#also i nearly tagged this as others' writing lmao

[jujutsubaby]

⛓️ lonely at the top ⛓️

☆ pairing: satoru gojo x afab!reader x true form!sukuna ☆ summary: you are the great ryomen sukuna's favorite healer from the heian era, reincarnated in the modern time. for centuries, you have also been his favorite lover. but when sukuna returns one day with a shockingly handsome blue-eyed sorcerer, you cannot help but feel threatened. no matter what sukuna's plans are for this newcomer, however, you're willing to do whatever it takes to stay on top. ☆ tags: slight canon divergence, smut with a lil plot ¬‿¬ ☆ warnings: MINORS DNI!!!! handjob, oral sex (m/f!receiving; yes this includes sukuna's abdomen mouth lmao); voyeurism; exhibitionism; fingering; p in v; anal; overstimulation; masturbation ☆ a/n: ok the promised (and voted upon) sukugo fic is FINALLY here my loves :3 i had to add reader in the mix too though bc girls just wanna have fun. also writing this kinda made me a sukuna truther :/ maybe i understand gege and sukuna kaisen just a little bit more now :/ ANYWAY ENJOY!!! ☆ wc: 8k

when you had heard of Lord Sukuna's imminent duel with the infamous Satoru Gojo, you knew it would be prudent to practice your Reverse Cursed Technique. you had always been Lord Sukuna's favorite healer (among other things), but that had been the Heian Era. this new time was as foreign and strange to you as the delicate new body into which you had been reincarnated.

and so, when Lord Sukuna re-enters the compound you share with his other most trusted servants and loudly calls for you, you are prepared. flexing your practiced fingers and preparing to channel positive cursed energy, you hurry to the threshold from which his voice had emanated and immediately sink to a kneeling position, your head turned to the floor. as expected, Lord Sukuna had come straight to the healing quarters.

"you summoned me, Lord Sukuna?"

Lord Sukuna approaches you; his footsteps sound heavy and slow. he is exhausted, you can tell, but he does not seem grievously injured as you had expected. so why did he call for you?

your head still inclined downwards, you stifle a gasp as you notice rivulets of blood darkening the floor beneath you and staining your pristine robes.

"you will heal him," Lord Sukuna says simply. you hear a heavy thud hitting the bed you had prepared so carefully for your lord. actually, mystifyingly, you hear two thuds. you chance a glance upwards, and your heart drops when you see that Lord Sukuna has indeed deposited severed halves of some unfortunate sorcerer's body onto the bed. from his pallor, you can tell he has already lost quite a lot of blood. this is beyond any healing you have ever performed in any era. you briefly wonder whether your beloved lord is setting you up to fail when he speaks up.

"i trust you understand that failure is not an option."

"yes, my lord."

"y/n," he says more quietly. you nearly shudder at the sound of his tongue lavishing attention on your name. "i keep you in my employ because you are the only healer worthy of serving me."

it is a statement of arrogance, but it is also one of reassurance. someone who has served as his trusted servant for as long as you have learns how to understand his sometimes esoteric cues.

you feel a firm hand grip your jaw and tilt your face upwards. you are greeted by a sight you have not seen in centuries: Lord Sukuna in his true form, in all his magnificence. his tattoos stand starkly against his glistening torso. his arms, now four in number as you recall, are corded with muscle; the grip his massive hand has on your face could easily crush your windpipe — and yet, it does not. it never would, so long as you serve your purpose. you cannot help but bask in his glowing charisma. this was the sorcerer you were so proud to serve.

"it is my honor to serve you, my lord. i will heal the sorcerer, i swear it."

noticing your desirous eyes raking over his form, his cruel mouth forms a lazy smirk, which is mirrored in the mouth of his stomach. the effect is equal parts unnerving and disarming.

"come, y/n," Lord Sukuna says, pleased with your reaction to his true form. "let us see your patient for the evening." he seizes your shoulders with his second set of arms, and indelicately pulls you to your feet before marching you towards the bed.

Lord Sukuna must still be unused to inhabiting his true body after possessing so many weak mortal vessels, you muse, for he is being far rougher with you than usual. you find that you do not mind, however. in spite of the grave situation, you feel heat embarrassingly beginning to pool at the apex of your thighs at the feel of Lord Sukuna's thick fingers and their crushing grip on your narrow shoulders.

the man in the bed is muscular, although nowhere close to Lord Sukuna's physique. that said, he looks youthful, and strong enough to have put up a good fight. perhaps he would even be strong enough to recover from his horrendous injuries under your expert healing hands.

but who was this man? why was Lord Sukuna so insistent upon healing him? and how was he injured like this in the first place?

your eyes wander to his upper half, and you pause on his face. handsome, with delicate features and a shock of messy white hair. his eyes are slightly agape, and you note that they are the uncommon blue of a summer sea.

blue?

you gasp in spite of yourself and turn to your master, momentarily forgetting that propriety dictates that you not maintain eye contact with someone so many levels above yourself.

"forgive me, Lord Sukuna, but...Satoru Gojo?"

Lord Sukuna does not seem to mind your lapse in etiquette, as he meets your gaze with a grin.

"he put up a marvelous fight. talent like that should not be extinguished, even though most sorcerers doubtlessly dream of being defeated by somebody like the great Sukuna," he says.

Lord Sukuna was always able to make such grandiose statements about himself that would sound asinine coming from any mere man. with the great Lord Sukuna, statements like these are simply the truth. he has always been so far above any human you have known, which is why his fascination with Satoru Gojo is leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. mortal humans, including you, need to know their place. that maxim should include Satoru Gojo, too.

Lord Sukuna's voice shakes you from your reverie. "oh, and y/n?" his normally commanding voice is alarmingly soft, and laced with...something. something typically reserved for his favorites, like you.

"yes, Lord Sukuna?" you ask, carefully keeping your head angled downwards towards the bed so as not to repeat your earlier eye contact gaffe.  

you watch as Lord Sukuna reaches a hand out towards Satoru Gojo's listless face to slap the young man's elegant cheek.

"do be gentle with your technique. i want this one staying pretty for me."

ah.

so that was why Lord Sukuna had taken such pains to rescue Satoru Gojo.

with that, Lord Sukuna turns on his heel and leaves you to your patient.

you anticipated healing Gojo's injuries to be your greatest challenge yet, but it is far more taxing than you ever could have known. your Reverse Cursed Technique was meant for healing injuries, but what had happened with Gojo's body was almost beyond an injury.

it had taken you hours in the first place to even figure out a way to use your RCT in this situation, until you had realized that delicate threads of cursed energy still emanated from Gojo's body. even if it was physically severed, his cursed energy still lived, if only barely. it is a testament to the sheer magnitude of Gojo's cursed energy that some still survives; no wonder he had impressed Lord Sukuna so.

you use your RCT to trace the threads of cursed energy from one half of Gojo's body to the other; in doing so, you are able to treat the severing merely as a thinning of cursed energy, and thus as an injury rather than a full separation. you breathe a sigh of relief as you observe one thread of his torso knit itself back together under your watchful eye.

now to repeat the process for the entire circumference of his body. you stretch and sigh; this would be a long night. at least you have a way forward now, though. disappointing Lord Sukuna was never an option.

as you continue reconnecting the flesh and gristle that makes up Satoru Gojo, you find yourself increasingly unable to ignore his objective beauty. as a healer, you always possessed great admiration for the physical form, and Satoru Gojo just happened to be a prime specimen. perhaps the fact that Lord Sukuna had found him to be a worthy adversary (and prize, you remind yourself) also influenced your judgment.

you feel a strange intermingling of lust, jealousy, and envy at the thought. you are well aware that Lord Sukuna has a prodigious sexual appetite that requires countless mortals to satisfy, but you have long been secure in your position as his favorite plaything. now, however, compared to Satoru Gojo, you cannot be so certain; he possesses beauty and power in spades. 

you shake your head. this is neither the time nor the place to be evaluating Lord Sukuna’s judgment; favorite or not, it is your duty to complete the task he so graciously entrusted you with. you are not sure of how long you continue to sew Satoru Gojo’s body back together, but you are aware that the sun’s citrus glow has long faded.

Lord Sukuna had always reminded you of the sun, although you have never been bold enough to tell him such a silly romanticism. but in its radiant beauty, burning power, and distance alike, you see your liege. much like the sun, Lord Sukuna had shone on you, and in his light, you had blossomed. you had been an obscure village herbalist’s apprentice until he had found you; you had hardly even been aware of your latent healing powers. it had been Lord Sukuna who had seen your immense potential, and who had honed your sorcery to the level it was today.

even the fact that he had burned down your village the day he whisked you away had done little to dim your fervent gratitude.

the moon begins to rise higher in the night sky now, its light filtering through the shuttered windows of the healing quarters as you continue working. Satoru Gojo’s natural beauty takes on an ethereal glow when bathed in moonlight. the battle between him and Lord Sukuna must have been a sight to behold; as you reconnect his body, you feel his cursed energy growing and twisting into itself with taut strength. 

Finally, when his halves become whole again, you sit back and admire your handiwork. The full moon that night meant you did not require a lantern, but the moon is setting now, and you want to give Satoru Gojo’s body a final check. 

as you rise to leave the room for a lantern, you feel a hand clasp firmly about your wrist. you gasp softly. 

“have i died? am i dead right now?” Satoru Gojo’s voice is hoarse with disuse. you had not expected him to be conscious again yet given the state of him; you suppose the fact that he is is a testament both to your healing ability and to his innate strength. 

you sit back down, noticing that he does not loosen his grip on your wrist. 

“you are still alive, Satoru Gojo, for i have healed your wounds,” you reply matter of factly. 

his blue eyes, now that they are fully open and conscious, are even more shocking than they were when you first glimpsed them earlier that day. they seem to glow from within; they look like they hold full worlds within their depths. 

“that’s weird,” Gojo continues. “i could’ve sworn i died and went to heaven seeing as i’m looking at an angel right now.” only when you see that he is grinning impishly at you do you realize he is flirting with you. 

your lip curls in distaste, and you extricate your hand from his grasp.

“i am no angel. i am a sorcerer, as you are. you were as good as dead, split clean in half, but i channeled my Reverse Cursed Technique to heal you,” you conclude with pride. 

Gojo looks down at his stomach, shiny and pink with fresh scar tissue. 

“you must be some sorcerer, then. i was positive i was a goner back there. i’m not sure even Shoko could’ve healed me like this. really nice work,” he muses. he is right, of course. you are unsure of who Shoko is, but Gojo is correct that very few sorcerers could heal such severe injuries. all the same, you loathe the warmth you feel at his admiration; Lord Sukuna’s confidence should be enough for you.

“anyway,” Gojo continues, “who are you exactly? where am i?” 

“Lord Sukuna brought you here,” you say. “I am his healer.”

surely the mention of his formidable foe would shake Gojo’s arrogance. you relish the fear that Lord Sukuna’s name seems to inspire in other mortals. 

this was unfortunately not the case with Gojo. 

“that’s sweet, the ol’ guy wanted me healed up, huh?” 

you bristle. “you will address Lord Sukuna with respect!”   

Gojo merely laughs at your response, which infuriates you further. “i, for one, fail to see why he deigned to save such an insolent whelp like you,” you snap, succumbing to your rising temper.

“really?” Gojo asks, his blue eyes full of mirth. “guess you don’t get the old guy the way i do. i’m pretty sure I understand why he wanted me alive.”

“then be so kind as to enlighten me,” you say sardonically. 

“i’ve been the strongest sorcerer around for basically my whole life,” Gojo says. in spite of the sarcasm in your voice when you asked him to explain himself, he seems sincere. “fighting Sukuna was the first time i felt even remotely challenged. he even technically beat me, i guess.” 

he watches you, waiting for you to respond. when you are still silent, he continues.

“i’m sure he feels the same way i do. i know i challenged him the way he challenged me, and for sorcerers at our level, finding a true adversary is hard.  once you do find one, letting go can be just as hard.” Gojo sounds wistful; you wonder if he speaks from experience. 

“i guess what i’m saying is that it’s lonely at the top,” he finishes; his earlier amusement is gone, and he seems somber now. 

you find that you pity Gojo. to be a sorcerer can be a lonesome existence. Lord Sukuna, while alone in his caliber, at least has you and his other servants and devotees to warm and distract him. does Satoru Gojo have anyone?

you reach a hand forward and begin tracing the planes of his pale face with your fingers. he lacks Lord Sukuna’s raw power, but his beauty is exquisite. Gojo leans into your comforting touch. 

“how can i ever thank you for bringing me back to life?” he murmurs. as your hand passes near his lips, he stills it with his own and kisses it softly. 

you gasp sharply and withdraw your hand as though burned. 

“that was wrong,” you say urgently. “you cannot touch me like that.”

Gojo sighs. “you really are devoted to that old man, aren’t you?” 

“we both belong to Lord Sukuna,” you reply, emphasizing his proper title. “you must respect his authority over us both.” 

“maybe you belong to Sukuku,” Gojo says; you cringe at his inane nickname for Lord Sukuna, but you suppose anything is better than merely calling him an old man. “i, on the other hand, only belong to me, myself, and i.” 

you exhale in irritation. no matter how great a sorcerer Satoru Gojo is, his arrogance is certainly grating. part of you wishes you had left him severed in two — at least he was quieter that way. you recall Lord Sukuna once saying that the greatest sorcerers always seemed to possess even greater mental eccentricities; Satoru Gojo certainly proves that theory.

to your annoyance, as he speaks, he takes your hand in his again. you are bemused to find, however, that you do not wish to remove it. his hands are wiry, yet so powerful. there is power within your hands as well, you muse as you intertwine your fingers almost instinctively. your irritation, admiration, and pride are all coalescing into a confusing burn of…passion. how inconvenient. 

 “you are rather presumptuous, are you not?” comes a voice from the doorway. you gasp and tear your hand from Gojo’s once more, immediately prostrating yourself before Lord Sukuna. Gojo makes no move to even bow his head, meanwhile. typical.

“rise, y/n,” Lord Sukuna continues. “you must be giving our guest a rather unsavory impression of me with your theatrics.” slowly, you raise your face from the floor and see Lord Sukuna has crouched before you. he takes your face in one of his hands. you shiver — it has been so long since you have felt the touch of his true form. “am i not a benevolent master to you?” he murmurs; his face is so close that you can feel his warm, humid breath on the shell of your ear. it is all you can do not to tremble from desire. 

with you still reeling from the close contact, Lord Sukuna rises smoothly back to his feet and saunters to Gojo’s bedside. 

“you seem in high spirits, Satoru Gojo. i feared i had gone too far with you,” Lord Sukuna says, his tone casual as though he had not cloven the younger man’s body in two just hours earlier.

“oh, i can take much more than that, old man,” Gojo says, innuendo easily discernible from his tone. you cannot stop yourself from rolling your eyes; from what you had seen thus far, Satoru Gojo seemed to flirt with everybody he meets. that said, the image of Lord Sukuna and Satoru Gojo, of what Gojo’s playful tone was implying…your mind’s eye is running amok, loathe as you are to admit it. doubtlessly Lord Sukuna’s true form and the sleepless stress of the evening are perverting your mind in unforeseen ways, you reassure yourself.

Lord Sukuna seems tickled by Gojo’s irreverence, and you try not to feel envious. “is that so?” he inquires. 

“a credit to your lovely healer, i gotta say,” Gojo continues, his shocking blue eyes twinkling as they meet yours. “she has a rare talent. you sure you need her? i have half a mind to take her with me when we’re done here.” 

you know Gojo is being insufferable right now, and moreover irreverent to Lord Sukuna. you know that. but he’s just so handsome, and so appreciative, and so talented in his own right…you feel powerless to stop the breath from catching in your throat, flustered at his attention. 

you find yourself thinking about how his smooth skin felt beneath your touch; cool, then warm as you breathed life back into him with your reverse cursed technique. taut, pulsating with the cursed power and blood in his veins. 

so lost are you in your meditations of Gojo’s flesh that you nearly miss what Lord Sukuna replies.

“y/n certainly is a first rate sorcerer,” he says, flinging a fond look over his shoulder at you; predictably, you preen at his praise. 

“what i enjoy most about y/n’s skill,” he continues, “is her fastidiousness. she leaves no stone unturned. in healing, jujutsu sorcery…and everything else. isn’t that right?” he asks you. 

“y-you are too kind, Lord Sukuna,” you bluster, trembling like a newborn fawn. you are usually so comfortable with him, but the presence of a stranger is making you look upon Lord Sukuna with new eyes again. 

“and i trust you have been equally thorough with our guest?” Lord Sukuna proceeds. 

“of course, Lord Sukuna.” 

“how disappointing to hear you lie to me, y/n,” Lord Sukuna tuts. “i know you have not been fully attentive to Satoru Gojo’s recovery.” 

your face grows hot. what did you do wrong? you take pride in your work, after all; you would never do a sloppy job no matter the patient, but especially not for one so important to Lord Sukuna.

“my lord? i am afraid i misunderstand you. i have followed only the most careful healing protocols,” you say; this is as close as you dare come to talking back. Lord Sukuna is kind and merciful and great, but much like the fire he commands, his warmth can flare uncontrollably and singe everything in its vicinity if you are not cautious. 

 “have you made absolutely sure, for example, that Satoru Gojo’s new body is completely functional?” Lord Sukuna prods. he has now turned to face you. one set of his arms is crossed over his chest, while the other is crossed behind his back. his face looks stern, but the mouth on his stomach betrays a smirk. 

“Satoru Gojo seems to be functioning as i would expect, my lord,” you reply.

“show me,” he says, stepping aside from Satoru Gojo’s bed. his body had been obscuring Gojo from your view, but you see now that the younger sorcerer has been watching the exchange with a hungry grin. there is clearly a subtext you are missing, but you dare not speculate what it is. 

you approach Gojo and perform an examination of his body, as you would any of your patients. you test his reflexes, and check his pupils’ dilation and contraction (during the latter, they look like just a pinprick lost in an ocean. nobody ever warned you of the six eyes’ beauty). when you palpate his ribs, he groans slightly; you feel the sound vibrate through your fingers.    

“he is recovering as i might expect, Lord Sukuna. of course, we must keep him under observation, but —” 

Lord Sukuna cuts you off with an impatient click of his tongue. “i will not tolerate your inattention to detail!” he growls. your heart starts beating violently, feeling like it’s throwing itself against your breast from within. 

you fight to keep your voice steady. 

“please forgive my stupidity, my lord,” you grovel, prostrating yourself once more. “i truly am unsure of what more you want me to check. please, if you could just help me, i promise this will never occur again.” 

you are mortified to feel the white-hot prickling of tears at the corners of your eyes. Lord Sukuna had never spoken to you this way, not even when you had just begun working for him. back then, you had known next to nothing compared to your knowledge now.  you rack your useless brain for something, anything, you might have missed, and come up empty. stupid, stupid girl. you just know this is the fault of Satoru Gojo, that irritating, gorgeous interloper. it is even more humiliating to be berated like this in his presence.

at Lord Sukuna’s silence, you direct your eyes as high as they can go from your position on the ground. you cannot see his face from this angle but you see his broad second mouth has gone from smirking to smiling outright with all its teeth. is he…not actually angry? 

you raise your head a little further, emboldened by the sight, and see Lord Sukuna himself smiling down at you, his two expressions identical. 

“what a pretty sight you make,” he coos, “on all fours looking up at me like that. my pliant, obedient girl.” 

he lowers one of his hands to cup himself through his loose pants, and you clench your thighs together; you are immune to neither the effect of his words, nor to the sight before you. 

he seamlessly bends down and raises you to your feet; as he holds you against him, it’s all you can do to hold yourself back from rutting against his massive body. but Lord Sukuna has always valued your restraint, and you know he has something planned for you. 

he rotates you now so your back is to him, and cages you tightly to his body with all four arms. you gasp; you have forgotten this delicious sensation, of being so thoroughly engulfed by Lord Sukuna that it is almost as if he has subsumed you entirely. he has turned you to face Gojo, who has been watching the scene unfold with great interest. you feel Lord Sukuna’s hardness growing behind you, but you resist the urge to grind into it and remain perfectly still. his pliant, obedient girl.

“now, go attend to our guest,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a finger. 

“yes, my lord,” you breathe, so aroused that you are nearly in pain.

 he then bends down until his lips tickle the back of your ear, making you shiver.

“show Satoru Gojo that that mouth of yours is meant for greater things than just making pretty little apologies to me,” he murmurs; you feel his voice reverberate through your whole body. the last thing you want to do is detach yourself from Lord Sukuna right now, but you know what  he desires of you, and you are always so eager to impress him. this is one of the things he loves about you, you know.

you return to Satoru Gojo’s bed as though to continue your examination; this time, however, you straddle him, desperate for just an ounce of friction to relieve your throbbing arousal. 

“i thought you had forgotten about me,” he pouts. 

“stop speaking, you stupid, beautiful man,” you reply, before tearing a kiss from his mouth. his lips are still slightly chapped from his hours of unconsciousness, and you rake your teeth across them. he groans into your mouth as you roll your hips until you feel him beginning to grow hard beneath you; the sensation sense frissons of pleasure through you, but you are single-minded in your task. you break your kiss abruptly and sit back, smirking at the pathetic whine Gojo lets out at your sudden absence. 

Gojo is only wearing a simple robe you had dressed him in after repairing him; this provides you with convenient access to conduct your examination. you withdraw a vial of oil you had kept in the pocket of your own robes (admittedly in anticipation of Lord Sukuna’s arrival), spread it across your hand, and begin stroking him. “it seems that everything is  in working order,” you remark as his erection grows under your expert ministrations. he moans and bucks into your hand. 

“p-please…” Gojo pants. the sound of his neediness goes straight to your core, which is rapidly growing wetter. this is not the time to pay attention to yourself, though; not when you’re attending to a patient. 

“‘please’ what, Satoru Gojo?” you tease; you know he has wanted to feel your mouth around him ever since Lord Sukuna alluded to it. you are enjoying watching this powerful sorcerer squirm by your hand, however. you glance over your shoulder and see Lord Sukuna is stroking himself off as well, his pants doffed entirely. you gulp; it has been so very long since Lord Sukuna has been in his own body; the sight of his girth is making you flush with desire. 

meeting your gaze, Lord Sukuna blows a kiss in your direction, and you bite your lip to keep yourself from whining in sheer need to have him inside you. the sooner you obey him and pleasure Satoru Gojo, the sooner you may have the honor of feeling him stretch your walls; and so, you turn back to your guest. 

Gojo has the most pathetic look in his stunning blue eyes, driven half mad by yet unfulfilled lust. his plush lips are twisted in a pained grimace. you see him moving his hand to give himself the pleasure you are denying him, but you hold it in place firmly. 

“you’ve been such a patient boy so far; don’t ruin it now,” you coo, nipping his lower lip. you then undo his robe and crawl backwards until your face hovers over his engorged cock. you place a light kiss at its warm tip, licking off a bead of precum, before looking back up at him through heavily lidded eyes. Gojo tilts his head back, exposing the delicate white expanse of his throat. 

“Please, y/n!” he cries. “i need you!” 

the sound of your name on his needy tongue is having quite an effect on you, and you finally take pity on him; he only just recovered, after all. in one smooth motion, you take as much of his length as you can in your mouth. Gojo groans at the feeling of the warm wetness engulfing his cock, and you begin moving your head up and down, complementing the motions with your tongue as you cup his balls with your free hand. 

