted. He helped her design the saber she’d had in her mind, just like he had his own, and every time she went to upgrade it or replace a damaged piece, he was there to help her and sometimes crack horrible, too serious jokes about what would happen if she forgot a certain piece. “Remember to put your crystal back in,” “Uhg, Master-“ “I’m only joking, I know you’ll remember, because I reminded you,” she is also horrible when it comes to Vapaad, both the lightsaber form and the state of mind, but she’s tried often, with both Depa and Mace to guide her. She’s no where near as proficient as them, and prefers the sixth form, with a tendency to slip back into the fifth form when cornered.

Chess passes her trials merely weeks before the first battle of Geonosis, so when they called for Jedi to load on transports and drop down into that arena, she was there. (22BBY)

When they were all cornered, she’d been in the fray, and when the fighting started back up, and she’d thrown herself at a Super Battle Droid, had melted a chunk of his rocket arm away right as he was going to launch, it had exploded in his arm. She was thrown back, to the now more already out ring of Jedi, Clone Troopers and droids battling it out in the dust.

Hot metal had torn through her, from the very bottom of her jaw on her right side, and had curled up to the bottom of her ear. Another piece had cut through starting at the bottom of her neck, arching up and slicing a good path into her neck before it had exited. Her shoulders and chest also suffered a great deal of damage, but none as life threatening as her neck.

She’d been lucky enough to fall back into Mace and Depa, had been lucky enough for him to pinch sliced arteries closed until the transport ships could start dropping. She was one of the first shuttled back to a newly minted light cruiser, and when she woke up, the Clone Wars had begun, she was a General in a war with an entire battalion of clones waiting for her to lead them, and then everything changed.

Now here comes some rapid-fire random garbage that I’m also copy-pasting from the notes I made about her, so if any of it is repeated from the blurbs I’ve just excited hyperfocus typed,,,,

•The droid piece they pulled from her body was melted down and adjusted to become the new emitter for her sabers, and she absolutely has red paint sprinkled on it so she can tell people it’s her blood.

•The 141st Battalion, the group of soldiers she was put in command of was an elite force, one of the smallest battalion sized units and broken up into three companies, with squads forming from each platoon. The group that she finds herself fighting alongside more often is Cresh, though they started to call themselves the Kesh squad after her.

•her clone commander is CC-6116, also known as Buzz, and he’s one of the strongest attachments she’s ever formed, they go hand in hand in every aspect , and are almost never apart.

•the first time Chess struggled with the dark side, it had been at Buzz’s words, while they were pinned down behind enemy lines and waiting for the other squads to form up on their position. “ you’re a Jedi, you can’t be replaced so easily, we’re just clones, we don’t matter.” Chess had shoved her hand into the lip of the armor covering his chest, had yanked him close enough that he had to meet her gaze because there was no where else to look, and she felt how easy it would be, to Fall. Because the Dark could help her free them. Maybe she could win the war if she just took that step off the edge. But she just stared at him for a moment, before she yanked him closer, before she could wrap her arms around him tight with his armor freaking at the pressure and. “Not to me, never to me,”

•the 141st paints their armor in varying degrees of purple and red in honor of their general. She forms a reputation for keeping her face hidden with her hoods, most times, by the time her enemy gets to see the red of her eyes, they’re already fading into the force. When the boys find out that her eyes are red, they started painting strips of their armor in the same color. (I’m going to post a very rough pic of the armor, that I smashed color over at 0300 at work, but the idea is so much better than this picture)

•At great personal risk, she single handedly keeps her casualty rate low, running all across the battlefield and doing what she can to protect her men. She can't save everyone however, and she mourns each loss with her soldiers too, but she's never allowed it to cloud her judgement, not since she looked into Buzz's eyes and promised him they meant everything to her. The nights she'd spent on the lines with her men was enough to remind her that the dark side wasn't going to free any of them, that the only way they'd win is if they stayed together and trusted each other.

•she has her own lightsaber ignition move. It’s trademarked, she’ll fistfight anyone who uses it But I have such a hard time explaining it: so she’ll hold out her right hand, flip the hilt up with two fingers, catch it in her palm with her finger on the ignition switch, while her arm is out parallel to the ground, the second she catches it she’ll ignite so the blade is pointed right out at her opponent, after that’s ignited, she’ll ignite her shoto in a backwards grip so it’s against the length of her arm.

•The clones give her her very first tattoo, just an outline of their helmets on her chest (keshiri females , as I'm interpreting it from jedi battle scars, don't have boobs), the scars along her chest form near perfect dark purple markings along the helmet, which eventually gets adopted as Buzz's helmet markings.

Grevious: "another lightsaber for my collection!!"

Chess: "another scar for my collection! chicks dig scars!"

To her, the force feels almost like the kind of anxiety that has you buzzing out of your skin, she can feel it around her, but instead of the fear or any other feeling associated with anxiety, it becomes a source of comfort, since it's been there all her life, however, this also means that she's always active, moving in some way, shape, or form, and her hands are almost always shaking unless she's using the force or holding her saber (thanks to her connection to the Kyber within).

That's all i have for her now, just her time in the clone wars, but she grows every single day, and I've decided that she does survive the purge, though only a small amount of soldiers were able to be saved from the chip, she still cherishes the small squad that helped her survive.

And, I'd just like to say again, asdfghjkl thank you so much for asking about her because she is literally everything to me. I also have a whole Mandalorian AU for her that's only half formed, and a HUGE time-travel fix-it fic self insert in the works right now, as well as the rest of the prompts for jedi june 2023

thank you for coming to my hot purple lady ramble

[antiadvil]

obi-wan never told you (what happened to your father)

summary: After defeating Luke on Bespin, Darth Vader reveals that he didn't kill Luke's father. Obi-Wan did. 

Inspired by the fact that the original scene was shot this way in order to prevent leaks.

rating: T

word count: 1k

a/n: I wrote this to get a break from rewatching lightsaber battles to get the details right, so no, I absolutely did not follow the prequel lightsaber battle between Anakin and Obi-Wan. I took some general themes from it but this is literally an AU where Anakin was not a Sith so it's not worth following. I did make Obi-Wan say "It's over Anakin, I have the high ground now," so I understand where any confusion may come from.

source for the originally filmed version being "Obi-Wan killed your father" if anyone is wondering

read on ao3 or under the cut

“Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father,” Vader said.

Luke gritted his teeth, moving backwards along the thin structure. His movements were slow and clumsy with only one hand. “He told me enough!” Luke shouted, “He told me you killed him!”

The lights of Bespin gleamed off of Vader’s helmet, creating the illusion of a fevered smile. “No. Obi-Wan killed your father.”

“No,” Luke said, shaking his head, “No.” The stump of his right hand was searing with pain.

“Search your feelings. You know it to be true.”

Luke refused. “No,” he said again. He tried to move backwards, but behind him was only empty air. His legs cramped desperately. His left arm was the only thing keeping him attached to the platform.

“Join me,” Vader said, “Together, we could rule the galaxy.”

Luke looked down. It was a long fall.

Vader was speaking again, but Luke couldn’t hear him. A faint buzzing filled his ears, and he knew what he had to do.

He let go of the railing.

Leia, he thought as he fell. I’m sorry.

And somehow, she heard.

***

“It’s over, Anakin! I have the high ground!” a young Obi-Wan shouted.

“No!” Anakin Skywalker shouted. His eyes were the same shade of blue as Luke’s.

“Give up. Anakin, I don’t want to have to hurt you.” But still, Obi-Wan advanced on Anakin.

Anakin twisted to block a strike from Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. “Liar,” he spat. He pushed Obi-Wan’s blade back, and pushed off the ground to jump superhumanly high, landing just a few feet higher than Obi-Wan. “Who has the high ground now?” he yelled, swinging his saber in a vicious arc downwards.

Leia seemed to sense something was wrong. She didn’t ask him, only hovered in the practiced, political way she did when she knew something was wrong.

When he told her what Vader had said, she just shook her head. “He’s lying,” she said instantly, dismissively.

Luke shook his head. He barely had the strength to admit it, but when he had searched his feelings, as the dark lord had asked, he knew Vader was telling the truth.

It didn’t make sense. Nothing did.

Leia frowned. “You’re sure?”

Luke nodded.

She sighed, resting her chin on her arms. “I’m sorry.”

Anakin’s right arm was the first to go. He reached for his lightsaber with his left hand, but it had fallen out of his reach. He growled, launching himself at Obi-Wan anyways, only to fall when he lost his legs with another flick of Obi-Wan’s saber. He screamed, swinging his only remaining arm to catch Obi-Wan in the leg, causing him to momentarily stumble.

Obi-Wan growled, swinging his lightsaber down again.

“Does this mean… Is Vader… right?” Luke asked.

“He cut your hand off.” Leia sounded amused. “Whoever Obi-Wan was, Vader can’t be much better.”

Luke stared at his new hand. “I guess,” he said.

Leia placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to follow either one of them if you don’t want to.”

She was right, but Luke didn’t know how to begin forging his own path in a galaxy like this. Not when nothing he knew about the Force could be trusted. “Then who do I follow?” he asked.

Leia said, “I don’t know,” and sounded very small. “Luke… keep in mind that you don’t know what happened between your father and Obi-Wan. It may not be as simple as you think.”

“Then why wouldn’t he tell me?” Luke choked on the last two words and swallowed, hard. No matter what happened, the lies still stung.

Leia sighed. “I don’t know.” He could tell it pained her to admit it.

“Your father… He and Obi-Wan…” The first time Luke ever heard Leia speak, it was to plead for Obi-Wan’s help. Her adoptive father had told her to seek Obi-Wan out. He had promised her safety with the man he fought alongside in the Clone Wars.

He hadn’t been her mentor, the way he was to Luke, but Leia must be reeling from the betrayal as well.

“My father was a good man,” Leia said quietly.

Luke wanted to be able to say the same about his own father, but he wasn’t sure anymore. Who should he trust? The desert hermit who had skirted the edges of his life for nineteen years, or the father he had never met?

What was left of Anakin Skywalker’s body tumbled down a rocky hill towards a lake of lava. He screamed in rage, his body crackling with electric energy as he tried and failed to harness force lightning. “You’ll pay for this,” he wheezed.

Obi-Wan smiled, striding over. He kicked Anakin’s body into the lava, and watched as it disintegrated into ash.

***

Leia told him not to go back to Yoda, but Luke needed answers.

The old green creature was waiting for him in his hut. When Luke asked him about what Vader had said, Yoda closed his eyes and sank into a seat on his bed.

It told Luke everything he had to know. “Why?” he asked. He threw himself on the ground next to Yoda and seized his arm. “Why did Ben kill my father? Why did you and Ben lie to me?”

Yoda opened his eyes slowly, blinking. “The fall of the Jedi order… a dark time, it was. Brother turned against brother. Master against apprentice.”

“Why?” Luke asked.

Yoda turned away from Luke. “For the greater good, we believed.”

“Was it?” Luke demanded.

Yoda didn’t answer.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Luke said plaintively.

“Wiser, Obi-Wan thought it. Hurt it would only bring.”

“I’m hurting now.”

Yoda turned his large amber eyes back to Luke. “Exactly.”

Luke felt a rush of irritation. “You couldn’t hide it from me forever.”

“You were not ready,” Yoda said.

Luke laughed. “Would I ever be?”

“Rest, you must let me,” Yoda said, “Long… day it has been.”

Luke sighed and sat back on his heels. He watched as Yoda’s green body disintegrated, as Obi-Wan’s had done years before. He closed his eyes, trying to summon Ben’s force ghost, begging for answers, but no one appeared.

[calyxthenerd]

Group Vacation Surprises

What is everyone up to? How are all our couples fairing? How many mexicanless (and Ninaless) groups have gotten lost? And what is Delfi up to?

Previous Chapter

Down by the piers

“So, what do you think?” asked the flannel-wearing guitarist

“What I think???? What I think???? What I think is i don’t know how we didn’t do a collab yet!!”

“Well, now that Nico’s back and we have the band in full swing and you’re launching your solo career, we haven’t exactly had the time to plan this type of thing, we were lucky that we managed to align everyone’s schedules for this week, with Matteo’s album and business school, Ámbar’s work, Delfi’s journalism, Jazmin’s fashion, your and Jim’s music comedy school, Gastón and Nina who had to fly in from England, everything with the team that has kept Luna, Ramiro and Emilia busy, we’re following different paths, and I’m thankful that we make a little time for reunions like this”

“Yeah, me and Jim have been talking about it a lot, and we really miss having everyone together all day…”

In a nearby aquarium

“Look at the dolphins Di!!!!! They’re so pretty!!!!” screeches the bow wearer, tugging on her boyfriend’s shirt

“I’m seeing them, preciosa, they are pretty, not as much as you, though” flirts the Spaniard, as his boyfriend hugs his waist from behind, resting his chin on top of the shorter one’s head

“You two having fun?”

“The only thing wrong is that she’s paying more attention to those animals than to me, and also, these disguises suck, after the whole fiasco with the girl’s alter egos I didn’t really want to wear a wig again, though I look hot with sunglasses” complains the shorter male, resting his hands on top of his boyfriend’s and leaning into his touch

“Don’t worry DiDi, you have all my attention, and you look hot in anything” Marco breathes out against his ear, leaving him squirming

“Marco, we’re in public”

“You know full well it’s not going to show, relax, it’s fine, love” he assures him, before their girlfriend pulls them away to the next exhibit

On a random street near the ocean

“Bet you can’t catch me, Chico Fresa!” challenges the moonchild, zooming away

“You’re on, Chica Delivery!” bites back the Italian, racing after her, catching up to her after a while, and moving past her, only to stop in front of her, causing her to crash into him due to the speed and fall, making him have to catch her, lest she hurt herself, then they stare into each other’s eyes, with him holding her by her back and her arms around his neck, they start moving closer to each other until-

“Hey!!! You’re Leon’s cousin’s friends, right????” Asks a bubbly, cheery voice, popping the bubble they had wrapped themselves in

“Andrés! They were clearly having a moment! I’m so sorry for my friend here, he’s not the best with reading a room, we’ll leave you two to your thing, we have a nightclub to get to” he grabs Andrés by the arm and starts dragging him away

“Esperen!” calls out the short girl, making them stop on their tracks “Can we go with you guys? We’re done skating and I’m pretty sure my aunt’s house is in the way to the place you’re going to, so we can go there and drop off our things and I can borrow some of my cousin’s clothes to change into, Simón actually told me some stories about the times he went there, Can we go Matteo? Pleaseeeeeeee????”

“You know full well I can’t say no to you, specially with that face, so, if it’s alright with these guys, we can join them”

“It’s fine by me, from what I hear, you Mexicans are great at parties, and I can’t wait to find out how much truth there is to that statement”

“I’m from Argentina- you know what? Whatever, let’s go, we are wasting time!” She grabs her boyfriend’s hand and rolls away, with the other two scrambling to follow “Also, why are you wearing scarves around your faces and caps? It’s really hot out”

They both look at each other and back at her “Long story”

In fancy restaurant on the other side of town

“You really thought about everything, huh? If we didn’t have this booth, the entirety of Cancún would be after us already”

“Good thing I thought to pay everyone that served us extra to keep quiet and told everyone to bring disguises, right? I always thought you looked really good in that pink wig…”

“Mi Sueño, you know full well how much I loathe that thing, I would’ve burned it if it wasn’t such a dangerous thing to do, imagine if I caused a fire by trying to erase my past! I could never have forgiven myself” she bites her lip nervously at the thought

He grabs both her hands on his own, kissing both her knuckles, one right after the other “Don’t worry, you would never be so selfish to cause that much harm to other people by doing this sort of thing, you’re incredible, mi sueño, since the first time I met you, I knew you were the one for me, and since that day, I have not stopped loving you for a second, even on all the times I was furious at you, or myself, the love never really went away, through all the trials and tribulations we went through together, the tours, the screaming matches, that brief period we tried being friends-” he chuckled “the miscommunications and all our ups and downs, it’s always been there” he pauses, fishing something out of his pocket and kneeling on the ground, opening a little red velvet box, showing a ring “so that’s why, in name of that love, I wanted to ask you, Violetta Castillo, will you marry me?”

Somewhere, a few kilometers out of the mexican coast

“So, Em, since when do you have a boating license?”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, gorgeous” says the goth, leaning against her girlfriend’s chest, where they’re laying on the outside of the boat, watching the sunset

“Mysterious, I love it”

Suddenly, the other girl goes quiet and sits up, looking at the heiress

“What is it, hermosa?”

“Ámbar… have you ever though we’d get here?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know… we did a lot of bad stuff in the past, when we were hurting, but have you ever thought we could get out of that and heal, just to end up in this beautiful place, together?”

“I can’t say that this is the life I expected for myself, but it’s definitely better than anything I’ve could have imagined” she pulls her girlfriend close by the neck, kissing her

On the path back to the hotel

“Thank you so much for accompanying me, after Delfi bailed on us, which sucks, because her fashion taste is leagues better than you guys’”

“Hey!”

“What? It’s the truth! anyways, we’re here, let’s go, my room is on the sixth floor, we’ll leave the bags there, and then maybe go out for drinks?”

“Sounds good, after carrying all these bags, I could use a little booze, Pedro?” says the bassist

“I’m down, this is supposed to be a trip to relax anyways”

They quickly dispose of all the bags in Delfi and Jazmin’s room and head out to a bar

At the airport

“Where is she??? Her flight was supposed to have landed a while ago already! She should be here by now!” Delfi questions herself, before feeling a pair of hands cover her eyes

“Guess who?” Asks a voice in heavily accented spanish

The black haired girl quickly pulled the hands away, smiling, and turned around, hugging her british companion “Emma!! I’m so glad you could make it!”

[niveussol]

Chapter like, 50 in a Persona 5 fanfic that doesn't exist yet (but it's a scene I really liked, so I yearned to Post It)

A Past Forgotten; Fates Ungotten

Chapter (Like) 50:

Airi gathers the Phantom Thieves and tells them everything-- and brings Akechi down to see the rest of the team. Makoto is immediately suspicious, as is Joker, Ryuji, and Morgana. Airi bows deeply in front of the group, and asks them: “I know what I did wasn’t right. We never intended to damage him, or change his heart, or any of it-- but we learned too much, and now he’s going to do something terrible sooner than we can act--- unless we act now.” Futaba is the first, surprisingly, to agree. She says that “we can’t wait for some guy to learn nuclear launch codes and deploy them before we do anything. Or.. something.” Yusuke takes her side right away, saying, “it is better to act with Surety and good intent, than to falter and allow injustice and devastation to occur. Furthermore, I trust Airi with my life. She’s already saved it.”

Airi becomes emotional-- hearing it means a lot to her-- but she hides it. Instead, she asks to speak with Akira-- alone. They go upstairs. She makes sure to whisper so any potential ‘Futaba bugs’ don’t overhear. Morgana sneaks up and listens at the threshold, out of sight, of course, so he hears the full conversation go as follows:

“I’m going to attempt to change his heart, no matter what. I know the Phantom Thieves have to agree on their target. I understand that will make me an enemy of the Phantom Thieves. I know it’s wrong of me to decide that my path is right, and follow my ideals blindly, even if the team decides against my judgment-- but i cannot look away from what this man is capable of. He could end the world. I think he might. I won’t run from him. And… I know that it will be hard defeating him on my own. Akechi is powerful, but he’s still recovering from his time comatose, even today. He’s still relearning his strength. He may never be as strong, again. He’s a different man now. The two of us will probably fail, on our own.”

“However….. I cannot tell the rest of the team my plans. I don’t want them to feel pressured to enter the metaverse blindly just to keep me alive, to keep me safe. It would not be right of me to hold my life over their heads. And I’m not holding my life over your head either. It’s not your job to convince your team what’s right-- they already know. But you have a right to know what I’m planning. You’ve kept me alive, and safe, thus far. I owe you… I owe you so much. You, at least, deserve to know the truth.”

Akira doesn’t say much back-- he never really does. But he does say: “So… this is the path you’re choosing?”

Airi just nods and says… “yeah. This is my purpose. I’m the only one that can do what I do. I have to do this, even if it spells my end. Even if I’m. Even if I’m…. scared. Of dying in vain, and failing. I’ll still do it.”

“Well.” he says. “Looks like I know my path, too.”

One by one, the phantom thieves come to agree, all except for Makoto. “What if this is a trap, and we never knew Airi, really? What if her plan was this all along, to bait us into doing exactly the wrong thing?”

Akechi speaks up after that. “You’ve spent all this time with her, and yet you still don’t know her? I don’t know if you know who I am, but I am a murderer, a criminal, a liar, a traitor, even. I’m supposed to be a cold, heartless killer, according to this world. I thought I was. Despite everything though, I was shown that even a monster like me has a heart-- and she’s the one who made me see it.” he says it, and Airi can’t see him through her closed-tight eyes, but she knows he’s pointing to her. “SHE made me realize that I’m capable of doing good, by my own merit-- that I don’t have to have a reason. That I will never make up for my sins, but that I can still atone and right some wrongs in this world. She’s good as good gets-- Don’t distrust her because I made her swear to keep my operations a secret.”

“You can say whatever you want,” Makoto says. “But the truth is, none of us know who Airi truly is. And she has no problem doing things behind our backs-- like she did with pulling Akane into the metaverse. Like she did with her foray into Officer Mashime’s Hallowed Grounds-- like she did, every time she consorted with the wanted criminal known as Goro Akechi.”

“Makoto-- p-please… it’s okay,” Airi says, nearly squeaking the words out. “I understand. You’re right. I’ve done little to justify the trust I’ve gotten from the Phantom Thieves. I’ve kept secrets, even since our first meeting, where I pretended not to understand Morgana. You’re probably right to distrust me. If I were you, I don’t know if I could trust me, either. So… just. Say what must be said.”

Makoto takes a breath. “I reject the notion that we should change Aoi Konuta’s heart.”

“But, Mako-chan…” Haru states. “W-we have to be unanimous… if you don’t agree, then… we’ll lose our opportunity. We might allow something horrible to happen.”

“We’ve saved the world from gods three times,” Makoto states. “If something happens, we can fix it, like we always have. But I’m not walking into a trap with my friends without knowing half of what we can expect. I’m not going to let my friends get killed in a vague attempt to do ‘what’s right’. There’s a reason we have a code-- and it’s to keep us from faltering, from making a big mistake. We follow it, lest we lose our way. And I’m not losing my way or my friends, because I trusted someone that I should not have.”