“feel free to gag her,” Lord Sukuna calls from his corner of the room. “her little throat can take it.” 

Lord Sukuna instructing Gojo on how to fuck your mouth is turning you on more than you can handle, and you moan involuntarily around his length. Gojo threads his fingers through your hair and pushes your head down on him; you swallow and feel him filling your mouth, his tip battering your throat mercilessly. you can tell from his increasing pace, from the guttural growls the feeling of you is drawing from him, that he must be getting close. 

finally, finally, you feel a strong, calloused, beautifully familiar pair of hands dig into the flesh of your hips, and you could cry in relief. 

“you have been such a good girl for me,” Lord Sukuna hums sensually. “and i always reward loyalty.” you buck your hips backwards into him, raising them to provide him readier access to your dripping cunt. you feel the pads of his thumbs stroke over your ass as his tongue begins lapping at your folds. his second tongue, you can tell, from its breadth and roughness plundering you. for all its added size compared to his primary tongue, however,  Lord Sukuna is no less exacting with it, and he is soon circling your clit with painful accuracy. he does not wait long before giving you the pleasure you crave, and almost embarrassingly quickly, you come all over his massive tongue with a wanton moan. 

with the sound of your orgasm, and the feel of your moan vibrating around him, Gojo fists your hair even more tightly and releases hot ropes into your throat with a growl. 

“swallow it all,” Lord Sukuna commands, reaching forward to stroke your hair. “swallow it down for me.” you are nothing if not obedient, and you dutifully swallow Gojo’s whole load, not letting a single drop go to waste. Gojo leans back on the headboard, spent, and relaxes his vice grip on your hair. you pop your lips off him, licking them clean and smirking to yourself at your ability to have someone like Satoru Gojo at your mercy. 

“i believe our guest needs time to rest before we continue,” you hear Lord Sukuna say from behind you. you turn and see that he is leaning back casually on one of the other beds in the healing quarters. “let us leave him for the time being, y/n.” 

you are a little disappointed to be stopping already, but you comply; Lord Sukuna is probably correct that too much excitement for Gojo could hinder his healing process. you make your way towards the doorway, yawning a little, when you feel a firm hand close around your wrist. before you have a chance to react, you’re roughly tugged backwards, spinning directly into Lord Sukuna’s firm chest. 

“i don’t believe i dismissed you, did i?” he purrs into your ear, and a thrill of excitement slithers through your body. 

“did i?” he repeats, pinching the tender skin at your waist at your silence. 

“n-no,” you gasp, hardly able to focus over your excitement for what will inevitably follow. 

Lord Sukuna twists his hand, making you hiss lightly at the pleasurable pain. 

“‘no’ what, y/n? how is it you should address me?” 

“no, Lord Sukuna,” you manage to breathe out. he lets out a low chuckle that reverberates through his chest before bending you over an empty bed, holding both your wrists behind your back with one of his hands as he pushes your head down with another. you are already incredibly aroused when you feel a third hand begin to explore your slick folds. 

“already so wet for me, are you?” he teases; you can hear the smirk in his voice. you can only whimper in response. he easily inserts two fingers into you, eliciting a sharp cry when he hooks them around and lightly tickles the sensitive spot that can make you come apart. 

“now,” you manage to grind out between your teeth. “please, my lord…i need you inside me now…” 

“making demands now?” Lord Sukuna taunts. “we certainly are feeling cheeky this evening, aren’t we?” 

in spite of his words of chastisement, however, Lord Sukuna seems intent on granting your wishes, and you feel his stiff head, moist with precum, brushing once, twice, thrice against your entrance, building up friction. then, in one decisive motion, he enters you at last; Lord Sukuna was, by all definitions and especially mortal standards, extremely well-endowed; however, you have been ready for him for so long that his length faces little resistance. you sigh in relief at the feel of his massive girth stretching your walls, making you feel so full and complete. at times like this, you feel that your body was created to accommodate him, that being used like this by him was your most sacred purpose.

you push back against him, trying to seat him even more deeply within yourself. in response, he strokes your hair affectionately. he then pulls out slightly, and with one more thrust, he bottoms out in you with a groan. 

he begins to drive into you with greater speed and urgency, two of his hands holding your hips in place so tightly that you know his broad fingertips will leave bruises. he adjusts his angle, pushing your face into the mattress and bending over you until your bodies are flush, and he continues at an unrelenting pace. your pleasure continues to build as he bottoms out again and again inside you, his massive second tongue slavering lasciviously over the curves of your back, until you come for the second time that night. you cry out in ecstasy without shame, feeling your walls clench even more tightly around Lord Sukuna. he groans at the sensation and sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he empties himself into you until his come drips down your thighs. 

utterly sated, you begin to crawl out from under Lord Sukuna’s massive form, your legs trembling with exertion, pleasure, and pain alike. your shaky breath leaves  your lungs all at once when he abruptly flips you on your back. he is so imposing and beautiful, hovering over you like this, with an inscrutable look in his cruel, narrow eyes. 

“i believe i already told you, y/n,” he growls, “you are dismissed only when i dismiss you. and i am nowhere near through with you yet.” 

holding himself up with two arms, he takes your hand with a third and draws it down until it is around his cock, which is already hard again. 

“look what you do to me,” he murmurs, before using your hand to brush his tip against your still-tender vulva. 

“i’m not yet ready, my lord,” you whimper weakly, trying to wriggle out from his grasp to no avail. you gasp as he grinds himself between your thighs and against your slickened entrance, growing harder still. the friction almost surpasses pleasure to pain after your powerful recent orgasm, and you keen loudly, unable to help yourself. “i-it’s…too much…i can’t take it,” you protest, tears rolling down your cheeks from the overstimulation.

Lord Sukuna promptly silences your noisy cries by clamping a swift hand to your throat. 

“i alone dictate what you can and cannot take,” he declares, gently pressing on the sides of your neck and slipping a hand between your thighs as you squeeze them together. with uncharacteristic tenderness, he then kisses the tears from your cheeks.

 “and i know you can take this.” 

he stares into your eyes until you assent with a silent nod, and he smiles.

“good girl,” he whispers, before using his hand to pry your thighs apart and positioning himself properly.  he buries himself inside you again, this time with minimal resistance — between your and his combined juices, you are sopping wet now. encouraged, he hitches your leg over his shoulder for deeper access to your core and begins thrusting into you in earnest. from this new angle, he drives right into your most sensitive inner point, and you are sure your cries can be heard throughout the compound. you hardly care who can hear you now, though; you hardly even pay attention to Gojo, who is now looking fully alert and wide-eyed at the show he is getting. 

you dig your fingernails into Lord Sukuna’s sinuous shoulders and cry out again and again until your voice grows hoarse.    

“say my name,” Lord Sukuna commands between his own grunts of pleasure. 

“L-Lord Sukuna,” you moan, your voice shaking as his thrusts increase in pace. he wraps his hand around your throat again. 

“my true name, y/n” he growls. he drives into you faster; you know he is close, and it is your privilege to bring him over the edge.

as soon as he releases his grasp on your neck, you reach up, stroking your hand through his unruly hair before pulling his ear down to your lips. “as you wish, Ryomen,” you purr into his ear. he moans and nearly folds you in half as he drives into you at a diabolical pace. as he reaches his peak, he withdraws his length from you and unleashes his load all over your stomach, marking you as his own; the thought that you had this effect on him, this power over him, multiplies your own pleasure, and you climax once again, your legs shaking and toes curling in sheer bliss. 

Lord Sukuna rolls off of your body, both of you breathing heavily. 

“now, y/n,” he pants, “you are dismissed. i shall attend to our guest in your stead.” 

your exertions have exhausted you, but you are still obedient to him before anything else. and so, covered in both of your comes, his saliva, and a sheen of your own sweat, you bow deeply, and excuse yourself from the room. you are so utterly sated, so pleasurably sore, that all you can think of is taking a hot bath and resting.

well…almost all you can think of.

Lord Sukuna’s final statement has piqued your curiosity, however. and that is why, rather than returning right away to your own quarters, you find yourself kneeling on the floor peering around the curtain closing off the medical wing. if you are perfectly silent and still, you can remain undetected. besides, you reason, Gojo is still your patient, and so it behooves you to keep a close eye on his recovery.

(why leave everything to the imagination, after all?)

by the time you are settled in from your covert viewing spot, you see that Lord Sukuna is standing by Gojo’s bedside. the younger sorcerer is fully awake and alert now, peering up inquisitively with those blue eyes of his. 

“is it finally my turn now, then?” he asks; you note that he sounds slightly petulant and roll your eyes. was he really jealous now, of all times? 

You can only see his muscled back  from where you sit, but you know from how his shoulders shake that Lord Sukuna is laughing at Gojo’s insubordination. 

“you have seen what i demand, Satoru Gojo,” he says, crossing both sets of arms. “do you believe you can keep up, even in your state?”

you know that Lord Sukuna’s line of questioning is only pretense, of course. you recall why it was that Lord Sukuna had brought back Satoru Gojo for you to heal. and you remember his request — i want this one staying pretty for me, he had said. 

“of course i can ‘keep up,’” Gojo scoffs. “can you keep up, old man? you seemed to get pretty tired just then.” 

you grimace at Gojo’s disrespect, but Lord Sukuna is made of sterner stuff, and he just laughs even louder before clapping a pair of hands around Gojo’s beautiful face. you note that Gojo flinches, if only for a split second.

“such a mouth on you,” he hums, brushing a thumb across Gojo’s bottom lip. “just look at you. we will have to do something about that attitude.”

“like what?” Gojo asks, his eyes glimmering with anticipation that you can see even from where you sit. “what exactly is it you would do, Sukuku dear?”

“you seem to have your own ideas already. what is it you would have me do?” you can hear Lord Sukuna’s grin, even if you cannot see it.

Gojo simply winks.

“here’s an idea. why don’t you split me in half again?”

Lord Sukuna laughs heartily before leaning forward over Gojo’s bed, slightly obscuring your view. 

“what an idea, Satoru Gojo. would you enjoy that?”

for some reason, Gojo does not answer right away; you try to crane your neck around to see what is happening, but he speaks again soon.

“y…yes…” he responds, suddenly breathless. “i believe i w-would.” 

suddenly, you realize that, while you cannot see all of Gojo’s body from this angle, you can see one of Lord Sukuna’s arms moving rapidly up and down, and you can see a blush beginning to color Gojo’s delicate cheeks. your breath catches in your throat as you put together what it is you are witnessing. scrambling for a better view, you decide that both men are occupied enough that you can creep back into the corner of the room and hide behind one of the beds for a clearer angle.

“and are you certain you can truly take me? all of me?” Sukuna inquires, continuing his businesslike tone as though he is not currently stroking his rival off.

“mm-of course,” Gojo keens. 

“‘of course’ who?” Lord Sukuna prompts, repeating the routine he loves to do with you. 

“forget your own name, Sukuku? you gettin’ senile?” he pants with a grin that is equal parts lascivious and mischievous. this is bratty behavior Lord Sukuna never had to suffer from you, so you wonder with eager anticipation how he will respond. 

Lord Sukuna merely tuts in response. “what a shame. whether you can accommodate all of me or not, we will have to fix that smart mouth of yours first.” 

he fists a hand in Gojo’s fine white hair, easily palming his full skull as he pulls back until the blue-eyed sorcerer is looking straight up at him. 

“i happen to know the best cure for a smart mouth,” Gojo says with a feral grin. he darts his tongue out and swipes it swiftly across Lord Sukuna’s swollen tip. 

“get on with it, then,” Lord Sukuna growls, roughly forcing Gojo’s head onto his length. you grimace at the vigor with which Lord Sukuna rams himself down Gojo’s throat which looks so dainty to you, but he slurps eagerly on it; it seems Satoru Gojo is never one to shy away from a challenge. 

watching Lord Sukuna use Gojo’s throat so mercilessly, and Gojo meeting the task with such enthusiasm, you find yourself unable to resist snaking a hand down between your legs, where you feel heat and tension building once again. as you toy with yourself, careful to remain as quiet as possible, you see Sukuna pull Gojo’s mouth from his still-hard cock with a wet pop. 

“you have proven yourself to me,” he says, releasing his grip on Gojo’s hair to caress it tenderly back from his face. “and it is time for your reward.” you hold your breath; this should be a treat for you, as well.

with a grip on Gojo’s shoulders, he raises him from the bed; Gojo, still a little shaky on his legs, braces himself back against Lord Sukuna’s body. Gojo is by no means a small man, but his form is still engulfed when he is up against Lord Sukuna; you bite your lip at the thought and rub yourself faster. 

Lord Sukuna reaches around Gojo to the bedside table, where you had deposited your vial of oil, and lubricates his fingers with a few drops. his hands should still be slick with all of your combined secretions, you reason, but Lord Sukuna always takes extra precautions given his immensity. then, gently bending Gojo back over, he inserts one finger. Gojo throws his head back against Lord Sukuna’s chest and groans as he gets accustomed to the feeling, and he moans outright as Lord Sukuna inserts his second finger. 

the sight and sound send hot coils of pleasure through you, and you have to clap a hand to your mouth to keep yourself from mirroring the sounds Gojo is making. 

“are you prepared for me to split you in half again, as you so eloquently put it?” Lord Sukuna purrs against the shell Gojo’s reddening ear. 

“yes!” Gojo cries without hesitation.  

“would you beg for it?” Sukuna prods, not one to give his rival what he is asking for so easily. 

“please!” when Sukuna makes no moves to proceed, Gojo cries out again. “please, Lord Sukuna,” he breathes. “please make me yours.” 

“good,” Lord Sukuna says, leaves a bruising bite at the nape of Gojo’s neck. “well said.” then, preparing his length and using both sets of his arms to position himself and Gojo optimally, Lord Sukuna enters him with agonizing slowness. you are unsure of whether you even thought to hold yourself back from moaning this time, but it is drowned out in any case by Gojo’s own needy vocalizations. 

as he pumps in and out of Gojo, all three of you are overcome by your own pleasure, by the complicated dynamics you have brought into the medical wing and worked out in such a raw and wild way. your earlier feelings of confused irritation for Gojo dissipate as you watch his beautiful form twisting in paroxysms of pleasure; in him, you see yourself. as the two men climax at nearly the same time, scattering their pearly semen across the sheets and each other, you find yourself peaking soon after, tears streaming down your face in sheer joy.

As Lord Sukuna settles Gojo back down into the bed for him to continue his recovery, he gives him a fond pat on the head.

“you were magnificent, Satoru Gojo.”

the sorcerer gives a little self-satisfied smile before falling into a deep slumber nearly immediately, and you make a mental note to ensure that all the exertion did not compromise his healing in any way. before Lord Sukuna can turn back around, you gather your earlier discarded robe around yourself and quietly crawl back out of the room and behind the curtain, pleased with yourself for not being caught. 

or so you thought.

“there is no need to exit on my account, y/n,” he calls, not turning around. you gasp before re-entering sheepishly.

“i apologize, my lord. i merely wished not to disturb you both, so i did not make myself known,” you explain rather weakly. 

“i am pleased you… enjoyed yourself,” he says, finally looking over his shoulder at you with a knowing smile that makes you shiver with shame.

 “you seem to have enjoyed yourself as well, my lord,” you reply; your envy of Gojo for earning Lord Sukuna’s attention is building back up, and you are unable to keep it from your voice. 

“oh, y/n,” Lord Sukuna chuckles fondly, closing the space between you with long strides before he is clasping you to him. 

“Satoru Gojo is a novelty.” he leans down until your mouths meet, and your breath catches.

“you, however,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot, “are mine. do you understand?” 

“yes, my lord,” you breathe back into him, hardly daring to move.   

he steps back from you first, calling for Uraume much to your confusion. the soft spoken chef, a long-time friend of yours inside the compound, appears with their characteristic quiet swiftness. much like yourself, Lord Sukuna has implicit trust in their devotion, and so often depends on them for personal tasks even beyond their formal role in the kitchen. as such, you have both built a mutual respect for one another. you nod a cordial greeting at them, which they return.

“you called for me, Lord Sukuna?”  they ask with their careful diction. 

“please draw a bath and get y/n cleaned up for me,” he says. 

you look at him inquiringly, and he chuckles darkly, his previous tenderness all gone.

“you and your pleasure both belong to me, y/n,” he reminds you. “and i know i did not give you my permission to…enjoy the show.”  

you gulp, and he turns back to Uraume. 

“get her prettied up for me,” he continues  with a devious grin of anticipation, “and bring her back to me so i may discipline her appropriately for her disobedience.”

#sukugo #gojokuna #sukuna x gojo #gojo x sukuna #jujusu kaisen #jjk #gojo x reader #sukuna x reader #gojokuna x reader #sukugo x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #gojou x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #ryomen sukuna #ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojou #gojo satoru #gojou satoru #gojo smut #sukuna smut

[stevebabey]

part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

-

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He’s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it’s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !

#at this point call this the 'can i' series #sweet boys asking each other for things they most certainly would be given <3 #but don't think they will <3 #tried to flip it and make it so even tho eddie is used to touch. the romantic touch? he's got none! that's where he's touch-starved #ALSO EVERYONE'S TAGS WERE SO NICE ON THE LAST ONE #trust i am. not feelin so bad nowadays (me saying this like 4 days later lmao) #but <3 thank u all #gay ppl in my phone.... you know what to do #ruby writes steddie #steve x eddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #touch-starved steve harrington #not rlly anymore hehe #does anyone notice that it ends with yet another 'can i?" question? HEHE #yet again stib gets kisses where ruby doesn't but alas <3 dis is way fluffier this time #nearly went the angst route! and went hmmmm naur #ok ok i'll be quiet now

[lessycusee]

going through old blogs & grabbing old hcs to be put in the queue once i get it going for both here & ricky's blog - ... but all the ones for here are only hcs for abby because she's the only muse i've really written on tumblr on here before. i mean, lula too but i never really posted headcanons about them (to tumblr)

#( the smallest planet with the biggest heart // ooc ) #(i also grabbed some old musings/inspo posts - but again mostly only ones for ricky & abby) #(though lula DOES have some of those - i just gotta go through the tags more) #(planning to get my queues set up once i'm caught up on things & when i do i'll grab some things for the other guys on here. though i do #already have stuff just - not stuff from my old blogs lmao) #(anyways its now nearly 3:30 am but am i still gonna try to write ... maybe? ALSO ALSO DID TUMBLR CHANGE BC WTF)

[the-boy-meets-evil]

all roads lead back to you | c.sc (scoups)

(where you take an annual cabin trip with your friends and your ex decides to join this year)

pairing: ex!seungcheol (scoups) x f!reader genre: exes to lovers | angst, smut rating: explicit - minors DNI word count: ~10.6k warnings: these are exes and the relationship ended badly, but we're healing, drinking, midnight kisses, reader is mentioned as wearing a skirt & tights, making out, seungcheol picks reader up, body worship, slight nipple play, fingering (f. receiving), oral sex (f. & m. receiving), choking, cheol has a big dick (i don't make the rules), unprotected sex (they talk about it, but don't do this), multiple orgasms & overstimulation (f. receiving), aftercare

a/n: this is for @k-vanity's 25 tips for surviving the holidays. day 11 - cabin vacation. i'm not really sure what happened, something about scoups just makes me blackout and write too much (i only started this 2 days ago). also shoutout to @tbzhub for saying we'd do this together lmao. thank you to @gyuwoncheol, @wonwussy, & @wooahaeproductions for helping me land on cheol for this fic. also, just for fun, tagging some scoups enjoyers because i'm nothing if not a menace: @ugh-yoongi, @seungkwansphd, @wongyuseokie, @beomcoups, @horanghater, @cheolism

The holidays are usually your favorite time of year. Sure, they’re really hectic and there’s always way too much to do without nearly enough time to do it. But, you still love it. Love being around friends and family. Love how everyone seems to acknowledge that any problems can wait for the new year. This is a time for joy and happiness. A time to celebrate all the wonderful things that did happen and leave the bad in the year you’re leaving behind. 

This time of year also brings around an annual trip that you take with friends. A trip to a secluded cabin where you can all just disconnect. Where you can sit by the fireplace and read. Where you can go to the nearby resort to ski or snowboard. Where you can drink hot cocoa and swap stories and just enjoy the company without the bustle of the city. It’s one of your favorite weekends every time the holidays roll around. 

Not this year. 

This year, your friends decide that they want to make the group a little bigger and spend a long weekend, including New Year’s Eve, together. Which is great, you’re single and there’s nobody else you’d rather ring the New Year in with. Except for one problem. Your ex is also coming. It’s been a little over a year since you broke up, so you know it’s time to move on. Moving on feels a lot harder when he decides he’s going to come to the cabin weekend again this year. It shouldn’t really surprise you. After all, you were friends before you dated. Didn’t think anything could stop you from being friends after. Didn’t actually think there would be an after, if you’re honest. And you’re definitely not going to be the one to back out or admit you’re still not really over it. 

So, that’s why you’re sitting in a car with Wonwoo, Jihoon, and Mimi, headed off to the cabins that your friends booked for an extended long weekend. You’re just thankful that Wonwoo offered you a spot in his car on the way up. Makes it a lot easier. Even if it means Jihoon and Mimi are currently in each other’s space in the backseat as she shows him something on her phone. It’s not that you mind how cute they are together, it’s just still weird to see Jihoon acting like that with anyone. She seems to have waltzed in and melted any defenses he had.

From his position in the driver’s seat, Wonwoo reaches over to squeeze your thigh. You look over at him, grateful for the reminder that you’re not alone in all of this. Grateful that he swore up and down to make sure you never felt awkward the whole weekend. Maybe it won’t be so bad, you think, as you queue up more songs for the drive. That’s the best part about being in the front seat. You get to control the music and Wonwoo started the trip by telling Jihoon and Mimi just to roll with it. Not that they’re paying all that much attention, but it was a nice thought all the same. 

The drive up is uneventful. Wonwoo navigates the winding back roads with a practiced ease. You sigh happily, taking in all the trees dusted with snow and the winter wonderland all around as you leave most of your troubles behind. There’s something almost refreshing about being out here. Like the air is crisper and everything is stiller. Wonwoo would make a smartass comment about how there’s more trees, less pollution, and a lot fewer people. So, of course all those things are true. You think it’s more, something about the magic of Christmas and the New Year. 

Your smile falls the second you pull up to the main cabin because you can see that Seungcheol’s car is already there. Figures he would not only drive, but beat you there. You try to set that aside, though, because the place is beautiful. It’s set up with a main cabin where you can hang out, cook, play games, or do whatever you want. Then, there are separate small cabins, mostly just with bedrooms and bathrooms, to sleep in. Nayeon, bless her, took care of figuring out the sleeping arrangements for everyone. At least that would be easy. 

Jihoon and Mimi are out of the car almost as soon as it stops, even if Jihoon grumbles about how his legs are stiff and the air is cold. It takes one smile from Mimi and he’s smiling back, grabbing their bags from the car to head for the main cabin. Meanwhile, Wonwoo adjusts his glasses and makes sure everything is turned off before getting out of the car to stretch. When he meets you at the trunk, his gaze is soft. 

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” he asks. 

You sigh and pull out your suitcase, with a little help from your friend. “No.” 

“We shouldn’t have come,” Wonwoo says.

“Just because I’m being a baby doesn’t mean you should’ve stayed away,” you reassure him.

“You’re not being a baby,” he says with a frown. 

“Still,” you press. “We’ve been broken up for a year. There’s going to be a lot of people here, it’ll be fine.”

“As long as you’re sure,” Wonwoo relents. “He didn’t bring anyone, did he?” 

“No, Nayeon said it’s just him. She’s worried about me too,” you say with a playful eye roll. “She’s got me staying in a cabin with you, her, and Joshua.”

“I’m glad we’re at least staying together,” Wonwoo says.

“I’m gonna be fine, Wonwoo, you worry too much,” you insist. 

You get through the first night and breakfast the next morning without having to say a single word to Seungcheol. It’s been awhile since you last saw some of your friends, so there’s a lot to catch up on. The group is also pretty large, which makes it easier to blend in. Everything, even something as simple as making a meal, is kind of a process, too. You’ve always been pretty comfortable in the kitchen and offer to help cook. Seungcheol can’t say the same. It feels like maybe it’ll be smooth and you can just do your own separate things without it being a big deal. Like you can both just agree to give each other space during the trip and not be awkward.

That lasts until the afternoon on the first full day, unfortunately. 

Even though a lot of people take time off between Christmas and New Year’s, a decent portion of the group decides a Friday will still be less busy on the slopes. They want to get some runs in earlier in the day before whatever everyone wants to do later. Seungcheol, thankfully, was one of the first to say he wanted to go. Not surprising, you know he likes really anything where he can be active. Wonwoo was also quick to say he wanted to, after asking you if that was okay. You, again, insisted it was fine. 

You’re reading your book by the fire, periodically watching Jun, Nayeon, and Mimi play cards on the other side of the room, when Seungcheol comes hobbling back in. Minghao just behind him, scolding him for not waiting and ruining the peaceful atmosphere. 

“What’s wrong?” Nayeon asks, looking up from the game.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” Seungcheol says shortly.

“He rolled his ankle,” Minghao interjects. 

“Now you see why I stayed behind,” Jun says.

“I’m fine, really,” Seungcheol insists. 

“You should ice it just in case. And keep it elevated,” Minghao says as heads off to the kitchen. 

Trying to keep your face straight, you mark the page in your book and get up. All you want is for this to be as subtle as possible. But, Jun is also in the room.

“Where are you going?” Jun asks. 

“Oh, just back to my room to get something,” 

It’s a lie and you’re pretty sure they know it, but you also don’t care. You’re not going to stay in the room with an injured Seungcheol because he gets pouty when he can’t do exactly what he wants. This is going to be one of those times. There’s no way he’s going to be happy sitting still when he knows his other friends are still out on the trails. Especially when it’s such a minor thing. You hope that they all understand your decision to just let them deal with him and whatever he has to say.

When you feel like it’s been enough time, you venture back into the main cabin, portable charger in hand, for good measure. Not that you think anyone will ask what it is that you needed from your room, but it’s always a good idea to be prepared. Just in case. At first glance, you think the main living area is empty. That makes you sigh in a little relief. Not that you want to be alone when this is a trip for friends. It’s just nice to have a quiet moment in all the chaos. You think you’ll be able to get back to your book, at least for a little, until you notice someone laying on the couch. Not someone. Seungcheol. Quickly, you turn around, hoping he doesn’t see you. And it would probably work, if you didn’t bump into the corner of a table on your way out.

His head snaps up and swivels to look at you. “What - oh.” 

“Sorry, I was just leaving,” you say.

“Can you really not be in the same room as me?” he asks. He sits up so that he can look at you more easily.

“I’ve been in the same room as you plenty,” you point out.

“Not alone,” he persists. 

“What reason would we possibly have to be alone together?” you wonder. 

“You don’t have to be so…” he starts.

“So, what?” you press.

“So…like this,” Seungcheol finishes, somewhat lamely.

“How should I be?” you ask. 

“I don’t know, just, not like this. We were always comfortable with each other, even before…” he starts and stops suddenly.

“Before we dated? Before you shattered my heart? Before you decided it was easier to shut me out instead of just talking to me?” you ask, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. 

“I know,” he admits.

“You just abandoned me,” you say quietly. “I needed you and you weren’t there. I never would’ve left you like that.” 

“I know. I made so many mistakes. So many things I can’t take back,” he says. He actually looks remorseful. You’re not sure if that’s better or worse. “I’m so sorry for that. I would take it all back if I could. I’d do everything differently.”

“This was a mistake,” you say.

“Talking to me?” he asks.

“Coming on this trip at all,” you admit and turn away. “I have to go.” 

With your back to him, you miss the way his face falls at your admission. Don’t see the way he considers getting up to follow after you. It’s for the best, anyway. Your heart's already breaking again just from one conversation. Just from seeing the emotion on his face. The one face you thought you’d always know better than your own. It’s amazing how everything can change in a single moment. How something that took years to build, first as friends and then as a couple, can all come tumbling down in a second. A split second or a fork in the road. One wrong turn and it’s all gone. 

You make it through to Saturday without any more forced conversations with your ex-boyfriend. Manage to sit on the opposite end of the table from him during meals. Wait until he commits to playing a game or watching something before you decide what to do yourself. Still, you feel very included in everything with different groups of your friends because there are plenty of people there to hang out with. If you take the forced conversation with him out of the equation, it’s actually been a pretty good trip, overall. Not nearly as hard as you expected it to be. 

“I’m gonna go check out the lodge at the mountain, anyone wanna come?” Wonwoo throws out. There’s a smattering of lukewarm responses. Mostly, people say they may hit the trails a little bit later after they’ve had a lazy morning.

“I’ll come,” you offer. 

“Shocking that you two are a pair,” Nayeon jokes from her spot on the couch, curled up with Joshua.

“That’s enough out of you,” you joke back before turning to Wonwoo. “I’ll go grab my coat.”

“Can you grab my hat? I think I left it in my room,” Wonwoo requests.

“Sure,” you agree. 

When you meet Wonwoo in the entranceway, you find your eyes back on the living area. Almost like you can feel someone watching you. But, when nobody is, you figure that you must have imagined it, not noticing the way Seungcheol’s jaw tightens or his mouth turns down in frown. He had just been looking and he wasn’t liking what he saw. Instead, having missed all that, you fall into step beside one of your closest friends and head out of the cabin.

“It’s not a far walk, but we can drive if you want,” Wonwoo offers, sticking his hands into his pockets.

“No, a walk would be nice. It’s not as cold today,” you say.

One of the best parts of being friends with Wonwoo is the sheer comfort you feel with him. It’s always been like this, since the beginning of your friendship. Always just as easy to say the hard things to him as it is to sit in silence. Always easy to avoid the hard things, because he seems to find it easy to to tell when you don’t want to say something. Unfortunately, it’s also easy for him to push you to speak, even when you’re not sure if you want to. Like now, as soon as you reach the Lodge. 

“Are you doing okay?” Wonwoo asks as the pair of you make your way over to a stand selling hot drinks. 

“I’m assuming you don’t mean from the walk over here,” you deflect while you look at the menu.

“No,” Wonwoo answers simply. 

“I’m fine,” you insist, stepping up to the counter. “Peppermint hot chocolate and whatever he wants.”

“You don’t have to…” Wonwoo starts, falling silent at the look you give him. He sighs, knowing you won’t relent. “Just a plain hot chocolate.” 

“Thanks,” you say as you pay.

“You’re not fine. I can see it on you,” Wonwoo says.

You pause when someone calls out your name for the order. “I really am doing fine. The only hard part was getting sucked into a short conversation with him yesterday.”

“What did he say?” Wonwoo asks. 

“Nothing much,” you say and meet Wonwoo’s eyes. You can tell you need to carry on. So, you recount the conversation as best as you can remember.

“He misses you,” Wonwoo surmises. 

“And if he does? What does it matter?” you ask.

“You miss him too,” Wonwoo points out. “That’s why it matters.”

“I don’t,” you argue. “He broke my heart.” 

“What happened? A year ago when you broke up, what happened?” Wonwoo asks.

“You know what happened,” you say with a sigh.

“No, I don’t. I know he left, somehow, but I don’t know what really happened. You’ve always kept that part of the story close to the vest,” Wonwoo says.

“Because it still hurts,” you plead. 

“Maybe it’s time you let someone else take a little of that pain by talking about it,” Wonwoo suggests. You find a table to sit down as you’re considering sharing.

Ultimately, it would be nice to get someone else’s perspective. To get someone who knows you both, and cares about you both, to weigh in on everything that happened. Even if Wonwoo seemingly took your side, you know he still talks to Seungcheol as well. With a steadying breath, you launch into the whole explanation, at least your side of it. It’s time, past time, honestly, that you get this off your chest.

It was great, at the beginning. The two of you were friends first, for years, before something shifted and you started to see each other differently. Suddenly stepping a little more carefully around each other. Not really knowing what to do or what to expect. Not sure if it would ruin the friendship to admit that there were feelings there. Until one day, Seungcheol finally made the move, asked you out on a date, and made sure you knew that’s what he was asking. It got very serious, very quickly. Far more quickly than either of you expected. But, that’s what happens when you start as friends. There are so many things you already know, so many things you don’t have to ask, so many memories already embedded into your relationship. Things were good. It wasn’t like they were perfect. There were little fights here and there, but nothing that felt that serious. Nothing that felt like a dealbreaker. 

It’s hard to admit, even to Wonwoo, that you saw Seungcheol as your forever. As someone you wouldn’t let go of once you had him. He was your safe space without ever being boring. Your protector without ever being one of those toxic assholes. Your biggest cheerleader without being condescending. It was way too early in the relationship to be feeling like he was your forever, so you didn’t ever say it to him, but you felt it. Felt it deep in your bones. He was also vulnerable with you in a way that he wasn’t with anyone else. At least anyone else that you’d seen. The first time he just let you take care of him, let you see him as something other than someone strong and in control, it made you fall even more deeply for him. It didn’t hurt that he nearly stopped your heart with how stupid hot he was. That gets a snort out of Wonwoo before you continue on. 

Suddenly, everything changed. Seungcheol withdrew into himself and stopped confiding in you. He could always be a bit moody, a little deep in his feelings. Still, he would always talk to you about it. Would always share with you what he was feeling. Sometimes it was something so simple as you getting a little too much attention, which he didn’t like. He could be a little jealous. It was something you worked on with him. Sometimes it was a conversation with a friend weighing heavily or something going wrong at work. No matter what, he always talked to you about it. Until he didn’t. Until he just stopped saying much of anything. Until he got a bit secretive with everything in his life and you didn’t really recognize him anymore. His phone was always turned over. Not fully paying attention to you when you were in group settings. Not making plans the way he used to.

“What did you do?” Wonwoo asks. 

“I confronted him,” you say. Simple. It was so simple. “I told him it wasn’t okay and that I deserved better. That we always got through things together and that we needed to get back to that.” 

“Mature of you,” Wonwoo says.

“I thought so,” you say and take a steadying breath. “He agreed, even. Told me that I did deserve better.”

“So what…” Wonwoo asks, but trails off. Obviously confused. 

“He said that it was too much. That he couldn’t give me the things I deserved. That I would be better off finding someone else who could,” you say and wipe away the stray tear. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know,” Wonwoo says. 

“I didn’t want you to. I didn’t want you to look at me like that,” you admit. “Like I was broken because someone didn’t want to love me.”

“You’re not broken,” Wonwoo insists softly, hand reaching out for one of yours. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. But it’s okay to admit when you need help. Or when you need a friend.”

“I know,” you sigh. “It’s just hard.”

“I know, but I’m here,” Wonwoo assures you. 

Saturday night finds Wonwoo and Seungcheol as the last two awake in the living room, finishing their drinks in relative silence. It used to be easy for Seungcheol, sitting with his friend like this. Yet, it hasn’t been, not in the last year since he broke up with you. Not since Wonwoo made it clear that they were friends, but he was sticking by you no matter what. Not that Wonwoo’s been cold or rude or anything. That would have made it easier, Seungcheol thinks. No, instead he’s been mostly the same. Still just as friendly and supportive. All it does is make him feel worse. Why can’t Wonwoo just say what’s really on his mind?

“How was the lodge earlier?” Seungcheol asks.

“Hmm?” Wonwoo asks, eyes seeming to come back into focus as they look over at him.

“The lodge? You went over there earlier. I was just asking how it was,” Seungcheol repeats.

“Oh, fine. We just ended up getting hot chocolate and talking. Kinda watched people coming and going from the trails,” Wonwoo says like it doesn’t matter. Maybe it doesn’t. 

“Are you two…are you…” Seungcheol starts and stops the question several times.

“Dating?” Wonwoo asks, taking pity on his friend. “No. She’s been single since…”

“I broke her heart?” Seungcheol supplies humorlessly. 

“I wasn’t going to say that.” 

“No? It seems like someone spending that much time with her would say that.” 

Wonwoo regards him for a second, adjusts his glasses like he’s buying time to think. “What happened? With you and her, what happened?”

“I’m sure you’ve already heard it from her.” The answer is short. Seungcheol doesn’t want to play these games, not with someone that’s so obviously close to you.

“I’m not asking to hear it from her. I’m asking to hear it from you,” Wonwoo presses. He’s insistent, but his eyes are soft. It’s easy to wonder if it’s time to share. 

“I got scared,” Seungcheol admits. “And jealous.” 

“Of what? Or of who?” Wonwoo asks.  Seungcheol takes a long sip of his drink and grimaces a little. He isn’t buzzed enough for this. Can’t really believe he’s entertaining sharing in the first place. But, well, isn’t this what he’s hoping for? Another chance?

“Of everything and everyone,” Seungcheol says. “She was so kind, so patient, so good to me. Good for me. Just the best person I’ve ever known. I just thought that one day, she’d wake up and she’d realize that she deserved more than me.”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Why did you think that?” 

“I don’t know,” Seungcheol admits. “I guess, well I know I can be difficult. That I get in my head a lot. I know sometimes it’s hard to talk about what I’m feeling. She made a lot of that feel easier, which made me fall harder for her. But, then she makes a lot of people feel that way, doesn’t she? Like she’s the only one who will understand. I don’t even think I was the only friend of ours that had feelings for her. I just, I don’t know, it sounds so fucking dumb now, but I couldn’t compete.” 

“It wasn’t a competition, Cheol,” Wonwoo says.

“I know that,” Seungcheol insists.

Wonwoo fixes him with a stare. “Do you? She’s a lot of things, maybe a lot that make people interested in her. But, she chose you. She chose you and kept choosing you, every chance she got. I don’t think that ever would’ve changed.” 

“Do you want me to feel worse?” Seungcheol asks, voice rising a bit. “I already told her that I would go back and change things if I could, but I can’t.” 

“Do you still love her?” Wonwoo asks, voice so quiet. Yet, it carries all the same.

“Of course I do,” Seungcheol says.

“Then figure out a way to tell her,” Wonwoo replies.

“It’s not that easy,” Seungcheol says. “And aren’t you supposed to be telling me to leave her alone? As her friend?” 

Wonwoo rises from his seat. “It can be that easy, if you stop being your own worst enemy. And I’m your friend, too. It doesn’t seem like the chapter is really over for either of you yet.” 

Seungcheol sits and considers what his friend shared. Wonders if there might be something there. He barely registers as Wonwoo says goodnight and calls a goodnight in response. Then, he’s left with his thoughts again. Should he say something? Can he bring himself to say something? Or will you just shut it down again?

New Year's Eve brings a snowstorm with it that has your group of friends deciding it’s best to just stay in the cabins instead of venturing out to the party they’re having at the lodge. There’s plenty of you for a party, plenty of food, and plenty of warmth, especially close to the fire. The snow falls lightly outside the windows, blanketing everything around with a fresh layer of powdery flakes. It’s not supposed to get truly heavy until much later in the evening. So, you can just get dressed up and have a party with everyone that’s familiar to you. No worrying about mixing with strangers and how they’ll impact the party.

When you and Mingyu go into the kitchen to take stock of what you have and plan out the food for the day, you realize that maybe you don’t have everything that you need after all. You could actually use more food and you definitely could use some champagne to toast with. It makes sense, though, you planned to go into the lodge to ring in the new year. Your smile when Wonwoo, Jihoon, and Joshua offer to go out and do a run is immediate and wide. You hand over a list of what you need (well, you text it to all three of them just to cover your bases) and they’re off into town. That lets you turn back to the kitchen, where Mingyu and Mimi are starting on an appetizer. You’re trying to figure out what you can work on when someone clears their throat. Your heart skips a little when you look up.

“Could I talk to you for a minute?” Seungcheol asks you, face more open than you’ve seen in a while.

It makes your mouth go dry. How are you supposed to turn him down when he’s asking in front of everyone like this? Like it’s just a totally normal thing to ask? All you can do is nod and avoid looking at anyone else around you. Just nod and follow him into a smaller side room off the main living area. 

“Thanks,” he says when they stop walking.

“What was I supposed to do? Make a scene?” you ask. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how else to ask you to talk,” he admits.

“I heard you,” you say, cutting across his words. He looks confused. “Last night? I heard you talking to Wonwoo. I left my charger in here and came back to get it.” 

“Oh,” is all he says.

“Oh?” you repeat.

“I wanted to actually tell you, not have you overhear me talking through things with someone else,” he says, mouth turned down like he’s upset.

“Then you should have just talked to me,” you press.

“I couldn’t! You won’t talk to me,” he says defensively.

“Not this weekend. A year ago, when it all happened,” you say quietly.

“I know,” he says. You expect him to look annoyed or defeated, but he only looks sincere. “I knew the moment you walked out that I fucked up and I’m so sorry. I’ve tried a hundred times since then to just talk to you, but the words never felt right.” 

“Cheol,” you plead. You’ve been waiting a year to hear this. Except, you finally feel like you’re starting to move past it all and this is only making it confusing. 

“Just, you don’t have to say anything, I just want you to hear me out,” Seungcheol pleads. “I know I have absolutely no right to ask you that, but I’m asking anyway.”

“Okay,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“I fucked up. I knew I did when you walked out, but it took me a while to realize just how bad. I didn’t just drive a partner away, I drove someone away that got through all my walls in a way nobody else ever has. I drove away the person that made me feel comfortable, that supported me even when I was being an idiot, that constantly showed up for me. I was afraid that I didn’t deserve you and always jealous of everyone else that paid attention to you. I thought one day you were gonna wake up and realize that there were better people out there that were less, I don’t know, emotionally closed off. I didn’t realize until way too late that you knew exactly what you brought to the table and what you deserved, but you picked me. I didn’t realize that it’s the only thing I ever needed, was you seeing all of me and picking me anyway,” Seungcheol says. 

“I don’t, that’s…” you trail off and shake your head to clear it. You’re trying to find the words when Nayeon pokes her head in.

“Hey, I’m so sorry to butt in, but Mimi just kicked me out of the kitchen. I was only offering because Mingyu said he needed help,” Nayeon says. “I think they need you.”

“Oh, um,” you start, kind of like a deer in headlights.

“You should go help him. I don’t want everyone hating me for keeping you from helping Mingyu,” Seungcheol says with a light chuckle at complete odds with the situation. 

“Thank you,” Nayeon says with a smile as she grabs your arm to whisk you away.

“Does Mingyu actually need me?” you ask.

“Huh? Yeah, he does,” Nayeon laughs. “I wasn’t trying to save you, you’re good enough at that on your own.”

“I don’t buy that,” you say, pulling both of you to a halt. Nayeon rolls her eyes.

“Fine, maybe I heard what he said to Wonwoo last night from Joshua and maybe I want you to at least consider what he has to say,” Nayeon admits. “I liked you together, sue me.”

“I just might,” you grumble, heading off to help Mingyu in the kitchen without Nayeon in tow.

After dinner, you and Mingyu insist that you’re not getting anything, for anyone, for the rest of the night. And probably into tomorrow. Mimi got distracted part way through and disappeared for entirely too long with Jihoon. Which would be fine, but there were a lot of people to cook for and you needed all the help you could get. Joshua popped in and out, thankfully, but it was still tiring. The perk has been that you actually haven’t had to lift a finger since. Your drink stays full and someone is always willing to get you something to eat. That lets you settle in to play a game with the group.

The TV in the background steadily counts down as it gets closer to midnight. Occasionally, the performance draws your attention to watch. Mostly, you’re just drinking entirely too much. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of your brain, you know that you’re just trying to avoid thinking about everything Seungcheol said. Or trying to avoid thinking how good he looks tonight. It’s hard to stop yourself from lingering on the way his shirt clings to his chest. Has he been working out even more? Or the way his pants stretch tight across his thighs. Not for the first time, you shake your head to clear it, recross your legs, and focus on whatever game it is you’re playing. Ignore the look Wonwoo gives you from his place next to you. He certainly hasn’t missed your looks. (And nobody else really has, either, except for Jun. But, that’s just Jun for you.)

Everyone sets aside the games when it gets closer to midnight, milling around with varying amounts of energy instead of sitting still. You realize, even with any awkwardness from Seungcheol being there, you can’t think of anyone else you’d rather ring in a new year with. Surrounded by all of your favorite people, what else could anyone ask for? Well, except maybe a New Year’s kiss. As if on cue, your glance drifts over to Seungcheol. It’s a little surprising to find he’s already looking at you, smiling softly. It sends a surge of emotion through you to think of all the reasons you fell in love with him in the first place. When you turn away to take a sip of your drink, you find it’s empty. With midnight rapidly approaching, you really need a refill on the champagne. You’re about to go do that when a voice breaks into your thoughts.

“Here,” he says.

You turn to look at Seungcheol, now very firmly in your space, holding out a new glass of champagne. “Thanks.”

“I just noticed you were almost empty and figured you’d want it,” he offers.

“Yeah, I should make sure this one lasts,” you chuckle out.

The host on TV announces that there’s only a minute left. Everyone around you starts talking excitedly or getting closer to their partners, if they have them. Jokingly, you told Wonwoo that he would be your New Year’s kiss. Now, that’s the last thing on your mind. Seungcheol hovers close by. When you look over at him, though, his eyes are on the TV, counting down along with the host when it gets to ten seconds.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” 

Everyone shouts together and starts clinking glasses. Hugging their friends or kissing their partners. Your body makes the decision for you when you turn to the man next to you and cheers his glass. As he starts to turn away, you grab his arm and pull him into you. Press your lips against his before either of you can figure out what’s happening. He recovers from his surprise quickly and wraps his free arm around your waist to pull you against his chest. It’s familiar and also somehow completely new at the same time. 

Breathless. That’s what you feel when you pull away and cheers with other friends. You throw your arms around Nayeon and press a kiss to Wonwoo’s cheek. Pointedly ignore any looks or raised eyebrows about your decision to kiss your ex in a room full of all your friends. It’s fine. Everyone is doing fine. You’re definitely thankful that someone suggests a game and you can all go back to celebrating without talking about the elephant in the room. A very different elephant than when you first got to the cabins. 