Airi feels her heart nearly stop-- she realizes that she’s about to Waver, and stops it-- it’s painful to reverse that process, she finds. But, through her heart pain, through the pain of being spoken to like… like a villain. Airi just bows and says: “Thank you for being the voice of reason, Makoto. The Phantom Thieves are lucky to have you-- and, that’s not. That’s not sarcastic. I mean it from the bottom of my heart.”

And, just like that, she takes off her apron, and walks to the door. She thinks there’s not much she can say, but figured it’d be rude to just leave without saying: “I’ll catch you guys later.”

She knows she can’t just enter the Hallowed Grounds today-- she still has to construct a calling card. She has to find a way to get it to him. She’ll figure it out. As long as it keeps her from thinking too much about the inevitability of her fate: she’ll do it.

She sidles out the door quickly.

Akira speaks up-- it’s not something he does often, but he does it: “Akechi. I’ve never heard you say something so sincere before. About anyone. You respect her more than anything, don’t you?”

Akechi scoffs. “She’s the strongest Phantom Thief of all of you. I’ve seen you all win every battle, despite less-than-stellar odds-- I’ve even seen you--” he points at Akira “--reign victorious, all on your own-- you all don’t lose.

“But the moment that she awakened for the first time, she was already dying. She’d been stabbed through the heart. She was alone. Anyone, ANYONE else would have died. But her? She was furious at the world. I saw a fury that could rend the world in two, if she saw fit-- she’d been betrayed by the forces that be-- she’d nearly been killed, killed by a demon. She could have awakened, killed him, and continued down a bitter path, filled with anger and strife-- she should have.

“But she didn’t. She didn’t because she was strong enough to fight for JUSTICE. TRUE JUSTICE. She was strong enough to be kind, even after suffering like she did. She was strong enough to win on her own. Alone. Without help, or aid. I could have helped her. I could have saved her before she was stabbed, had I bothered to-- but I didn’t, and she never held it against me, even though she should have. She’s strong enough to see reason, even when she’s hurting, even when her allies-- her friends--” he spits the word with venom, clearly pointing it to Makoto-- “are hurting, or even outright don’t believe in her. When her friends betray her unbreaking trust in them.

“She’s strong enough to face Konuta alone and kill him-- but she won’t take the easy way. She believes in living for what’s right more than she believes in her right to live. She’s better than all of you. Of course I respect her.”

The room is a little quiet-- Makoto’s face goes red, clearly emotional, conflicted, but trying to hold her ground.

Yusuke stands up.

“She had ample opportunity to sit down and live a quiet life in peace. She could have done it all this time-- but she sees the beauty in the world-- she knows she must preserve it at any cost.

“For some time, I had forgotten how it felt to defend the precious and delicate harmony of this world. I’d forgotten how to hold a brush-- what making a decision felt like. I grew cold. She assured me that I’d known all along-- that I could find that power again, even when my inaction had caused her to come to harm. I couldn’t see it, until I was confronted with two worlds: a world where I did not act, and lost everything; or a world in which I risked it all to stand for that which I believe in. To protect that which was most dear to me. I succeeded, and it’s only because she believed that I could. I came away with a perspective I never understood before-- and I will never forget it again.

“I must, therefore, ask that you reconsider your stance, Makoto. Reconsider throwing aside your inhibitions, and seek to protect that which is dear to you.”

Makoto avoids his powerful gaze.

Futaba speaks up.

“Airi… when Inari got really, really hurt in the Hallowed Grounds in Sapporo, I thought my heart was going to break in half. Inari threw himself in harm’s way, just so that I could be safe-- and then Airi stood between him and that mob boss, barely hanging on. She gave me the opportunity to pull him out of danger.

“When we got out of there, I felt all twisted up inside-- I felt so guilty that I’d allowed my.. my best friend to get hurt like that-- and still, she pulled me aside. And you know what she did? SHE apologized. SHE, the woman who had just saved us said sorry-- that if she had been stronger on the beach, had stood up to that creep, Inari would not have been confronted with such strong feelings of doubt.

“I cried that night-- I cried for hours and hours, I couldn’t stop crying. She held me and told me that everything would be okay-- that he would be awake, bright and early the next day. And she was right. He was awake before the sun came up, back to his old self again-- I wanted to cry again, but all I could do was smile. She helped me g-get rid of all my tears, so that I could show him, show everyone a brave smile. I trust her with everything I have in me.”

Makoto shuts her eyes-- she can’t take that gaze.

Surprising everyone, Shiho chimes in.

“When I met her, I was surprised she’d… she’d been assaulted by a man. Her demeanor was demure, and kind, and she didn’t look at men with fear. After what I went through at Shujin, it shocked me-- she took her pain in stride, everyday. It’s been years, and I still hurt. It’s hard to be brave in the face of that pain-- but seeing her thrive was inspiring to me. She reminded me of Ann. Her heart is strong.”

“Shiho…” Ann says.

“When the shooting happened in Sapporo, and we were caught in the middle of it, I saw her face-- I saw fear-- no, terror. But I saw it-- I saw her expression change. She buried that fear in calculations, looking at all of us. She calmed herself and told us to get under the table. Her hands were over her heart-- I almost thought she was having a heart attack, she looked so in pain. And then… time slowed down. We heard Morgana’s voice for the first time, as he leapt in to stop a cognition from attacking us. She’d saved us.

“If she hadn’t considered us, she could have slipped into the Hallowed Grounds by herself. She could have left us to die-- but she didn’t. And when she and Morgana were beaten by shadows, she told us to run. She was afraid. But she clearly cared about our safety and our lives above her own.

“Makoto-chan… I know we don’t know each other very well. And maybe we don’t know her very well, either. But, even with everything we don’t know about her, I do know this: She saved my life; Hifumi-chan’s life, and Akane-chan’s life that day. I know that I’m not obligated to trust her-- but I want to trust the woman who sacrificed her safety-- her life so that we might live.”

Akane speaks next. “Makoto… I don’t understand why you can’t trust her on this. You all hid Phantom Thief activity from the world-- my own dad hid it from me! My… big sisters kept the truth from me. To me, you were all doing things behind my back, but I didn’t mind it-- I know you all had good reasons for doing what you did. She’s a Phantom Thief-- she’s done so much good with you. So why… why can’t you trust her?”

“Akane-chan…” Makoto says. She opens her eyes, unfallen tears obscuring her view of everyone. “I didn’t want to tell everyone this, since these cases were unconfirmed.” She takes a deep breath, and exhales. “Sae’s been working on an investigation-- in fact, the catalyst for it was Airi, herself. Sae probably wanted to learn more about Airi’s interaction with Akechi, rather than anything else. She didn’t find many answers at first. But… a week later, another patient wound up at the same hospital Airi went to-- his skin, hair, and eyes had turned stark-white.”

Everybody looks surprised, and even Akechi’s dour look softens.

“He was comatose,” she continued. “But, Sae was able to speak with the patient’s wife. The wife couldn’t explain what had happened, just that, one morning, she woke up to find her husband had lost all his color, and couldn’t wake up.” Makoto pauses, trying to calm her heart. Speak a little slower. Take your time, she tells herself.

“Two months later, another man-- and a wealthy one, at that-- was sent to a hospital in Kabukicho with the same symptoms.”

“Where we changed the Hacker’s heart?!” Ryuji asks.

“Yes,” Makoto says. “Right after we changed his heart, in fact. His sister explained to Sae a story much like the first patient’s wife. But it doesn’t stop there-- two months after that, a man fell into the same pallor in Sumida-- the police officer who murdered Chiaki’s parents. Right after he’d been arrested.”

“M-Mako-chan…” Haru muttered. “You’re not suggesting that you think Airi-chan is responsible, are you?”

Futaba butts in, stammering, “Y-yeah, there’s no way that Airi did anything to those guys-- if anything, they’re just afflicted with the same thing!”

“But it’s strange how the events seemed to follow the changes of heart she took part in,” Akechi posited. “First in February, then April and June. Even so, it would be completely out of character for her to ruin anyone’s lives.”

“That’s how I saw it, too--” Makoto continued. “--when Sae explained all this to me. I thought to myself, ‘there’s no way that Airi was capable of doing this to people.’ But… in late-August, another person went pallid. In Sapporo. A previous mayor lost consciousness and fell into the same sort of coma the other patients experienced.”

Haru’s eyes go wide. “Y-you don’t mean--!”

“I do mean,” Makoto replied. “Headlines read, ‘Disgraced Ex-Mayor Mariko Hyodo Falls Into Mysterious Coma.’”

Haru’s eyes gloss over, and she looks at her phone, tapping away here and there on it. “No… no wonder Mari-san never answered my calls or texts after our vacation. She… she’s…”

Makoto places her hand on Haru’s shoulder, crouching down to hug her from the side. She knows how much Mariko Hyodo meant to Haru.

“I’m sorry Haru. I promise, if it turns out these events are connected to the metaverse-- like I think they are-- then we’ll figure out a way to restore them to their previous selves.”

“I’m sorry to cut in,” Yusuke cuts-in. “But is that all? Or is there something more to these cases you haven’t yet shared with us? So far, I remain unconvinced of Airi’s involvement.”

Makoto sighs, and releases her hold on Haru. “Two more patients cropped up. One in October, at Shujin Academy-- a student, in fact.” Everyone gasps, and Akane nearly shrieks. “And the most recent one was three days ago.”

“But, wait,” Ryuji says. “We haven’t changed any hearts this month.”

“Which begs the question-- who did?” Makoto asks, pointedly. Her gaze lands on Akechi, distrust mounting as her heart begins to beat faster. “Airi has been especially busy this month-- I hear she’s missed a lot of work, as well.”

Akechi doesn’t even blink at the attack-- he sighs, resisting the urge to ‘tut tut tut’ her logic, but settles on: “Correlation isn’t causation, Niijima-san. Simply because a Change of Heart preceded the other comatose incidents doesn’t mean they’re caused by them.”

Makoto decides she really, really does hate this man. “I know that. But it would be foolish to ignore the quantity of coincidences in all these cases. Furthermore, I know that you and Airi have been keeping in touch-- using pagers-- since at least August. Probably before that, too. If the two of you have kept in contact this long, then it’s highly possible you arranged times to carry out these plans.”

“And to what end?” Akechi asks. “What would Airi-san or I have against a husband, a brother, a child, and a disgraced mayor?” Haru trembles and chokes a sob at the insult. “The cop, I understand your suspicion, at least. He was a terrible person. And.. ah, my apologies. Who was the last comatose patient? You neglected to tell us, Niijima-san,” Akechi says, using his sickly-innocent detective prince demeanor.

She doesn’t answer right away.

In fact, tens of seconds go by, with all eyes on her.

Then, she realizes she can’t contain the emotions no matter what techniques she tries.

“It’s Sae. She’s turned bone-white and hasn’t woken up,” Makoto rasps.

Haru lets out another sob, then covers her face with a tissue, weeping softly into it. Futaba’s and Yusuke’s eyes go wide and they become extremely still. Akira looks at everyone else-- Ann, Shiho, Sophia, and Hifumi, looking at each other; Ryuji, Shinya, Atsuki and Zenkichi sit with their mouths agape, stares unwavering from Makoto. He notices the shock in Akechi’s face-- completely stunned silence.

It’s Akane that breaks it.

“WHY didn’t you tell me that Sae was in the hospital?!” Akane shouts. “My oldest sister was targeted and you didn’t bother to tell me that THAT is why she wasn’t home during Christmas?! NOW who’s keeping secrets from who?!”

“I wanted to tell you-- I wanted to tell you all. But Sae made me swear all of this information to secrecy while she was awake. I wanted to pick up the case where she left off. I wanted to have faith in Airi, believe that she would never do something like this to anyone-- but Sae shared all of this with me two months ago, when the Shujin student went comatose. She said, ‘If even one more person falls into a coma, I’m going to confront Airi about what she knows.’” Makoto huffs, trying to dispel the bitterness in her throat. “And then this happens.” Tears sneak past the corner of her eyes, and fall down her cheeks. She pulls Haru back into that side-hug embrace, trying to find any sort of comfort.

“Dude…” Ryuji says.

“Sae-san…” Akechi says. “Was she close to some sort of breakthrough, Niijima-san? Perhaps she made a powerful enemy.” Makoto opens her mouth to speak, but is cut off abruptly. “Someone besides Airi-san.”

“I… I don’t know,” Makoto rasps out. “The timing is alarming. It’s almost as if…”

“...as if it was planned,” Akira finishes. (as if it was a rush job/as if the culprit couldn’t wait for a better time)

Futaba shakes her head. “No, that can’t be right… no, no it’s not right at all!” she says. “The timing would be perfect, had we changed a heart already this month-- It’s December 27th. This is later than any change of heart we’ve done in a month.. this year, anyway. There could be multiple reasons why this time is different, but a definite possibility is that the culprit expected us to follow our pattern of changing hearts-- one change every two months, somewhere in the middle-- in fact, besides the target Airi told us about today, we haven’t planned any changes of hearts! A potential culprit would have had to choose someone without being able to find a perfect candidate in a perfect place to… albinize! Comatize? Comatize!”

“You’re right, Sakura-san,” Akechi says, a little surprised at her sound logic. “Whoever is responsible for these victims’ conditions-- if a person is indeed responsible-- chose the one person who cared about this case. There was no viable target. They chose a target of convenience, in lieu of a target that correlates with the others. It seems as though someone is rather intent on framing the Phantom Thieves, or at least Airi-san, in these attacks. Perhaps they wanted to sow distrust between her, and the other Phantom Thieves… but anyone doing something like that would have to know who the players are…”

Everyone looks at Akechi. “I appreciate the suspicion, but I meant it when I said I respect Airi more than anyone else in this shit reality. But… regardless, I actually have a suspect in mind. Or, at least, a connecting thread to all of this. But you’re not going to like it, Niijima-san.”

Makoto leers at Akechi through tear-swollen eyes. “You had better not conveniently pin it on your current target--”

“Ugh. Obviously that’s what he’s going to say,” Ann interrupts.

“For certain,” Sophia agrees.

“100%,” Futaba adds.

“No more interjections?” Akechi spits.

“Rule of three’s--” Futaba clarifies. “I’d say you’re good to go, Detective.”

He takes a breath in, then out. “I will explain, but it might take some time. To start: yes, it is our target, Aoi Konuta. But there’s a reason he’s our target. I asked her to take me into his Hallowed Ground, because my investigation halted when I hit upon his connection to the case.”

“Question,” Futaba asks. “What exactly were you investigating? I was joking about the whole ‘detective’ thing.”

“My survival, to be frank with you. When we confronted Doctor Maruki, I had already believed myself to be dead-- Doctor Maruki had even all-but-confirmed it. I’ve been searching for answers since I woke up-- and thanks to Airi-san, I finally found them. Most of the mystery has been cleared up for me.”

“So what happened, then? How did you survive our encounter in Shido’s Palace?” Akira asks softly.

Akechi turns so he can see Akira more directly. “In Konuta’s Hallowed Grounds, we stumbled across a memory of his. On the day that I should have died, Konuta heard a scream come from the Diet building’s boiler room.” He paused, unsure if the Phantom Thieves deserved to know-- but seeing Akira’s soft expression, all doubt melted away. “He opened the door to find me, bleeding profusely on the floor-- and beside me, a young woman clutching her heart. It appeared to be a heart attack. He arranged for us to be carried off, and taken somewhere he knew we would be off the grid. He told his secretary in that moment, that ‘he could learn everything he could about us, medically-- and perhaps he’d be able to mimic the power of metaverse traversal.’ He was in-the-know, after all,” Akechi clarified. “He was a strong supporter and ally to Shido, so he knew about me, specifically. But it was odd he mentioned the woman could travel between, as well.”

Akira’s eyes go wide, a reaction normally out-of-character for him. “You’re saying the woman in the memory was Airi,” he blurted. “He sent you two to that shady hospital. She was studied. The doctor learned something and forwarded that information to Konuta. And now Konuta’s abusing that power to frame her, now that she’s loose-- and Sae got too close to learning the truth of it all, so he had her eliminated from the game.”

Akechi smiles. “Finally, someone with common sense. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Hold on,” Makoto says. It’s not a request. Everyone turns and listens. “There’s one more piece of information I have for you, regarding the comatose patients. The final nail in the coffin. It’s what made me consider her to be… using us. Lying to us.

“...The first patient woke up four days ago,” she said. “Sis-- Sae-- was still awake. She questioned him right away, but the patient had no memory to speak of. The ONLY thing he could tell Sae was that the very last thing he remembered was seeing a woman dressed in white, with white hair and pale white skin. He told Sae that the woman pulled his heart out of his chest.”

“He remembers a woman pulling his heart out of his chest?” Zenkichi asks. “You kids don’t think that sounds awfully Jail-like-- like how Desires were taken-- do you?”

“It certainly sounds dire,” Yusuke replies.

“A woman who is entirely white? It does match her description.” Hifumi adds.

“--but I don’t think that means it’s her,” Futaba continues.

“Because this guy’s just setting her up…” Ryuji added. “...right?”

“I hope you mean Konuta and not the patient who just woke up from a nine-month coma,” Makoto warned.

Ryuji sputtered. “Bwuhh-- of COURSE I meant Konuta! He saw what Airi looked like in that boiler room several years ago, so he knows just how to fake her appearance and confuse the victims!” he says, proudly.

“Unfortunately, when Konuta saw Airi-san in the boiler room, she wasn’t painted white-- her skin took on a somewhat healthier, tanner-hue; her eyes were dark; and her hair was black as night. The only consistency in her appearance from then and now lies in her facial structure, her shape, and her ridiculously-long hair. I hate to say it, but he might have no idea what she looks like, today. The witness protection seems to have done her some good-- we didn’t find any sign he’d detected her current existence, while we were at his Hallowed Grounds.”

“He doesn’t know about her?” Ann asked. “But… if he knows about the metaverse, then he’s totally been keeping tabs on the changes of heart.. right? So how can he not suspect she’s a part of this?”

Akechi responds, “If I were to guess, it’s because he had never been made aware of the meta-nav. Without knowing about it, he’d have to assume the entry to the metaverse required a different sort of method. Perhaps he believed the Phantom Thieves were operating under their previous capabilities all this time. Maybe he wrote off the existence of the comatose girl once she was no-longer of any use to him. It’d make sense, considering he cut off Doctor Hashiba’s funding entirely right before he snapped.”

“Wait, I just realized something,” Sumire suddenly muttered. “We’re disproving the existence of a ‘culprit’ besides Airi-chan. That simply won’t do,” she finishes, plopping her cheek onto her fist, letting it support her head.

Akechi places his elbows on the table and props his chin on his hands. He expounds, “Konuta may or may not know about Airi, but that memory we saw of someone receiving heart surgery might suggest that he has someone working in the metaverse, now. That procedure to augment a heart with the power to Waver between was finalized by an associate of Konuta’s. It’s likely that he has at least one agent doing sinister work in the metaverse.”

“That’s a convenient fact Akechi, but I’d say the specificity of the recently-recovered coma patient is much better proof than your correlation,” says Makoto.

“Really?” Akechi asked. “A man with no other memory than the one that conveniently points the finger at Airi-san is hardly proof-- it’s unsubstantiated hearsay, and little else. The description is hardly specific, I’ll add-- it mentions white hair, clothes, and skin-- but if he’s talking about our Dove, he missed the most prominent detail.”

Makoto’s eyebrows shoot up. She responds: “Her mask.”

“Furthermore,” Akechi continues, smiling now, “there’s now an array of people turning pallid-- apparently, they’re waking up, as well. Who’s to say a previous patient isn’t infecting healthy people for their own benefit? Since we’re accusing Airi-san, anyway.”

Makoto closes her fists-- she doesn’t know if Airi can be trusted, but now there’s a reason for the Phantom Thieves to enter this politician’s Hallowed Grounds. Makoto breathes in and out. She speaks: “...You’re right. Sae would never have accepted such weak proof. She might have gone along with his story to learn more, but she doesn’t accept a statement as truth just because it fits the facts as she knows them-- she scrutinizes every detail. It appears the only way I’m going to learn more about this, and continue Sae’s investigation, is by gleaning whatever info we can from Konuta.”

Haru gasps, as does Futaba, Yusuke, Shiho, and Akane.

“Does this mean…?” Haru asks.

“Yes,” Makoto replies. “If everyone else is in: then I’m in, too.”

[strawhatsoraya]

Sanji x Reader

Mango Juice

SANJI X READER | FEM! READER, SHE/HER

WORD COUNT: 1,301 words

CW: Sanji is sick and tired of y/n shit, brown curly haired y/n doing the most on a sunny day, mangoes are juicy and salacious, a little bit NSFW, mostly teasing nothing serious

A BADLY WRITTEN SUMMARY: The one where Sanji decides he’s going to fix the y/n problem he has but he feeds her instead, he is a gentleman! Most of the time, and Luffy tries to invite himself over for a midnight snack

this is the last of the prompts picked by @soleilnomoon. The prompt was "I want to please you." So here is some Sanji. It's on the shorter end than some of my fics but I hope you're still happy :'( Thanks for keeping me busy and sorry for the delays. My attention span is all over the place with Gigi and her broken leg.

You had been teasing him for days on end, trying to meet the last line of his patience. Sanji thought there was nothing he couldn’t handle in all the seas but he never accounted for your tenacity.

He was tired of the looks you launched at him when he was least expecting it. You often found an excuse to pass him by–to squeeze where you didn’t fit, just enough to graze your breasts against his back or chest. You relished the way he would hold his breath, anything to avoid hissing within earshot. You’d giggle at his reddeding face and walk away, not before letting your fingers brush his chest on your way out.

He was tired of feeling your presence in every room; like a heavy heat weighing his shoulders down. His brown eyes would seek out yours and find your plush lips stretched into a smile. He was tired of the growing warmth at the bottom of his belly when he watched you rub cocoa butter on your legs. He tired of smelling it on you at dinner time, or when you’d sneak into the kitchen while he cooked to ‘just have a taste’ of what he was preparing.

He grew tired of the way he wanted to give  you a taste, alright, and how shameful it made him feel.

He quickly grew tired of that too; tired of waiting.

The sun was docked on an island and the crew had all gone shopping. Sanji had given Nami a list of groceries, as she requested. Everything was taken care of–everything except the annoying itch he couldn’t scratch. Sanji didn’t know or understand the reason for you to stay behind; something about being too hot to walk around. If it was too hot, then why were you sprawled out on the lawn chair, ass up in nothing but a bikini bottom.

Where had your top gone? Disappeared along with your common sense?

He swallows and approaches you despite the possibility of a nosebleed. Saliva thick, he pushes it down with sheer determination. You had called his name. It would be rude to ignore you.