There’s another massive difference, too. Instead of sitting on the fringes or carefully leaving space, Seungcheol plops down right next to you. Lets his arm rest along the back of the couch. His arm isn’t around you, but it could be with the slightest adjustment. Several of your friends look at you with the question in their eyes. You avoid all of them, like the true adult you are, and focus, instead, on the warmth of Seungcheol’s thigh when it presses into yours. Actually, you avoid drinking any more, either. The whole night has been a little confusing (read: a lot confusing) and you don’t need an alcohol haze adding to that. It doesn’t escape your notice that he stops drinking as well. 

When you start to get a little tired, you excuse yourself to the kitchen, claiming you need a snack and don’t know what you want. A minute later, Seungcheol appears on the other side of the island. Leaning casually against it like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like he hasn’t sent your entire world into a spiral. Like he’s not still one of the hottest people you’ve ever seen in your life.

“So, uh, I don’t wanna assume anything…” he starts and you hold up a hand.

“I’m going to excuse myself in a minute to go to bed. Give it a few minutes and then come to my room,” you say, walking around him without waiting for a response. 

When you tell the group that you’re going to turn in for the night, you do your best not to meet anyone’s eyes. You’re not naive enough to think you’re fooling anyone. Not that you even want to. It’s just, well, you want this time to figure out what’s happening. It’s a little hard to do that when you know everyone’s eyes are on the two of you. There’s the tiniest bit of you holding onto the hope that you can pass it off as you being overwhelmed by the kiss at midnight. Like you didn’t just tell him to meet you in your room.

Back in your room, you shrug off your jacket and sit down on the bed. The seconds seem to drag by waiting for him to show up. For a second, you wonder if he’s actually going to show up at all. You stop those thoughts in their tracks. He had a lot to say and he kissed you back. Then, he spent the rest of the night pressed up close to you. He’s going to show up. Before you can spiral further, there’s a knock at the door. You’re halfway to the door when it opens a crack and Seungcheol peeks his head inside. 

“Can I come in?” he asks, looking unsure for the first time since before you kissed him. 

“I did ask you to come to my room,” you joke.

“I was a little surprised,” he admits.

“Me too,” you agree. 

He shuts the door behind him, allowing you to really look at him for the first time all weekend. To take in his appearance, as he removes his jacket, without any other eyes on your. Or anyone analyzing the interaction. To just appreciate the man you fell in love with. His hair is a little shaggy and blond, a color you don’t remember seeing on him before. He catches you looking, but instead of a smirk, there’s only a smile. Hopeful and genuine. It’s a little overwhelming to have him in your space. To know you need to talk. To know there’s so much to work through.

Instead, in the only move you can think of, you close the distance, wrapping your arms around his middle. He doesn’t even miss a beat. Just wraps his arms around you, erasing any last bit of space between you. It feels calm, familiar. Like no time has passed. Like you’re not different people now. He kisses the top of your head, so soft you think it might shatter any resolve you have left. 

“I’m sorry I kissed you in front of everyone without talking to you,” you mumble into his shirt.

“I’m not,” he quickly reassures you.

“I really fucking want to kiss you again,” you admit, still talking into his shirt rather than looking at him.

“Then,” he starts, moving a hand to tilt your chin up, “what are you waiting for?” 

“We probably should talk,” you say.

“You’re right,” he sighs.

Except, do you really want to talk right now? Do you really want to stop yourself from kissing him again? You stopped drinking so your head would be clear enough to make this decision. You’re just a little sick of overthinking everything this weekend. Sensing the indecision, Seungcheol presses a feather light kiss to your lips. Enough to make the decision, while also being light enough that you could easily pull away. 

You do, just for a second. “Fuck it, let’s talk tomorrow.” 

Your lips crash back against Seungcheol’s, hungry and desperate, arms wrapped around his neck. It makes him tilt down a little so that you can press against him. There’s no hesitation on his end, either. You find yourself wondering if he was always this good at kissing or if he’s gotten better since you broke up. Or maybe it just means more the second time around. When he picks you up, you gasp into the kiss. Wrap your legs around his waist to feel a little steadier. Not that you think he would ever let you fall. It’s easier than you expected to fall back into this kind of trust with him. 

It’s like you both want to go fast, yet also take your time. Seungcheol deposits you on the bed, then takes his time removing your shoes. Toes his off a little more quickly. You go to remove some of your layers, only to have his hands stop you. He’s so slow, removing the sheer top with painstaking care. Kissing along your skin as he exposes it. The amount of attention makes you squirm. You’re prepared for something quick and dirty. Something more like a one-night stand. You’re not prepared for him to worship your body as he exposes more of your skin. Part of you feels really exposed, because he’s still fully dressed, as he carefully unhooks your bra. The way he looks at you, like you’re the only person in the world he’s ever wanted, makes your heart ache. Makes you second guess if this is right. 

“We can stop. We don’t have to do this,” he whispers into your skin. 

You grab his face so that you can look him in the eyes. There’s something in you that just needs to gauge him for a minute. Needs to really know what decision you’re making. There’s so much love there, so many unspoken words, so much sincerity. Maybe you’re not over him at all. Maybe he meant everything he said.

“No, I want this. Want you,” you assure him. 

His eyes sparkle a little. There’s no time to dwell on it, though. His mouth is on your skin again. Kissing the spot on your neck that he knows drives you crazy. Kissing the beauty mark on your shoulder. Kissing across your collarbone. When he works his way down to your nipples, he’s not being so soft anymore. He pinches one between his fingers without warning.

“Fuck, Cheol,” you hiss. 

“Too much?” he asks. You don’t need to look at him to know he’s smirking, but you do anyway. That knowing smirk sends desire coursing through you.

“You’re such a little shit,” you whine. 

He pinches the same nipple again. Watches you as he flicks his tongue over the other. Actually smiles when you arch into his mouth. “You don’t seem to mind it.” 

You wind your hand into his hair in response, pull a little harder than normal. He groans against your breast, sending a little vibration into your skin. “You don’t seem to mind a little pain, either.” 

There’s no answer. Not that you need it. One of his hands moves down your body, mouth still focusing on your chest, until he gets to your thigh. Your skirt is bunching up around hips from squirming on the bed. “How much do you like these tights?”

You look down at the sparkly tights you bought just for the party. That you’ll probably never wear again. “I mean, they’ve got sparkles. Wasn’t planning to wear them again.” 

“Good,” he says. 

You’re expecting him to rip them on the spot. Instead, he returns his mouth to yours, kissing you hard, and lets a finger run over your entrance, through both tights and underwear. It’s not enough. There’s entirely too much fabric in the way. He’s teasing you, he has to be. There’s no other reason that explains this kind of torture. 

“Jesus, Cheol, please,” you beg. 

“What are you trying to do to me?” he groans. Seems like he still likes it when you beg for something.

In either case, he carefully rips a hole in your tights, too focused on you to figure out pulling them down. Seemingly in one motion, your underwear is pushed to the side and he’s got a finger running up your entrance. Feeling that you’re turned on from the way he’s been kissing all over your body. Thankfully, you don’t have to beg again. At least, not yet. He presses his fingers at your mouth and you suck them in eagerly. Swirl your tongue around them. He almost looks reluctant when he withdraws them to press one inside your cunt. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he groans. 

“Forgot how good your fingers felt,” you answer, squirming underneath him.

“Bet I could make you come just on my fingers,” he says as he adds a second one.

“Fuck,” you draw out. He’s not being gentle with you anymore. “Then you don’t get to taste me. And we both know how much you love that.”

He leans in closer, you’re assuming to kiss you. Instead, his lips find your ear. “Who says I can’t do both?” 

You bite down on your fist to keep from screaming out when he thrusts faster. Try your best to hold on when his thumb brushes over your clit. All you want is to prove him wrong. Prove that you can hold on and that you’re not putty in his hands. Except, your body remembers. It remembers just how good he makes you feel. Remembers how well he knows what makes you crazy. Nobody has ever known your body like him. And it’s a little annoying. With his fingers inside you, it’s easy to realize that nobody feels as good as him. You could never get yourself off like he could.

It’s an embarrassingly short time before you’re coming on his fingers, fighting not to scream out. Trying anything you can not to make it more obvious just why you decided it was time to head to bed. Seungcheol guides you through the high as you fall back into the bed, sinking deeper into the mattress. After a moment, you prop yourself up to watch him remove his shirt. You’re no longer the only one that’s overexposed. Then again, you don’t feel exposed being half naked around him. It only feels comfortable. Once he removes his shirt, he moves back to your body. Actually takes the time to remove your tights and underwear now. His breath ghosts across your cunt. That action alone is enough to send a little shiver through your body. You’re definitely sensitive. 

Seungcheol positions himself between your legs and looks up when you suck in a breath. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

He’s so pretty like this. You’ve always thought that. Pushing his hair out of his eyes and looking up at you from underneath his lashes like he’s never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. So caring. The little bit of caution you get from him in the middle of him ruining you. You clear your throat to remember he asked you a question. “Yes, Cheol. With you, always.” 

It’s immediately more honest than either of you are expecting. Instead of breaking the moment, though, it seems to spur him on. The kind smile dissipates into something much more confident. He spreads you open and looks up for a last time before his tongue licks a strip up your entrance. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since the last time he was between your legs, your entire body remembers. It’s like muscle memory. The way your back arches. The way your hand knots in his hair. The way the praises fall from your lips. You’re sensitive. So fucking sensitive. And he knows. It’s always been one of his favorite things with you. Pushing you to the edge and then over again.

“God, I forgot how fucking good you taste,” he says when he takes a breath. 

“Well maybe, fuckkkk,” you start before cutting out. 

For once, he’s not a demon. He doesn’t ask what you were about to stay. Just keeps alternating between fucking his tongue into you and sucking your clit into his mouth. It’s too much and not enough all at once. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire. When his nose bumps against your clit as he’s buried deep in your pussy, you lose it again. Come all over his tongue and his face. Come harder than you remember coming in a really long time. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. 

By the time the last shock works through your body, he’s laying next to you on the bed. You can’t help it. You have to lean over and kiss him. Want to taste yourself on his lips. It’s almost like you need that to know this is all real. That it’s all happening and it’s not just some weird, horny dream. (It’s not like that would be a first, either. You’ll never admit it, but you’ve thought a lot about him since you broke up. Especially when you were horny and needed a release. That’s your business, though.)

“Fuck, Cheol,” you utter when you pull away from the kiss.

“I’ve missed hearing my name on your lips,” he admits. “Specially when you call me Cheol.” 

“I’ve missed saying it,” you share, equally honest. 

You’re a little weak already. It’s hard to imagine what tomorrow is going to be like. But, you move down the bed anyway. Seungcheol tracks you with his eyes as you position to undo his pants. He moves his hips up to help you pull both his pants and briefs down. His stare as you pull your skirt down and discard it at the side of the bed is almost possessive. It sends something through your body. 

It’s your turn to remind him that he’s not the only one who remembers. You also remember just what drives him crazy and just how to get him going. You remember every place he likes to be kissed. So, you start there. Run your lips along every part of his body, like you’re committing him to memory again. As if you could ever forget anything about him. You delight in the sounds you pull from him just with your kisses. Maybe he knows, though, that you’re working your way down. 

“So hard just from getting me off,” you comment. 

“Because I know that nobody can make you come like I can and it’s fucking hot,” he answers.

It’s the same answer he’s always given and something about the familiarity makes you bolder. Even though you know there’s a conversation for tomorrow, it feels like the easiest thing you’ve ever done. You take his dick in your hand, run a finger over the tip and feel a little bit of the precum there. When you lick a stripe up the underside of his shaft, he shudders. Closes his eyes for a second before they snap back open to watch you. He’s always been like this. Always wanting to watch. This time is no different as you slowly take him into your mouth. You know he wants to fuck into your face, know you’d let him. But, you’re thankful he doesn’t. Even if you remember, he’s still big and thick inside your mouth. You need the time to get used to him. Once you do, though, you start to bob. Slowly, at first, before you let him take control. Relax your throat and let him find purchase in your hair. Encourage him to jerk his hips up as you keep your eyes on him as much as possible. You know how much it drives him crazy, even as the tears form and you gag a little 

“Fuck,” Seungcheol utters. 

He pulls you off his cock and up to his face so that he can kiss you. This is your favorite version of him. When he’s needy and desperate and completely putty in your hands. Like he can’t possibly imagine being anywhere that you aren’t. It’s when you know that you’re not crazy, that he’s just as far gone for you as you are for him. 

“I really need to fuck you,” he says. His lips are swollen from kissing you and his pupils are completely blown. “Fuck, I don’t have a condom on me.” 

“It’s fine, I’m still on the pill and I haven’t been with anyone since you,” you say. 

That seems to catch him off guard. “You haven’t?”

“No,” you answer.

“I haven’t either,” he admits.

“Then, we’re fine. I trust you,” you tell him. 

“Thank god, I really miss being inside you,” he breathes out.

“Think you just miss me,” you grumble as you reposition to straddle his lap.

“You and that smartass mouth of yours,” he retorts.

“I’m about to ride you, Seungcheol, and you just fucked my smartass mouth. So, maybe, pipe down,” you warn him.

This has always been your dynamic, swapping back and forth for who’s in control. As much as he says he likes control, you know he likes giving it up to you just as much. You know that he hasn’t ever let anyone else be in control apart from you. He looks up at you as you position yourself over him. There was a time when you hated this position. Felt really self conscious about how you must look from this angle. The second you admitted it to him, he was quick with his praise. Assuring you that you’re beautiful to him and there’s nothing to worry about.

He stops you before you lower yourself onto him. Puts his fingers in your mouth again and you obey without a second thought. Then, he runs his fingers along your entrance. Slides a finger in before quickly adding a second. It’s an awkward angle, but you get what he’s trying to do. Appreciate that he wants to make sure you’re at least a little prepped. When he pulls his fingers out, you’re only a little embarrassed at the moan that slips through your lips. If you completely ignore the smirk that he throws your way, well, who can blame you? The smirk is gone a second later when you finally lower yourself onto him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans. 

You know him so well. You know his instinct is to buck his hips up into you. You know it’s hard for him to let you adjust. But, you also know that he wants to be gentle, even if it’s just for a moment. 

“I forgot how good you felt, jesus fuck,” you moan out. 

“Please, I need to feel you move,” he begs. It’s nice, when he’s the one to beg for something.

And who are you to deny him anything he asks for when he sounds so pretty asking? You do move, entirely too slowly. You need to find your rhythm, though. Need to find some place to anchor your hands. They settle on his chest, at first, and you actually can’t believe how much muscle he has there. He’s always liked to work out. Always wanted to be in shape. This is even more than that. You’re still appreciating the way his chest feels when he grabs one of your hands. Without a word, he moves it to his neck.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He nods. It’s been awhile since you choked him, even lightly, but it turns you on. It’s easy to see that it turns him on, too. As you apply a little bit of pressure, his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips. You do everything that you can to pick up the pace. To move faster on top of him. It doesn’t take very long until he’s planting his feet so that he can set the pace. He takes over the rhythm and it gets a lot harder. Bodies slapping together with each movement.

“Fuck, Cheol,” you say, trying not to scream. 

You move your hand from his neck so that you have a better grip. He’s moving too fast for you to feel comfortable that you won’t press too hard into his neck. It’s insane, you know that it’s insane, but you already feel like you’re getting close again. You start to clench around Seungcheol, making the stretch feel that much more intense. 

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come if you do that,” he groans. 

“Then do it,” you force out. “Wanna feel it inside me.”

“Jesus,” he groans. 

Everything happens so fast. You can feel him everywhere and your body is on fire. He’s still fucking hard into you, but he’s also rubbing your clit. Helping you get there with him. Somehow, he doesn’t seem to realize you’re already on the verge of your third orgasm. Oversensitive and overstimulated. Your body starts to shake and it’s hard to keep yourself upright on top of him. 

“Fuck, Cheol, I’m coming,” you hiss out. 

“I’m about to come too, fuck,” he answers. 

His thrusts get a lot more erratic and you feel him let loose inside you. You feel the way he moves to try and support you even while he’s working through his own release. When he stills, you collapse forward onto his chest. Breaths shallow and heavy. Your whole body’s exhausted, yet so happy at the same time. Carefully, you pull yourself off him. You’re sure a little bit of cum slides out with the loss of his cock inside you. Not that you care. 

It’s several minutes of silence. Seungcheol lays on his back and you’re on your side next to him. It might be a mark of how much he really did miss you that he doesn’t flinch when you start tracing patterns onto his stomach. It’s not like you just stop being ticklish. Eventually, you realize you need to get up. The last thing you want is to go to bed crusty. 

“Come on, I got lucky and I have an attached bathroom,” you say when you get up off the bed. You reach a hand to him and smile when he takes it without question. 

It’s quiet again as you help clean each other up. A comfortable kind of quiet. The way it used to be. This is another favorite of yours with him. Aftercare has always been his thing. No matter how rough he is with you in bed, he’s impossibly gentle when he cleans you up. It makes your heart ache a little because you’re so fond. It’s a weird mix of feelings.

“We should sleep in my room tonight,” he says. 

“We’re already here,” you point out. 

“With sheets that are probably soaked,” he teases back. 

“What are the chances we can get to your room without being seen?” you wonder. 

He shrugs. “It’s late. Probably better than the chances nobody heard us.” 

Your cheeks flush a little. Sure, you definitely tried to be quiet. You’ll have to wait until the morning to see if you succeeded. 

“Come on, my room has a door to the outside,” he says. 

So, you follow. You put your layers back on and grab something to sleep in. And you don’t actually see anyone before you’re safely tucked away in his room. That night, falling asleep tangled up in Seungcheol, is the best night of sleep you’ve gotten in a long time. 

Morning comes and brings with it the need for an actual conversation. As you stretch in bed, you appreciate the soreness in your body with a smile. Anything you’re feeling now is surely worth it. That is, until you realize you’re in bed alone. Dread creeps in. Could last night really have meant something different to Seungcheol than it did to you? Did you just make a massive mistake? You’re starting to wonder if you’re only going to break your own heart this time, with nobody else to blame, when the bedroom door opens. Seungcheol steps inside with a thermos and a bag that looks like it might have some of the pastries Wonwoo brought back from the store yesterday.

“You’re awake,” he says with a smile. He sets down the thermos and removes his jacket to hang it up. 

“I was worried you’d left,” you admit when he finishes taking off his shoes and sits next to you. His face looks hurt for a second before it settles. 

“No, I just went to get coffee and figure out what we were walking into before you got up,” he says. 

“And?” you prompt. 

He pulls out a pastry and hands it over. “Nayeon asked where I slept last night and if I knew where you were. I don’t think she heard anything, but who knows with her? Wonwoo wasn’t in the main area, so I don’t know. They said they all knew I was following you, though.”

“Guess we can’t really avoid it,” you joke. 

You’re expecting him to smile, too. Instead, his face is serious. “Do you want to? Avoid it, I mean.”

It makes you serious. Maybe a little too honest. “I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“I don’t expect you to believe me, not right away, but I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” he says and takes your hands in his. “If you give me another chance, I’m never letting you walk away from me again. I’ll prove that I’m worth everything you give me.”

“You’ve always been worth it, Cheol,” you tell him. 

“I realize that now,” he agrees. “I also realize it’s up to you to know what you deserve and what you want. That wasn’t ever my decision to make and I’m really sorry for doing that to you.”

“It hurt, for sure, but not having you around hurts so much worse,” you admit. It’s hard to meet his eyes, even though you know you’re safe. 

“It hurts so fucking bad. I hate it. Last year was the worst year of my life,” he says. 

“You got a massive promotion, though! Wonwoo told me,” you say. 

“This is going to sound so cheesy, but I’m done caring. That promotion didn’t mean shit without you being there to share it with,” he shares with you. 

“I guess we’ll have to celebrate it this year,” you say. 

His face lights up. “Really?”

“I want to give us another chance. I don’t think either of us are over it,” you acknowledge. “Last night aside, I want to take it slow. I want to take our time instead of rushing in like we did the first time around. I want to get it right this time.”

He nods immediately. “We can go as slow as you want. I mean it. I’m not letting you go again.”

“Good, because I don’t think we should wait to see if the third time’s the charm,” you joke. 

“I’m glad I came this year,” he says as he grabs the thermos. 

“Me too,” you agree. 

It’s funny, you think, how someone can feel so familiar and yet so new at the same time. Seungcheol feels like home, like your favorite sweater, or like curling up with a book by the fire in winter. But, he feels entirely new, too. Like maybe you both changed over the past year. Maybe you both grew into the people you needed to be to love each other better. To love each other right. Later, you’ll have to break the bubble and face your friends. Right now, though, you can just appreciate that this silly little cabin trip brought you peace. 

this was a lot of fun to write and i hope you liked it 💕

#seungcheol x reader #seungcheol smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #scoups smut #scoups x reader #seungcheol x you #scoups x you #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #scoups imagines #scoups scenarios #kvanity #kchristmas #svthub #ksmutsociety #seungcheol angst #seungcheol fluff #scoups angst #scoups fluff #jess: fic post

[loaksky]

— 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴

the lowdown — the one where neteyam is shackled by appearances, but you couldn’t care less. 

the who — neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — 2.2k

the tags & warnings — language ,, misunderstandings (i love this trope and this is a hill i’ll die on i’m SORRY) ,, neteyam’s friends can be shitty, but mean well ,, reader just wants to love up on her boy :(

the notes — based off of this request! this is another addition to my neteyam content, but ik some of you guys are itching for some other characters, so i'm probably gonna steer in another direction & write for kiri & tsireya so if that interests you, stay tuned! <3

(not proofread well lmao)

masterlist

Neteyam is many things; a kind spirit, a fierce warrior, a loving brother, a diligent son. But Neteyam is also new to love. Not quite new to being in love, but learning the act of loving you. 

He’d found so many ways to express his heart’s desire; written notes on scraps, gentle smiles, searing eyes. It was one thing in particular, though, that made his mouth dry, made his brain nearly short circuit, and it was your need to be in his space. 

Even after many days that bleed into weeks and meld into months, you make his cheeks warm with every lingering pass of your fingertips, make his stomach knot with every fluttering kiss to his skin. 

It’d been a pleasant surprise at first, but now it was a need, an absolute necessity to have you fused to him like a second skin. Your touch was a tacit word and he was learning to speak your language. 

The two of you together was normalcy and the clan members were more than delighted to know that the olo’eyktan’s son was lucky in love. But there were teasing whispers, lilting voices in the background that made something uncomfortable pinch the back of his brain. 

His skin would light up with equal parts want and embarrassment when you’d hang loosely around him during evening meals and the villagers his age would giggle and murmur behind their palms about the two of you. Didn’t help that you were an oblivious thing, or maybe you didn’t care, when you’d hold his hand in your own, occasionally bringing his fingertips to your lips during casual conversation. 

And he didn’t mind loving you endlessly when you were just two souls enjoying each other, but he can’t help but tense when his eyes wander and he sees watchful gazes. 

“Mighty warrior is a needy one, huh?” 

His friends, comrades since childhood, surround him on a sunny afternoon. Neteyam pauses his actions, arrow in the midst of a sharpening. 

His spine goes rigid and his eyes narrow. 

“What are you on about?” he asks, jaw locking. 

“Even in the moments you aren’t with her, you’re thinking about her,” his friend Marin says with a shiteating grin. 

“Don’t even,” Neteyam warns, eyes rolling as he continues with sharpening his arrows. 