“Yes, my dear?” he asks slowly. You hum upon hearing his voice and turn your head to look at him. Your face is partially covered by your tight curls but he can still see the smile on your lips; the tiniest twinkle in your eye. He feels his face heat up. He knows you’re up to no good again but can’t bring himself to leave you alone.

“I’m feeling a little thirsty,” you say with a pout and reach towards him, fingers grazing a knee. He pulls away sharply and clears his throat. 

“I’ll bring you something,” he says and leaves just as quickly. Once inside the kitchen, there were no witnesses, so he allowed himself to scream silently–at least this once. Having regained his composure, he prepares a quick drink–something sparkly, and grabs some mango from the fridge that he had already prepared earlier this morning.

He meets you on the deck again, his eyes following the path of the sweat dripping down your brown back; he is mesmerized by the slickness of your oil coated legs, the way they shine under the sun. You turn slightly to meet him, one arm draped across your breasts. He breathes out harshly, fighting for control.

Your arm is barely enough to contain them. They spill over the top, teasing him. 

He places the drink down on the small table next to you, and grabs a piece of mango from the plate with dextrous fingers. “Here, open up,” he commands gently and places the juicy slice of mango against your lips. You watch his gaze, how his heavy lids barely contain the heat in his eyes, the way his cheeks are rosy pink. You can’t help but notice how his lips remain parted, anticipating your next move. You smile against the fruit, watch the juice drip down his fingers before giving it a careful lick. 

He is in trouble, and he knows it. A jolt of electricity travels from where you grab his wrist, up his arm and throughout his body. He watches you with a mixture of horror and delight as you ignore the fruit pinched between fingers, to lick the side of his palm instead, where juice had made you sticky. 

He was tired of this game. 

In a swift move, he grabs your wrist instead and is on you, the lawn chair creaking underneath the weight of both of you. His mouth is hot and moist against yours. He invades your mouth despite your muffled protests, and sucks on your tongue eliciting a soft moan from you. 

You think, for the first time, perhaps your teasing had gone a little bit too far.

You try to distract him, mention that he is being wasteful now that the piece of mango laid forgotten where it fell; trapped somewhere between your chests. Sanji smiles.

“Waste not, want not,” he declares with a grin. He lowers himself enough to suck the piece of mango with his open mouth. You are unsure why but it makes you shiver. “Mm, there’s more,” he says almost in a pur, and he is licking the slick juice left behind. He follows the path that dripped sideways under one breast. He continues to lick and suck, despite your fingers in his hair, doing a poor job at pushing him away. 

He is relentless. He ignores you.

His mouth continues to lick, suck and bite his way down your soft belly. His fingers press against the dips and rolls on your sides, taking pleasure in your softness, how good it felt to grip you; all of you.

Your back stiffens as he gets near the top of your bikini bottom where his tongue runs along the seam, back and forth. He is watching you, as if looking for the merest sign of weakness.

“Don’t,” you breathed out in a hiss. Your eyes glance sideways, thinking perhaps you heard someone coming back; perhaps it was your imagination.

“Why?” he asks, slipping an index finger under the elastic. You bite back a whimper. Sanji pulls on it just enough to slip his tongue under it. He pushes a little further, feels the soft tickle of your hair and hums to keep himself from moaning. “I thought this is what you wanted?” The heel of his palm is on your cunt, and he rubs at your clit gently, in circles. “I just want to please you. I live to please.”

Your body shudders, and you moan. As you toss your head, you are blinded by the bright sun. Spots dance in your vision. You drape a hand over your face to shield yourself from further punishment, and to hide your embarrassment.

His hands were on your thighs, and you almost cast caution into the wind when this time you definitely heard footsteps. Sanji hears them too and brings his hands up as you sit up with a jolt, holding them there as if to admit retreat. 

“I meant what I said,” he says, tilting his head and smiling wide. You are floored at his feigned innocence. Sanji reaches for the abandoned fruit. It was warm now as it sat cooking under the sun. He brings another slice of mango to your mouth. This time, you open up for him. He slides it in, leaving his index and middle finger a second too long in your mouth. “If you’re thirsty still later tonight. I’ll bring some mango juice to your bedroom.”

He gets up as Luffy approaches.

“I want mango juice too!” Luffy declares, fists on his hips, chest sticking out. Sanji drops a heavy hand on his shoulder as he walks past him.

“No. Not for you.”

[ronearoundblindly]

The Dignity of His Choice (10)

Icon, Part One (see previous or series)

Steve Rogers x Reader (but due to plot he looks like Ari so don't let the gif confuse you ((even though he's real nice to look at)))

Summary: Bucky and Steve piece together a traitor's mission while you recover...or are you helping them even more?

Warnings for language and injury (minor). Also, chapter ran too long and will be three parts. No one is shocked. Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Over the course of their lives, Steve and Bucky have had many moments of extreme understanding with each other. Bucky knew Steve would enlist. It didn’t matter what he argued. Steve knew Bucky blamed himself for all his actions as the Winter Soldier. He wouldn’t convince him otherwise. Bucky knew Steve would do anything to keep Tony at bay in Siberia. It didn’t matter that both were his friends.

They both knew that Thanos could be the end of the line. For five years, he was.

When the Blip ended, Steve knew Bucky wanted redemption, and Bucky knew Steve wanted a real life. 

So Bucky jumped from the altar cliff on Vormir with the Soul Stone in hand and woke in a glimmering puddle with Natasha in his arms, and later Steve married you.

For a century, they’ve understood each other, but there’s something else they grew to know. Fate makes a sick trade-off of punishment and penance. For better or worse.

Steve doesn’t have to say a god damn thing. Bucky knows that you are it for Steve. The whole kit and caboodle. The station at the end of the line when it comes right down to it. He doesn’t have to apologize. Bucky knows Steve will beat himself up the rest of his life either way. There is no good choice, but Steve makes one anyway.

He lifts the gun. Bucky nods. Steve can see the pristine acceptance written across his friend’s face. None of this is what Steve wanted for his life. He’s meant to put bullies in their place, teach them the error of their ways, not kill for them, not choose between the two most important people in his life, not destroy half of his whole world like the Mad Titan reincarnate.

Steve hears that you’re speaking, but he thinks you’re trying to tell him not to do it. He can’t let you talk him out of it. If Costa thinks Steve won’t, he may kill Bucky himself or make good on his promise to hurt you. Steve is too deteriorated. He has no faith he could fight the gun from Costa before he shoots you or that his reflexes are quick enough to re-aim and shoot first.

His finger starts to squeeze the trigger. He almost shuts his eyes.

The whine of the repulser stings like lightning in the air, and for a split second, he thinks Tony’s found them, too. His finger relaxes only after Steve points the gun back to…

…to where the threat is supposed to be.

There’s no Tony, just you and Costa tumbling down the frosted slope. Bucky launches himself forward before Steve even drops the weapon. It lands beside Costa’s in the snow. He follows, blood pumping too fast in a weakened frame. You’re smashing thin saplings along a mostly open path downhill.

“Go,” Buck commands as the traitor’s body stops when slammed against a stable trunk.

You fly one rotation feet first and skid to a halt. Steve can see you moving before he’s by your side, relief helping carry him the last few yards.

“Honey,” he soothes, pawing at your face to steady you, to look over your wounds, and to simply touch you because you’re alive and he’s alive and Bucky’s alive. Thirty seconds ago, he wasn’t sure.

“I TASTE METAL,” you yell, slowly shaking your aching head out of his grasp. “IS THAT BAD?”

Steve tilts you to examine the side where the repulser fired. The blood spatter isn’t yours, but the rivulet from your ear is.

You’re disoriented, looking around in the wrong direction over an idyllic moonscape before staring back at him.

“DID I GET ‘IM?”

“Buck,” Steve questions over your shoulder.

Bucky’s voice drips with pride and shortens on a smothered laugh. “Yeah, I’d say she got him. He has no face left.”

You half-heartedly thrash around, reaching to grab Steve’s arm, and your palm burns his sweater. After hissing and flinching away, he sees the makeshift gauntlet smoldering. The glass iris is melting and there are sparks. What on earth did Tony give you? Steve has to tug and rip it off your hand before it burns you, too. Why does it always have to be this hand with you?

He’s tossing it into the plowed snow from your descent when you lurch forward to vomit, so that’s a concussion, Steve figures.

“Man, I’m glad I only got slapped.” Bucky’s searching Costa’s pockets and stripping the guy down for evidence. “I assume this is a bad time for a ‘Miss America’ joke—aw what? When will they ever learn,” he grumbles while Steve steadies you. “Tattoo of a Maori fish hook. Genius. Right on his bicep, too. If he’d just worn short-sleeves, might’a known…”

Bucky continues to bitch. 

Steve focuses on getting you on your feet. He’s embarrassed to admit he may not be able to carry you uphill in two feet of snow. He’s unwilling to try and fail. You’ve been hurt enough, sure, but mostly his ego can’t take that final blow.

In the time it takes to get you settled in the belly of the quinjet, Bucky has hauled Costa’s body back, gone to the cabin to close the place down, and found the next-gen chopper Costa used to follow you both. Steve finds food for himself and two bottles of water all while watching your every move which is not much.

Over the jet’s comms, Steve hears Bucky rummaging to find the transponder and locater for the intimidatingly different Ten Rings vehicle. He’ll have to fly it back to HQ for more analysis.

Frustratingly, all Steve’s access codes have been deleted from the jet’s system, so he has to use Bucky’s. While flying in stealth, Steve has to keep a visual on the chopper to ensure they don’t crash into each other. It takes intense concentration, and Steve is brutally aware that you are just sitting in silence behind him. Every time he peeks over, you’re staring forward, rubbing at your necklace, wiggling your toes in his thick socks against the floor grating. That reaction is, however, better than screaming blue murder at the pressure change during take-off. He gets the feeling that if he were back there coddling you, he’d still find some way to hurt you more.

When they’ve reached a point that Bucky doesn’t mind the jet being tracked home, Steve turns off the reflective panels and relaxes a bit. Bucky ropes Natasha onto their line to let her know they’re coming back, and she suggests this is a good time to have Tony brought up to speed. Buck tells her to get Alpine out of Steve’s place.

“What? Why was your cat in my home?”

“Oh shucks,” Nat gasps, “is it hard to feel like you don’t know what’s going on, Steve?! Imagine that.”

He supposes he deserves that. Nat’s gone for over half an hour. Steve can only guess how rough that conversation is.

“I don’t get it,” Bucky throws out absently while Steve grabs more food and water from the back (like he’s done every fifteen minutes since shutting the bay door). “I know he can’t’of had a tracker on the jet, not one that told him where we were until after we landed, but that fishy fuck’s phone is still reading one now.”

He would have chastised Buck’s foul mouth if the concern wasn’t so valid. How did Costa get there so fast? How would he have known which jet to put a tracker onto?

Steve hears shuffling behind him, then a bang, and the clattering of metal. He turns to see you’ve vanished.

“Sweetheart,” he calls, launching himself over the back of the seat.

You’re between the rows of lockers, open toolbox on the bench beside you as you pry at your necklace with a screwdriver. When nothing comes loose, you grab a hammer and reach it over your head. Steve catches your wrist in time to stop you from smashing the trinket.

He tries to use hand signals and speak slowly so you understand. “What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

You hold up the necklace, back of the concave disk facing Steve, and there’s a small black rectangle with slightly bulbous ends. It does sorta look like the arm straps of his shield.

“HE TOOK IT THROUGH SECURITY,” you still yell before attempting to modulate. “I think he PUT IT there.”

Steve nods his head and takes the necklace. “Stop,” he motions for you to put the hammer away and starts gesturing again, “we may need it.”

You seem to understand. “I SHOULD have cauGHT it.”

He shakes his head wide. “No, Keeps. Not you.” Steve points to himself.

He secures the necklace in a lead-lined box that protects against remote detonation of confiscated explosives. No sooner has he locked it than Bucky chirps.

“Hey, you find it? The signal just went out.”

Dawn is breaking behind the plane.

“What’s our ETA?”

Buck bemoans Steve’s impatience. “We’ve got at least two more hours, punk. Leave it to the autopilot for a bit.”

So Steve grabs some more rations and water and goes to sit with you this time. Your ear is popping and throbbing, so he makes you drink but punctuates saving some for landing. You’re tired and injured. He gets why you are irritated and angry, too, but Steve wished for so much more from your reunion. He doesn’t know how to fix this.

Eventually, Bucky calls him over to change coordinates in the autopilot. This time Nat is explicit about why he’s not getting details. Just another thing he deserves.

The shuffle happens quickly once you touch down in a field beyond the compound. Tony and Natasha are waiting with an SUV driven by Happy Hogan. Nat says nothing to Steve. She walks onto the jet and flies it to HQ herself. Tony steps up with completely inscrutable features and he helps you into to car. Steve follows. Tony uses several instruments and gadgets Steve’s not entirely familiar with to treat your eardrum. He speaks only to you until you assure Tony he’s succeeded.

“Not perfect but better.”

Tony takes that in stride before finally looking straight at Steve. “Put those on,” he instructs, tossing a jacket and ball cap across the seats.

The car stops. You and Tony get out, but he says Steve’s is ‘the next stop.’ Happy drops him off at the delivery entrance just as Steve secures the hat over his long hair. Pepper Potts is right there on the loading dock demanding ‘you there, grab a stack of boxes and let’s go.’ She ushers three others carrying goods through the halls into your and Steve’s quarters. The real workers drop off their stacks and dollies of food.

The compound outside his home is replete with holiday decor. There is nothing inside your place

Tony is standing over you sitting on the couch until he spots Steve and nonchalantly steps over.

“Those go in there, please,” and he points to the studio office. While Steve hides in his own rooms, Pepper leads the others out again. It’s long enough that Steve can look around, and he sees that absolutely nothing has been touched on his drafting table. Everything is covered in dust except the meticulously sharpened pencils returned to their little drawer. He does remember that those were left on the coffee table.

Once the front door has closed, after a minute or so, Steve braves coming back to the living room where Tony continues a hushed conversation with you.

“Are you sure? I don’t have to go,” he hisses in whispers, but you shake your head.

“I’m fine. I promise. I’ll call off in the morning, and it’ll work out. Ren won’t mind covering one last time.”

“I’m a phone call away. Anytime. Friday will get me. Yeah?”

“Yes, Tony,” you sigh with a crooked smile.

Tony leans over to lazily rotate your wrist and hand. “Glad it came in handy. You want another one?”

“No,” Steve blurts out, “it nearly burned her hand.”

Tony ignores him and waits for your answer which is a simple shrug. Tony looks resigned to that being sufficient, chewing his lip as he rolls his shoulders back.

“And you,” he storms over, stabbing a finger into Steve’s sternum, “you’re grounded. Don’t leave these rooms. Don’t step out that door until we—your Team,” he emphasizes, “give you the all-clear. Got it, Cap?”

Steve nods, but that’s not enough for Tony.

“What’s your mission?” Tony puts his hand up to his ear like a father scolding a petulant child.

“To stay put,” Steve repeats softly. “I will not leave my home until you say I can.”

Steve feels like calling this place his home oversteps somehow. He glances over at you, coats removed to reveal one of his shirts, one of the big loose ones he bought for you to be comfortable, and Steve’s own grey sweatpants. You are head-to-toe covered in him, still, three months later, after all he’s put you through. His heart grows three sizes at the thought. It will be a Christmas miracle if you can ever forgive him.

Tony watches him watching you, and when Steve looks up, the man’s brown eyes are full of pity. Tony grabs Steve into a big hug and squeezes. It almost shocks Steve into a defensive stance, but he relaxes.

Without irony or scorn, Tony says solidly, “God, I missed you, buddy.”

Steve squeezes back.

When they let go, Tony smacks him on the shoulder. “Eat a cheeseburger or something. You look like shit.”

It’s so good to be back, Steve thinks, smiling as Tony leaves. He’s spent longer apart from Tony than this, but Steve even missed the crassness. Somehow, the pain of distance is worse when one party has no idea why the other is gone. Steve swears he’ll make up for it though, like so many other things.

You’re still quiet, hands over your knees on your lap, so he once again kneels at your feet.

“How’s your ear, Keeps?”

You shy away from his touch, suddenly intent on looking anywhere but at Steve. “I think I need a bath,” you announce, and his smile wavers.

“I can do that,” Steve replies with his hands to himself this time. “Let me do that.”

(Next Part)

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @fangirl-swagg @georgeweaslysgirl @austynparksandpizza @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads

[miraculouscontent]

Marinette was officially done with Hawk Moth interfering in her life. She could take him interrupting school, or her time out with friends (which had become increasingly awkward as of late anyway), or even her moments of being bogged down with projects.

But interrupting her one-on-one time with Luka? First their movie date and now their moment of getting ice cream together? Absolutely not.

As far as she was concerned, this meant war. If Hawk Moth wanted to shove himself into her life like a nosy busybody who couldn’t go five seconds without trying to take away her means of happiness, then fine.

Two could play at that game, and she was feeling petty enough to make the next move. She’d had to mull over the subject for a while to figure anything out, not to stop him for good exactly, but at least put an annoying dent in his plans, much like he always did with her.

She had an idea by evening, and got to put it into action right after school. She was saying good-bye to a few of her friends, and had hopped onto the back of Luka’s bike afterwards, her hands carefully on his waist while he rode off along the sidewalk.

A flicker of black and purple caught her eye, and instead of the usual dread or panic, she grinned to herself.

“Luka! Stop!”

He stiffened, but obeyed, putting full force on the brakes and screeching the bike to a sudden halt.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in concern.

Hurriedly getting off the bike, she took off her helmet and handed it to him. “I’m sorry, will you wait here for a few minutes? I promise I’ll be right back!”

Knowing she had to be quick, she didn’t wait for him to reply. She placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning in to place a long, meaningful kiss on his cheek.

If he had prepared a reply, the kiss stopped it, and she ran off to the nearest hiding place while he stared blankly ahead at nothing.

After ducking into an alley and taking a quick look around to ensure it was safe, Marinette opened her purse to let out Tikki, as well with the other kwami necessary for her plans: Kaalki.

“Let’s do this!”

— — — — —

Soon after Pegabug had entered the scene, giving chase to the akuma, Chat Noir wasn’t far behind. Part of her questioned how he’d gotten there so soon, but she squashed the thought just as quickly as it’d come so as to not dwell on the potential identity questions.

“Love the new look, m’lady. What’s the occasion?” he asked in his usual flirtatious tone. “Or did you dress up just for me?”

“Not now, Chat,” she replied shortly, adjusting her sunglasses as she neared the butterfly in question. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Of course! Anything.”

“When I give the command, grab the akuma.”

“I—” He blanked. “Grab it?”

“I’ll explain later,” she assured. Squinting at the butterfly, which seemed to be on a straight path, she felt the moment hit like the epiphany of her Lucky Charm. “Now!”

Slightly panicked, but not asking anything more, Chat Noir sped forward. He dropped to all fours to pick up speed, then leapt for the butterfly. In a swift motion, he trapped the akuma between his hands, and Pegabug reeled her hand back as she felt the charge of her power.

“Voyage!”

The portal launched from her hands, manifesting right in front of Chat Noir. He went through and she followed behind him.

On the side of the portal, she landed politely on her feet while he crashed onto the floor, though he managed to keep the akuma contained in his hands.

A startled Wang Cheng stood up from his chair, looking between the two in surprise, but he calmed himself soon after. “It is time?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, walking over and helping Chat up due to his inability to use his hands.

He shook himself of the impact, then glanced at Wang, Pegabug, and finally the night sky out the window. “M’lady, if he means time to explain why you catapulted us to China, then I’m all ears.” His fake cat ears twitched in emphasis.

“Not exactly, but we can do that too,” she assured. Closing her eyes, she whispered a quick, “Kaalki, divide,” to allow the horse part of her transformation to drop. Pulling out her yoyo to grab a treat, she offered it to Kaalki to let her recharge before addressing the issue properly.

“Chat, you remember Wang,” she stated, walking alongside Wang as they traversed the rooms of the house. Hearing Chat’s footsteps behind her, she continued, “We saved him after he was akumatized into Kung Food.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Chat confirmed, still just as puzzled as before.

“Well, he’s the only one I know who’s out of the country.” She grinned slyly. “And out of Hawk Moth’s radius.”

Chat tilted his head. “Radius?”

Ladybug waited to answer until she saw the little habitat that had been set up, exactly as she’d asked for. Wang opened it for her and stepped aside, then gestured to it, which gave Chat enough of a hint to approach and outstretch his arms so they were inside the mini enclosure.

He hesitated, but released the akuma and recoiled quick enough for Ladybug to snap the habitat shut, thus sealing the butterfly inside.

“The butterfly miraculous has limits,” she explained, pointing to the trapped akuma, “and this is one of them. Hawk Moth can’t sense or do anything with this akuma from this distance, and he’s only allowed one at a time.”

“Meaning...?”

“Meaning that he can’t make another until this one breathes its last breath.” She tossed a grateful smile Wang’s way. “So please take good care of it, sir.”

Wang bowed his head in respect. Chat, meanwhile, was gaping.

“Wait, so that means—?”

“It might not be long,” she admitted, “because we don’t know how old this butterfly is, but—” She raised a finger as she made her point. “—as long as it lives and kept in that habitat, he can’t akumatize anyone.”

With a confident walk, she made her way back to the room they’d originally come from.

Chat, still in a state of shock, followed after and kept pace with her. “What about sentimonsters?”

Ladybug shrugged. “Mayura can still send them if she wants, but it’ll go just as badly.”

“Why?”

“For one, sentimonsters follow the orders of the one with the object, and no akuma means that Hawk Moth doesn’t have any control. For two, if I can teleport the feather away before Mayura can de-power it herself, then she’s stuck with no sentimonster for even longer than the akuma. Feathers take a few months to wear out, and I think they know that. Once they realize the risks, I don’t think we’ll be seeing any sentimonsters all by themselves.”

Stopping at the spot where she’d made the portal originally, she tossed a smile Kaalki’s way and outstretched her hands accordingly, calling upon her transformation once again with, “Tikki, Kaalki, unify!”

Chat didn’t even flinch at the flash of light, staring at the floor instead as he scratched his head. “But—uh—” He paused, needing a moment to come up with more questions. “what if Mayura makes her own sentimonster again?”

“Then I’m sending it to the moon,” she answered nonchalantly. “If they want to waste my time like this, then I’m not messing around anymore. Either they come fight me themselves or I’m keeping every akuma and feather I can here, where they can’t do anything with them.”

He opened his mouth, perhaps to throw out another argument, but she’s stumped him. His lips pursed as he seemed deep in thought, which evolved into a pout as he asked, “So, I guess we won’t be spending as much time together?”

“What?” Pegabug raised a brow, thrown off by that being his concern.

“A-ah—” He seemed to catch himself, waving his hands in defense. “Nothing, m’lady! You’re a genius, as always, and we still have patrols!”

“...Thanks,” she said neutrally, her mind on anything but him even as he tried to flirt.

After all, there was someone waiting for her back in Paris.

— — — — —

“Luka!”

Marinette beamed in both gratefulness and relief as she saw Luka still in the same spot as before, and even in the same position as well. She ran up to him, grabbing his shoulder again with one hand while she took her helmet back with the other.

She kissed his cheek again, a little more lightly than before but with just as much affection. The contact seemed to bring him back to life, his smile returning to his face as he settled his hands back on the bike’s handles.

“Did everything work out alright?” he asked.

“Mhm. I was just—” She paused, a lie almost reflexively coming out of her mouth before she settled on the closest thing to the truth she could, deciding that he deserved as much. “—taking care of something. Hopefully it works out.”

“Knowing you, I bet it will,” he assured with a fond look.

She beamed at him and put her helmet back on, settling herself behind him on his bike so her hands could rest on his waist again. She heard the ‘clink’ of the kickstand as Luka nudged it up with his heel, and then they were off again.

Happy thoughts of Hawk Moth screaming in his lair as he discovered her plan slowly transitioned into blissful imaginings of all the uninterrupted dates she could go on now. Out of sight, out of mind, just as Hawk Moth deserved to be.

[missgeniality]

A Date With Destiny (m)

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves, alone - we find it with another.” - Thomas Merton

➺ Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Strangers to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Fluff, Smut, one comedian in the mix

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11k

➺ Summary: You are a boss lady in the tech industry travelling to world for work. He is a chart-topping artist touring the globe to perform in front of millions of fans. In the cosmos of life, you are not likely to cross paths. Luckily, fate has a different plan for you two.

➺ Warnings: dom!jk, unprotected sex (sex is cleaner when you pack your weiner!), hickeys galore, lot of spit, oral (male and female receiving), balls receive attention, throat fucking, cum eating, edging, masturbation kinda?, cum play, pussy slapping, pussy sniffing, fingering, squirting, spanking, pain kink?, tit slapping, reader teases a bit but this man is a tease maestro, cum stuffing (is that a thing even?), Jungkook’s THIGHS need their own warning

➺ Author’s Note: @ppersonna​​ is an angel among us peasants. Thank you so much for all your help with this!   This is my first attempt at writing, and the tiniest feedback goes a long way! Hope you enjoy! 

When you die, the first pit stop you make is to the coffee gods. 

Without coffee, this whole month would have been a disaster. Back-to-back meetings, daily flights, countless documents being read, it’s a miracle your eyes are open and fully functioning. 

Being the Chief Technical Officer of a well-established company at your age had been anything but a cakewalk. You had strived hard and crossed many boulders to come to where you are. But if reaching that point required huge amounts of effort, now your work is tenfold. 

“Why can’t I just get longer flights so I can nap in them?” You mumble into your nth cup of coffee - not keeping count is for your own sanity. 

“Because longer flights apparently have crying children. You, our resident baby-magnet hypothesized that shorter flights equal more time in hotel rooms ‘sleeping’. Guess who sleeps in said hotel rooms? Everyone but you.” Your personal assistant and part-time truth-spouter Jake offers helpfully. 

“Past me was such an idiot.” You shoot back, wondering if you could inject the espresso right through your veins.

Jake pouts. “Woman, you take on jobs that an intern could do. If you weren’t such an unnecessary perfectionist I would be on the beaches of Thailand, getting sensual massages and eating some pretty pussy. But here we are, on our way to Seoul. So quit your whining because clearly, I have lost more.” 

“What if I wanted to do that too?”

“Can I watch?” 

“Right.” And that was the end of the conversation. 

Passengers on flight KE654 from Bangkok to Seoul are requested to report for boarding at Gate 45A. First Class passengers will be boarded first, followed by Business class and lastly Economy. Please keep your boarding pass ready for checking.

Jake stands up, groaning. “This is where we say goodbye. Do you wanna pretend like we’re strangers and have a hot one-night stand when we land?” 

“Sometimes I think it’s your natural response to flirt with a breathing being. Do you ever accidentally just, you know, flirt with a tree?” You try to sound sarcastic, but you’re genuinely curious. 

“If a day comes when a hot specimen like me has to flirt with a tree, humanity is doomed. Catch ya later!” He blows you a kiss before leaving for the restroom. You shake your head in awe, a small smile finding your lips. He knew how to get your mind off things.

For all his flirting, Jake’s interest in you is perfunctory. He looks after you, keeps you from starving or gouging your eyeballs out, and calms you when things are too hard. He’s seen your worst. You’ve seen him drunk out of his mind, bailed him out when he “accidentally” smoked up, and heard every new pick-up line his ingenious brain churned out. Basically, you’ve seen his worst as well. 

You take a look at your boarding pass. 3C. Jake would be in business class, and you in first. Not your choice, the company makes the rules. It's for the better, he says. Apparently, he can ‘prowl for his hunt better’, without your judgmental glare. You nearly vomit on him just for his choice of words.

Entering the flight, you stash away your hand baggage the first place you find the room and head to your seat and-

Holy. Shit.

Jeon Jungkook is sitting on your seat.

Jeon Jungkook is on your flight? 

BTS is on your flight? 

What are the odds?

Granted, you’re not a 16-year old obsessive fan, collecting photocards and waving light sticks through the screen, but even in your adulthood you’ve admired their music and shows, routinely keeping up with their discography. 

Hell, you even learned Korean years ago to better understand their songs. Maybe you are an obsessive fan.

But you can’t approach them like that. They no doubt want some privacy and not be recognized. God forbid you approach Jungkook with crazy eyes, just to be escorted off the plane for stalking. While you liked their work, you had your own, and getting thrown off this flight does not help you there.

So, you’re just gonna have to speak to him like just another passenger. 

BTS who? 

Biggest boyband who? 

You only listen to Frank Sinatra. 

“Excuse me?” You call out, a shiver of a whisper leaving your lips. You immediately chastise yourself for being so star-struck.

Big, round eyes glitter under the bucket hat. The softest ‘huh’ throws a lasso over your heart, and holds it captive. He adjusts his hat, inked fingers making a brief yet lasting appearance. The epitome of tenderness, you muse as his eyes flit here and there to figure out the situation. After finding no one to help him out, he gently offers “Yes?”

You feel extremely guilty for marring his serene face with creases of trouble. “I think this is my seat. See, 3C.” you say, pointing to the seat and then to your ticket for good measure. Did he suspect you recognize them? No. Do you look like you’re over-gesticulating? Totally. 

“Oh.” His brow distresses further, the sight has you ready to give the man your seat and hide in the bathroom for the rest of the flight. “But even I am 3C.”

His ticket shows the same characters as yours. 

Huh?

With both your faces contorted in confusion, an air hostess comes forward to help. 

“We both are booked on the same seat. How does that happen? Do I need to catch another flight?” You suddenly pour out, remembering the countless commitments you have in Seoul that would go down the drain if you don’t make it by tonight.

She's quick to reassure you. “Do not worry ma’am, I’m sure there must have been an error in the printing. I’ll be right back.” At the same time, Jungkook is approached by someone, probably one of their staff, to discuss the issue.

The air hostess returns smiling. “Ma’am, you both were booked on the same seat but this adjacent seat was left empty. We are extremely sorry for the error. You may take 3B.” She reiterates the same message to Jungkook in Korean, who then looks mighty relieved. 

Goddamn, his eyes got bigger. How much bigger can they get?

“All okay then?” He glances sideways, smile irradiating your senses and waking you up better than all the coffee could. 

“All good. Sorry for the trouble.” You add, even though it isn’t your mistake in any way.

“No no. No trouble” He beams back. 

Aw, you are in trouble. 

As the flight is about to take off, you can see the rest of BTS in the rows ahead of you, with some other staff members taking up other seats. There’s one old man with a scowl on his face, whom you can’t place with the BigHit group. Great, no crying kids. Unless the frowning grandpa snores to the heavens, you can actually catch a good four-hour snooze. Take that, Jake. Hope a kid blows snot in his face. 

Looking at your neighbor, you find him busy searching for a good video game on the screen. The other members seem to be using this flight to catch a nap, except him. You always wondered whether their on-screen persona was real or not. Now you could say at least one of his characteristics is true. 

Turning away, you bring your focus back to the document at hand. The schematics for a new product your company was launching. You had spearheaded its conception and looked over every single detail in its manufacturing. The Seoul branch is one of the main players in its production, and your last stop before heading back home. You must have every word in this file burnt in the back of your eyelids to make this deal smooth. 

Reclining your seat, and putting your legs up, you got down to business.

An Angel was calling you. 

You want to wake up, but you couldn’t, fearing the Angel would stop singing to you. Something is poking you, but the voice just drowns it all out.

Wait...

Fluttering your eyes open, you see Jeon Jungkook staring right at you. 

“Hi... They, umm--Food? Want to eat?” the Angel utters. Jungkook utters. Tomato, to-mah-to. 

“Oh!” you exclaim, wiping non-existent drool on your face. His palm on your shoulder quickly retracts at your exaggerated attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Thank you so much.”

Then, he does that thing. He smiles. Eye scrunch and all. 

Fuck the coffee gods. When you die, you want to meet the Grand Master and ask him what crack he was on to hand over so much power to one man’s smile. 

The food is placed on your table, and you thank the hostess graciously. 

“Do you need anything to drink?” She asks, to which you only shake your head. There was enough caffeine in your system to shoot a horse to the moon and you were still drowsy. There was no need to catalyze this process with booze.  

“Your Korean accent is pretty good.” Your next-seat resident comments. Ah, you had conversed with the hostess in Korean. 

“Thank you very much.” You giggle, roleplaying an acne-prone teenager talking to her hunk of a crush.

“Have you been speaking for a long time?” He pops a huge morsel of food after asking. Well, that’s another on-screen quality found to be accurate.

“Six years now. Comes in handy for my work.” 

“Oh! Did you have to learn it for work? That’s fascinating.” Another mouthful went in. You didn’t even know it was physically possible to hold that much rice using chopsticks.

“Uhh.. no..” You tussle your hair, trying to stop your cheeks from turning beet red, “I just listened to some music and consuming more content.. and subtitles are a bore, plus I needed a hobby at the time so..” 

Your unnecessarily long explanation was cut short by Jungkook’s child-like laugh, enjoying the pickle you were putting yourself in. 

“Hey! I just didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation, that’s all.” you try to be cross, knowing it’s inconceivable since God himself seems to have given him whatever he wanted. If big ol’ Almighty can’t stand against his charms, you are but a mere pleb. 

He looks at you kindly. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful. I’ve been speaking to so many foreigners trying to get across to them I got surprised when you spoke so fluently.” 

He went back to chomping on his food like it was his last meal, completely unaware of your staring.  

You both speak for a long time. He explains their latest shoot and fan meeting, and you listen to him pour out his love for his job and fans as much as he could articulate. The rest of the emotion is portrayed by his now widest eyeballs (they cannot get any wider, you confirm by asking him - a request he apparently gets a lot) and intense gesticulation. It is very gratifying to listen to his past schedules, and you slip in a quick prayer for not having a job where you had to maintain public appearances while having a schedule as persevering as theirs. Sure, you had a ton of commitments. But can you throw your hair in a bun and aggressively scowl at a monitor and still meet your target? Fuck yeah.

You went on to tell him about yourself - your job, your travels, the reason you were in Seoul. He listens to them with rapt attention throwing in appropriate questions without interrupting your flow. He gives the right amount of sympathy; just enough to show that he understands why you have three sets of nightwear and a futon in your office, but not too much where it seems like you should “take a break” and “think about the joys of motherhood” - as you are often told. 

During the conversation, you digress a little to take in his slight features. The apple of his cheeks, in full display, when he tells you about how he pranked his members. The light pout of his lips when he talks about the times their path seemed too far-fetched, when every single obstacle felt like the end of their career. The stars in his eyes when he speaks of how he feels during tours, meeting the endless number of fans, the drive that keeps him going. They all make an endearing package. Eager to please, you kept the conversation going with gusto. The meal is followed by a snack break, after which you had effectively exhausted all conversation topics that could be brought up with near-strangers.

A quick alcohol break later, (yes, you caved, the catalyst was welcome) you both doze off, seemingly exhausted from recollecting respective timetables. He wakes up soon after to play video games and talk to the other members. But you fall into a deep slumber, with an Angel’s chuckles in the background guiding you through the sleep. 

Jungkook wakes up to see his character dead. The video game was forgotten after his conversation with you began. 

He spent an inordinate amount of time talking to you. And now that you’re asleep, he is only thinking about how much he enjoyed the conversation. Jungkook is not a speaker. His introversion leaves much to be desired in that department. Most of the time, his members cover for him, play the role of dutiful wingmen, and introduce him to their friends. And still, it took him a long time to talk freely.

But something about you made him open up.

Maybe it was the way you listened to him, lips slightly parted when you were absorbing every single word he let out. Maybe it was the questions you asked, treading lightly and skirting any personal questions. Maybe it was the fact that you pretended to not know him at first, mindful of his privacy. The butterflies in him could be explained by this.

But.

It could also be how graceful you looked, even though you’re dressed in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. It could be how you carried yourself, with great elegance and poise, even though your work was taxing. It could also be your toe socks, and your glee when he showed you his.

Your personality is infectious. He already misses you, despite you being inches away, desperately wants to exhaust every second of this journey engrossed in you. 

He wonders if you feel that way too.

Speaking of whom-

A snicker escapes his lips when he turns to face you. 

In your sleepy haze, Jungkook sees that a) your mouth is wide open, b) your hands mindlessly fiddle with the reams of pages on your lap, and c) your eyes scrunch as sunlight pierces through the flight to bounce off your face. Cute, he muses, trying to locate the source of the criminal rays irking you. 

The window letting the sunbeam in is beside an old man sitting on the other end. He is eyeing the magazine in his hands with abject disapproval, like the booklet had sullied him and his family. 

Gathering up the courage, Jungkook calls out for the man.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you mind pulling the window shade?” He asks, in the sweetest voice that his hyungs would melt at first listen. 

Puppy eyes are met with the geezer’s piercing glare, making Jungkook wonder if he accidentally said something strikingly offensive instead of what he thought he said. About to backtrack his words and try again, he gets interrupted by the man letting out a big grunt, after which he continues in his endeavor to telepathically set fire to the magazine. He does not forget to give a nasty side-eye but completely refuses to comply with Jungkook’s request. 

“And my team thinks my glares are spooky.” You pique, having witnessed the whole interaction, “I ought to have him on board”. Jungkook snorts, and you take that to be his agreement. 

Pausing, you throw caution in the wind and add, “Thank you though, that was very sweet of you.”

He eyes you demurely. “No problem, you looked like you needed the rest.” 

“Listen, I-”

“So I was think-”

Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared to land at the Incheon International airport. Please ensure your backpacks and suitcases are stowed away in the overhead compartments or underneath the seats ahead of you. The flight attendants are currently passing around the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining cups and glasses. Thank you.

High-quality curses almost make it to heaven (speakers). The announcement dissipates all the courage you had mustered, feeling a rush exit your body. You had almost asked for his contact - and by the looks of it, he had wanted it too. Or maybe your hair is a rat's nest and he was just going to point that out. Guess you will never know.

You shyly smile at each other before going about following the instructions. Your half-read document gets stuffed back into its bag, to be read once you have no distractions in the form of eye candy armed with saccharine speech. Well, you have Jake to distract you plenty, but you can shoo him away by threatening his paycheck. 

As the flight descends, you look over to your neighbor - one last time, you guess - and surprisingly lock eyes with him. Anything that had exited you comes rushing back, veins in full alertness. A moment’s awkwardness later you both burst out laughing, each doing their best to hide their crimson cheeks. You find one more online fact to be true - Jungkook’s peak happiness laughter, eye crinkle and nose scrunch, can melt your whole entire heart. 

“Hey mami, come here often?”

“For the last time Jake, I will not hesitate to donate your bones for science.”

“Well, I heard bone, it's already a win for me.”

You let out a sigh of exasperation. There is no reforming him. 

“How was the flight?” Jake questions as you approach the baggage belt. Looking out for your somber black suitcase, you try to play it off like you did not spend the whole time in the company of a stranger who is on the fast track to your heart.

“The usual. Sleep, eat, read needlessly printed out documents that could have been shoved into on email, repeat. What about you?”

As Jake starts an account of his flight experience in exorbitant detail, you took the opportunity to try and find your ride. Once you locate it and get in, you catch the end of his sermon. 

“-and the name of the book will be ‘How to manage a farm - ‘cause chicks gon’ be crazy!’. What do you think?”

“I think it was a good idea I chose to zone out.”

“Y/N come on! It’s a self-help book for poor souls born without my raw charisma. Men and women out there want me, but I can’t satisfy them all. I will just resort to making more of me! It will have pointers, DIY’s and pick-up lines crafted by yours truly - wanna hear one?”

You throw your bag in front and turn to him. “Do I have a choice? Go ahead.”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he starts. “Am I cute? Squish my cheeks. Am I hot? Clap my cheeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Points for creativity. You’ll still get wine splashed at you.”

Jake was not one to give up. “‘It’s good we don’t need eye condoms, or you’d be on your way to delivery.’”

“Just… don’t have kids, okay? This gene must be stopped, right here.”

“Okay, this one is my all-time favorite. ‘Rack so big, I don’t motorboat, I motorship.’”

That’s it. The guffaw itching you since the start of this conversation is out of its cages, populating the air in the car. Wiping stray tears from your face, you face Jake, seeming very pleased with himself. Undoubtedly, he is coming up with absurd scenarios to ease your nerves. No book is in the works (one could only hope).

“Thank you, I feel much better now. You can stop coming up with these.”

The goof has the gall to look appalled. “I was going to cut you ten percent of my book commission but I guess that’s out. Hmph.”

“I’m at the receiving end of all these pick-up lines. I should make twenty at least for all the nuisance I’ve put up with.” 

“All right mami, we’ll shelve this for later. Here’s the schedule for today. You have a 10 a.m. breakfast meeting with Dr. Park Shin Young, Lead Research Scientist of the project. Then you have a bunch of seminars to attend, which will go on all afternoon. There’s a bar right beside this venue.”

“How is that pertinent?”

“So you know where to find me.” He continues, unperturbed. “After which there’s an evening meeting with the whole team to demonstrate the product and a marketing meeting right after.”

“Am I required for the marketing meeting?” Your expertise is limited to the technical field. PR work isn’t your cup of tea, but they stubbornly demand your presence. 

Jake exhales. “We’ve been through this. You CAN doze off during the meeting, but you have to be there. Just pretend you’re a college student, sitting in one class, completing assignments for another.”

“But if I’m there I feel the need to pay attention.” you whine.

“Clearly you weren’t one of those college students,” Jake says, perusing through his diary, “Stop being a pedant and do one of those things people do. Loving their jobs and whatnot.”

Before you can retort a reply, the driver pulls up to your destination and you exit the car. 

Eleven at night is when you finally check in to the hotel. The tedious day warrants your heels coming off before you even reach your floor. There’s an irritant drumming, from the balls of your feet right up to your temples, that beg for your attention. Setting your footwear on your bags, you massage your feet for temporary relief as the lift took you closer to a more permanent one.

Once your suitcase gets parked in the closet, you head to the bathroom to soak your day away with the bath bomb kit you were gifted in one of the seminars. The ball fizzles as soon as it hits the water, dispersing in tiny bubbles and a heady aroma of vanilla and lavender. The soft amber tones of the walls, the lambent gold lighting, and the ambrosial air put all your senses at ease. You sink in; the bathwater permeating warmth through your skin. Crackling bubbles with every move; the water teases your neck, soothing the laceration with every lick. Every pulse point on you is enhanced - you let yourself float wherever your mind takes you. 

A familiar face makes its presence known. You allow yourself to think about him, after pushing his visage away all day. Something about him… felt like home. Soothing, comforting, always speaking in dulcet tones unless something humorous pulled out a loud laugh. Even that wasn’t jarring; it was the exact opposite. Felt like sunshine filled your lungs every time he cracked up. Made you want to keep talking to him, keep him amused and entertained. You can’t imagine he converses with every stranger like that. 

But maybe he did; maybe this is some unspoken celebrity culture you were unaware of. 

All you know is that this was a once in a lifetime experience. There’s no way you are encountering another personage ever again. There’s no way you’re encountering him again. Luck can only thrive so far. 

So when you exit the bathroom, clad in a towel, remnant bathwater dripping from every end, the last thing you expect is Jungkook, spread out on the bed, casually flipping through his phone like it’s his own abode. 

“J-Jungkook?”

Y/N. In his room. In a towel. Dripping wet hair. Emanating a delectable aroma. 

Y/N. In person.

He is dreaming. He has to be. He's been thinking of you ever since the flight, so now he is delusional. Nothing else. There’s absolutely no chance that you’re in his room, let alone… like this. 

Right?

“What are you… what are you doing in my room?”

Wrong. 

Jungkook knows he should say something. He should not be gawking at you like he is doing now. But God. You look so pretty, eyebrows arched up in confusion, jaw about to be unhinged, hands fluttering around not knowing what to do. 

He forces his body to action.

"Y/N!" He exclaims, finally averting his eyes to face the wall. 

Pause.

"Wait, what do you mean MY room? This is my room!"

You’re baffled. "Huh? How is that possible? This was given to me!" 

“I really don’t know, Y/N, there must have been some confusion! Please, you have to believe me!” 

Jungkook wants to turn around and face you. He desperately wants to clear the air. He can see that this looks bad. He obviously looks like an enamored creep, waltzing into your space. You probably think he does this all the time. Many a time people have misunderstood him, his celebrity status not earning him many points. You must think the same.

And now you’re going to tell him to get out and never see you again, he hypothesizes. His brain is working overtime trying to remedy the situation, without noticing your now relaxing demeanor. 

“Oh, okay.”

“I’ll fix this, I’ll go to the reception and fix this. You don’t worry, I didn’t see anything, you can trust me, I’ll go an-”

“Hey, hey,” your tone gentle, “it’s okay, trust me. Just, let me get dressed and I’ll come down with you.”

Your soothing response almost has Jungkook on his knees. Whoever orchestrated this meet, he is just thankful for this good turn. Anyone else would go berserk, and rightfully so. 

But you’re not anyone else. 

He isn’t just anyone.  

Technically, he isn’t a stranger, you try to justify. You should have been more shocked, enraged, or at least doubtful of his intentions. But you weren’t. You had accepted his explanation, let him stay in your room while you changed in the bathroom, and now are en-route to the main desk to rectify this error.