“Oh, come on,” another one of his friends guffaws, twining a new bow string. “You haven’t said a word since we sat down.” 

And he wishes he could form a solid argument, but you are on his mind, all-consuming as always. Can’t help it when he’s pined after you for years and only recently found the courage to act on his heart. 

“Maybe I just don’t want to engage with you assholes,” Neteyam bites, fist tightening around his dagger. 

“Yeah, because if you open your mouth, all you’ll be able to talk about is my girl this and my girl that,” Marin teases. “Who knew future olo’eyktan was so clingy.” 

“Yeah, like it’s me who’s clingy,” he grunts, resuming the task at hand with much more fervor. 

“Is it not?” Marin challenges. “Oh, ________, my love, look at these flowers I picked for you.” 

The blood is rushing to his ears as his friends howl with laughter. 

“Syulang, I wrote you twelve pages declaring my love even though we’ve seen each other thrice since last eclipse.” The taunting makes him seethe, makes the feeling of discomfort surface all over again and the words are spilling before he can plug the dam. 

“Of course it’s not me,” Neteyam scoffs. “I keep my composure, but it’s her that insists on constantly reminding the village that we’re together. If I had it my way, nothing would have changed from when we were friends.”

It’s a lie and he knows it, his friends know it. But you, you who staggers outside of the training circle at the sound of multiple voices don’t know it. 

It’s like a swift strike to the gut, one that squashes every butterfly that tickled the lining of your stomach on your way to fetch the very man who’d held your heart and crushed it all the same. 

Your satchel, heavy with fruits and snacks for after your evening swim with Neteyam, weighs heavy across your front as you debate whether or not you should be listening to a conversation that is obviously not meant for your ear. But it’s like you’re rooted to the soil beneath you. 

“Yeah, okay,” Marin chuffs, obviously not convinced. “If you’re so bothered by your dynamic now, there isn’t any reason why you wouldn’t say anything. She’s your second skin and you love it.” 

He does, he thinks to himself. 

Of course he doesn’t, you realize, horrified, the thousand and one times your hands would find his body and he’d tense or shy away replaying like a horror reel in your brain. 

“I potentially hold the future of this clan in my hands,” Neteyam says. “It is my duty to endure all things whether or not I enjoy it.”

It’s like you’re doused with water so cold at the violent shiver that shakes your spine. 

Just another thing to endure, you mull over in your brain as the barge of emotions brims dangerously near the surface. 

You break from the edge of the clearing and you’re off. 

Something is off. 

And Neteyam is ashamed to admit that it takes him obnoxiously long to notice. Maybe it’s because he’s caught up in his duties, or maybe for once in his life, he isn’t worrying about meddlesome gazing, but the shift is imperceptible. 

You’re still you, so aching beautiful and devastatingly radiant, but something is different. He doesn’t pinpoint it until he’s bidding you a farewell, leaning into your space to plant a kiss on your lips when you ease away to beam at him nervously instead. 

His brows furrow when you wave, breaking away from him to scurry home. 

He thinks it’s a one off, something he shouldn’t read too much into, but he can’t help it. Not when he’s so used to your touch, so used to feeling the pads of your fingers denting his skin and the scald of your lips. 

He tries again a few nights later, after finally getting you alone. He’d been busy assisting his father in planning a raid at the end of the month and you were busy trying to put as much distance between the two of you.

“You’re awfully quiet, bug,” Neteyam observes softly, chin dipping under the water as he swims closer to where you float on the surface, eyes closed. 

You only hum, pleading silently that he’ll let it pass. But when his fingers skim your navel, you’re jerking away from him, settling so that a berth of glittering blue separates the two of you. 

He forces a laugh, wading closer to you as you seemingly shrink. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks when he sees something like discomfort flitting over your expression, concern eclipsing his features as he reaches forward to grab you by your arm. 

“Nothing…” you swallow, staring at the rounded stones beaded through the necklace you made him early on in your budding relationship.

He doesn’t buy it, tilting your chin up with deft fingers. 

“Hey, hey,” he says softly, searching your face for a tell. “Talk to me.” 

“Nothing,” you breathe, peeling away from him to wade back towards the embankment. “It’s nothing.” 

He watches as you hoist yourself up from the river, heart in his throat. 

He cracks when the others seem to notice, slowly catching onto the fact that the usually doting and loving partner of the olo’eyktan’s son is surprisingly distant. It’s during an evening meal, villagers surrounding the multiple fires, when it comes to a head. 

There’s an unusual space between your bodies as you chat with Kiri and a few others and he can’t help but close the gap as something akin to desperation washes over him. His fingers brush the span of your shoulders to pull you into his chest, lips a hairsbreadth from your temple before your palm snakes between your bodies and plants on his chest to nudge him away. 

He bites the inside of his cheek in annoyance as Marin and his other friends share knowing glances. 

While he boils silently, you ache to tell him that you don’t mean it, that there’s nothing more you’d want than to spend every waking moment in his arms, but that day in the clearing is a humiliating reminder that Neteyam is shackled to his honor and if it means making you happy despite his discomfort, he’d endure it all. 

You hate it, hate that he’d let you feel like things were alright leading up to this moment, that he’d suffer at the expense of mocking and badgering from his friends. Makes you feel embarrassed, sorry, that you’d read the two of you all wrong. 

You feel his fingers inching towards yours, pinkie overlapping with yours. Your hands involuntarily close into fists and that’s all it takes for Neteyam to shoot up from his perch on the log and take you by the elbow. 

There’s a hush as his friends and yours watch the two of you part ways with the group, the nearly feral look in their leader’s son suggestively mistaken. 

“Why won’t you touch me?” Neteyam asks fiercely, once enough distance lies between the two of you and the rest of the clan. 

His words make your cheeks warm, but he looks troubled, hurt. 

“I-” 

“Did I do something to disgust you? Did I…” 

His words melt into the background as you watch him with teary eyes. 

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Teyam,” you whisper. “You can tell me the truth. I’m a big girl.” 

“What are you talking about?” he asks, frustrated. “You’re the one hiding something. These past few weeks I’ve been trying to be with you, trying to love you and you keep pushing me away.” 

A twinge of annoyance erupts in the pit of your belly as you frown. 

“That’s rich coming from you,” you murmur hoarsely. 

“I’m so lost right now, ________,” he admits desperately. “We were fine, everything was great, and suddenly I feel like I’m losing you. Did I do something? Are you–” 

“Just be honest with me!” you cry out. “Why do you have to put on this front all the time? It’s just me, Neteyam! If I overwhelm you, if I embarrass you, just say it! It hurts worse when you act like it’s nothing.” 

And Christ, his friends were right. He is needy. Because you’re not a want but a lifeline. A dire necessity that he feels the need to cling to in this moment. This feels a lot like you two are splintering, and he’s about to open his mouth to ask what would compel you to say such a thing, but then it clicks. 

The final piece of the puzzle that he’d been agonizing over falls into place and his eyes are widening. 

“No,” he says vehemently. “That wasn’t–” 

“Is it not?” you cut him off as you dash the threatening tears away. 

“God, no,” he breathes. “I was– They were…”

You watch him with wet lashes and his heart aches as he takes the leap and pulls you into his chest with a shuddering breath. 

“I’m so stupid.” His chest rumbles as your ear presses to his heart, arms winding tightly around your figure to buoy you to place. “Fuck.” 

You hiccup and his hand cradles your head, peppering kisses against your hair as he sways your bodies like it’ll disorient the miscommunication and send it spiraling away. 

“I’m sorry,” you whimper. “I didn’t mean to be embarrassing. I–” 

“No, no, bug,” he swallows, hugging you so tight, you struggle to suck a breath into your lungs. “You’re not, I promise. I could never be embarrassed by you.” 

You shudder so hard his grip loosens, parting with you to cup your flushed cheeks in his hands. 

“They were ripping me a new one,” he says shakily. “Told me I was needy, clingy, and I was embarrassed because they’re right.” 

Your throat bobs and Neteyam’s thumb brushes over the apple of your cheeks. 

“You make me so weak, you don’t even understand,” he laughs humorlessly, body wracked with nerves, with want, with need. “I said it to save face because I never know what to do with myself around you.”

“You—”

“And I know it was wrong, talking out of my ass to get them to shut the fuck up,” his language is a crass reminder that he’s a former marine’s son, “but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being yours.” 

Yours. 

It’s a sound declaration, one that makes you crumple like a baby because you’ve missed your person, and Neteyam hugs you close again. 

“I’m sorry I’m so clueless sometimes, bug,” he whispers, cheek nuzzling the top of your head. “Love you more than anything, I mean it.”

You hiccup again. 

“Love you, too, stupid” you mumble, arms wrapping around the narrow of his waist. 

It’s your first meaningful touch in weeks and Neteyam melts under the heat of your body, under the heat of your warm hands. 

neng © 2023

taglist; @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul @amart-e , @s-u-t , @netesbby , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @ewackmn , @fanboyluvr , @neteyamoa , @itssiaaax , @girlpostingsposts , @athenachu

#neteyam drabble #neteyam fic #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam #avatar way of water #avatar #avatar the movie #avatar the way of water #atwow

[l0v3tast3]

ooh can i request a 141 witha reader that has bad abandonment issues and needs constant reassurance?

if it’s to much please then don’t do it, don’t wanna make you write something you don’t want to

but if you do mwah ily! ❤️❤️

as someone with severe abandonment issues. and also needs constant reassurance. thank you for this request lmao also mwah ily2 !!! (っ˘ω˘ς ) this was rlly cute to write lol also sorry this took like a month im finally trying to get caught up on requests lmaoo

✎ tags: gn!reader, young military reader, angst, mentions of violence, comfort, fluff

✎ word count: 900 words (not proofread)

masterlist | requests

✧ ˖ ° they all notice it when your eyes shift towards theirs for their approval when you do well during training, when you never say "no" to whatever they ask you to do for them. they think you're just eager to please. you're the shiny new recruit to the team, beaming bright and always ready to take on your next task, so they brush it off.

✧ ˖ ° simon is the first to really figure out how deep your servitude runs, what the real reason behind it is. it's during one of your missions together, him and johnny and you in a firefight. johnny gets separated from the two of you and he can nearly feel the panic radiating off of you at the thought of your teammate, your friend, being gone. you do a good job of concealing it, of pushing through it to clear the area before you bolt to go looking for him.

✧ ˖ ° it clicks for simon so quickly because he's been where you are before. he's felt that trepidation too many times, the dread dripping cold down his spine when the other end of the radio goes silent. he's felt that same dizzying relief when you both reunite with johnny and your shoulders visibly relax. so when you're all back at base and you're hanging back while you fiddle with your gear, he pats a heavy hand on your shoulder with a gruff "y'did good, kid," before he walks away.

✧ ˖ ° kyle doesn't quite figure it out in the same depth as simon, but he picks up on the way you get nearly giddy at any kind of praise or validation and how anxious you seem to get when you think you haven't done something as well as they want you to. as he gets to know you and grows more and more fond of you, he'll make it a point to encourage you and try his best to help you build your confidence in your abilities. it's subtle and obvious at the same time, a quick "nice shot!" over the radio during missions and a huffed "are you ever gonna let me win?" while you're sparring together.

✧ ˖ ° it's not something that's spoken between you two, but you know he'll always be there for you. being the closest in age (and social media knowledge) helps you both to bond quickly and strongly when you join the team, and eventually people start joking that the two of you are attached at the hip. and it's pretty much true; when you aren't together you're texting, sending memes back and forth and talking about how bored or entertained you were in the moment. during missions, you're checking in with each other every few minutes, to the point where simon starts getting annoyed.

✧ ˖ ° price can see it in you the same way he can see it in so many of the recruits that join the military seeking purpose and approval. you're looking for a reason that others will give you to keep going, and he wants to tell you that you need to find your own reason, that you will find your own reason, but it's not something for him to explain. instead, he'll show you a gentleness that he doesn't often show; it's not outright obvious, not enough that others besides probably the rest of the 141 will notice, but it's enough that you'll see it. encouragement and very slowly helping you build your confidence is the road price takes to help you. quiet affirmations after training sessions, positive feedback surrounding the negative, a heavy hand thumping against your back when you do well- price is quiet, but he notices.

✧ ˖ ° as for johnny, well... he's not oblivious, per say, but he'll be somewhere along the "realization scale" close to kyle. it's not something that he's personally worried about himself all that much. johnny knows his talents and capabilities, and the confidence he's built up after a decade in the military is unquestionable. but you haven't had as long as him, as any of them to climb to their level of self-assurance, and he's aware of that much at least.

✧ ˖ ° when he sees you struggling internally with your self-doubt, johnny always swoops in with something to lighten your mood. he brings up that you've mastered a particular move in training already or how impressed he was that you're already able to bring himself down while sparring. johnny sticks near you when he can; he'll eat meals with you and work out with you and just enjoy your company during your free time at the base. if he sees you struggling with something during training, you become certain that he'll always pull you aside after everyone leaves and help you until you've got it down.

✧ ˖ ° as a whole, the men of the 141 task force aren't great at outright reassurance and emotional help. they're hardened soldiers who've proven their worth time and time again, but they know you haven't had a chance to yet. so with their unknowingly combined forces, they'll do their best to make sure you do get that chance, to make sure that you know how much of an irreplaceable and valuable cog in their well-oiled machine you've become.

#— ask! #— lilly writes! ♡ #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #simon riley #ghost #john mactavish #soap #kyle garrick #gaz #john price #captain john price #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #john price x reader #fluff #gender neutral reader #gn reader #reader insert

[sunshines-legacy]

Pining in the Undercroft Pt2 - Sebastian Sallow

Read part one here!

Pairing - Sebastian Sallow x Female MC

Word count - 1.6k

Warnings/tags - Smut, neck kissing, unprotected sex, All characters are 18+, NOT PROOFREAD

Summary - Sebastian finds his best friend moaning his name in the undercroft after an argument.

A/N - This took so long to write TvT Im gonna be so fr I was baked the entire time I wrote this lmao And if you notice any inconsistencies with their position please forgive me! Some things may have gotten jumbled when I was writing the second draft.. ANYWAYS I hope yall enjoy! Also constructive criticism is welcome! <3

divider credit

“Sebastian.. Fuck me..”

The Slytherin in question froze, shocked by the Hufflepuff’s sudden request. Just that morning they’d only considered each other friends. Despite that, Sebastian had been dreaming of hearing those words fall from her lips. Now that it’s finally happening, he cursed himself for freezing. For a long moment, all he could do was look down at her with those puppy eyes that she fell in love with. That was until those very eyes darkened and resembled more of a wolf than a puppy.

Sebastian let out a low chuckle before crashing his lips onto hers. She responded, in kind, by granting him access to her tongue when his own flicked over her lips. Sebastian pressed his knee against her core as a reward for her obedience. She whined into his mouth as she rolled her hips against his leg.

With her wrists bound, Sunshine brought them over Sebastian’s head to take firm fistfuls of his hair. The freckled boy smiled against her lips as her nails scraped his scalp before tugging his hair lightly. He pulled away from the kiss, breathing heavier than before as they rested their foreheads together.

After a moment of basking in each other, Sebastian moved his hands from her hips to his shirt, unbuttoning it as fast as his shaking hands would let him. When his shirt hung open, Sunshine soaked in the sight, rolling her lip between her teeth. With his ego thoroughly inflated, Sebastian stood up and unbuckled his bet. His lips curved into a teasing smile watching her eyes widen when he dropped his pants and boxers.

“Enjoying the view, are we?” His teasing tone ever present despite the barely tamed desire in his words.

“Oh yes, I am quite enjoying it,” She quipped back, admiring his size. She licked her lips at the bead of pre on his tip before her eyes flickered up to meet his. She squirmed under his increasingly ravenous gaze and opened her legs more, inviting him in.

He retook his place between her legs, his dick standing at attention as he lowered his hips. Sunshine let out small whines when he rubbed the head through her folds. He let out a stuttered breath as he looked upon her form. Her naked body laid bare to him, hands tied, and an eager smile waiting for him. Her half-lidded eyes shown so much trust alongside her ever growing desire.

He ran a hand up her thighs, feeling her flesh under his fingers and relishing in the way she shuddered under his touch. His other hand pressed his length against her. He pushed it in. Only a few inches at first but her gasp encouraged him to push in further. He halted, however, when she drew his attention with a pained whimper. Snapping his head up to look at her, he observed her scrunched face.

“Should I stop?”

Sunshine shook her head. “No. Keep going.” Her breathy voice made Sebastian week in the knees but he obliged her.

The Slytherin boy let out a breath of relief before returning his focus to burying his length in her cunt. Pushing the rest in as gently as he could to minimize her discomfort, he nearly unloaded right then, seeing how his cock disappeared inside her. She let out a small sigh of contentment as their hips met and he filled her so perfectly.

“Is this okay, Darling?” Sebastian asked, leaning forward, holding her hips in place. He really wished he would just shut up and ravish her already. He barely held back long enough to get her answer. She was just so tight around him... so warm. Her greedy cunt sucked him in with such desperation he could’ve laughed.

“Yes.” she whispered resolutely. Eager eyes followed Sebastian’s movements as he pulled out halfway before easing his cock back in. He repeated that, moving as slowly as he could stand, earning low hums of approval from the girl beneath him.

His hands left trails of fire on her skin as they roamed her body. One hand moved to caress her thigh and his other hand indulged in her breasts, squeezing and groping the supple flesh. His hips rolled, the new motion had Sunshine squirming as his cock stroked against her G-spot. After hearing her pleased whimpers, Sebastian couldn’t restrain himself any more. He pulled out almost all the way and before Sunshine could utter a word, he slammed into her.

Sunshine’s back arched and her head lolled back on the arm of the couch. Her mouth hung agape as a string of mewls fell from her lips. When she finally gathered the energy to open her eyes, she found Sebastian staring down at her with half-lidded eyes that closed in bliss with every thrust, and a pussy-drunk smile.

The sound of skin slapping alongside a chorus of grunts and moans echoed through the Undercroft, rebounding the symphonies of their pleasure. Sebastian pushed her thigh up until it pressed against her breast, the new position granting deeper access and his head kissed her cervix.

The familiar knot of upcoming ecstasy wound itself as Sunshine rolled her hips up to meet his. Her hands strained against their restraints and she whined, wanting to touch him too. Noticing her nonverbal request, he made quick work of the tie and dropped it to the floor. As he expected, her arms wrapped around him and clawed at his back, desperate for something sturdy to hold as she spun in a whirlwind of pleasure.

He dragged his hand over her skin, feeling every dip and curve, until it made contact with her clit. She sucked in a harsh breath at the sudden jolt of pleasure. Sebastian groaned, his cock throbbing as her walls squeezed around him. She called out his name and he responded in kind by rubbing a firm circle on her clit. It was electric and her body twitched as he kept teasing the bundle of nerves.

Hearing his name fall from her lips so perfectly, over and over, made him dizzy with desire. He snapped his hips into her and earned such pretty sounds from the girl beneath him. Sebastian let her leg fall from his shoulder to wrap around his middle while he kept abusing her clit. She tugged at his hair, begging him to go faster.

He obliged her request and increased his speed, in tandem with his breath. Sunshine babbled nonsense, her brain turned to mush with her second orgasm peaking around the corner. The only coherent word that fell from her lips was his name. And the only thought in her head was him.

Sunshine’s whole body tensed in his grasp and her mouth hung agape as he coaxed her closer to her orgasm. But it was only when he leaned down and bit down on her shoulder did she fall over the edge and plunge into pleasure. Her walls fluttered around him and he fucked her through her orgasm. His slow pace eased her back to reality. But before she was fully back, Sebastian sped up and slammed into her, sending her head spinning and body buzzing with overstimulation.

Chasing his own high, Sebastian sped up even more, his thrusts getting sloppier until his hips stuttered. He threw his head back and let out a guttural moan as he shot his load into her as deep as it would go. He pulled out a little bit, only to slam back in and shooting the rest of his seed.

What was previously a symphony of moans and tell-tale sounds of sex, was now just the lulling of their heavy breaths mixing with the cool air of the chamber.

Before Sebastian could pull out fully, Sunshine stopped him with a tug on his hair. He looked up at her, chest rising and falling.

“Can we just stay like this for a bit?” She asked softly, refusing to meet his gaze.

“You like my cock inside you that much, Princess?” He chuckled with a knowing smile. Her eyes widened, and her cheeks blazed. Sebastian winked cheekily and she only scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“And so what if I do?” She frowned at him but her legs squeezed him closer to her, locking him in place.

He chuckled and leaned forward to press open mouthed kisses along her neck and jawline, relishing the sounds she granted him. Locking eyes with her again, Sebastian gazed into her soul, into her very existence. And she gazed back.

The two laid there together for a long time. First in comfortable silence, then chatting and laughing. Eventually, they agreed that it may be suspicious how long they’ve been away. They had almost surely missed curfew.

Sebastian pulled out slowly and let out a shaky breath. He watched with a proud smile as his sperm leaked from her messy hole. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead before standing. He slipped on his boxers then found his wand discarded on the floor. He cast the cleaning charm and frowned slightly as his sperm was sucked up into the tip of his wand.

“Why don’t we just stay here tonight? It’d probably be safer than trying to get back to our common rooms so late.” Sunshine suggested sleepily, a yawn trailing after her words.

“If you insist, love,” Sebastian kissed her forehead again before transfiguring the couch into a king sized, four poster bed.

“Impressive~” Sunshine cooed teasingly as Sebastian climbed in next to her. Despite his rolled eyes, a grin tugged at his lips.

“I am quite impressive, aren’t I?” He wrapped a loose arm around her waist as their legs tangled together. She let out a soft hum, too tired to even attempt a response. Soon, sleep had overtaken her. Sebastian pressed a long kiss to the crown of her head before following her to land of dreams.

#sebastian sallow x f!mc #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow #sebastian x mc #hogwarts legacy sebastian #smut #hogwarts legacy smut #hogwarts legacy #hufflepuff x slytherin #hufflepuff mc #Sebastian sallow smut #oneshot

[angelltheninth]

Ok, so I have been so hyper fixated on trigun this year, and while I’m not seeing Trigun on your character list, but I saw you answered an ask for it, and I’m not 100% sure what your hard limits are for dark and dark adjacent content, and like trauma related headcanons/character reactions (or if this even technically counts as dark content?) so I’m gonna chance it and throw in a request for Vash and Wolfwood reacting to either finding out and/or running into the reader’s abusive ex, and just idk, how understanding they would try to be about things like trying to avoid startling them, giving the reader some time to ease into sexual and emotional intimacy, etc. and if they would get particularly protective, or even (probably more in Wolfwood’s case) vengeful about it, about it if they did run into said ex.

(if you don’t feel comfortable doing it 100% fine, I get it, and either way I appreciate all the writing you do! Also you’ve lowkey got me considering checking out some new shows, and manga like Bluelock, and you’ve got me thinking about RWBY for the first time in a while ngl)

I'm okay with mentioning darker topics but I don't go too into detail with them.

Pairing: Vash the Stampede, Nicholas D. Wolfwood x Fem!Reader

Tags: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, abusive ex, protectiveness, kissing, intimacy issues

A/N: Blue Lock is fucking crazy, crazy fun. And RWBY has gotten pretty dark and depressing lmao.