The air around you two is strained; he won’t even look you in the eye. Any question you have is replied to concisely, leaving no room for a chat. Nothing to disperse the tension between you two. 

Like now, in the elevator, Jungkook has done the math and maintains the maximum distance between you. Opposite ends of the diagonal of this lift, his peripheral vision probably barely picks you up. However, his evasion helps in a way--you are able to study his full form.

He is dressed casually, and any lesser man would have seemed casual enough. On him, it is a whole new game. Ripped jeans hugging his sturdy legs, the slashed fabric allowing you a peek of his dangerous thighs. A plain white t-shirt tucked in to show off his lean waistline. The only thing holding you back from having a full-blown wet dream, wide awake, is his chestnut overcoat, saving his modesty and yours. 

Jake was right, eye condoms are the need of the century. 

To be fair, Jungkook had the worse end. He saw you scantily clad, post-bath glow and everything. You wonder what is going through his mind. 

Definitely nothing like the debauchery unfolding in yours. 

He has probably seen his fair share of women, and one hot to trot lady isn’t anything new. If anything, him dodging you is a sign of his civility, something you are lacking apparently--ready to jump his bones.

Stop thinking about his thighs, you whore. Get back home and trusty old Vlad the Impaler will take care of you.

The employee’s jaw almost hits the desk as Jungkook explains the situation. 

“Ma’am, Sir, we are extremely sorry about this confusion. We usually keep another key for family members, but somehow you got them both. We are deeply apologetic.”

“Yes, it’s okay, I’d just like my room key now and-”

“We will give you the best of our service to make up for this disorder. Not that we didn’t plan on giving you the best anyway, but now it will be top-notch! Please allow us to have your room cleaned again ma’am. Kyuyoung-ah! Get the people to prep 5338 and set 5337 again, and add more flowers!”

“Hey, that really won’t be necessary, we can just go back and forget about all thi-”

“And!” She continues, relentless, fully intent on doing her job, “Here are coupons for our round the clock pub! The ambiance is phenomenal, and our bartender makes a mean drink! You can use the facility for free during your stay. Hope this compensates for our gaffe. Once again, we are extremely sorry!”

She extends two passport-sized coupons that you hurriedly grab, wanting this quandary to end. 

The walk back to the elevator is less tight-lipped, only because Jungkook starts his deluge of apologies. Even though you had felt the same way on the flight, he was going overboard. You quickly assuage him and deflect his concerns.

“It’s okay, Jungkook. It really is. I know it was a mistake.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t have just walked in like that. I should have checked.”

Your expression is the visual form of a question mark. 

“Do you go around making sure your hotel room doesn’t have a surprise occupant?”

You’re taking this too lightly; it's obvious you are doing it for him. He can only laugh, broad delicious shoulders loosening in relief.

After a delay, you add, “You can’t help it if fate wants us crossing paths like this.” 

The quip makes Jungkook lose a beat. He cocks a brow in surprise - at that juncture, his features lose all boyish charm and turn unquestionably irresistible. 

Then, in a flash, the expression is replaced by his usual grin, back to his boy-next-door spirit. Are there world records for this speed? Jungkook needs to sign up to one.

Collecting the stars floating around your head, you return the favor, thankful that the barrier is now broken. 

After a quick break of courage gathering, you turn to him. “How come you’re staying in this hotel? Thought you’d be home.”

A thought is building in your mind; that this is too personal a question. But before you can take it back, you hear a chime. Jungkook moves. And somehow, you are moving with him. 

The elevator door opens, and people walk out. 

But that’s not where your attention is. 

You are focused on the sole patch of your body in contact with Jungkook’s arm. 

The palm of his hand sitting at the small of your waist is what had guided you away from the elevator. Even through the fabric of your t-shirt, his hand is sending goosebumps all over your body. The air feels twenty degrees too hot for you.

Jungkook is simply being his chivalrous self, while you are ready to get arrested for public nudity.

Woman, you are a disgrace. Get laid.

Jungkook will high five himself once he gets to his pad. 

Is it right to get so euphoric about the smallest act of intimacy? That too with a near stranger? He has no answer. You are special to him; that much he knows. And someone up there agrees with him as well, letting him run into you again (albeit under crude circumstances; he’ll take what he gets). In this proximity, he can hear the slight gasp that escapes you once you recognize his hold, feel your muscles tense, smell the flowery fragrance you still carry. The fragrance that takes his mind on a rewind routine; one he forces to a halt. He feels lewd for taking pleasure in that misfortune, but he can take pleasure in the present. 

Entering the elevator, Jungkook has taken note of one thing: the roles have been reversed. On the downward voyage, it had been him avoiding you. Now, even with the closeness, you refuse to meet his eye. Something on the carpeted floor has your unrelenting attention. Letting his gaze dip to you, he bit back a smirk. Good to know you are as affected by him as he is by you.

“It’s a shoot.” 

You relent, looking up to him. “Huh?”

“You asked me why I’m here, it’s a shoot. The site is close by, so we don’t waste time traveling. Once the shoot is done, we will get back home.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” 

You beg your grey matter to find some topic of conversation to halt the blood rushing to your cheeks. The atmosphere is frozen again, but not like last time. Any unease earlier present has drifted. The tension that once kept you from closeness now keeps you from moving apart. His hand sits unmoved, continuing to rest on your hip. Jungkook can hear the loud thudding of a heartbeat, but he cannot discern whether they are from his heart or from yours.

Continuing after a pause, “I will be here for a few days now.” he adds, the suggestive hint of the words masked by his innocuous smile. 

“Ah.” You lamely add. You ought to kick yourself - but at this closeness, you might hit him too. 

The span of your separation is contracting, even though none of you move. Like the land underneath you is shifting, because even Mother Earth can’t handle the sexual tension in this confined space. 

“Ma’am, Sir, you’re here!” 

The booming voice of an employee disrupts the scene. You jump, wondering how you didn’t hear the door open, while Jungkook takes a graceful step back unscathed. 

“Your rooms are ready, please follow me.”

The walk back is quiet, except for bashfully exchanged glances and racing pulses. When you finally reach your respective rooms, he speaks again. 

“Want to accidentally cross paths with me at the bar?”

The heat reaches your ears. A moment of silence prompts you to look up, and you are held hostage by his eyes. His gaze flickers, intense and probing. Then, as if it never happened, his eyes narrow and his smile softens, harmless and easy. Again, this has to be witchcraft.

“Maybe we’ll let destiny decide. Hasn’t failed us so far.” 

Now, alone in bed with nothing but your thoughts, you wonder when it will ever happen again.

Three days. Three days before it happens again.

Three days filled with conferences, a ton of files, and a lot of battery acid disguised as coffee. Apart from the success of your work, the highlight of your time is when Jake tried to fix his shoe heel at a meeting and ended up gluing his fingers together. In a quiet room filled with immersed employees, he had yelled, “Superglue, my ass!”. 

The punctuation was not vocalized. 

Tonight was your last night in Seoul. It was supposed to be a night to yourself, but an office party pulled you out of your cavern to get dressed. You put on an elegant dress, a black and silver number, only to find the ‘party’ was the most monotonous excuse of networking. High-end businessmen exchanging cards over non-alcoholic fizz was not your idea of a party, so you quickly excused yourself. 

The coupon still weighed heavy in your purse, carrying memoirs of the last time you saw him. You had wanted to go earlier, but always held yourself back. What if he wasn’t there? What if you missed your chance? Why did you have to sashay away with a cool statement that night instead of clawing your way through the lust-filled air and settling things then and there? 

You supposed a drink at the hotel bar on your last night couldn’t be a bad thing, even if Jungkook didn’t show up.

So here you are, sipping on your wine and trying to appear nonchalant as you look out the window overseeing the city’s skyline. One ear is trained to the door of the pub, the slightest peep from that corner alerting your antenna. 

So far, no sign of him. 

This won’t work, you tell yourself. Second time’s a charm, third time’s pushing it too far. 

But as you wave the bartender to top up your drink, the corner of your eye catches movement; one, two, three heads appear through the door. Signature multichromatic mops of hair make their way in, forcing your pulse to marathon mode. 

And then you hear it. 

You hear his trademark cachinnate echoing through the structure. Multitudes of contrasting sentiments fill your gut. Are you sensing relief, that fate served its purpose without fail? Or is it the anticipation of how events will unfold? A sense of titillation, that a three-day old bond makes you feel more than year-old relationships you’ve had? You pry your eyes from that direction, trying to appear aloof when you are anything but. 

When you think you’ve gathered your composure, you look up. Like a hare falling for its bait, you are trapped, because he is looking right back at you.

Jin and Jimin are laughing about something that happened on set today, but Jungkook only has eyes for you. He can’t believe his luck. 

The past few days, his schedule had no give. After every shoot, the only thing he remembered was taking off his shoes and falling into a deep slumber.

So today when the shoot wrapped up earlier, Jungkook grabbed his trusty wingmen and open bar enthusiasts to utilize his coupon, and possibly test his kismet.

“Wasn’t she on our flight?” Jin observes, tracking Jungkook’s sight. 

“Oh yeah! Dude, is she the one?” Jimin keenly notes. “How do you keep bumping into each other like this?”

Jungkook downs his whisky, the burn felt from the throat to his diaphragm. “I don’t know, hyung. I don’t know what to do.” Beckoning the bartender for a refill, he tears away from your sight. 

 “Okay, liquid fortification is all good but how about,” Jin stops briefly to pluck the coupon out of Jungkook’s hands, “we handle the drinks department while you attend to her?”

Jimin nods in assent. “The worst thing you could do is spend time with her slurring and garbling while she ditches your sorry ass.”

“Hey! I won’t do that. Just, ” Jungkook gulps, “I don’t know... We’ve met like, hardly a few times. It really doesn’t make sense. What if we’re not on the same page?”

Jimin frowns, and even Jin seems unhappy with his reasoning.

“Things don’t have to make sense. You’re two consenting adults. You like her. By the way she’s eyeing you right now, I’m sure the feeling is mutual. You said it’s easy to talk to her right?”

Jungkook pouts, but sees his point.

“Then go with that. Don’t chart out a plan, just go with your heart.” Jin adopts a soft smile of encouragement. 

“Meanwhile we will grab the others and exploit this coupon to the full extent!” Jimin gleefully appends.

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle as he laughs with the other two. They are right. Carpe diem, right?

Finding you again, his breath hitches. You look beautiful. The sleek black dress with silver embellishments over the torso. It hugs you in the right places, accentuating your already alluring frame. Your shoulders bare, elegant collarbones waiting to be tasted. Hair tied up, exposing the delicious curve of your neck, a stretch Jungkook wants to pepper kisses onto, without missing a spot. You look exquisite against the backdrop of the night.

Carpe noctem it is. 

“Did you really dress up to use the coupon?” The tongue-in-cheek query breaking your line of thought.

A breathy chuckle leaves your lips, hopefully masking the frenzy in your heart. 

“I had a party. A very dull party. Figured I preferred my own company over that.” 

“Do you prefer your own company over mine?”

He’s still standing, tall frame waiting for your permission to occupy the next seat. God, he looks amazing.

“Not at all.” The words leave huskier than you intend, but they convey the message.

He takes the seat, a mere step away, his cologne wafting over to your side. The alcohol buzz makes the scent feel stronger, every bone in you wanting to dive in nose-first. 

Apparently you have been staring, because he nervously chuckles “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Should you go the modest route or fuck it?

Fuck it.

“You look... great today,” is all you get out. Stupid brain spewing half-baked goods.

Understatement of the year. He looks like sin incarnate. All black attire highlighting his golden skin, the dichotomy of his whole look has you understandably tongue-tied. Black jeans - no rips, sadly- with a dark grey high-neck t-shirt, tucked in of course, because pain is the only constant for you. A black trench coat is thrown on top to seal the look. The obsidian outfit sends desperate need through your body, an intense desire to rip it all off surging through you. Somehow, through all these layers you can sense his fit body, his rippled muscles, his sturdy pecs, like they have an aura of their own. 

“Ah, thank you. You look amazing as well.” Halting a moment to sip his drink, he resumes.  “Sucks that you dressed up for nothing.”

“Well, you liked it. So it's not for nothing.”

If looks were potent, Jungkook’s own could set you on fire. Gaze coolly raking over your figure, the tick in his jaw betrays his reaction. A chill passes through every part of your body under his intense scrutiny.

“Are there other things you would wear… if I liked it?” He carefully treads.

“There are certain things I’m wearing right now that I’m sure you would appreciate.” 

If not for the shrinking distance between you two, you couldn’t have caught the low hiss. His animalistic need, usually kept well under control, is raging against its bonds, screaming to let go. Your exquisite gown, flowing down your curves, accentuating the swell of your ass - God save this dress from his feral hands. Against his will, he restrains himself. He would make this a lasting encounter. 

“How many drinks have you had?” He needs you to remember every single moment.

“Two glasses of wine, don’t worry. You?” 

“A shot of whisky, that’s all. Haven’t even finished my second drink.”

Gone were his cherubic appearance and dimpled smiles; the man in front of you is oozing pure sex appeal. His clenched jawline, furrowed brow, and perfectly placed tresses add to his raw masculinity. The cusp of your thighs is damp; if this is his effect here, what will it be behind locked doors? You wonder whether this is the same man that gushed about old-era video games in the flight. 

“Well, if you are wearing them for me, I’d be a fool to miss them.” he brings you back to the present. Twinkling eyes match your eager ones as you give a small nod.

Every step you take shoots a thrilling tingle through your spine. Every inch of distance closed forces you to close the next with doubled speed. Every foot forward adds to the thick air, laced with hunger, desire, and an inordinate amount of trust placed in the hands of a stranger. 

The first time you two walked back to the elevator, his move had caught you unaware. 

Now, the arm wraps around your entire waist, body flush against his, yet you yearn to get closer. 

Last time, you couldn’t match his gaze, skin burnt a crimson hue. 

Now, your eyes are locked together, any movement in your surroundings be damned.

Michael Jackson rising from the dead and performing Thriller wouldn’t tear you away from your current view (sorry MJ, maybe next time).

When the doors close, he places a palm on your bare back, bringing you to his chest.

“I’ve wanted this so bad, ever since I met you. It’s insane.”

The hand caressing your back makes you sigh. “Not if I wanted the same.”

His grip tightens. “The things I want to do to you...” eyes searching yours, ”tell me you can handle it.”

“Oh baby,” you drawl, “I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever it is,” your lips hover on his, “I can take it.”

The elevator doors opened too soon for your liking, and Jungkook drags you through the corridor. You’re practically hanging on to him, feet barely responsive, the faint buzz of wine making you giddy. His hawkish gaze soaks in everything you do, memorizing every response to his touch. 

You lean over to lay wet kisses on his neck. Pleasure searing through his veins, Jungkook’s knees almost buckle. He pushes you against a wall and locks you in with his form.

“Uh-uh-uh, honey,” he tsks, “you’re not making this easy on me?”

You pretend to ponder. “Well, I didn’t plan on making it easy.”

He smirks, all sex, and the wetness between your legs is making its presence known. Leaning into your ear, he whispers, “Unless you want me to have my way with you right here…” and all your brattiness dissipates. 

Satisfied, he grins. “Your place or mine?” 

“Hmmn, depends.”

He cocks a brow. “On?”

“Am I gonna be able to walk tomorrow?”

That damned smirk. “Your place it is.”

Jungkook’s lips are on yours the moment your door is locked. He cages you against its frame, teeth clashing and biting anything they find. You let your hands roam all over, searching for something to hold on to. A throaty sound leaves Jungkook when your digits card through his hair and tug on it, a sound you gladly swallow.

Time seems to have taken a break. Your thoughts are blank. You chase the kiss like it's the only thing you know, the only thing you’re born to do, your sole mission in life before you die. The bruising pace Jungkook set is eagerly matched by you. Gravity is slowly losing its meaning, and you’re nothing but a stray entity floating in space. And this kiss is your only source of air. 

Jungkook pulls you towards him, closing the nonexistent distance between you. Heat rises from his chest, the feeling is hypnotic beyond reason. A taste of you has ruined every other flavor. He kept his eyes half-open, sneaking peeks at your flushed face whenever you come for air. His fingers explored your body, grabbing your ass and pulling you into him. Your clothed crevice jolts at the friction, hips hounding for more.

The moan that leaves you gets muted, because Jungkook takes this opportunity to take control. Tongue forcing its way in to explore every corner of your mouth, it melds with your own muscle. If this were a dance, it would be a fierce tango, oozing with sexual tension. Breathing is now trivial, this kiss is imperative. 

Jungkook’s hands grab your hips and twirl you, both of you now facing a full-length mirror. You can witness your neckline being abused, mulberry blossoms left in place. The sight has your sex clenching, and lips liberated, you couldn’t stop yourself from mewling.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to make you scream so loud, the hotel reception will hear you.”

With your head spinning in lust, you try to form your words right. “An- And what? Discuss how a second room for you was - oh god - was useless?” 

Jungkook pauses to admire his craft; your neck, shoulders, and collar are now littered with bruises, like a garden of hyacinth at his disposal. The view is maddening, your lusty gaze locked on to him in the mirror. His mane is tousled, no doubt your handiwork, and his hand is tracing the outline of your dress. 

“That cursed day,” He chokes out, “You were so fucking hard to resist you know?”

You turn back to face him, hand reaching back to undo your halter neck, “You have me now.” Stepping back, you let your gown fall.

He froze. You are standing in front of him, robed in only your black lace-embroidered strapless bra, and matching panties, each adorned with a white bow. The swell of your breasts barely caged in the cups, making Jungkook drool at sight. All the wind was knocked out of his lungs; you look like a prisoner’s last meal, waiting to be devoured. 

“On your knees.” he commands.  

Not a second is put to waste. You begin undressing him, unbuckling the pants and aggressively pulling them down. Next come the boxers, and you are faced with-

Wow.

You mean this in the nicest way, but, what a dick.

He is already hard, the mushroomed tip angry and red, leaking a drop of precum begging to be tasted. The girth exceeds your expectation, already visualizing the delicious visual of your cunt stretched thin. He is going to reach places even Vlad the Impaler couldn’t; you are already brimming with anticipation for the final act.

And his thighs. Nothing angelic about them. Taut. Muscular. Sinewy. Something uncivilized in you wants them to trap your frame between them, caging you, pinning you down. You press kisses on his inner thigh, letting your tongue poke out when you hear him exhale. A sharp bite shocks Jungkook, but you only smirk.

“Wanted to do that since I saw you.” 

The stare that meets you is practically challenging you to try that again, and perhaps reap some delicious consequences.

You bring yourself back, giving his cock the full attention that it deserves. Looking up, you see his half-lidded eyes, assertive and arresting, compelling you to go on. 

You bring your palm up to him. He raised a brow in question.

“Spit for me.”

Jungkook almost busts his load when he hears you. “Fuck, so dirty.” he garbles out. Rolling his neck in an attempt to divert his blood, he takes your hand and drops a thick glob at the center of your palm. 

A throaty moan arises from you, and his dick is harder than ever.

“Go on baby, show me you can suck dick like a champ.”

You give him a confident look; you’re about to rock his world. Starting with small licks, you tease the slit and taste the pre-cum lodged in it. Meanwhile, you work the spit along the shaft; you spit on it again, the original amount insufficient to cover the length. You can feel his dick twitching against your attention, eager to be sheathed. Interspersing with some long drags on the underside, you zero in on the pinched skin under the head. 

Jungkook is staring at your jerking him off. The sight of you, clad in lingerie is blowing his mind. If that was not enough, the mirror in front is providing a sumptuous secondary perspective. The smooth stretch of your back, the swell of your ass, the panty fabric barely able to cover the expanse, everything on you is making him short circuit. Seeing you on your knees, your deferential nature stirs something in him. If he doesn’t control himself, he will bend you in half and ride you to sunrise. He doesn’t want to scare you, but fuck, his depraved early man instincts are telling him otherwise. 

“What are you- ohhh, holy shi-”

Instead of slipping his cock fully into your mouth, you hold it up, and pay careful attention to his balls. Jungkook’s hands come to rest on your head, a telltale sign of his unraveling. With a smile, you let your tongue swipe through every nook and corner till they are coated in saliva.

“You think you’re such a fucking tease, ” He grabs you by your now unraveled tresses and pulls you back, “Ease up baby, your throat is in for a treat.”

In one quick swoop, he lodges himself at the base of your throat, provoking your gag reflex, but you restrain the urge to pull back. Breathing through your nose, you suck and swallow whatever you can; his girth isn't giving you much to work with.

Jungkook growls. “Such a tight fit. Like you’re meant to be like this. Forever.”

The last word slips out unwittingly. 

Alarmed, his eyes flit down to gauge your response, but all you are doing is looking back at him. 

Fuck, your dovelike eyes are captivating. They look so angelic, a complete contrast to the perverse posture you are in. Not an ounce of displeasure in response to his words. Pure, unadulterated affection for him. Only for him. 

“God, you’re going to be the death of me.” Jungkook husks. “You’ll do anything for me, you said?”

Muffled whimpers impart your compliance, and you bob your head up and down for good measure. The tip of his cock hits every ridge of your throat, the vibration releasing more fluid down.

“Pleasure yourself, baby. Touch yourself, but don’t you cum.”

Your brow distresses further, a disgruntled whine leaving you and reverberating around him. Already so turned on, the lightest friction would make you combust.

Jungkook’s teeth clench. “Edge yourself for me, sweetie.” 

It's like your body is tuned to his command. Slipping two fingers under the band, you part and slide them on either side of your throbbing nub. Despite you avoiding any pressure point that might push you over the edge, the pleasure threatens to tip you over. 

You look over for his approval. Swallowing, he nods. Your self-stimulation is making him dizzy. It's time to get serious.

“Such a good girl. Don’t stop, okay? I’m going to fuck your throat raw.” Starting with mellow jerks, “Hope you don’t have to speak anytime tomorrow.” he rasps.

The carpeted floor grazing your knees only adds to the revelry. You’re not in control of yourself anymore. The back of your gullet is aching as Jungkook shoves into you again and again. An amalgamation of his salty juices and your dribble lewdly coats your chin and neck; you must look ravished. Everything with Jungkook feels augmented; every single motion of his making your sex clench. 

He is close - you can feel his grip on your hair tightening. 

“Can I cum on you?” words slither through his clamped teeth. You frantically nod. 

With a loud grunt, he pulls you off and releases all over your chest, a stray pump landing on your chin. Thick liquid, dripping from your jaw onto your collarbones and breasts, the whole scene is filthy good. Your unfilled cunt is aching to be replete with the cum. 

Post-orgasmic glow is dazzling on him--hair drenched in sweat, tufts sticking to his forehead. His breathing is heavy and resonant as dilated pupils take in your soaked state. Bending down, he crooks a finger under your chin, anchoring his attention on your dewy stare. The onyx embers in his eyes bore into yours, studying for any hesitation in them. A microscopic moment of tenderness, unspoken words exchange between you. 

Satisfied to find only searing hunger, his digits collect the beads of cum on your jaw, pushing them back into your mouth. Your eyes roll skyward, relishing the briny taste, nearly asking him to do it again. Leaning further, he grabs the wrist of your hand that is thoughtlessly rubbing your sex - you didn’t even realize you were still doing it. You feel drained, like you orgasmed vicariously through him. 

“My turn.” He wears a devilish expression on his archangel eyes.

Lips connect once again as he pulls you up. If he tastes himself, he is relishing it, with his tongue exploring the deep cavern. With wobbly ankles, you let him guide you to your bed, dropping on your back. He follows you, pouncing on you, plunging into your mouth again like a beast hungered. Bodies melting together like an icicle under the summer blaze, your hands hunt to frisk his skin. Realizing he is yet to undress, you yank at this t-shirt, attempting to liberate him from the offending fabric.

“Tsk, greedy.” he bit your ear, soothing the sting with a kiss. 

“Cruel is what it is.” You huff, like everything he’s doing is not a blissful affair. 

How do men do that? Violently ripping their shirt off and leaving a messy mop of hair in its wake, nevertheless looking like they could walk a runway the next instant. Jungkook was no exception. The moment he pulls his shirt off, you are rendered speechless.

Chiseled chest like the work of an artisan. Droplets of sweat race down the paths traced by the sculpted abs, an intense desire to taste them forming in you. He is a mesomorphic dream who puts Greek gods to shame. Swallowing, you let your hand trace the outline of his pecks, feeling him shudder against your touch.

“Jungkook, please.”

Who was he to deny you?

Leaning up to you with a wicked smirk, Jungkook drops a thick line of spit right on your hardened nipple. The concoction of his cum and spit soaks through the lacy material. A lone finger circles, avoiding the spot that requires the most attention. You arch your back, begging him for more, just more of anything. The wet fabric amplifies the emptiness in your cunt. 

“Aww,” he coos, clearly amused by your neediness, “undo this for me, sweetness. Let me see you.”

Moving at lightning speed, you unhook the bra, swinging it away to a corner of the room. 

“Oh no.” He mock-frowns, veins bulging on his arm as he controls himself. “Look at these tits, fuck.” Mind reeling with ideas, filthy ideas, of all the things he wants to do to you. “You’ve ruined everything else for me.”

You tremble. “Good, so have you. Want you for myself. Want you,” pulling him close, “to do your worst.” you end with a whisper.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “Careful what you ask for,” he grits before diving headfirst into your bosom. 

He licks and laves and bites and laps--your breasts are on fire. Continuing his marking spree, new blemishes make an appearance on your torso. Nibbling on one nipple, he pinches the other; pulling moan after moan from you. 

Your hips barely touch the bed, bucking up in response to Jungkook’s sinking teeth into your ample bust. He has decided to not leave an inch without his saliva, and like a man on a mission, covers every part with rapt attention. 

“Yo- You don’t have to--oh holy fuck--you don’t have to, cover me in marks you kno--ohh my go-” The sentence is spastic, piercing mewls breaking your flow of speech and thought. 

“These fucking tits,” roughly clasping your pert breast in his large palm, “they look so much better like this.” The proud smile he shows has not the slightest hint of regret. 

Catching a break, he twiddles your nipples, letting his other hand sit on your covered sex. He is teasing you; you recognize that. Just giving you opportunities to disobey, to take all the pain he has to offer.

It’s a good thing you like the pain.

You slowly roll your hips, trying to grind against his palm, taking whatever help you can get.

A sharp smack lands on your clit, shooting your eyes open - you don’t even know when they closed. Jungkook’s hand is soothing the site of the blow, the pain converting to pleasure under his touch. 

“Patience, sweetness,” the gravely whisper sending tingles down your spine, “such a good girl for me.”

You give him a slight nod - he smacks you again, once, twice, thrice, without a break. Your entrance is smarting, but you want to give him everything. Biting your lips to stop the labored moans escaping, you clench your eyes and savor the burn.

Your show of obedience has Jungkook’s heart thronging. Fuck, he was enjoying toying with you. Playing you like a fiddle. You produce every tone he desires in the form of wanton melodies, he wants to play them over and over again like his favorite song.

“How are we doing?” he asks, a shit-eating grin plastered on him. Before you could answer, his fingers shallowly enter your soaked pussy, still hampered by the cloth. 

“You- fuck, you said I was the tease here?” Your hands are at his wrist, begging to pull the scrap of cloth aside and have his way. 

He comes to face your sopping mound, pausing only to speak “Never said I wasn’t,” and starts pressing soft, feathery kisses. “That day, seeing you dripping in that towel, I dreamt of having these legs around me.”

“I swear, at least take it off - oh Jungkoo-”

Without warning, he kneads your ass and pushes you into his face. 

You feel like you’ve been on the edge for hours. The suckle on your engorged clit along with the abrasion of the lace gets you so close. So damn close. So, so clo-

The tightness in your belly finally snaps and you howl, gushing your vat of arousal onto his face. The high was more intense than you had imagined, so high that you wonder if you will ever find your way back to reality. You feel like a rock in space, aimlessly floating in the vast nothingness.

You dimly notice Jungkook toying with the lacy hem of your panties, pulling it back to snap it against your hip. The sting is soon forgotten, along with your panties flung across the bed, as he parks himself back between your legs.

“You smell incredible.” He approves, taking a long whiff of your honeyed center. “Look at you, so messy.” He licks a long stripe along your crease. “Messy girl, I should clean you up.”

“Wait Jungkook-” you oppose, lids heaving in pleasure. “I need you inside me, please. I can’t take -oof”

Gnawing at your sodden folds, he let his nose press against your clit. “You’re so fucking tight, you think you can take me?” He shakes his head. “Gotta stretch you out, gotta make me fit.” He presses his tongue against your nub, feeling it throb in anticipation. “And I think you can give me one more.” He ends, before invading your drenched channel with two fingers. You are putting up with his torments the best you can; walls fluttering against his lips, legs entwined behind Jungkook’s back trapping him between your thighs. 

“Ah! God - I, I can’t-” Your eyes are screwed shut, hands bunching the sheets in your grasp.

His fingers fluctuate between scissoring motions, their lengths opening you up for him and curling inside, fingertips finding the rough patch inside. He adds a third finger, pussy straining to accommodate them all. Your thighs clench in the burn, and he groans into your pussy at the pressure. Increasing the pace, he pumps into you harder and faster, sucking your puffy lips in tandem. 

“Please, please, harder - let me cum - please oh go-” 

“Fuck yeah baby, your pussy is just sucking me in. You like that? You like me shoving into your cunt?”

“Uungh yes yes I love it!”

“Doesn’t it hurt? Or are you such a slut for pain? Tell me, tell me you’re a pain slut.”

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t you stop- I am! I am a pain slut! Your pain slut!”

“Goood girrrll,” he husks out. Even though he is taking charge, your words are what control him. “Only mine. My pain slut will come for me now.”

A spray of cum ejects out of you, coating Jungkook’s chest and inundating your legs. The coherent part in you recognizes that you just squirted, but the neanderthal side shuts all recognition of anything that is not Jungkook’s cock. Even after two climaxes, you are hungry to get more. More of him. 

If you don’t fuck him now, you will lose your capability to reason. 

Limbs still heavy and reeling from the ravaging, you pick your pieces and drag Jungkook to the headboard. 

“I’m going to ride you.” you declare and straddle him. 

Jungkook is staring fixedly at your still-leaking cunt. Running his tongue over his lower lip, and licking the remnant syrup of your release. You position yourself, letting the drippage fall directly on his erection. He twitches, eyes still feasting on the mess you are making. 

Finding purchase on his shoulders, you lower yourself. Jungkook’s breath staggers as you drag your inner lips along his hard shaft. You repeat this motion till your fluids drip to his balls. 

“Y/N, I swear to God, if you don’t stop with this-”

“You’ll do what?” you challenge, an eyebrow raised in response to his threat. 

He grabs you by your waist, jerking you up before bringing you down on his dick. Your cunt, creamy from his earlier ministrations, gives no resistance to his hardness. His cock twitches inside as you bottom out. Pulling you closer, he bites your lip and tugs at it. 

“I’ll do this.”

A sharp spank makes you clench around him, the supple flesh of your ass ricocheting in response. 

“Go on baby, ride me.” 

The low-grained command sets you in motion. Slowly gyrating your hips, you feel every ridge of this length inside. Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightens, and you’re sure you will see evidence of it tomorrow. Your grasp on his shoulders isn’t faring any better. 

“You’re so tight, fuck, and so wet. Who made you like this, huh?” A second spank punctuating his question.

“Oh God, you-”, you barely manage to recognize your own voice, “You, Jungkook! Only you!” 

“That’s fucking right, only me.” 

Hips snapping, he meets you halfway. Both of you are lost in each other, lewd sounds of your skin slapping and juices quelching barely muffled by your desperate whines and moans of passion. Eyes locked in like magnets, neither of you could look away. 

Jungkook pulls back a little, slapping your jiggling tit. Your sex clenches, and the following slap has you lodging yourself in the crook of his neck, searching for a reprieve. 

“Want some help?”

One swift move and you are on your stomach, face pushed into a pillow, and ass out. A final spank lands right in the middle, and you can feel it pulsate everywhere. He pushes back into your glistening core, taking control of your pleasure and pain. One hand carding through the nape of your neck, pushing you down, the other hand grabbing your waist and setting the pace. The new angle hits deeper, you feel so full. 

“Jungkoo--unghh I need to cum! Need to- umph- cum so bad!” You are wailing at this point, shame lying somewhere near your flung clothes.

“Fuck, babe, me too. Go ahead and play with yourself, nice and slow.”

It takes a few swipes for the tightness in you to detonate. Tears flood your face as you unravel, your orgasm crashing into you like waves of a tsunami. You clench tight, wetness flows out of your hole as Jungkook pumps in and out, chasing his high. 

He comes undone soon after, ropes of his ejaculate filling your insides. He stays in, plugging you as if to not allow any of it out. But as his member softens, he gives in, turning you on your back to meet his face. 

Butterfly-soft kisses are exchanged after the blazing encounter. He asks you if you’re okay between breaths, a tender murmur you almost miss, as if you weren’t screaming your lungs out moments ago. Nuzzling into his neck, you confirm.

A snort disrupts the silence. Looking up, you see Jungkook chuckling.

In response to your cocked eyebrow, he says “Want to talk about what a freak you are?”

“Want to talk about what a hypocrite you are?”

“Hey, you asked me to spit on you!”

You mock-gasp, hand on chest for the extra effect. “My breasts need medical attention after your attention! Freak!” 

Laughter echoes in the room as you two tumble in the blankets, and you feel his release seeping out of you. Turning to him, you pout, “Your mess is leaking out of me.” 

Jungkook gets up to leave the bed, and you expect a wet towel coming your way. 

What you don’t expect is him parting your legs, gunmetal eyes following the rivulets escaping your abused hole. 

“Your cunt smells so good with my cum on it,” he purrs. 

He gathers the escaping thick liquid and pushes it back into your quivering core. 

Jolting with oversensitivity, you try to stall him but he is fingering you with a vengeance. The ache and soreness soon dispel, bringing forth a new wave of ecstasy. His unrelenting stare concentrates on the mix of fluids on his fingers. With a few strokes on your sensitive bundle of nerves and fingers stuffed inside, you come again, legs shivering and pussy overflowing, his juices intermingled with yours. 

You are dazed; you’ve lost track of everything. The room is spinning in front of you and your body feels like lead. All you can manage is to arch your neck, and plead, “No more, you freak.” 

Jungkook giggles, eyes crinkling in good humor. Ah, the duality of this man is a force to reckon with. You can’t believe this is the same man that fucked you into your bed like a primordial beast. There’s no way you can move anytime soon. 

After a clean-up interval, you are wrapped in each other's arms, melting into the embrace. His musky fragrance putting you at ease, you tuck your in the nook of his neck, basking in the aroma. Hands pressed against his broad chest, exuding warmth for you. His hand cradles your head, snuggling in closer till there is no space to cover. Sweet nothings whispered into each other’s lips, tender kisses exchanged in place of the scorching ones that had passed. You drift in and out of your slumber, fearing the sun would ascend too soon and break you apart. 

A dim glow from the other end of the bed wakes you up. On turning you find Jungkook, dressed in his now-wrinkled clothes, seated on the edge. His gaze, pensive. You lay a hand on his thigh.

“Oh, did the light wake you?”

The alarm on his face makes you smile. “No, your absence did.” 

The corners of his mouth turned up, eyeing you with softness. 

“I have an early schedule. I didn’t want to wake you, but, ” he lets his palm rest on yours, “I also didn’t want to leave without it.”

Neither of you know how to walk away from this. The silence is deafening, unuttered sentiments hanging in the still air. Jungkook’s chest is heavy. 

This is insane. He wants to lay you against a bed of flowers, treat you like the delicate petal you bear resemblance to, worship your body till the sun succumbs to your blazing passion. How is he to explain that his heart is beating through his chest for someone he knows for mere days? He rifles through his memories for a similar instance. 

He finds none. 

Maybe you don’t feel the same way. Maybe, you are blissfully unaware of the tumultuous emotions lurching in the pit of his belly. He can’t assume you will echo his lovesick needs, but he can’t let go. 

You inch closer. 

Fervid feelings die hard. He probes your eyes searching for an intensity matching his. 

You let your lips convey the answer.

Passionate as ever, you draw him into the kiss. His lashes flutter against your rosy cheeks. At the moment, there is no dominance in him. Almost like his tongue, dragging across your swollen lips, is healing the brutality of last night. If you pull back, he comes after you; an incessant tug of war no player wants to win. 

“Please Jungkook,” you choke between kisses, “Please tell me this isn’t the last of us.”

He is hovering on top of you, the galaxy in his eyes twinkling at your words. 

“Please, I don’t want this to end.” You continue against his lips. Head versus heart, you fought a losing battle; how were you to stall the inevitable? Fueled, you plunge your tongue into him, determined to make your ardor known. The void of ferocity is filled with slow sensuality; like he is the sole reservoir to quench your thirst. 

“Y/N”, he breathes out, “I feel like I know everything about you and nothing about you at the same time.” Resting your foreheads against one another, he continues. “I’m not about to let fate decide when we cross paths again.”

A grin finds your lips. “Destiny really pulled its weight here, didn’t it?”

He wordlessly nods, not wanting to break the tranquility in place. However, it is short-lived; his phone’s ringer makes sure of it. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right down.” Something the speaker says turns Jungkook scarlet red. “I said I’ll be right there!” he yells before ending the call.

“The members are asking why I wasn’t in my room.” he clarifies, waggling his brows.  You join his laughter, happy to have just the simple moment with him. 

After exchanging numbers (and a photo for keepsake), Jungkook presses one last kiss, lips promising to find each other again. Somehow, you don’t say goodbye. You just stare at his disappearing body, confident that the next encounter is not far. 

Jake is babbling about his night, how he managed to ditch the god-awful party and hang out with some overenthusiastic college-goers who paid for his drinks with their trust fund dough. This is usually the time you ask him if he’s proud of mooching off of children, but today his exaggerated narrative is cracking you up. 

His forehead creases. “What’s up with you today? You haven’t vowed to skin me alive even once.”

“You like it when I threaten bodily harm?”

“I’m kinky like that.”

You just shrug. Erotic images make a fleeting appearance in your mind, but they are interrupted by your flight announcement. 

“Aren’t you glad this is over? You can go back to overworking yourself in your office instead of a hotel!” Jake remarks, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “At least your back won’t break in the travel.”

Thinking over your experience in the city, you confess “Actually, I look forward to returning here.”

A thought slips in, curving your mouth into a smile. You quietly add,

“And yeah, my back was broken all right.”

Thank you for making it to the end! Please do let me know what you think!

[valdomarx]

“Geralt. My dearest friend. My closest companion. Light of my life, fire of my-”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Jaskier?”

“Seeing as how I’ve made you famous, and I flatter myself that this has eased you path somewhat, why, this very inn not only took us in but even offered us a discounted rate-”

“What do you want, Jaskier?” Testier this time.

“Ahh. Well. Let me put it plainly: I’m in need of a favour.”

Geralt raises one eyebrow, in an expression he knows speaks volumes.

“I need you to come with me to Lettenhove this winter and pose as my fiancé.”

Geralt nearly drops the sword he’s sharpening. A million thoughts whip through his mind, but one is most pressing: “Why, for Melitele’s sake?”

Jaskier waves a hand in a vague and non-descriptive gesture. “It’s a court thing, you know how families are, and my mother has made it abundantly clear that it’s time for me to settle down and this year I’m to return affianced or else she’ll select someone for me. And I can’t get hitched to some local lady, Geralt, I simply can’t, it’ll ruin my bardic appeal, not to mention my employment prospects, and of course I won’t be able to travel with you, and it’s-”

Geralt holds up a hand to ward off the wall of words. The idea of no longer travelling with Jaskier is unconscionable, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. And they spend so much time together they’re practically married anyway. How hard could it be to pretend for a few days?

“Fine,” he says gruffly.

“Oh, Geralt, you are wonderful.” Jaskier beams and throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt growls, but secretly, it’s actually rather nice.

-

“Mother, this is Geralt, my fiancé.”

Cold, clear eyes look him up and down, assessing him, and pinch into an expression suggesting he has been found wanting. Geralt decides against opening his mouth and further cementing that opinion.

“A witcher.” Her voice has the familiar twang of Jaskier’s, but with the flat, expressionless cadence he associates with the higher echelons of the aristocracy.

“A witcher!” Jaskier confirms in a cheery tone. “Isn’t that exciting?”

She sniffs in a manner which makes it clear that exciting would not be her first choice of word. “I see. He will be joining us for this year’s Yuletide?”

“He will.”

Her face draws back into the impassive mask of the well-bred. “Very well. You will stay in the east wing.”

“Thank you, mother.” Jaskier executes a stiff bow which Geralt copies and they beat a hasty retreat.

-

“That went rather well!”

Geralt blinks. “Jaskier, I’m fairly sure your mother means to have me killed in my sleep.”

“Oh, don’t mind her. She’s always like that. She’s actually softened up a lot since dear old dad died, gods rest the grumpy bastard.”

Geralt struggles to imagine how such staid, cold people could possibly have produced a son as bright and warm as Jaskier. They might as well be a different species.

Jaskier pushes open a door to a grand suite, all plush velvets and gold ornamentation, a thick woven rug underfoot. It’s the most opulent room Geralt has ever seen, but Jaskier pays it no mind and throws his bag casually on the bed.

“We’ll have to stay here together,” he says apologetically, not looking Geralt in the eye. “But the bed is plenty big, or I can sleep on the sofa if you’d rather -”

Geralt is still taking it all in: The space, the furnishings, the frankly enormous bed which looks divinely comfortable. And there, through the next room, that looks like-

“Is that a copper bathtub?” he asks, eyes wide. Such luxuries were a rarity indeed.

Jaskier grinned. “It is. Let me get some food sent up and I’ll wash your hair?”

Geralt grumbles, just for the effect, and decides that putting up with tedious aristocracy might have its benefits after all.

-

Yule festivities in Lettenhove are, mercifully, a mere matter of days. First there is the fitting for formal attire, which Geralt scowls through but Jaskier promises will be made up for with plenty of good food and wine. Then there are several deeply tedious aristocratic parties, which Jaskier sails through and Geralt spends mostly hiding in dark corners, as is his wont.

Occasionally, Jaskier will grab him by the hand and introduce him as, “Geralt, my husband-to-be,” and something funny will flip over in his stomach which will require several drinks to settle. When he returns to his dark corner he’ll find his heart pumping a little faster as his eyes track Jaskier flitting around the room. It’s probably just indigestion from all the rich food.

Then there is the formal family Yuletide dinner, a spectacularly awkward and singly unpleasant evening spent around a long, cold table with Jaskier’s mother and various cousins, who regard Geralt with expressions ranging from bland disinterest to active hostility. The food is heavy beyond measure and the conversation cruel and bland by turns.

They cover the need for raising taxes, the many failings of the servant class, and the petty squabbles over jewels and titles that seems to be the bread and butter of these people. With each hateful line, Geralt feels his blood rising. If it weren’t for Jaskier making pleading eyes at him, he’d take great pleasure in explaining some hard truths to them.

When a cousin begins expounding on useless lazy peasants in the estate, complaining that they can’t work because of plague, but we all know they’re simply idle, Geralt grits his teeth so hard that he swears the sound must be audible.

Beneath the table, Jaskier takes his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Staring down at their joined hands, Geralt detaches from these awful people and their awful conversation and focuses on the simple warmth of Jaskier’s fingers intertwined with his own.

-

They make their escape from dinner as soon as can be considered polite, and Geralt takes a second to lean against the door to their room, breathing deeply.

“You did well not to throttle anyone,” Jaskier says with a reassuring smile. “If we’d had to listen to cousin Edrick for a minute longer, I might have launched over the table with a carving knife myself.”

Geralt reaches for him without thinking, and once again Jaskier’s hand slips into his own. It’s grounding, to feel something genuine in this place surrounded by artifice.

“Come on,” Jaskier says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Geralt doesn’t even ask where they’re going before nodding.

-

They sneak away from the estate out of the servants’ door and follow a winding path toward a cluster of lights in the valley below. The path into Lettenhove town is quiet and calm, and as they walk the snow begins to fall in soft flurries, covering the ground in a peaceful white blanket.

The town looks picture perfect when they arrive, a charming jumble of thatched cottages and a small, cosy inn from which bright light spills out into the snowy night. When they enter the barmaid runs over to hug Jaskier and the proprietor slaps him on the back, and Jaskier has a kind word and a waved greeting for every person in there.

Geralt feels something unwind in his chest, something he hadn’t realised was tight and twisted until now. Seeing Jaskier in his element, among people who love him for who he is, instead of among that cold, hateful family, he feels right in a way he hasn’t for days.

Jaskier is already buying drinks and passing them around, and he excitedly waves Geralt over. “Bree, Geoffrey,” he addresses the couple behind the bar, “This is Geralt.” A shy smile sneaks over his face. “My fiancé.” The couple gasp in delight and congratulate Jaskier, then they’re embracing Geralt like old friends and pushing a drink into his hands.