VASH

He's a very touchy, happy guy so he was a little surprised when you recoiled from his touch

Not a violent or even confrontational guy by any means, he'd much rather talk things out then have to point his gun at someone but... if you're scared of something, or someone he gets serious

Very slow when he approaches you from behind and always announces himself beforehand

Forehead kisses, he can never give you enough of them when he sees you feeling stressed

Not much of a cook, he can make food but its nothing fancy as far as comfort food goes

When you're shaking he places his red coat over you and bundles you up in it all warm and cozy, wrapped in his scent

Tries to remove you and himself from your ex after he finds out the story behind it, no reason you should be around them for a moment longer, they don't deserve to even look at you

If they keep bothering you he will walk up to them with a calm smile on his face

He doesn't look nearly as scary when he's smiling so they wouldn't expect him pull his gun out and press it against the side of their chin

Seeing your ex sweeting bullets while Vash smiles at you and wraps his arm around you makes your heart flutter and your eyes water

NICHOLAS

He waits for you to touch him rather then him touching you, as much as he wants to he knows what its like to have bounderies crossed

Knows he's a little scary, with that almost permeant scowl he has on his face

Its good for business but not so good when he's trying to make friends, or more in your case

He's not the kind of guy to ask many questions when he sees that someone is making you uncomfortable, or even scared

Good at reading body language, he doesn't have to ask you if there's anything wrong, he can see it by your stiff posture, your hands bunched up across your chest, flinching when the other person leans in or raises their hand

On his watch no one, no matter who they are or were to you, get to reduce you to such a state of fear and get away with it without bruises

His hands will end up bloody and bruises by the time he's done beating up your ex in the back of the bar, where they can moan in pain all they want

You feel bad about Nicholas so you to wash and bandage his hands

He won't tell you not to, he knows how much you worry about him and how much you like helping him out

But once you are done he will slowly and gently wrap his arms around your shoulders and pulls you against his body, he might be a Punisher to others but you never need to be afraid of him, to you he will be your protector

#vash x reader #vash x you #vash fluff #vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede x you #vash the stampede fluff #nicholas d. wolfwood x reader #nicholas x reader #nicholas fluff #trigun stampede x reader #trigun stampede x you #trigun stampede fluff #wolfwood x reader #trigun x reader #trigun x you #trigun fluff #trigun #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood

[persephone-writes]

On the Streets of Coruscant: Part Two

Obi-Wan x Fem!Reader

Read Part One (posted on my old account @persephone-writes2)

Obi-Wan image by ObmanBalagan on pinterest

Description: Over a decade after their spontaneous stroll around the Plaza, Y/N is working as an aide to Senator Amidala. When the Senator is placed under the protection of two Jedi after an assassination attempt, Y/N is reunited with the now Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Word Count: 9.7k

Warnings & Tags: canon typical violence/the assassination attempts of Padme (mentioned only), mild discussions of low self esteem, reader specifically does *not* have children, probably a crap ton of grammatical errors, lots of Y/N usage, fluff, kissing, happy ending!

Notes: Sooo, full warning, I hate this, but I'm posting it anyway! This takes place during Attack of the Clones, so I had to change a few things around to fit in the reader (some things just happen because I said so lol) This also means that I HAD to include Jar Jar. I attempted at writing dialogue for him but I just couldn't bring myself to, so I tried my best to just have him barely be there lmao. Also, mullet obi-wan is top tier and I will die on that hill

Y/N clicked away on her holopad, attempting to get through the pile of work that had been dumped on her that morning.  While her job was always demanding, and sometimes overwhelming, this was the busiest she had been in a long time.  With Senator Amidala set to arrive on Coruscant today amidst an increasingly intense political climate, Y/N was tasked with taking what seemed like hundreds of messages, thoroughly organizing and answering every one.  While Padmé had an array of other aides to help her, Y/N was the head of her office on Coruscant, leaving her with the majority of the responsibility when she was on-planet, besides that of Dormé. 

Despite her spinning head, Y/N adored her job, as well as Senator Amidala.  She had worked in a variety of low level positions for different Senators, many of which were not nearly as kind.  No matter how much pressure she faced, Padmé never spoke harshly or berated those who worked for her.  Y/N couldn’t imagine how exhausting it must be to represent an entire planet, all while keeping up a professional appearance.  Outside of her office, Padmé had to seem relaxed, dignified, and confident no matter what she was up against.  At least Y/N didn’t have to face the wrath of the public or the argumentative nature of the Senate.  Always tucked away inside the office, Y/N could plug away at her work without the eyes of thousands upon her at any given time. 

Another aide knocked on the door of the office before entering, peeking his head in. 

“The Senator is landing.”

“Thank you,” Y/N replied, frantically pulling up the most urgent messages in preparation.  The aide hurried away down the hall, the door closing behind him.  After a few minutes, a guard came running down the hall, opening the door abruptly.  Y/N jumped at the sudden intrusion, growing fearful when she saw the look on his face. 

“The Senator’s ship has been attacked,” the guard said, a bit out of breath.  Y/N felt her stomach drop, dread rushing through her. 

“Is she alright?” Y/N asked, voice desperate. Before he could answer, Captain Typho pushed past him, leading Padmé into the room.  Her face was contorted in sadness and confusion, obviously still in shock.  She wasn’t wearing her usual attire, dressed identically to Typho in a dark turtleneck and leather vest.  She immediately sat down in one of the chairs, head hung low.  

A wave of relief came over Y/N knowing Padmé was okay.  She immediately rushed to her, kneeling down beside her chair. 

“Milady, are you alright?” Padmé only nodded.  Y/N looked up at Captain Typho, who was pacing around the room. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he said, eyes darting around in thought. “Someone bombed the ship.”

For a moment, Y/N stared out into space, swallowing thickly before she stood.  

“Milady,” Typho began, to which Padmé lifted her head, “We must get you somewhere safer.”

She nodded, standing up and taking a deep breath.  Her composure was regained, and Y/N marveled at the speed to which she recovered from such a terrifying incident.  She turned to Y/N, eyes determined. 

“Y/N, send me all the necessary documents for the vote,” she paused, turning to Typho, “We shall go to my apartment.”

“Yes, milady,” Y/N answered.  Typho then led Padmé from the room, Y/N immediately returning to her desk to get to work once again.  

A few hours later, Y/N received a message from the Captain that she would be meeting with the Chancellor and would not be returning to the Senate today.  Further, Y/N was to meet Padmé at her apartment to discuss a series of negotiation plans which Y/N had been organizing.  Y/N was no stranger to working in the Senator’s apartment, having done so on many late nights when Padmé refused to get some rest.  However, it had never been under such circumstances.   

Later in the afternoon, Padmé’s team sent a transport for her along with a guard.  Y/N thought it was overkill, as no one was after a random aide, but she didn’t make too much of a fuss about it.  No one could stop Padmé from worrying about her team, especially after some of them likely died in the attack.  As the transport flew through the busy city, Y/N peered out of the window, wondering who could have been behind the explosion.  Padmé had many adversaries, though it surprised Y/N that any one of them would attempt to assassinate her.  The Separatist movement had uprooted nearly every system, turning the Senate into more of a battle ground than ever before.  Even so, war had not broken out yet, and all Y/N could do was hope that it wouldn’t resort to that.

Pulling up to the apartment, Y/N was escorted by the guard all the way up the glass turbolift, exposed to the city.  Stepping in, she remembered the first time she had been called here, unable to pull her eyes away from the city growing smaller as she ascended.  

As the turbolift doors opened, she immediately heard the happy voice of Jar Jar Binks.  While she thought it strange for someone to be excited at a time like this, it was hard to tamper Jar Jar’s spirits.  The guard led her into the apartment, where she saw Padmé sitting on one of the long sofas.  She was clothed her usual fashion, hair in an updo, wearing a wide skirt dress with long flowing sleeves.  Although Padmé looked good in almost anything, it was a small relief to see her back to her normal self.  Captain Typho was standing a few feet away, with Dormé sitting beside Padmé.  On the sofa opposite sat two men who Y/N instantly recognized as Jedi.  Working for the Senate, Y/N had seen her fair share of Jedi over the years, though their presence usually didn’t bring good news.  Of course, today wasn’t the day for good news anyhow. 

Padmé stopped speaking, spotting Y/N as she walked into the room.  She turned to smile at her, which Y/N returned easily.  The other’s followed Padmé’s gaze, and Y/N grew a bit nervous at the attention.  Her eyes went to the two Jedi, now given a clear view of their faces.  The one sitting closest had short, cropped brown hair and the braid of a padawan falling across his shoulder.  He appeared slightly annoyed, and Y/N wondered if she had intruded upon an important conversation she was not meant to be a part of.  Her gaze drifted to the other Jedi, whose hair was on the longer side and a light copper in color.  His beard was short and neatly trimmed, though there was still an air about him that was rugged, ever so slightly ruffled.  After her brief first impression, the realization hit Y/N with a full, intense force.  Her heart sped up significantly as she thought back to over ten years ago when she had met a Jedi at a nightclub. 

Before Y/N could make any sort of reaction, Padmé stood, followed by the others.  

“Y/N,” she said kindly, walking over to greet her. 

“Senator,” Y/N said in return, bowing.

Jar Jar happily pranced over and shook Y/N’s hand, telling her it was nice to see her again.  Y/N chuckled at his enthusiasm before turning back to Padmé. 

“This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, and his padawn, Anakin Skywalker,” she introduced.  Y/N was forced to look at the two Jedi, feeling heat rush up her spine and into her face.  She had no idea if she should acknowledge that they knew each other, or pretend they were strangers.  Obi-Wan reached out his hand to shake hers, a small, polite smile on his lips.  She took it wearily, forcing herself to make eye contact.  It was easier to shake the padawan’s hand, who only nodded at her. 

Now that she was closer to Obi-Wan, she stole a look at him from the corner of her eye.  He was just as handsome as he was when they first met, perhaps even more handsome.  His face was not boyish as it had been, now more mature, his features stronger and more pronounced.  The buzz that once existed all around him was settled, but not completely gone.  Remnants of it remained in his eyes, which still held their playful shine.  Suddenly, Y/N grew self conscious of her appearance.  She was older than she had been, no longer the young girl she once was.  It was hard for her to know how different she truly looked, as she had watched herself slowly age over many years.  Her clothes as well were more mature, or rather refined.  She realized that Obi-Wan had only seen her in her party clothes, never something professional, clean-cut, more simple.  Her rapid thoughts were interrupted by Padmé, who went on to introduce her.

“This is Y/N L/N, my leading aide on Coruscant,” Padmé said.  Obi-Wan let out a small laugh at her words, earning a confused look from Padmé.  His laugh was a bit deeper than it was all those years ago, but it held the same lightness and ease. 

“We’ve met,” he said, accent still smooth, “a long time ago.”

Y/N smiled sheepishly, knowing that Obi-Wan was looking at her face.  Padmé appeared pleasantly surprised, Anakin raising his brows at his Master. 

“You have?” Padmé asked, smiling at Y/N.  

Y/N nodded, trying to think of what to say.  Obi-Wan saved her, speaking before anyone could ask questions. 

“I was still a padawan then,” Obi-Wan said, light hearted without giving anything away.  Anakin looked suspiciously towards Y/N, but wiped his face quickly when she noticed. 

“This is the day of reacquaintance,” Padmé said, pleased with the surprise. Y/N gave her a confused look, and she laughed a bit, realizing her mistake. “I met Master Kenobi and Anakin ten years ago, when I was Queen.”

Y/N nodded. “I see,” was all she could think to say.  

“You must excuse us,” Padmé began, “We have much work to do.”

“It was lovely to meet you,” Y/N said to Anakin.  She then looked to Obi-Wan, mind reeling. “And it’s nice to see you again.”  She then left to follow Padmé and Dormé, cheeks burning.  

Y/N spent the afternoon into the evening with Padmé and Dormé, going over documents and discussing her next moves.  Y/N did most of the clerical work, leaving the politics to Padmé and Dormé, who knew the ins and outs.  Although Y/N had picked up a lot, she still felt overwhelmed by the current climate and all its complexities.  The whole time, she was hyper aware that Obi-Wan was in the other room, doing who knows what.  

As the evening fell, Padmé excused Y/N, asking her to return tomorrow morning.  She was thankful, as the eventful day had her tired, as surely Padmé was as well.  At least she knew that Padmé would take it easy for the rest of the night, forgoing any further work until morning. Exiting the room, holopad in hand, Y/N saw Anakin and Obi-Wan talking on the balcony.  She hoped they wouldn’t notice her, allowing her to slip out quietly, though the chances of this were likely slim.  In all honesty, she had no idea how she would handle being so close to Obi-Wan for the foreseeable future, unable to acknowledge the circumstance of their last meeting and pretending as if they hadn’t gone on a romantic escapade.  

Perhaps feeling her eyes upon his back, Anakin turned, catching Y/N staring.  To her surprise, he gave her a small smile, which she anxiously returned before whipping her head forward.  She walked quickly to the turbolift, hoping that somehow Obi-Wan would remain ignorant of her growing uncertainty. 

Her alarm blared and she hastily reached over to turn off the cacophony of noise.  She laid in bed for a quiet moment, still groggy but remembering the events of the day prior.  She groaned upon the realization that she’d be forced to face Obi-Wan, all with the intent not to embarrass herself.  She envied his even manner which gave nothing away, not letting anyone know of their odd history.  As she pondered over this, she felt a pang in her heart at the thought that Obi-Wan was completely unaffected by her presence.  Yes, Y/N had a series of relationships since her single, solitary kiss with Obi-Wan, but that didn’t take away from the fact that she was entirely unprepared to ever see him again.  Until now, Obi-Wan was a fleeting yet meaningful moment in her life, one which Y/N would look back on every once in a while with an immature sadness.  The thought of him, someone who was so kind, so bright, so considerate, unable to form any romantic attachments, was poignant to say the least.  When this kind of thinking arose, she’d kick herself for giving it the time of day.  You only met him once, you only kissed once, what's the big deal?

Y/N got ready for the day with the intent of forgetting about Obi-Wan, focusing on the far more pressing matters.  Today would likely consist of setting up calls with many different Senators, some of which would want to discuss the recent attack, others who would simply want to argue about the motion to create an army.  Further, Y/N had no clue how long Senator Amidala would stay on-planet, so she would have to get to organizing all she could before she was off somewhere else.  As she brushed her teeth, Y/N stared at her reflection in the mirror, paying far too much attention to how she looked.  Just as she had sworn off thinking about Obi-Wan, the image of herself brought back feelings of insecurity.  She couldn’t stop herself from wondering what Obi-Wan thought when he first saw her again, thinking that perhaps his placidity came from the fact that he no longer found her attractive.  Although she tried to brush the thought of him away, she didn’t stop herself from putting on her best work-appropriate outfit.  

In a kind gesture, Padmé sent a speeder to pick Y/N up from her apartment, again accompanied by a guard.  She made small talk with him on the way to Padmé’s in an aim to calm her nerves, which despite all her efforts still bubbled beneath the surface.  When Y/N arrived, she saw Padmé and Dormé sitting opposite each other in the seating area, multiple holopads and projections on the table between them.  Off to the side, Obi-Wan and Anakin stood, Anakin seeming on guard and brewing with energy.  Padmé looked up from her work, waving Y/N over to sit with them. 

“There was another attack,” Padmé said, voice even and calculated, “I’m leaving for Naboo tomorrow.”

“Why not today, milady?” Y/N asked, full of concern. 

“I must leave on an unregistered transport, it will take some time to organize,” Padmé explained.  Seeing Y/N’s worries, she placed a hand on her shoulder for reassurance. “I will be alright, Anakin will be with me.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a bit better.  She wondered why Obi-Wan would not be joining her, though didn’t ask.  

“In the meantime, we must get as much done as we can.  I doubt I will be able to work much in hiding.”

With that, they all got to work.  Y/N was mostly silent, leaving Dormé and Padmé to talk over the majority of her decisions.  Padmé received a warm call from Senator Organa, who extended any help to her that he could offer.  Y/N never had the chance to work under him, though she expected it would be much like working for Padmé.  To Y/N, they seemed to be the only two honest and truly kind politicians in the galaxy, setting them in stark contrast to the increasingly unscrupulous nature of the Senate at large.  Amidst the growing chaos, Y/N hardly paid attention to the two Jedi guarding the apartment. 

Some time that morning, Padmé decided to move to a different room which housed a large table so that they could spread out more.  Y/N was off to the side, plugging away as usual, happy that her responsibilities seemed mild in comparison to Padmé and Dormé’s.  

Y/N hadn’t even noticed that they had worked well into midday, brought up from her work when Dormé suggested they break for a short lunch.  They were all left with a little free time, as it would take a bit for the chef to prepare their meals.  That was one thing Y/N loved about working at Padmé’s apartment; the chef.  Padmé and Dormé left the room as Y/N finished the last few sentences of her address to another Senatorial aide, sighed deeply as she sent it along. 

Walking into the main living space, she found Padmé standing beside one of the long floor to ceiling windows speaking to Anakin.  Padmé’s smile was calm, and for the first time in a while she seemed genuinely relieved.  If Y/N didn't know better, it looked as though Padmé and Anakin were close, long time friends, used to seeing one another.  Her eyes were taken away from the pair, drifting to Obi-Wan who was pouring over something on his holopad.  He too appeared incredibly natural, though tense in the shoulders.  If it weren’t for his robes, he could've been just another aide hard at work. 

Y/N lazily walked over to the balcony, pushing open the large glass doors and feeling the cool air of Coruscant brush against her face.  She sighed with contentment, taking in the view of the city from such a great height.  It wasn’t often that she was so high like this, nearly above the clouds.  It was as close to peaceful as she’s had in a while, not since her last visit to Corellia several years ago.  A few minutes passed, Y/N’s mind wandering to the various tasks which still needed to be done before Padmé left for Naboo. 

She was interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind her.  She glanced back, expecting to see Dormé or perhaps Padmé, only to find that it was Obi-Wan.  Her heart rate picked up as she took in his regal appearance, robes tidy and neatly tucked.  He smiled softly as if to ask permission to join her.  She returned it the best she could, trying to push her nerves down.  He came up beside her near the railing and looked out, sighing to himself. Y/N couldn’t bring herself to peek at him, fearful that her emotions would too clearly show upon her face. 

“I’m glad to see you working in the profession you wanted,” Obi-Wan said, voice abundantly friendly, yet somewhat professional in nature.  Y/N bravely glanced at him with a kind expression, genuinely pleased that he remembered. 

“Yes, I am too,” she paused, realizing that unlike before, it wouldn’t be awkward to mention his profession. “And now you’re a Master, with a padawan of your own.  Congratulations,” she said honestly. 

He chuckled, “Thank you.”  Obi-Wan shifted his weight to one foot, turning to look at her profile. “Truly, I am pleased to see you again.”

“I’m a bit surprised you remembered me,” she let slip, growing a bit more comfortable with the exchange.  Her teasing earned another small chuckle from him.

“I don’t easily forget,” was all he said in return, leaning an elbow on the railing. 

Y/N fully turned towards him, met with the same face she saw that night in the club as they both stood at the bar.  Now, his jaw was partially obscured by a beard.  She thought it suited him, as did his longer hair.  She wanted to tell him so, but decided against it, not wanting to break what felt like a fragile moment. 

“I’ve since visited Corellia,” Obi-Wan began again, tone still light. 

Y/N smiled at him, brows slightly raised. “You did?”

“Yes, though as you might expect, I was occupied most of the time.  However, it did not disappoint.”

Y/N realized he was very much still the same, though perhaps more subtle in his cheekiness. 

“I’ve been back as well, though only a few times. It’s still as boring as I remembered,” she joked. 

“Now, I am sure you are longing for boredom as well.”

Something electric shot through her with his words, reminding her more and more of that night.  It appeared as though Obi-Wan did not lie; he does not easily forget.  A small seed of innocent, foolish hope made its way into her heart.  Had he thought about me since then, as I did him?  She quickly reprimanded herself, shaking her head to clear the thought away. 

“You’re right,” she sighed, “For the Senator’s sake rather than mine.”

Obi-Wan paused, not replying for a moment. Y/N couldn’t stop herself from wondering what was going on inside his mind, which puzzle pieces he was trying to fit together.  She had no clue who was attempting to assassinate Padmé, too many possibilities floating around to grasp.  However, she was sure Obi-Wan had a much better idea than herself. 

“It’s a tricky business we both are in, though all things important are difficult.”

Once again, she was infatuated with his wisdom, which had only grown. 

“I bet you are a wonderful master to Anakin.” 

He took the compliment well, not as bashful as he once was. “Thank you, Y/N,” he said her name warmly, resurfacing a slurry of emotions she didn’t know still existed.  All at once she felt ten years younger, enraptured with her name said in his accent, in his voice.  

“I mean it, really.  I could hardly imagine trying to lead someone, teach them what I know.  The whole thought of it makes me feel like I know nothing,” she was letting more and more of her feelings slip, far more than she originally intended.  This morning, she had vowed to be wholly professional, to focus on the job she had to do, not to get caught up in buried emotions.  However, there was something about Obi-Wan’s presence that made her too free with her words.  It was the same way over ten years ago, where she found herself spilling her guts to an almost stranger.  If he stuck around any longer, one of these days she might just get herself into real trouble.

“I’m sure you could, if given the chance.  It takes courage to come to a new place, to build a new life.  That is something you know far more about than I.”  There he went again, melting her from the inside out. 

“Perhaps, and I’d have to bet I’d beat you in a typing contest,” she jested.  

Obi-Wan let out a hearty laugh, unconstricted and full, “I believe you are right.”

The conversation lulled, with Y/N unsure what to say.  Her guards were still up, despite the fact that they were steadily lowering against her will.  She wondered how much she could get away with addressing, which facts were off limits and which were okay to mention.  Obi-Wan seemed to be perfectly comfortable with speaking about everything but the kiss, though she didn’t want to push her luck.  

She settled on something simple, something pertaining to the here and now. “I’m happy Anakin will accompany the Senator, I’m sure she will be safe in his presence.”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly, glancing down for a moment. “His eagerness often worries me, though it may serve him well with his task,” Obi-Wan said. 

“A product of youth,” she commented, amused at the thought of Obi-Wan having to deal with the antics of a young man.  She thought that perhaps once, Obi-Wan had done the same to his Master. 

“Unavoidable, I’m afraid,” Obi-Wan replied effortlessly, turning to look at her face once again.  She felt bare under his gaze, as if he could see through her every shield, each mask she wore.  

“I’m sure with your guidance he will grow into an exemplary Jedi.  I don’t think you could mold him into anything less.” Her flattery was not lost on Obi-Wan, whose ardent smile felt like a flowering bruise, a reminder of his oxymoronic, sweet rejection.  

“Your faith in me surpasses that of myself,” he retorted frivolously, making Y/N chuckle.  After a pause, Obi-Wan spoke again, “How long have you worked for Senator Amidala?”

Y/N thought for a moment, adding up the years in her head. “About four years now.  I hope to work for her as long as she’ll let me.  She is by far the kindest boss I’ve ever had,” she laughed a bit with the thought of begging Padmé to let her stay, offering to do anything but go back to working with the other Senators. 

Obi-Wan smiled to himself, eyes darting around the skyline. “She is a rarity, no doubt.”