“Come on, Geralt, join us!” Bree smiles warmly. “It’ll be the ten o’clock bells soon, and we must have Jaskier lead us in a song.”

The evening is a whirl of music and dance and loud, terrible singing, which the entire town seems to join in. For once there is no corner for Geralt to hide in, so he stays by Jaskier’s side, basking in the reflected glow of these people’s clear adoration of his bard.

-

When the midnight bell chimes and Geoffrey turns them all out for the night, the revelers wend their way home still singing and drinking. As the place empties out, Jaskier slides over to Bree to press a kiss to her cheek and a bulging purse into her hand. She tries to wave him off but Jaskier tucks the money behind the counter all the same, and Geralt watches, a deep wave of fondness sweeping through him.

The snow is still falling when they step out into the now-quiet street, soft, fat flakes drifting lazily from the sky and sticking in Jaskier’s hair. His cheeks are flushed pink and his hair falls in an messy sweep over his eyes; without thinking Geralt reaches out to brush it away behind his ear. Jaskier’s blush deepens as he does so, but he shivers in the cold.

“Here.” Geralt unclasps the thick cloak from around his neck and sweeps it over Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier’s mouth forms a little o of surprise and he looks up at Geralt, something tender in his eyes.

Geralt’s gaze is caught by the snow flakes settling on Jaskier’s lashes; he’s so focused that he almost jumps when Jaskier reaches out to take his hand. The sky seems to glow with a soft orange light as the clouds reflect the last few fires in the town below; everything is warm with Jaskier’s hand in his despite the chill in the air.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says softly. “For being here with me.” And leaning in, his breath caressing over Geralt’s face, he touches his lips to Geralt’s cheek in a ghost of a kiss.

Suddenly it occurs to Geralt that this will be it, tomorrow they’ll head back on the path like none of this ever happened, no more holding hands or being close, no more being introduced as Jaskier’s betrothed. And despite the hellish parts of this experience he really doesn’t want it to end. He likes being Jaskier’s person, and he likes Jaskier being his.

They are still standing close together, mere inches between them, and it’s no effort at all to lean in, slowly, cautiously, to find Jaskier’s lips with his own, to place a tentative kiss there. And then Jaskier’s hands are fisting in his shirt and tugging him closer still, and his arms go around his waist and Jaskier is kissing him back like he’s been waiting for it, their mouths slotting together like they were made to fit each other, and everything is blazingly bright like the white of the snow.

When they pull apart they stay with foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, and Geralt can see a smile cracking wide over Jaskier’s face.

“I like being engaged to you,” Geralt says quietly, unable to keep it in.

Jaskier’s smile widens even further. “I like being engaged to you too,” he says. He kisses him again. “Fiancé.” Another kiss. “Husband to be.” And another. “Partner.” One more. “Beloved.”

“I like the sound of those.” He suspects he may be wearing the same dopey grin as Jaskier is.

“Then let’s make it official.” Jaskier bites his lip. “Marry me?”

Jaskier is a picture of perfection, eyes gleaming and cheeks ruddy, snowflakes in his hair. Geralt’s heart has always been right here.

“I’d be honoured.” He considers for a second. “But not in Lettenhove.”

Jaskier’s laugh sparkles with joy. “Anywhere but here.”

[fairhairedkings]

What is the role of chains in the narrative of Mad Max: Fury Road?

thank you for asking me this question and granting me the opportunity to discuss mad max: fury road, which is a near perfect movie. you can fight me on that. spoilers about mad max ahead obviously.

there's lots of chains in the movie (like the one that rips off immortan joe's face), but i will focus on the chain connecting max and nux. i haven't watched it in a while so i checked some scenes on youtube and hopefully i've got the order right. will any of this make sense? who know.

so the chain that connects max with nux is what gets max to the wives + furiosa in the first place. nux can’t leave the citadel to chase furiosa with the other war boys unless he takes max with him, connected by both the chain and the IV. the chain gets used against max in his tussle during the sandstorm, but he's also able to use it to keep himself on the car and...not falling off and dying. when he regains consciousness after the crash, he undoes the IV, but needs something to break the chain, so he carries nux with him until he gets to the truck where furiosa and the others are trying to get things running again.

the wives are cleaning up with water and, more importantly, they’ve got a pair of bolt cutters out because they’ve just used them to cut the dag free. the dag is the one to come over to cut the chain between max and nux, giving furiosa the opportunity to attack before it’s actually cut. throughout this fight, the chain gets used against max and nux — the wives pulling at it to save furiosa — but they also use it to trip furiosa and eventually win the fight. nux cuts the chain, leaving most of the length attached to himself.

the remaining bit of chain attached to max’s face cage, is removed when he leaves the cab to fix the dragging trailer. while he’s doing that, nux is able to sneak into the cab and tries to choke furiosa with the chain he’s attached to, but they throw him out of the truck, putting him in immortan joe's path.

a few scenes later, it's this same part of the chain that catches onto something on the top of the war rig (MEDIOCRE), preventing nux from getting in and killing furiosa. nux’s failure leads him to switch sides, ultimately saving them on more than one occasion.

but in the meantime, a harpoon thing is launched into the cab, pulling the wheel off and trapping max's hand. it’s attached with a chain, pulling towards their pursuers (yes, yes, this is a different chain and this is a bit of a tangent, but the angharad sequence is phenomenal). angharad is the one that hangs out of the rig to cut the chain as furiosa sets up the wrench so that they can control their direction, because she's aware that immortan joe and the others won't fire on her. this is when the rock is in the way. without the wheel, it’s not as easy to control the truck, but max manages to turn them aside and angharad moves between the cab and the tanker. it's when she's trying to return to the cab that she slips and falls, going under the wheels of joe's truck. and the reason that she slips is because the blood from the bullet graze when max shot at her has been trickling down her leg (nothing in this movie is wasted and it’s so good).

AND THEN

joe stops chasing them. not only does he stop chasing them, when the bullet farmer goes ahead, he doesn't follow because the organic mechanic is removing the baby. if he’d gone with the bullet farmer at that point, max, furiosa, and the wives would likely have been caught.

(side note: angharad was also having some kind of labour pains based on her reactions at a few spots (braxton hicks maybe?) so my interpretation is that while angharad's child doesn't survive, her death is what allows everyone to survive, so she becomes the first of a new generation of many mothers by being the one to save them all.)

meanwhile, the rig gets stuck in the mud. it's nux's idea to hook the rig onto the tree, then pull it out. when he gets to the end of the winch cable, it isn't long enough to reach. SO HE USES THE PIECE OF CHAIN THAT HE STILL HADN'T TAKEN OFF (and the fact that it’s a dead tree that saves them…) to bridge the gap and get the truck free.

so the chain is gone, but the other thing that connected max and nux was the IV since nux needed max’s blood, which max is still carrying around. jump to the end, furiosa’s been stabbed and is losing blood. she’s going to die. but max re-attaches the IV, PHYSICALLY connecting with furiosa as he finally allows some human connection with her as well, telling her his name.

now, the fact that max’s first and last lines in the movie are “My name is Max” drives me absolutely feral, and it ties in so well with max's journey.

the chain is a real, physical, tangible object within the world that serves a narrative purpose multiple times in the story - get max out of the citadel, get nux to their side, pull the truck free - but it's also a handy symbol for his connection to other people.

max starts out alone and then human connection is forced on him - it's a burden and a cage and all he wants is to get as far away as he can. but as the movie progresses, he begins to work with the others, trusting them and taking care of them - the same chain becomes a tool of salvation/redemption. people can be cruel and take things, driving us away in an attempt to protect ourselves, but it is very often our connections to other people that help us heal.

i just think that mad max: fury road is, in addition to being a highly entertaining movie, a really interesting exploration on the idea that paradise is a place that you can flee to rather than one you make together with other people. remembering that has honestly helped me out a lot over the years whenever i deal with feelings of hopelessness (which is...not a rare occurrence). i genuinely love this movie.

[griffintail]

Okay this is just a small thing that you don't have to do, just an idea but like. What do you think their reactions would be to wolf hybrid!Child reader going Rabid on a skeleton that tried to hurt their dad.

I hope you enjoy! ♥

In Game, Reader is 10

Pairings:  Platonic! Parental! Tommy, Wilbur, Philza, Technoblade, Eret, and Dream x F! Child! Wolf Hybrid! Reader

Warnings: Fighting of Mobs

        TommyInnit

        Hyped

        Tommy loved bringing (Y/N) everywhere he went, much to everyone’s dismay her whole life.

        Their dismay lessened once (Y/N) was able to actually learn how to fight. With her added perks of being part wolf and her father being a decent fighter, she wasn’t half bad for only being ten.

        Today, the pair were out trying to get (Y/N) her first disc. Sure, she had her father’s she shared with him but she wanted her own, which made Tommy so proud of her. Together they struck out into the world and went searching for a few ruined temples and such.

        “We only got a few diamonds so far.” (Y/N) huffed, her ears flat on top of her head after they searched their third temple.

        “None of that now!” Tommy tried to cheer her up. “It took me ages to find my first disc. We’ll find one for you. And having a few diamonds isn’t too bad either! We can use them to try and scam a few items from people.”

        (Y/N)’s tail wagged at her father’s words. “Yeah! We’ll find one! And if you’re going to do more scams with Uncle Tubbo can I join?”

        “Of course! That’s the spirit!” He ruffled her hair between her ears as they went to find a new place to loot.

        Night was slowly creeping up on them when they found a new abandoned building.

        “Alright, it’s dark inside and it’s late. So, get your shield and sword ready.” Tommy told her.

        She nodded, taking her shield off her back as Tommy went in first, shield up and sword at the ready. Following in after him with her shield, her ears twitched as she listened. Tommy walked forward when (Y/N) heard the pulling off a bow. Before she could warn him, Tommy yelped as an arrow snagged his bandana and tore it as it went by.

         He whipped around to defend himself when (Y/N) snarled, launching herself into the skeleton.

        The monster was barely able to hold itself together and got no chance to respond to the attack as the child used her sword to cut off its head. Tommy stood in surprise as (Y/N)’s ears twitched and her tail straight as she growled tearing the rest of the bones apart.

        “Holy shit!” He exclaimed finally, (Y/N) jumping as she looked at him. “That was fucking awesome!”

        She knelt on the ground for a moment with a bone in her hand, watching him before grinning and her tail wagged quickly.

        “Really?”

        “Of course! My training for you has really worked!” He grinned as helped her up. “Let’s go own more shit!”

        “Yeah!” She bounced putting the bone in her hand in her bag to gnaw on later.

        Tommy had her listen first this time and together they took out any other mobs.

        In the end, Tubbo screamed as Tommy slammed his door open with (Y/N) on his shoulders, practically howling while holding a disc in celebration. It was just an average adventure.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        Wilbur

        Worried but proud

        Oh look, Wilbur has another animal child, who would be surprised?

        After the war, L’Manberg had become a mostly peaceful nation. (Y/N) didn’t need to learn how to fight like her brother so he let her instead enjoy her other passions.

        It very much pleased Wilbur though that his little girl always still wanted to spend time with him. One of those days, the pair had been outside the walls. Wilbur had brought his guitar, strumming as he sang, while (Y/N) ran around to get her extra energy. The father hadn’t expected the storm clouds to roll in so fast but they did.

        The rain started to pour, (Y/N) screaming as she clung onto Wilbur as thunder boomed.

        “It’s alright little star.” He assured her as he quickly got up, putting his guitar on his back. “Let’s get back home.”

        She clung to his hand as they sprinted for the path and went for L’Manberg. He had carelessly not brought a weapon as he hadn’t expected to be out when monsters could come out. So, when a skeleton was in the path, he halted to a stop, looking for a quick escape before it noticed them.

        “This way—” Wilbur tugged (Y/N)’s hand but his eyes went wide as the arrow flew past his head. “Shit!”

        Before he knew it, (Y/N) had let go of his hand. He was too busy looking for a weapon to defend himself and his child when he noticed (Y/N) attacking the skeleton.

        “(Y/N)!” He yelped in panic as he rushed forward.

        Even without any experience, just pure instinct to protect her pack, she managed to take apart the skeleton. Wilbur pulled her from it, her big eyes looking at him with a bone in her mouth. She sat there for a moment before her eyes went wide, the bone dropping.

        “I’m sorry daddy!”

        Wilbur didn’t know what to say for a moment, the thunderclap breaking him from his thoughts as (Y/N) screamed, clinging onto him again. He took a new approach and scooped her up before sprinting instead for the Embassy. Tommy wasn’t in, so they were able to slip in. The man sighed with relief to be out of the rain, putting (Y/N) down.

        She shook the water out of her hair as she swished her tail to do the same. Wilbur took off his guitar, jacket, and hat, laying the objects on a chest as he ruffled his hair.

        “Alright, let’s get your jacket off and find something to dry off with,” Wilbur said, going for the back room.

        “I’m really sorry daddy.” She spoke before he stepped through.

        He stopped, remembering what happened. He looked back at her, her ears pointed back as she stared down at the ground with her hands behind her back and her wet tail on the floor. Coming over, he knelt in front of her, taking her shoulders, having her look at.

        “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Wilbur told her, making one of her ears twitch. “You did good. I was extremely worried, yes. I was scared you would get hurt and I don’t want you to rush into danger again without a proper weapon, but I’m not angry or disappointed with you.”

        “I really did good?” She asked, her tail coming off the floor.

        “Yes, you did.” He smiled. “I’m proud you were able to think on your feet little star and protect us both. But, as I said, we’re not going to do that again without a weapon right?”

        “Yes sir, Mr. President.” She gave a giggle with a salute.

        He laughed as he kissed her forehead and ruffled her hair. “Now let’s get you dry.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        Philza

        Would have taught her more control, proud

        (Y/N) laughed as Phil held her securely to him as they soared through the sky from the village they had just traded at.

        “You having fun darling?” He smiled at her.

        “Yes!” She cheered, her ears twitching madly in the wind. “This so much more fun than walking!”

        He laughed himself as he nodded. “It is. Like I said though, I can’t do this long, we’ll probably have to walk the rest of the way home.”

        “Aw ok.” She frowned but instead smiled and decided to enjoy the moment.

        Phil had promised the young girl when she was old enough, he’d start taking her one trading expeditions after he trained her up a bit. He did tend to stay out for long periods of time after all and usually saw mobs. It had come to that time and Phil personally trained her. As Phil had taught all three of his sons, teaching his fourth child was no work and (Y/N) picked it up quickly. He also helped her work on her wolf instincts just as he had with Techno with his piglin ones.

        Of course, it was precautional training. He wasn’t going to let her fight mobs so easily. There was little to no chance she’d have to fight anything; Phil was a master at avoiding mobs and taking them out with ease as he only had one life left to his name and had to be extra careful.

        As night was starting to set in, Phil landed as his wings took as much as they could.

        “Alright, stay close to me darling.” He told her as he took off his shield and sword as a precaution.

        She nodded, her ears perked up and listening carefully to help her father as she had her own gear out. Together, they walked through the snow towards their home, Phil ahead of (Y/N) as she was close to his back. As they were close to the edge of their property, (Y/N)’s right ear twitched at the sound of a bowstring in the distance. Quickly, she turned and held up a shield in front of her father’s back, an arrow giving a loud THUNK as it hit the wood.

        Phil jumped at the noise, whipping around just as (Y/N) dashed forward and used her sword to strike the skeleton with ease. He rushed over as the skeleton tried to recollect itself and gave a final blow to it.

        “Come on,” Phil told her as her tail swished and she growled lightly. “We’re almost home.”

        She followed Phil again and from there they got home safely. He sighed in relief as he laid down his weapons, (Y/N) laying hers down beside him. Looking at his daughter, he patted her head between her ears smiling.

        “Good job kiddo. You really had my back.”

        Her tail wagged eagerly as she smiled. “I learned from the best.”

        He laughed as he nodded. “Guess you did. We got to work on you not rushing in head first though ok?”

        “Ok.” She nodded with determination.

        “That’s my little angel.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        Technoblade

        Proud

        (Y/N) was the daughter of the Blood God!

        The second she could hold a sword on her own, she wanted to learn everything she could just to be like her father. Techno was glad to teach her as he wanted to make sure if his enemies ever found her, she could defend himself and he did tend to exploit her wolf abilities in some dangerous places, so not having to watch her constantly was good too.

        Today was any other day. A bit of training between the two, trading a bit with a village, minor terrorism in the Dream SMP land.

        “So, what did we learn today?” Techno asked as he led her across the bridge in the Nether to the home portal.

        “Grandpa doesn’t let us have fun?” She questioned as she looked at him.

        Techno threw back his head in laughter at that. Phil had convinced Techno not to do a few of his crimes, much to the pair’s disappointment.

        “I was looking for more we keep better track of our invisibility, but grandpa not letting us have fun is true too.” He grinned.

        (Y/N) wagged her tail as Techno went through the portal first, (Y/N) a few seconds behind. He frowned at the night sky, taking his axe off his belt as he saw a few scattered mobs in the snow.

        “Guess we were in the Nether too long,” Techno said. “Stay close to me. We’re going to make a run for the house.”

        “Ok.” She nodded as she took off her sword just as a precaution.

        “Three, two, one, go!” He told her before the two of them sprinted across the snow.

        They had piqued the interest of a few zombies but they were much too fast for them. As they got close to the house, an arrow snagged itself into Techno’s cape. He stopped and went to turn with a full axe swing but didn’t get the chance as a snarl filled the air. Looking, he saw (Y/N) slashing through the skeleton with ease then tore it apart with her own hands.

        He was impressed but there were mobs around. So, grabbing her by the arm, he dragged her away, forcing her to run with him again as she growled still at the now-dead skeleton.

        “Come on killer.” He told her with a proud smirk.

        “It tried to hurt you.” She huffed as they finally slowed down on the porch.

        “Yes, but what do we say?” He looked at her.

        “Technoblade never dies!” She threw up her arms with a grin and he smiled as well as he ruffled her hair as he opened the door.

        “That’s right. You did well out there, little goddess, we need to work on your form though and that was a bit overkill.”

        She pouted. “Ok.”

        He chuckled patting her head. “But I’m proud of you regardless.”

        That made her smile again as Techno took off his cape to fix it. As he did the voices were chanting.

        Blood Child! Blood Child! Blood Child!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        Eret

        Worried

        (Y/N), as a wolf hybrid, had an excessive amount of energy that Eret was just not able to keep up with sometimes. So, he’d let her go off on her own with Tommy, the two usually able to work both of their excessive energy out without any possible danger as Eret made Tommy promise him.

        It had been one of those days and Eret was waiting by the castle gate, worry starting to seep into him as the sun was starting to set.

        “Damn it, Tommy.” He muttered under his breath before going back inside the castle for a moment.

        Coming back out and starting to walk down the path, now he had a sword strapped to his belt as he made his way to Tommy’s. As he got to the fenced area, he heard the sounds of (Y/N)’s laughter as Tommy was yelling out profanities. Going in and to the door, he knocked on Tommy’s door. Swinging it open, Tommy stood there with a scowl on his face.

        “You’re both late,” Eret told him.

        “Shit, is it really that late?” Tommy’s eyes went wide at the setting light. “I got to meet up with Wilbur!”

        He went back inside as (Y/N) came over, seeing her father, a guilty look on her face seeing the fading light.    

        “Sorry, dad.”

        “It’s alright sweetie. Let’s get home before it gets too dark. Stay safe Tommy!” He called as (Y/N) came to Eret’s side.

        The two walked down the Prime Path as the sun set full set.

        “You’re not mad?” (Y/N) asked.

        “No princess, I understand you were having fun. I was just worried and I knew I had to come to get you. Tommy’s a good fighter but I don’t think he could protect two people.” Eret explained calmly to her.

        “Well, I’m sorry I worried you.”

        “It’s alright, let’s just get home safe.” He smiled at her.

        The castle was just in sight, making Eret feel relief that they’d get there without seeing a single mob, but he jinxed himself. As they stepped out of the gate from the Community House, an arrow flew by his arm. He jumped in surprise, pulling his sword as he went to grab (Y/N) to pull her behind him, but only grabbed air.

        Looking around in a panic, he saw his little girl tackling the skeleton on instinct and starting to pull it apart with her hands.

        “Princess.” He said quickly as he went over and pulled her off the mob as she growled. “It’s alright. Calm down.”

        “It tried to hurt you!”

        “I understand sweetie, but you should have let me handle it alright?”

        She huffed but nodded. “Alright.”

        He helped her up and smiled as he ruffled her hair. “Thank you for being my knight instead princess but I promise I got it.”

        “Ok, dad.” She agreed as they went home to the castle without any more problems. “…can you teach me how to fight though?”

        “If you want to princess. We’ll figure it out.”

        “Thank you, dad.” She smiled.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        Dream

         Proud but Worried

        “Got you!” (Y/N) howled as she tackled George, who in turn screamed.

        Dream laughed as he came over to them putting his wooden sword on George’s chest. They were playing a game of Manhunt and Dream had (Y/N) on his team naturally. With that, she was able to use her wolf senses to win with ease. Dream actually had to do very little but defend her. Sure, he trained her but there was a large training curve between her and everyone else.

        “We win again.” Dream told him.

        “This is no fair,” George whined. “(Y/N) can hear everything.”

        “You guys practically stomp around the forest.” (Y/N) grinned as she jumped up, her tail wagging rapidly.

        “Now don’t be too mean to your uncle.” Dream laughed, ruffling her hair.

        “I’m going to guess George lost too.” Sapnap came over to the group.

        “Dad and I are the best team!” (Y/N) threw up her hands, making Dream grin as he moved his mask from his face.

        “What told you? The scream?” Dream teased George now.

        George grabbed Dream, trying to tackle him but Dream managed to swing it back and pin George to the ground. The goggled man huffed at his second defeat as (Y/N) cheered.

        “Alright, let’s get home you two idiots.” Dream chuckled as he helped George up.

        The sun was close to setting and they were in the forest. The two other men agreed with Dream and everyone started walking.

        “Can we play again tomorrow?” (Y/N) asked Dream with eagerness, her tail still wagging.

        He laughed, nodding. “Sure. But why don’t you try and find me tomorrow with your uncles?”

        “But I like your team.” She pouted.

        “I’m honored sweetheart, but we have to make your uncles think they’re good too.” He whispered but loud enough for the others to hear.

        “Alright! You listen here Dream!” Sapnap stopped to argue with his friend, making Dream laughed.

        (Y/N) was giggling as the three were playfully arguing with each other but she frowned as her ear twitched hearing a sound in the forest. It sounded like…bones?

        Then she heard the bowstring and her eyes went wide.

        “Look out!” She shouted, startling everyone, giving them enough time to move as the arrow just flew past Dream’s face.

        “Holy shit!” Dream exclaimed in surprise.

        Before anyone could react, there was a snarl and the three saw the little girl tearing the skeleton apart.

        “Yo! You show it (Y/N)!” Sapnap cheered.

        “Shut up. Alright, sweetheart.” Dream came over, pulling her off. “You got it.”

        She huffed at the pile of bones before looking at her dad. “Are you ok daddy?”

        He smiled lightly as he nodded, patting her head as he crouched in front of her. “I’m fine, you warned me just in time.”

        “Good.” She grinned, her tail wagging.

        “But I don’t want you to do something like that again ok?” He looked at her seriously. “You got it, but you went way over of what you needed to.”

        She frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

        “It was dead, but you kept going. That’s serious stuff. Sapnap was wrong to encourage you. I’m proud you got it, but you need to keep your control, ok?”

        She nodded slowly. “Ok. I think I understand.”

        He smiled again, kissing the top of her head. “Good. Now let’s get home before anything else catches us.”

        With that, the four went home, pride definitely in his chest but he would make sure his daughter understood her anger.

[ivybucky]

remember - b.b. x fem!reader

Request by @divergirl99 : Could I make a request a Bucky x reader....where maybe she is childhood best friends and goes to war with them and when she thinks the boys are gone she volunteers to help stark recreate the serum resulting in her being a super soldier who doesn’t age and after civil war Nat (who she is friends with) asked her for a place to hide and she see Bucky and Steve and really fluffy reunion and Bucky remember hers and tells him he loves her?? (Sorry it is really long) - divergirl99

a/n: i'm sorry this sucks??? i might try and redo this at a later time but this has been sitting in my requests for far too long.

author: abby<3

words: 1317

“Ma’am,” a security guard stepped in her path. “You can’t enter this facility without some kind of granted access.”

“I don’t care,” she snapped. “Stark’s gonna see me whether he wants to or not.”

“Let her in, Jimmy,” Howard Stark stood with his arms crossed across his chest. The security guard reluctantly backed away. “I was expecting this at some point.”

“Howard-”

“Y/N, I know, okay?” he sighed, shoulders dropping slightly. “Why don’t you come in, I’ve got some stuff I wanna show you.”

The entrance to the SSR facility was grand, but everything with Stark was. She felt her own urgency get muddled under the views of the labs they passed down the all.

“What’s going on here Howard- what do you have that I don’t know about?”

“We recreated it.”

“You what? Howard-”

“We were able to do it, finally, I think.”

“You think?”

“We haven’t tested it yet.”

“And what if this gets into the wrong hands? What if someone like Hydra? Steve wouldn’t have-”

“Y/N,” he sighed. “I miss him too. Why do you think I’m doing this? I know he’s still out there. But I can’t do this by myself.”

“You have at least 300 bodies in this facility.”

“You know what I mean.” Y/N looked around at the viles, the serum that covered the table slabs of the room. “I’m asking for your help.”

“Howard,” her arms tightened around her own waist. “I lost my best friend and the man I had fallen in love with in the same war. I don’t know if I have anything else to give to the cause. They were the ones who could have helped, I’m just an agent.”

“Erskine chose you too. How many women do you see fighting these wars? He knew what you were meant to do, just as Steve did, just as Bucky did. This is it, Y/N.”

She thought about Bucky, how he tried to be everything Steve was molded into. She thought about how he fell, without the chance to realize himself was plenty good enough. She thought about Steve, how the world would be blind to his deeds as he sat in the ice, not knowing what he did to keep the world that had treated him so cruelly safe.

“Fine,” her arms fell down to her sides, a decision already set on her face. “Rig me up, Stark. For them.”

“Who is this?” Y/N bit into the burner phone that never rang. “How did you get this number?”

“Well,” Nat’s voice sounded over the speaker, causing her mouth to tip up slightly. “After all this time, that’s how you greet an old friend?”

“Well, it has been ten years, Tash,” she sighed, untensing her shoulders. “I wasn’t sure you were still out there. Deep doesn’t have a whole lot of press coverage around here.”

“I’m still out here,” Natasha sighed, clearing her throat. “A lot of people, Y/N, are still out here.”

She paused, back straightening once more. “Natalia-”

“They’re both with me,” her voice was firm, and concerning. “And we need to lay low for a bit.”

“You’re already on your way, aren’t you?”

“What, no? You’re at an undisclosed location, how could I possibly-”

“How far out are you?”

“Two hours,” Nat laughed, but Y/N heard the sadness, the pain that lined her voice.

“I’ll see you soon,” She breathed out with an unsteadiness of the reunion to come. “Be safe. Do they know?”

“I’ll tell them before we get there.”

“Natasha,” Steve’s tired voice called out, as he rubbed a hand over his face. “You haven’t told us where we’re going yet.”

“That’s because I need to explain some things,” her gaze dropped to Bucky, who looked like he was still reeling. “To both of you.”

Steve chuckled darkly, “More secrets?”

“I need you to understand that until now, if you had known, the mission, the undercover, all of it would have been compromised, and she could have been killed.”

“She?” Bucky spoke, for the first time since he boarded the jet. Steve stood up, his memory serving him well.

“Natasha-”

“After Steve went into the ice, Howard Stark didn’t stop,” she began, sitting down and looking at her hands. “There were attempts, too many, from all around to recreate what Erskine had used for Steve. But he knows he wasn’t supposed to be the only one.”

Steve’s chest rose quickly as he sucked in a breath. Bucky stood up, his own breath leaving his body. “Steve-”

“Stark was able to recreate it. But he quickly destroyed the serum after he used it on one test patient, and realized once again what the wrong hands would do with it.”

The quinjet landed, the ramp lowering onto the field they were located in.

“Are you telling me that-”

“Y/N’s alive.” Natasha stood up and walked down the ramp. She turned back around at the super soldiers. “And she’s got the serum.”

Once the ramp met the ground, Bucky took off in a sprint. He ignored the calls of his name, the one he had to learn again, behind him. The wooden steps that lead to the front door creaked under his heavy frame. Consciously, he banged on the door with his flesh hand.

“Okay Nat, jeez-” The door swung open, and Y/N stood there, unchanged, unaged, just as she had the day on the train.

She tried to ignore the moisture building up in her eyes as she saw the man she had loved from afar, with grief, for nearly a hundred years. “James-”

His hands shook as he reached out to caress her cheek, to solidify the image before him. Her hands wrapped around his wrist, pressing her face into his hand. In a second, her body was pressed against his. Bucky buried his face into her neck, clenching his eyes shut in fear that she would disappear once he opened them. He felt her sigh beneath him, hand sweeping up his back. She mumbled against his chest, watery and shaky, “I wasn’t sure you would remember me.”

“Remember you?” He pulled back and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Y/N, you’re the reason I’m not completely gone, doll. I don’t remember everything,” he sighed, cupping her face again. “But I remember you, and I remember how much I love you.”

Y/N gave a watery smile, pressing her lips into the palm of his hand. “I love you, too, James. I always have, and always will.”

His lips against hers were firm, finding purchase in a place he thought he would never find, in a home he thought he would never return to. Her hands wrapped around his neck, something she hadn’t done in this way before but something she knew she was meant to do. She breathed him in, as if he was her only air supply. He smiled into the kiss, something he wasn’t even sure he knew how to do anymore. They broke apart for breath, and to wipe the tears that were flowing away.

“Are you gonna hog her this whole time, Buck,” Steve laughed from behind as he walked up the stairs. “Or do I get to hug my best friend too?”

“Steve!” She launched herself into the arms of her friend, her brother, who she wanted to do everything for. He squeezed her and spun her around as she laughed. She was set down, and immediately went back to Bucky’s side. “Come on inside, we’ve been standing out here too long.”

She smiled at Nat as she followed Steve inside. Bucky pulled Y/N back into another hug, squeezing her with a lightness he couldn’t remember feeling before. And while he regretted a lot of what he had done in his past, he was sure nothing else could have led to having her in his arms again.

Forever Tags(all characters)

@avengers-do-it-better @maisondumepris @hamiltonwrite12

Steve & Bucky

@fab-notfat @mcueveryday @nanners-the-great @mcubuckyandsteve @captainfile @yes-sir-hotchner

Bucky

@aletheladyinred @antheiagoddessofflowers @stevieintheimpala @friendlyneighborhood-fangirl

[joyaphoria]

with the flowers (8)

part eight: the chaos within

pairing: suna x f!reader

summary: if a teacher had been the one to catch suna dangling on the edge of inarizaki’s roof, he definitely would’ve been in trouble. except it wasn’t a teacher that caught him, it was you—the school whore. yea, he’s starting to wish it was a teacher.

word count: 1.2k

this is a retell of chapter six, but in y/n’s perspective the strikethroughs are supposed to be there re-read part six before reading this

© 𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢

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one, two, three.

three hours seconds, he’s been staring at your house.

he’s not actually gonna come inside, is he? no, he thinks you house is pathetic.

he’s walking up the driveway; no now he’s on your path he’s on your path.

‘why are you here?’ “you’re here!” you stare smile at him, your eyes piercing into running along to the girl he brought with him.

more people, there’s more. run, get away. leave, go away.

“oh, and you brought—wait, is that your sister?”

it’s a stupid question. of course she’s his sister. now he thinks you’re stupid. you’re stupid you’re stupid, you’re stupid.

“my parents aren’t home right now, they thought i should bring her.” he scoffs replies.

he’s staring he’s glaring parents parents parents.

you stare at her pat her head, before closing the door moving aside to let them in. 

‘you coming was already too much.’ “don’t even worry about it don’t even worry about it,” you smile.

repeating sentences is pathetic weird. shut your mouth don’t do it.

send them away, show them you aren’t one to be messed with.

“i have a little sister you can play with!” you offer her your hand, and she hesitantly takes it. “don’t touch me.”

go away, go away please. leave us alone.

“hanakooo!” don’t come downstairs, stay upstairs please. strangers, they’re strangers you shouldn’t have brought here stay upstairs don’t come down stay upstairs don’t come down-

“this is aiko and suna.”

go back upstairs.

“look after aiko for me, okay?”

don’t get to close to this girl, hana. you don’t know her.

“how old is your sister?” suna asks, following you to the kitchen.

why does it matter to him?

“none of your business” “fourteen.”

it’s quiet it’s too quiet he’s gonna think you’re overthinking the question and that you’re being rude, you have to-

ask him back.

“same as yours?”

he nods.

hanako doesn’t do well with girls her age you shouldn’t have let that girl into your house especially not secluded in a room with your sister what if that girl hurts her what if she’s rude and hurts hanako’s feelings—

you make your way up the stairs and he follows you.

“don’t follow me.”.

-

laugh or he’ll think that you hate him.

you laugh again, so hard that you think you might throw up.

it’s quiet again, and you want it to stay that way. you want him to leave and allow you to bask in the silence peacefully, on your own. 

“why do you do it?” suna asks out of the blue, his back on your bed and his feet on the carpet, launching one of your stuffed toys into the air and catching it.

ignore him ignore him ignore him ignore him- “if you’re gonna ask a random question like that, i’m gonna need a little context, pretty boy.” you tease, jumping onto your bed and causing him to nearly fall off.

smile, smile, don’t let him pity you.

“’donate pussy for money’” he clarifies—and you want to drop dead—mocking your past statement. “why do you do it?”

‘why do you ask?’ “why do you ask?”

you weren’t supposed to say that out loud you were supposed to answer with a straight answer or else he’ll pity you he’ll think that you’re coming up with something to say because you’re pathetic and useless and—

“well i mean, you live in a perfectly stable house, your parents—” what will he say if i tell him that it’s only my mother will he pity me will he think i’m stupid will he-

 “—both have jobs, you have food, i don’t get why.”

of course he doesn’t get it, no one ever gets it.

tell him to mind his own business because you’re upset laugh because you don’t want him to think you’re upset.

he watches as you burst into yet another fit of laughter, holding onto your stomach as if you were in pain because you are, it hurts, everything hurts.

“i had dont have a dad.” you nudge him. “my dad committed suicide when he was seventeen—” too soon too soon too soon, change it now.

“—you know, jumped off of inarizaki’s roof.” better, much better better, much better.

suna frowns, furrowing his eyebrows. “that isn’t funny.”

that was insensitive that hit too close to home don’t let up so easily—don’t be a pushover you pathetic whore.

“oh come on, you know it is.” you look away smirk. “i wasn’t joking though, he really did commit. he wasn’t quirky enough to jump off a roof he wasn’t quirky enough to jump off a roof, but yea, he committed.”

you almost said it twice you almost said it twice.

he’s staring at you. did you say it twice? he’s gathering his thoughts.

he’s judging you he’s processing—this is a lot to process no it isn’t.

he’s gonna keep staring if you don’t do something let him.

“you look ugly when ur serious.” you admit, squishing his cheeks together. “ease up a lil.”

that was rude, take it back. that was sily; in a weird good way.

“straightforward much?” he licks the hand closest to his mouth, and you scream shriek, tearing yanking your hands away.

“i’m just saying!” you frown giggle, wiping your hand on his shirt. “it was way before i was born anyways.”

right, you forgot to add that. now he thinks you’re a traumatized freak.

“wait, but if he committed before you were born, then hanako—”

“has a different father, pervert, male, worthless-piece-of-shit, guy, person, asshole, dad, dad, dad, but he took off a long time ago.”

and he better not come back he better not come back.

he’s not satisfied with the answer he’s not satisfied.

“i do this for her, you know?” you say, once you’ve both ended up laying side by side on your bed. 

for hanako, say you do it for hanako

“for hanako. i wanna send her to a college in the us.”

it’s half true it’s the truth.

“does your mom know? like about any of it?” no she doesn’t, she wouldn’t care she’d be really upset.

“why hooking though? aren’t there better and safer options?” 

because you’re used to it.

“you mean like working as a cashier?”

too many people it’s too many people they look at you and they know they know you’re filthy you’re disgusting it’s 

too many people.

“yeah.”

how to justify how to justify how to-

“you’re probably right.” you shrug. “i guess i just like the attention,” 

liar.

liar

liar

liar

liar

“i like that people like my body, you know?”

kill yourself.

shut up

shut up

shut up 

shut up.

“it’s one of my worst best traits.”

its hell, i want to get away i want to get away.

die die die die

die.

notes:

—  i hope this gives a little insight into how much is going on in y/n’s head

—  it’s just utter chaos and jumbled words and thoughts and things that don’t make sense and things she wants to/can’t/doesn’t know how to say; so if this was confusing or hard to understand, it’s supposed to be like that

—  again, if you didn’t re-read chapter six, i recommend you do; the chapters are the same but the different perspectives change everything.

—  no one would be able to last a day in her head, let alone stay sane.

taglist: @hotaruaizawa @its-the-aerieljeane @yourlocalbabybird @bakudummy @sunahyejin @satorinnie @lilith412426 @zukoslosthishonor @rintarovibes @underiwa @m01k @rinsangel @iicherrycore @kamalymaly @lmaosuna @whorefornoodles​ @anngelllla​ @ohrintarou​ @call-me-lulu @imeowforu @tsuksdinonugget @namyari​ @bakugouswh0r3 @theblueslytherin

[sunlightandsuffering]

Corruption au Eren cockwarms mikasa once they’re together, he says ‘it helps him remember things’ and then every so often he gives her an orgasm just to keep her pliant against him while she plays with her boobs, he doesn’t do it in a cruel kind of way, it just he wants to pleasure her while doing his work

however when they’re not together, he’s such a sadist about it, he refuses to let her come even after he’s done his hw and is just fucking her, he always leaves when he’s done. Until one day when he starts feeling bad, he lets her come and it absolutely ruins him, he becomes obsessed with pleasuring her and seeing her face flushed pink, and hearing the needy sounds she makes and the quiet sighs, and the way her hands frantically move around until he Holds them together

STOP U GUYS KNOW ABOUT MY COCKWARMING OBSESSION STOP IT 😂😂 omg bless corruption Eren tho, this is my favourite kink for him, its so hot and it fits their situation perfectly.

It starts slow for Eren, to be honest he has no fucking idea when it really started. One day he'd been failing calculus, accepting he wasn't going to pass the year and thinking about maybe dealing drugs as a career path over his previous dreams of doctor. The next he was being forced to study three days out of the week with high school princess, Mikasa Ackerman.

At first he'd hated it, hated her really. He'd never been able to stand her, not since they were little and she'd chosen the dark side of Historia Reiss, bully and mean girl if there ever was one. Historia had sweet innocent baby Mikasa under her thumb. Mikasa followed her around like a dumb fucking puppy and Eren hated followers, they were all the same, no personalities, no aspirations of their own. She had no backbone either. She let all the shit Historia did slide, all the bullying, the holier than thou attitude because her family was richer than god. So very typical of the rich kids from the upper class neighbourhood. Eren would know, he used to be that rich kid, used to live that life. That was until his parents died in a brutal car accident, Zeke had inherited half the estate on the condition he'd take care of Eren and the rest was tied up in Eren's trust fund until he was twenty one.

Big surprise, no one had taken care of Eren and he was fucking lucky Armin and his grandpa had been there to help him out.

Everyone else, all his other 'friends' had given him the cold shoulder upon finding out he was no longer rich for the moment, he'd been dropped like a hot potato. So Eren's hatred of the upper class of Shiganshina had begun.

And Mikasa Ackerman was the pinnacle of it all, the worst the rich had to offer. She was beautiful, smart, loaded, had every opportunity in life, completely innocent and sweet, and the cherry on top of it all she volunteered on the weekend at the pound.

She disgusted him, so prim and proper and all around good girl while she was letting her 'friends' bully him for being poor, watching the injustice happen like a fish in a bowl.

He couldn't fucking stand her.

Of course, she would be the person who ended up tutoring him though, Principal Erwin mandating it if he wanted to graduate. So here he was sitting in the computer lab at five on a Wednesday watching her plump lips move as she explained integrals to him for the third time in an hour.

It's been a few months since they've started this little arrangement and he's gotten used to her presence. He wouldn't say he likes her, thats a stretch but he's not quite as cruel as he once was. He'd be lying if he said he didn't get a kick of watching that beautiful mouth part every time he does something mean though, those little gasps when he pinches her thigh or touches her where he shouldn't.

It's probably the highlight of these sessions.

Today he's feeling bold, maybe he'll push his luck. After all, he's done it before and she's never protested. For some reason or another Mikasa Ackerman has a soft spot for him, and no matter how mean, she lets him get away with murder. "Miki, come here I can't hear you properly." "And then you take the-what?" She looks up, pretty dove-grey eyes wide, sparkling as she explains her favourite subject, fucking math.

"You heard me, get over here." As usual, she takes orders so fucking well, it brings out the absolute worst in him. She's standing up and next to him in seconds and he's eye level with her perfect chest, those tits he dreams about every night, ripping her bra off with his teeth and sucking at those pretty pink nipples of hers. He's only seen them a few times, when he convinces her it's okay, when he's sure there's absolutely no one around, but they keep him awake at night. He pats his lap, grinning as she goes easily, settling into her favourite spot, he knows she loves it just as much as he does. Her thighs always shake and she shudders as his hands find their place cupping those beautiful creamy thighs, head tucked into her shoulder.

Mikasa starts talking again, beautiful lilt soothing him as she launches into a renewed explanation of integrals while his hands move up, up, up and to his absolute favourite spot, her panties. Today she's wearing cotton, he can feel it, must be laundry day and he kisses her shoulder as he feels how wet she is. Fucking perfect.

Lately she's been more partial to fancier underwear and he can't help but wonder if it's for him. He has a feeling it is, because the first month of their little arrangement he'd snuck as many peaks as they could and it was always pink or white cotton with polka dots and pretty bows. They were his favourite, so fucking innocent, so untouched by anyone but him.

He watches as she moves her pencil drawing lines and numbers, a little bit of the alphabet too and he ignores it all in favour of watching her chest, her breath hitch as he slides a finger inside her panties, feeling those velvet lips, it's been a while.

He's been on his best behaviour lately since Levi almost caught them at her house that one time, but he's horny and she's wet and he misses being inside her, misses watching her try to talk through him fucking her, how her voice would waver, change pitch. How many times she'd stumble through her sentences, have to start all over again, because she can't handle how big he is, doesn't know how to deal with the all-consuming sensation of him fucking deep within her walls, just sitting there filling her right up to her cervix.

Fuck.

He can't really be blamed for what he does next, and besides it doesn't matter, Eren's not a stupid kid, he allowed himself to get this far behind in calculus. He'd spent an hour last night going over integrals with the sole purpose of knowing what was going on today so he could fuck with his favourite toy.

He moves her a bit so she's resting more heavily on one thigh and slides his joggers and boxers down just enough expose his heavy cock to the air, already rock hard and waiting. Mikasa gasps a little bit, a breathy sound quick and sharp as she sees him, her eyes transfixed on his dick and he grins, sliding her panties to the side and slamming her down on him before she even knows what hit her. The slide is so fucking easy too, it takes almost nothing and he gets a sick sense of satisfaction that even with little to no prep she can take him, probably better than anyone else he's ever fucked. She takes it all no complaints, as deep as she can and he bottoms out.

She lets out a long moan, that pretty sound he wants to record and listen to on his phone over and over again, her head lolling back uselessly against his shoulder as she takes in the sensation.

"Miki baby you know this helps me remember better right, sorry it just wasn't getting through my head I was too distracted, but now I'm all ears, why don't you continue. What's that rule you were talking about, how are derivatives and integrals related again baby, they're opposites?"

She's breathing quick and Eren doesn't blame her, he's struggling to keep his tone level as her walls squeeze him, warm and soft and he wants to stay buried there forever, she's so fucking tight.

"I-Eren-I-yeah, opposites," she finally manages to get the last word out ending a little broken as she struggles to sit up and make herself comfortable on his cock, she should be used to it by now with how often he does this, but it never fails she always reacts like she's taking him for the first time all over again. He fucking loves it.

"Why don't you explain again baby, I don't think I really understand? And make sure you're clear Mikasa." She nods, still squirming around, every movement shooting electricity up through both of them as she accidentally grinds down, she lets out an involuntary moan and Eren smirks.

Eren takes it upon himself to move her up and off his cock a few inches before impaling her back down, biting down on her neck a little bit as punishment and she whines, teeth coming out to bite down on her lip brutally as she tries to keep quiet.

"Stop moving baby, you're distracting me, just take my cock like a good girl and explain for me yeah?" She replies brokenly her voice soft and struggling with her breaths, "Yeah."