“I’m sure you have worked with a fair few Senators.  You must know how…difficult they can be.”

Obi-Wan chuckled with a sigh, seeming surprised by her admission. “Yes, I know what you mean.”

Without thinking, Y/N said what was on her mind, letting it pass through her filters as if it were a smuggler, “I’m glad you have not lost your sense of humor.”

“I need it to deal with Anakin,” he joked, now his turn to surprise Y/N.  

She couldn’t stop herself from giggling girlishly, placing a hand over her mouth.  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, seeing a mildly devilish look on his face.  

“Your sharp tongue must get you into trouble sometimes,” she teased, pushing the limits a bit further.  

Obi-Wan tilted his head a bit, shrugging slightly. “It only appears amongst friends.”

Friends. The word danced around her head, bouncing all the way to her chest, pulsing against her heartbeat.  She thought that perhaps he was humoring her, throwing her a bone.  He couldn’t possibly think of her as a friend, could he?  Technically, they’ve only known each other a total of three days, which was far too soon to be friends.  Acquaintances, yes.  Friends? No.  While Y/N struggled with the idea that he might just be indulging her, she was suddenly reminded of a detail of their first encounter, one which she played over and over in her head the days following: I should not have allowed myself such an indulgence.  

Obi-Wan glanced back through the glass door, then back to Y/N, who didn’t notice his staring. “Do you still see those whom I met that night?” he asked.

It took a second for Y/N to understand what he meant, remembering he probably never got their names. “Oh, yes, I do.  Well, some of them.  I still see Ripp, whose father owned the club.”

Obi-Wan nodded, chuckling to himself, “They seemed like a lively bunch.”

Y/N laughed, thinking back to the times they had together while in school. “Yes, they were.  Thankfully, we are all doing quite well for ourselves now.”

“I’d say so,” Obi-Wan said genuinely, eyes soft.  

Y/N looked down, unable to meet his gaze. “Did you ever find that man?”

“I believe we did,” it sounded almost like a question, as if he wasn’t quite sure.  

Y/N wanted to comment on the fact that he had told her he doesn’t forget things, but thought that it might come out wrong.  Instead, she focused on the vast expanse of skyscrapers and traffic in front of her.  She could sense Obi-Wan looking at her profile, resurfacing her nerves. 

“You have not lost your wonder,” he said gently, almost a whisper.  Suddenly, she could not stop herself from looking at him, met with his tender expression.  His words confused her, throwing her off the delicate footing she had found herself on.  Her mind raced with endless possibilities, attempting to decide what he expected her to do, what he wanted her to say in return.  

With her breath caught in her throat, she said the only thing that came to mind, “Neither have you.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that seemed too intimate for their odd relationship.  Y/N felt honored to have been on the receiving end of such a smile, especially from Obi-Wan.  The gesture made her weak, pathetically chasing another look like that, completely insatiable.  Amending her earlier thought, Y/N decided that if he stuck around, her truthfulness would not be the only thing to get her in trouble.  It seemed as though there were a million things Obi-Wan could get her to do or say with a simple look towards her or a single suggestion.  It wasn’t because he was charming or persuasive, or even because he was handsome.  No, it was because he listened to her so intently, spoke to her so kindly, and seemed to remember insignificant details from a night which occurred so long ago. 

Y/N fought the urge to reach out and touch this cheek, or at least his arm.  She yearned to feel something which solidified his presence in front of her, anything to tell her he was real and not a ghost conjured up from her memory.  His eyes would have to do for now, sparkling against the midday light, so beautiful Y/N couldn’t possibly have dreamt them.  

“I envy your opinion of me,” Obi-Wan said, still soft but with an air of jest, “But I feel you may be wrong.”

She shook her head instantly, bewildered by his statement.  She wondered how he could possibly think that about himself, while at the same time saying such kind things about herself. 

He laughed quietly, taking his eyes from her.  Mourning the loss of their clear blue color, Y/N stayed staring at face, wanting to soak up every second she had with him on the balcony, where everything seemed simple. 

“I don’t believe that for a second,” she countered.  

He glanced at her with a playful smirk. “For a moment I thought you had grown a bit more shy, but I see that I was wrong.”

She chuckled, feeling embarrassed by his words.  Her whole body was burning hot, despite the high altitude breeze that came whipping past.   

“I’ve just learned when to hold my tongue,” she joked, relaxing a bit as the intensity of the moment began to lift. 

“I only wish Anakn had your skills,” he sounded serious, but Y/N could tell he was joking by his upturned lips and the crinkle on the corners of his eyes.  His sarcasm was new, though it did not feel unnatural, for his wit had always been sharp as a blade.  Y/N giggled to herself, thinking of Obi-Wan talking to his padawan, pestering him with father-like nagging. 

“Something amusing?” Obi-Wan teased, though played it off as if it was a genuine question.  

She shook her head. “No, no,” she faltered for a moment, chuckling to herself, “Are all Jedi as funny as you?”

Obi-Wan sighed as if to think it over, “Perhaps, if you get to know them.” As Y/N was beginning to get caught up in his hidden meaning, he spoke again, “Are all Senatorial aides as diligent as yourself?”

His question caught her a bit off guard, and she wondered if he had peeked into the room and seen her working.  The idea sent butterflies soaring in her belly. 

“No,” she laughed, “But it’s easy to be devoted when Senator Amidala is leading you.”

“You think quite highly of her,” Obi-Wan said a bit curiously.

“Yes,” she answered without thought, “I do.”

“I know how much of a gift it can be to be led by such an admirable example,” Obi-Wan said, voice a bit far off. 

“You’re thinking of your master?” she asked hesitantly, hoping not to overstep her bounds.  Obi-Wan nodded, though his smile had faded.  His eyes, too, were not as bright as they were before.  “I’m sorry, if you don’t want to talk about it-” she rambled, fearing the worst.  

Obi-Wan gave her a sad smile, but his face soon turned neutral. “It’s quite alright.  He died many years ago,” he confessed.  Y/N felt a devastating privilege to have received such an admission, surprised that he gave it so freely.  

“Oh,” she said without thinking, “I’m so sorry, Obi-Wan. I didn’t know.”

“How could you,” he said, unperturbed, the sadness on his face all but washed away.  She wondered where he got his resilience, so that she could get some for herself. 

“He was a good man, and a fine Jedi,” Obi-Wan began again, sounding as if he was speaking only to himself.  Y/N clung to every word, hanging on tightly to anything he chose to tell her. “Though he was a bit more like Anakin than myself.”

Y/N smiled, which soon turned into a grin when Obi-Wan gave her a mischievous sideways glance. “Just think of it as practice.” 

“Yes,” he chuckled, pausing for a moment, “I was lucky to have him, as I am lucky to have Anakin as my padawan,” his tone was deeply warm and full of love.  

Y/N couldn’t believe that he so readily told her about his life in this way, how openly he shared small, intimate details.  While his words alone were not particularly notable, the way he said them told her that he was bearing little pieces of his innermost world.  She wondered how many people were lucky enough to see him like this, punishing herself for assuming that she was special in some way.  Perhaps he was always this open, this unfettered in conversation.  Regardless, she craved a deeper look, even if it was just a peek like a sliver of light coming through a slightly open door.  

After her internal gushing over Obi-Wan’s divulgence, she noticed him looking somewhat hesitant.  It was the first time he faltered since their reintroduction, his expression seeming foreign and unlike his usual self, although Y/N couldn’t deny that she wasn’t the leading expert on the matter.  She cocked her head, flashing him a confused look. 

“What?” she asked, clueless as to what he was thinking. 

He looked down reticently, quickly bringing his eyes back to hers without any shyness.  “Do you have children of your own?” he said it innocently, as if he wasn’t nervous at all.  

Thinking perhaps she had misread his expression, Y/N laughed a bit at the question, “No, I do not.”

“Then you are free of that particular headache,” he chuckled, and Y/N laughed along.

“I can barely take care of myself,” she joked.

“You doubt yourself far too often,” Obi-Wan paused, watching her face, “and ignore how far you have come.”

His kindness spread through her like the tranquil waters of Corellia she used to swim in during the summer months, waves falling in a steady ebb and flow.  She sighed, staring at her hands which rested on the railing.  What could she possibly say to him, what words could express what she felt while also concealing the attraction which had begun to float to the surface?

Before she could think of a reply, Dormé opened the door, causing each of them to turn. 

“Our meal is ready,” she said with a small smile.

“Thank you, Dormé,” Y/N replied, heading back into the apartment with Obi-Wan following behind.  Padmé was already sitting at the table, along with Anakin.  Y/N and Dormé sat down opposite the pair. 

“Join us, Obi-Wan,” Padmé offered.  

Obi-Wan looked a bit hesitant.  “I’ll keep guard, milady,” he said, walking over to the entrance near the turbolift. 

“Captain Typho is on watch,” Padmé insisted, “Please, come eat.”

Obi-Wan sighed, giving in quickly to Padmé’s request.  He took a seat beside Anakin, directly in front of Y/N.  She grew a bit nervous, forced to face him directly, but her attention was diverted as the meals were placed on the table. 

“So, how did you two meet?” Padmé asked Obi-Wan and Y/N, beginning to tuck into her food.  Y/N should have known the question was coming, but she was a bit bewildered nonetheless.  Her mouth opened to answer, but she was at a loss for words. 

“I was on a small mission here in Coruscant,” Obi-Wan began cooly, “Y/N was kind enough to offer a bit of help.”

Anakin smirked to himself as Padmé looked towards Y/N, unaware that she was currently fighting off jitters. Y/N nodded, knowing that she should speak. 

“He was looking for someone, but I was no help,” she said in an even tone, picking at her meal.  

“Surely something must have happened,” Anakin commented, a bit of mockery in his voice, “How else would you remember each other?”

Obi-Wan smiled, completely nonchalant.  Y/N was left wondering how nervous she truly looked, hoping she was playing it as well as Obi-Wan, but seriously doubting her abilities. 

“If I am remembering correctly, a friend of yours knew the man that I was searching for,” he answered, taking a bite. 

“Yes,” she said with a breath, regaining her composure, “His father had kicked him out of the club some time before.”

“The club?” Anakin asked with a raised brow, a smirk playing upon his lips.  Realizing her mistake, Y/N felt heat creep up her cheeks.  Padmé laughed a bit, though Y/N could not tell if it was due to her reaction or Anakins. 

“Yes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan clipped, side-eyeing his padawan, “You’re no stranger to them.” 

Obi-Wan’s jab did not seem to affect Anakin, who looked rather pleased with himself.  Y/N focused on her food, not wanting to face the eyes which were surly looking at her.  Normally, she wouldn’t be embarrassed if people knew she went to clubs, especially in her younger years.  However, there was something off about mentioning it in front of a Senator and two Jedi.  It felt as though she had admitted to committing a strange sort of crime.  

“What an odd string of fate,” Padmé said pleasantly, smiling at the others. “It is not often that we are reunited with such fleeting acquaintanceships in a city this large.”

“You are right, milady,” Obi-Wan said, seemingly unbothered by the whole ordeal. 

“Yes, it is quite funny,” Y/N forced herself to say, fearing that her silence may enact suspicion. 

Thankfully, no one brought it up for the rest of the meal.  At first they discussed politics, though soon Obi-Wan went on to share a few stories of missions he and Anakin had gone on over the years.  Y/N listened with interest, holding onto every word.  Obi-Wan was an excellent storyteller, she realized, finding herself content just to hear his voice.  When the meal was finished, Padmé and Dormé went to discuss the details of the plan with Obi-Wan, excusing themselves to speak privately in another room.  Y/N was left with Anakin, who was to keep watch while Obi-Wan was occupied.   

With her holopad in the other room, Y/N was left to kill time on her own.  She walked over to the large windows, watching the speeders fly past, criss-crossing lanes along the skyline.  She soon began to worry about Padmé, wishing that whoever was behind the attacks would somehow slip up and reveal themselves.  It was a futile hope, but there was nothing else she could do.  So deep in thought, she did not hear Anakin coming up to stand beside her.  

His voice came without warning, “I have a feeling there is more to you than meets the eye.” 

She jumped, placing a hand on her chest as her head whipped around to see him.  He chuckled at her unease, and she gave him a weary smile.  However, it soon left when she processed his words. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, still a bit fretful from the scare. 

He let out a slow chuckle, looking out the window instead of at her. “I know my master well, better than most.  Which means I know when he is concealing the truth.”

She inhaled shakily, her hands coming together, fingers winding around with nervousness.  Something in her face or tone must have slipped during lunch, letting Anakin in on her secret.  She bit her lip, wondering what to say and how to deny it.  

He smirked, eyeing her steadily. “Something else happened.”

She shook her head, deciding to act as if she had no clue what he was talking about. “No, it really is as simple as what he said.”

Anakin laughed again, “You are a terrible liar.”

She wanted to groan, knowing it was fruitless to play ignorant.  She decided on a new game plan: tell him as little as it takes to satisfy his curiosity. 

“Fine,” she surrendered, wavering a bit, “I bought him a drink. A single drink.”

Anakin stared at her, spurring her on.  As she gave her a resolute look back, he raised his brows. “You know I know that's not all.”

She faltered, feeling his provocation pulling her towards his will.  Unwisely, she had thought her admission would be enough for him.  

“I promise not to tell my Master,” he offered.

After a long pause, she gave in, knowing he would not easily let the matter go. “We got talking, just small talk.  I asked him if he’d ever been around Coruscant while he’s not working, and he said no, and I…” she trailed off, scared that she would reveal too much if she went any further.  

Anakin’s eyes lit at the confession, and he let out a happy sigh. “You see, I knew my Master wasn’t as good of a padawan as he says he was,” he laughed, “He’s probably reeling, worrying that I would find out.”

She shot him an angry look, afraid that he would tell Obi-Wan of her indiscretion.  Anakin rolled his eyes, waving a hand in her direction. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell, even though I want to,” he drawled, looking proud that he had gotten the secret from her.  He crossed his arms over his chest, standing tall.  Y/N would have been infuriated if her embarrassment wasn’t so strong.  While Y/N overthought their interaction, running it over in her head until the words sounded foreign, Anakin strolled off as if nothing had happened.  

She was left a bit stunned until Padmé, Dormé, and Obi-Wan emerged from the room.  Obi-Wan went over to Anakin, telling him that he would have to leave.  He sounded quite urgent, but his composure did not waiver.  Anakin only nodded, and with that Obi-Wan left without a goodbye.  Usually so polite, Y/N guessed that the matter likely pertained to the assassination attempts, which had doubled over the course of a single day.  

Padmé walked over to Y/N, calm and collected as she always was. 

“Y/N, you are free to go back to the Senate,” her voice was tenacious, strong-willed as always.

Y/N nodded. “Yes, milady.  Would you be needing anything else from me before I leave?”

“No, that's alright,” Padmé answered with a smile, “I’m not sure when I will be in contact with you next, so give all messages to Jar Jar, who will be representing me in my absence.”

Y/N bowed, going over to her workspace to collect her things.  She had a feeling Padmé would be getting ready to depart tomorrow, and it was safer for her to have Y/N know as little as possible.  She was already a bit surprised they let her know that Padmé would be leaving Coruscant, though she had been working with her for some time.  Y/N was warmed by the thought that the Senator trusted her so much, feeling a bit proud of the work she had done thus far. 

Y/N returned to the Senate to get the rest of her work completed, not even realizing that she might never see Obi-Wan again until the end of the day.  When the thought came, a wave of sadness drifted all around her, especially since she hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye.  In spite of all her efforts, she felt the same as she did over a decade ago, sitting on the bench in the Plaza as Obi-Wan faded into the crowd.  It was stupid, foolish, and entirely immature, but her mind could not release its hook from their conversation on the balcony.  She went over every word, every expression, each twitch of the lips.  Instead of pushing the memory away as she should, she held it tighter, embracing it with open arms.  It only appears amongst friends. You have not lost your wonder. You doubt yourself far too often, and ignore how far you have come. I don’t easily forget, I don’t easily forget, I don’t easily forget.  It was if his words were echoing around the empty office, fading out into space only to begin once more.  The letters rolled on top of each other, spinning into a melodious song sung in his pleasant voice. 

As she left work, she walked slowly down the wide corridors of the Senate building, arms limp at her sides.  A haze of melancholy enveloped every step, dulling the click of her shoes against the polished stone floor.  During the taxi ride home, she looked out of the window like she always did, following the lines of the buildings with her eyes, locking onto a particular point until it was lost in her peripheral.  The noise of the city outside was dulled in her ears, as if she was listening underwater.  She thought of Obi-Wan, his copper hair, his aquamarine eyes, then dismissed it, back and forth into oblivion.  She told herself it was not by fate that they met again, that his words were simply friendly and meant nothing, though her efforts were in vain.  Every irrational bone in her body overpowered her feeble attempts to break them or expose their falsehoods.  It was a losing battle, so she pushed it off as best she could, telling the soldiers it could wait until morning. 

Her head pounded to the beat of the alarm clock like a punishment for the day before.  Turning off the vexatious beeping, she headed straight for the ‘fresher to take some pills for the pain.  She shook her head at herself in the mirror, tsking her half-witted hope that somehow Obi-Wan would fall for her again.  Even if he did happen to feel the same, he was older now, not so impulsive.  He’d never let the past repeat itself.  Y/N had to remind herself that she was an adult now too, that she would have to get over her childish infatuation and move on.  It wasn’t as if she’d never dated anyone since then.  They were never quite like him, though.

In order to regain some sense of normalcy, she went about her routine in the same way she always did.  When it was time to dress, she found herself staring into her closet at all the clothes she had hanging there, her nice outfit piled in the hamper.  She chuckled at her ridiculous decision to wear what she did the day before, somehow thinking that it was important to look nice for a man she could never have.  

The taxi ride to the Senate was longer than usual, traffic congested but thankfully never completely stalled.  It was only a few hours into the day and already it was turning out awful, though Y/N’s patience was thin to start out with.  Unlike the previous evening, she walked quickly through the Senate to her office, giving the people she passed a cordial, but somewhat frigid smile.  She didn’t know if she’d be able to get through the pleasantries of “how are you?” or “nice to see you again”, thinking it better just to get to her office and hole up there until she was ready to go back home.  On the bright side, today her mind would remain busy with work, unable to muse over other things. 

Only a few people popped into the office that morning, mostly for a quick word and nothing more.  It was a blessing that everyone was incredibly swamped as well, unable to take any down time to chat.  Every once in a while, when Y/N wondered if Padmé was off planet yet, or something came in mentioning the assassination, she was practically forced into thinking about Obi-Wan.  With how much he was likely occupied, she thought it would be highly improbable that he was thinking of her at all, even in passing.  His work was important, far more important than her own, demanding diligent, careful attention.  Despite these small reminders of him, they did not stick around like they had last night, remaining fleeting and pulled from her mind when she looked back at her holopad.  

It was the afternoon, the sun over its peak, slowly descending over the city.  A ray shined through the curtainless window, specks of dust revealed in the air which looked almost like falling snow.  Deep in thought, Y/N jumped as the door wooshed open, her head shooting up from the holopad.  As she looked at the door, her breath caught in her throat, making it feel as though she had forgotten how to breathe.  There in her office, Obi-Wan was standing, his brown robe skimming the floor, eyes wide as if he was surprised by his own entrance.  Y/N stood abruptly, her chair pushing out behind her and bumping the wall.  

“Obi-Wan,” she said in shock, or perhaps as a question.  He took a step into the room, then went to take another, though stopped in his tracks. 

“Y/N, I,” he paused, swallowing, “I never got a chance to say goodbye. I’m leaving now, and I am unsure as to when I will return.”

“Oh,” was all she could muster, still paralyzed and unmoving.   

He looked down for a moment, hands clasped together. “It’s been a pleasure,” he said with a small smile.  She didn’t return it, still too stunned to do anything but stare at him.  Obi-Wan promptly turned and left, the door closing behind him.  

She just stood there, her thoughts a thousand miles high.  She questioned if Obi-Wan had really just come into the office or if it was a figment of her imagination, created by her night-long mulling over of the day before.  Her breaths remained shallow as her thoughts caught up to themselves, their summersaults ending with a finale of fireworks erupting between her ears.  She was baffled by his entrance, completely unaware of his motives.  Gradually, all else dropped away but her need to find Obi-Wan, to ask him if had really come back only to say goodbye, or if he had something else to say.  Her mind willed her legs to move, but they stayed still, frozen in time.  

“Come on,” she whispered to herself, not hearing her own voice, “run.”

With that her body finally obeyed, and she rushed to the door, huffing as she pressed the button to open it.  Her feet carried her flying down the hall, not noticing the people who stopped to stare at her along the way.  She skirted around every corner, the white walls and metal doors a single blur like the swipe of a wide paintbrush.  When she came upon the exit to the landing platforms, it was as if the wide door was encased in the glowing light of a new sun, calling her to come through to the other side.  Thankfully, the door was motion censored, saving her the precious few seconds that would be needed to open it.  As she emerged, the sun shined in her eyes, and she placed a hand on her forehead as a shield.  Frantically, she looked around for Obi-Wan, scanning every ship for movement, only to find every ship near to her vacant.  

In the distance, she saw the loading ramp of a ship descend, euphoric at the sight of Obi-Wan’s brown robe.  She began running towards him, sprinting faster as she saw him beginning to board.  Fearing that she would be too late, she called out his name.  Obi-Wan's face was hidden within the ship, though she could see him stop.  He looked down and saw her, though Y/N wasn’t close enough to tell the details of his expression.  As she neared, the realization of what she was doing set in, bringing about a wave of uncertainty.  However, it washed away when she saw Obi-Wan’s face. 

She stood at the base of the ramp, panting from her impromptu workout.  She locked her eyes with Obi-Wan’s, which were soft, brilliantly gleaming as they stared across her face.  Her once racing mind was all but empty, filled only with the serene happiness of having caught Obi-Wan before he took off.  Neither she or Obi-Wan said a word, though he smiled thoughtfully like he had a secret.  Stars, he must think I’m some kind of crazy person.

Despite her lack of shame or uneasiness, she fumbled with her words, not knowing how to express what she wanted to.  

“I,” she began, a doting smile beginning to peek through, “I feel like this is completely foolish,” she paused, bringing her hands up to her face for a moment, “Stars, I just can’t let you leave without telling you.”

“Tell me what?” he murmured, his smile growing slightly more noticeable. 

Her gaze drifted from his, overwhelmed by her boiling face and heart which was beating so fast she ought to be concerned.  Even though she had thought about doing this all last night, running over what she would say and what she would do, the reality of it was unfamiliar territory.  She was flying blind, attempting to find anything that could point her in the right direction.  

Finding a bit of courage left, she glanced back into her eyes, crystal blue and clear.  Within them she saw something new, the knowledge of what he was thinking in this very moment. Without another word or thought, she leapt up the ramp towards him, following all the instincts she had at her disposal.  Throwing her arms around his neck, she crashed her lips to his, a sparkling fuzz running down her spine and into her limbs.  Much differently than last time, Obi-Wan did not hesitate to return her kiss, falling into it along with her.  He held her body to his, pulling her a bit off of the floor and fully into his embrace. Their lips moved as if they had kissed a thousand times, synchronized in each other's affection.  She felt the tickle of his beard against her cheek, his hands gripping her waist tighter as she gasped.  

Breathless, she pulled away, only enough to suck in a gulp of much needed hair.  Obi-Wan did the same, breath uneven and shaky as if he had just been in battle.  Y/N stared into his eyes, watching as their surprise settled into something else, something tender.  A blush had formed upon his cheeks, peeking out from his beard and dotting across his nose.  The rush in her ears was gone, replaced by the low hum of the ship and the soft sound of her hands upon his robes.  She held him tighter, dreading the moment when she would finally have to let go. 

“Will I see you later?” she asked, not bothering to disguise her pleading and desperate tone.  She didn’t know what she was expecting him to do, but his wide grin pleasantly surprised her. 

“Yes,” he said with a long exhale, studying her face.  She grew warm with the attention, even though they had just done much more than look at each other.  Something about his gaze was always so intense, more passionate than she could easily handle.  It was as if flustering her came naturally to him, like he was born to make her shy.

Finally, he slowly set her down, and she relaxed her beskar-like grip she had on his shoulders.  Her hands settled on his chest briefly before falling down at her sides, already missing his touch. She was unsure what to say, but as usual, Obi-Wan was not at a similar loss for words. 

“Perhaps it is the absence, but you’ve grown even more beautiful,” the fondness of his voice did not escape her, bringing about a buzzing feeling in her stomach. 

She felt her knees nearly buckle, growing impossibly weak at his words.  With them, all her fears and worries about herself subsided, and she felt like the most beautiful person in the galaxy.  Forcing herself not to look down at her feet, she gave Obi-Wan a sickly sweet smile, agonized by how much she cared for him in so little time.  He was smiling as well, pleased by her total disarmament.  She longed to tell him how handsome he was, how well he had grown into himself, but she felt the time quickly slipping away.  Knowing he needed to leave soon, she stepped back, still grinning ear to ear.  She bit her lip, giddy with the reemergence of her clandestine romance, now with the promise that Obi-Wan wasn’t gone for good. 

“Be safe,” she said softly, making her way partly down the ramp.  Obi-Wan chuckled, looking self assured as he stood in the entrance of his ship. 

“I always am,” he answered, voice smooth and warm like Gatalentian tea. 

Mustering up every bit of her willpower she had, Y/N turned and walked down the ramp and into the landing platform.  The ramp closed behind her, and she rushed off near the entrance of the Senate building.  She watched as the ship powered up, rising into the air before zooming away all too quickly.  It was bitter to watch him leave, though their parting felt parsecs different than the last time.  From all she knew about him, Obi-Wan was not in the habit of lying, and her chances of seeing him again were close to certain.  With his ship out of sight, Y/N dreamily walked back into the Senate, feeling light as a feather.

#obi wan x reader #obi wan/reader #star wars x reader #Obi Wan Kenobi x reader #star wars prequels #Obi Wan Kenobi/reader #star wars fluff #obi wan fanfiction #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction

[vancehopperenthusiast]

Maybe I’m your soulmate. || Robin Arellano

Summary- the week you move to Denver, is also the week robin gets suspended. what happens when Finney welcomes you with open arms and you two quickly become friends, bestfriends even (I'll give you a hint, robin isn't too happy.)

Tags- studying, enemies to ??? flirters?? , group project, best friends, fuckin moose, jealous robin, that's all i think

CWS- cursing ..? i think thats it

Notes- HIHI uhm idk if im gonna write a part 2 for this atm but if you guys want one i will! uhm also sorry for shitty grammar LMAO i suck at stuff like that

Moving was never easy, especially not when you join a new school in the middle of the year.

Although you quickly got situated when you met Finney Blake, you and he had been friends for a little over a week & it was safe to say you considered him your best friend.

That Friday morning when you walked to school with Finney and Gwen like usual, the second you neared the school, chanting was heard

“FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT” the group yelled while a taller, much paler boy spoke, “I will pound you like a nail you scrawny little shithead.”

“then do it, unless you’re scared.”

You looked at Finney, “Who the fuck has the balls to fight moose?”



“Robin Arellano.” Gwen answered, “Who? Am I supposed to know him?” You were bombarded with questions as a fight broke out.

You watched intently while listening to your answer, “Robin was Finney’s best friend until he got sent to his grandma's for a week because he got suspended, he’s also the toughest kid in school next to Pinball Vance Hopper.”

“Was Finney's best friend?” you repeated

“Yeah Robin could never call so we kinda just drifted, I was sad for a while but then you came into the picture,” Finney spoke up at last.

you were about to say something else until the actual fight broke out, Robin demolishing Moose, he probably broke his nose.

“Holy shit!” Gwen gasped, her mouth agape, “Let’s go guys.” Finney tugged at Gwen’s arm that wouldn’t budge. When the girl finally moved she was already yapping about it.

“What the hell!! That was Moose!” the brunette said agitatedly.

“I don’t care” The short-haired brunette rolled his eyes, looking to the side.

“He probably deserved it!” You laughed, “Moose is a giant asshole, Finn.”

He nearly responded but someone else did for him, “Hey Finn, what’s happening” You rose your brow at the nickname, a hand snaked around his shoulder.

“Robin, you just came back! You can’t be getting into fights already” Finney laughed, shrugging off his arm.

“Moose needed the beat down if you ask me, ain’t that right Gwen?” He leaned forward, turning his head towards Gwen and your direction.

When he saw you instead of Gwen his eyebrows furrowed in confusion; “Who’s this? Your girlfriend? ooh, Donna won’t be too happy to hear that you’re two-timing Finn” He joked.

You smiled, “Nah me and Finn are just friends. I try giving advice but uh you know how he is, stubborn and hardheaded." you gave Finney a nudge in his side, and he rolled his eyes in response.



"finn? yo i thought i was the only one who called you that? since I'M your bestfriend n all. is she a bully? i don't fight girls but i know people who do." the long haired brunette said intimidatingly.

"hey man chill, finney is allowed to have other friends! especially after you ditched him!" gwen defended.

"i didn't fucking ditch him! i was suspended and couldn't talk to anyone for like a week!" the bandanaed boy exclaimed, an offensive look on his face.

you and finney both opened your mouth to say something, but the bell rung, and students started filling to their classes. "gotta go. later finn, later gwen. Arellano" you nodded before walking off, making your way to your class. shuffling with the other students.

"alright class, as you know.. or not seeing as most of you cannot read," the teacher sighed, his monotone voice staying through out his lecture, "you will have two big projects, middle of the year and end of the year. today marks the OFFICAL start of the end of the school year, hold your applause. you will be working in pairs of two, on the classical big bang theory." the teacher huffed and began explaining the rest of the project.

youy groaned quietly, putting your head in your hands, what if you get paired up with braxton rose? he was the worst! he put gum in your hair before winter break, it took hours to get it out.

"now i will be announcing the pairs. boo who cry me a river ashley. you're not getting paired up with vance OR kamala." vance was the boyfriend, kamala was the bestie. if you couldnt tell.

"right so first we have.." the names ran through and through your ears until you heard your name at last. "Y/N and.. Robin. thats all class, now you can go. projects are due next week."  you gasped, robin was in this class? the fuck? you hadn't even noticed. i mean you could always ask mr green to switch partners, but his divorce was already stressing him out. being a middle school teacher is even worse, so nah not a chance.

begrudgingly, you pushed your self out of the plastic chair, stretching  your joints. you grabbed your stuff and turned to find robin, your eyes didnt have to strain themselves for long because he was right at your desk. "hey robin, meet up at the library, five? bring your shit. we'll start planning?" you asked assertively.

"uhm can't we do it right after school? maybe i've got plans. plus we have study hall, we can do it then?" he tried his best to reschedule.

you sighed, "do you have something to do at five exactly?"

robin smiled, shaking his head left to right, "Nah, sorry. I'll see you after school?"

"alright see ya," you groaned, mentally slapping yourself in the face, robin areallno? of all people. Braxton would be better than this.

the day finished swiftly. leaving you an hour and a half to get home, freshen up and get to the library on time.

Keep reading

you had barely made it on time. three minutes till the clock struck five, when you entered the deserted library, apart from a few nerds studying, robin was nowhere to be found. you scoffed, sitting down at a table in the back, pulling your books out, shaking your leg anxiously until he showed up.

it was about five-ten when he did. you had sat there looking like a loser! he walked in coolly, sliding into a seat next to you. "you're late."

"sorry I fell asleep anyways I'm ready to work now." he cheesed, opening up his notebook, and helping



you two had worked for about twenty minutes before you hit a gigantic boulder. a boulder that stopped your work entirely for half an hour. "this isn't gonna work. you're too overbearing." he ran a hand through his hair.

had it always been that pretty? maybe it just looked better now that there wasnt crimson colored liquid in it.

you shrugged the thought off, "would you be more comfy in more well know space? we could go to yours and work on it there?"



"fuck no! you could be a murderer for all i know." he tried his best to look intimidating but his eyes weren't completely objecting to the scenerio.

you smiled cheekily, looking him in his eyes for the first time in a while leaning up in your seat slightly to get closer to him, "maybe i'm your soulmate." you could see him get flustered. it was almost embarrassing for you.



just then the old timey grandfather clock rang, "ah thats me. see ya robin." grabbing your things and walking out.

robin sat there however, what the hell just happened? were you flirting? wasn't this a rivalry for the companionship of finney blake? yeah okay that was weird. however, what was weirder is the fact that he wasn't absolutely disgusted by the fact that you were flirting with him.





well shit

#robin arellano #finney blake #griffin stagg #paperboy #vance hopper #the black phone #pinball #pinball vance #pinball vance hopper #robin arellano x reader #the black phone x reader

[butch-reidentified]

ima go ahead n answer both these at once if that's good w yall.

here's the referenced post for anyone who missed it.

I've posted a LOT about adoption before. feel free to search #adoption, #ethical adoption, #adoptee or #adopted, etc in my tags for those posts. if you can't find them bc Tumblr is shit at searching lmk and I will try to dig em up. I have a Google doc of organized/categorized Tumblr links because of the search function being such a joke

anyway that said. what I meant is that it is sooo obvious to most adoptees from a young age that it's a consumer industry and we are a product for sale. most of us who always knew we were adopted have that horrifying realization very very young, far too young to know how to deal with it. yes I am glad when other people figure this out too but it's a bit irritating for non adoptees to act like this is some mystical wisdom they alone could've uncovered when it's part of the trauma inherent to adoption to realize you were purchased 🤷

I'm not against adoption like some adoptees are, but I could write ESSAYS on my criticisms of the industry and how it SHOULD work. in fact, I have written essay length posts about it in the tags listed above. but ultimately nobody gives a fuck & NOBODY of any political orientation wants to hear that adoption perhaps isn't the utterly selfless flawless silver bullet solution to unwanted kids that everyone treats it as. yet statistically we KNOW most adoptees are extremely damaged by it, the research is there but nobody talks about it. nobody likes you if you talk about it. the walls go up real quick.

one of my favorite things is how adoption seems to be the ONE area that absolutely nobody respects lived material experience about. even loads of leftists/radfems who are always going on and on about the importance of listening to people's real, lived experiences will aggressively talk over us adoptees if we dare have the audacity to critique adoption/the adoption industry or acknowledge that it's fuckin traumatic even for an infant being yanked away from the only stimuli you knew for 9 months and put somewhere where you can't recognize yourself in anyone or anything for the next 18+ years. and that's best case scenario! scenario where they don't abuse you or spend your childhood guilt tripping you because they oh so selflessly took you in when nobody wanted you and now look how difficult you are, crying all the time n shit... just as 1 common experience I know many share from my own life and talking to other adoptees.

but nearly every time we try to talk about this, even if it has nothing to do with criticizing the adoption industry and we are JUST tryna get painful shit off our chest, some non adoptee or 8 is/are gonna jump down our throat (and often even say all the same shit our parents guilted us with as kids lmao)

it's also 1000% a feminist issue bc SO many mothers are forced into adopting out a kid they wanna keep, or adoption being available is used to justify forcing women to give birth instead of aborting an unwanted pregnancy when those women would otherwise choose the latter. not to mention the designer baby shit & the preference for white male babies... and the fact that it's human beings being literally sold as a good. Just because it's legal and isn't outright sex slavery or "forced labor" (tho adopted kids are so often viciously abused and often in those exact ways) doesn't make it right to buy or sell a human being, doesn't make it not human trafficking. & I say this as an adoptee who was ALSO trafficked as a teenager.

#mine #ask #anon ask #anon #ethical adoption #adopted #adoptee #adoption industry #legal trafficking

[chance-lard]

Book!Lucy & Lockwood vs Show!Lucy & Lockwood: A VERY LONG Deep Dive

So I finished the Netflix adaptation of Lockwood & Co.

Overall, I think it was a respectful adaptation, which, despite some plot changes, kept largely to the spirit of the books. At minimum, Joe Cornish actually seems to like L&Co, which is way more than can be said about most adaptations these days. Hooray!

But I wanted to write a bit about one of the bigger changes they made: namely the dynamic between Lucy and Lockwood.

I’ve seen people saying that the Locklyle adaptation to screen was very true to the books, just without Lucy’s close personal voice, and sped up a little in the romance department (“Stroud doesn’t mention what Lucy was doing with her hands! They could have been on Lockwood’s face in the books!” etc).

Respectfully, I disagree quite a bit with this. While some argument could be made about it having shades of their relationship from THB/TCS onwards, I actually think Show!Lucy’s attitude towards Lockwood is a 180 from the way she views him in TSS and TWS.

IDK, this might be a bit of a controversial opinion judging by what I’ve been seeing in the L&Co tag and general ways people have interpreted TSS and TWS in the years since their publication, but I’m going to try to back my argument as best as I can, focusing only on those books.

I’m using the original paperback UK editions of both the Screaming Staircase (2013) and The Whispering Skull (2014).

Spoilers for the show and VERY mild spoilers for books 3+ (literally just the name of a new character/type of ghost + stuff already shown in the show that wasn’t shown until later in the books)

Another warning: this analysis is 5500(!!!) words long, and mostly quotes from the book. If you’d like to just read the main bits, look at the intro/conclusion to each section and read the TLDR; at the end.

PART 1: THE NETFLIX SHOW

Before diving into differences, there are things I do think stayed the same between the show and the books:

Lucy and Lockwood banter, swap one-liners and occasionally squabble.

Lucy remains unimpressed with some of Lockwood’s more slapdash schemes.

During missions, they work equally and trust each other with their lives and the job.

They care about each other’s wellbeing.

Basically, when things are going well between them, or when they are in high-stakes circumstances and need to cooperate, there isn’t too much of a difference between Show!Locklyle and Book!Locklyle.

But as Tolstoy (lmao) says, all happy families agents are alike, all unhappy families agents are unique in their own way. With that said, I think the differences between Show!Locklyle and Book!Locklyle are best explored through the way conflicts are handled.

In the show, there are 5 major arguments between Lucy and Lockwood:

Episode 2: Lucy feels upset and hurt because she thinks Lockwood only views her as an “asset”.

Episode 4: Lucy is upset that Lockwood doesn’t believe/doesn’t want to admit that she is talented enough to talk to the Skull

Episode 5: Lucy gets mad at Lockwood being self-sacrificing/death-seeking after they escape from the Winkmans.

Episode 7: Lucy calls Lockwood a boy with a “cold dead heart of stone”, and is upset that he won’t let her and George in on his past.

Episode 8: Lucy is furious at Lockwood using dangerous methods at the auction, that “every relic hunter in London is out to kill us”, and that Lockwood is acting self-sacrificially again.

There are also the following minor squabbles:*

Episode 1: Lucy rolls her eyes at Lockwood for forgetting the chains at Mrs Hope’s house.

Episode 1: Lucy mad at Lockwood and George for the toothbrush cup initiation test.

Episode 2: Lockwood gets annoyed and brusque with Lucy for keeping Annabel’s source and trying to communicate with her ghost. After Lucy is nearly possessed, he flintily tells her he will burn the source, and that they have more important bills to pay.

*Note there might be some more minor squabbles, but they weren’t significant enough to make their way into my notes

The most important takeaway here is that Lucy is the one who initiates most of the arguments! We can also note Lockwood’s response to Lucy’s anger: mostly he mutely self-reflects as she shouts and storms away, then later he comes to her to apologise and promises to do better. 

The one time Lockwood gets mad at Lucy (Ep 2) we are a) not shown the bulk of the argument (there’s a cutaway after the fight with the ghost to Lucy justifying herself), b) it’s anger born of worry, and c) Cameron’s delivery of the lines is quite measured and muted.

In essence, when it comes to conflict, Lucy is the one holding the cards in the relationship between the two of them.

We also know the show is set much earlier than the books (which take place over the span of a whole year). Show!Lucy isn’t acting this way out of concern for a Lockwood who she’s known and loved for ages. Rather, Lockwood is someone she is not impressed by at all from the outset. The show is setting up what makes Lucy special here: unlike the adults, the other agents, and maybe even George, she’s the only one who can see through his “prodigious entrepreneur” mythos to the hurting teenager beneath.

Within the logic of the show’s universe this makes sense. Unlike Book!Lucy who is a judgemental grump (and is why she has “no female friends”; TWS p80), Show!Lucy is a more confident girl coming right off the back of losing someone she loves dearly.

Having experienced an arguably greater loss than Book!Lucy at this stage in her life, Show!Lucy seems adamant to prevent anyone else she cares about going down the same path. For Book!Lucy, this is a realisation she only comes to near the end of THB.

So to summarise, in the show, Lucy is a hurting, no-nonsense girl, unimpressed with Lockwood’s antics and objective enough to act as his “chain to earth”. From the way Lockwood responds to Lucy’s upsets, we get the sense that he’s quite sincere and maybe more in touch with his emotions than he shows on the surface.

The show portrays two people gradually learning to trust each other and perhaps slowly, mutually discovering their feelings as they do.

PART 2: BOOK: ACTIONS

The show uses disagreements as watersheds for character development, but they don’t play as significant a role in the books. Still, I went through TSS and TWS and made notes of every time there’s conflict between Lucy and Lockwood because the differences are quite telling.

TSS:

Lucy is mildly irritated/snarky at Lockwood for the entirety of the Hope case in TSS, and is angry when he forgets to bring the chains.

Lucy is angry at Lockwood for talking about the Annabel case and getting her name in the papers (TSS, 231)

Lockwood gets angry and berates Lucy for keeping the Annabel source (TSS, 179-181)

Lockwood calls Lucy “too sensitive” and accuses her of getting too close to ghosts (TSS, 248-249)

Lockwood is furious at Lucy for trying to talk to Annabel again (TSS, 284)

TWS:

Lockwood angry at Lucy for talking about the door on the landing (TWS, 116)

Lucy angry at Lockwood (and George) for taking her Listening for granted (TWS, 258)

Lucy scolds Lockwood for brushing off/slapping down George (TWS, 398)

Purely by numbers, they get mad at each other fairly evenly (rather than it being one-sided from Lucy, a la the show).

But numbers themselves don’t tell a full story. In fact, after looking at the particulars, I was surprised to see just how unbalanced their relationship is in the first 2 books (TSS in particular), and how much Lucy sits under Lockwood’s thumb for the whole thing.

Let’s look:

THE SCREAMING STAIRCASE

The Hope House - Lockwood forgetting to bring the chains.

This is the argument that plays out most similarly to how it does in the books. Lockwood asserts that filings “will be fine” for a job like this. In both mediums Lucy lets him go, but in the show she rolls her eyes and tuts, while in the books she tells herself “now (isn’t) the time”, takes a deep breath and changes the subject. In my opinion, this difference is insignificant.

BUT: in the book, the chains get brought up again. On p39, Lockwood suggests they should leave the house because it’s too dangerous, it is Lucy disagrees and thinks they should stay (as an aside, compare this with Lockwood’s behaviour in the show, particularly when escaping Winkman at the auction!).

Lockwood “condescendingly” tells her that her head isn’t in the right place, and Lucy once again accuses him of making bad decisions by leaving the chains out. Lockwood in turn first blames George (as he does in the show), then goes on to blame Lucy!

How the argument resolves is also interesting. Lockwood smiles at Lucy, and ribs her:

‘How’s your anger management going, Luce?’ (p40).

This effectively defuses Lucy’s rage (she likens his smile to “the sun coming out”).

Only after she’s no longer at the peak of her anger does he admit fault:

“He clapped his gloved hands together briskly. ‘Alright, you win'” (about staying at the house). (p40).

Even in the very first pages, we see Lockwood comporting himself as Lucy’s superior. We get the sense he doesn’t take her anger very seriously. Lucy also doesn’t seem to be able to stay mad at him for long.

Now, I've seen readings of Lockwood smiling in this moment as him being simply unable to stay mad at Lucy. That's definitely one interpretation, but I personally don't agree with it. Lockwood has a patterned habit of using his smile to get out of trouble:

“Lockwood took a deep breath; perhaps he realized he had to explain himself to George and me, as well as to Barnes…(Explanation). He switched on his fullest, most radiant smile.

Barnes winced. ‘Put those teeth away’” (TSS, p426)

And:

“‘Papers that almost certainly don’t exist,’ I growled…I didn’t look at him; if I had, he would have given me the smile, and I wasn’t in the mood for that.” (TWS, p258)

Though as we can see, by TWS Lucy has definitely wised up haha

Lucy’s name in the article

On paper, this argument is similar to the one in the show. The major difference is at no point in the books does Lucy explicitly tell Lockwood to keep her name out of the papers.

In the show, this argument leads to one of its biggest disagreements (Ep 2):

Lucy: I told you to leave me out of it.

Lockwood: And I told you I'd handle it. What are you so worried about? It's all true.

Lucy: We haven't even solved the case yet. What if Hugo Blake sees that and comes after me?

Lockwood: Well, then, we'll look after you, Luce. You're our biggest asset.

Lucy: Asset? Is that all I am, then? Just something to make you money? You think that you do things so differently. But you're just like the rest of them. You're as bad as everyone back home.

In the books, Lucy does not get angry when the article comes out (p217). She only gets upset after she’s pulled in by DEPRAC to see Hugo Blake. When the argument erupts, George is also there and it plays out like this (p232):

Lucy: “Don’t touch me. Because of your article, I came face to face with a murderer tonight, and funnily enough, I didn’t enjoy the experience.” 

Lockwood: “Blake is not going to come after us”.

George: “Or if he does, it’ll be very, very slowly, hobbling on a stick. He’s over seventy years old.”

After Lockwood and George’s further justifications about why Blake is not going to “get them” (p232-233) Lucy thinks:

“What (Lockwood) said made sense, as usual. It was good to be out in the night again, with my sword and my colleagues at my side. The distress of my brief encounter at Scotland Yard was slowly fading. I felt a little better.”

We know from this that Lucy’s anger was one borne from worry and fear of Blake. By successfully alleviating that fear, Lucy’s anger at Lockwood dissipates. At no point is she mad at being treated as a showpony or asset by Lockwood. In fact, going back to when the article comes out (p 217), we’re presented with the following:

Lucy: “I still don’t know why you mentioned me but not the necklace.”

Lockwood: “It doesn’t hurt to emphasise what a star you are. We want other clients to come running, eager for your services.”

He doesn’t use the word “asset” here, but you can easily replace the word “star” with the word “asset" to get the original lines that triggered the argument in the show. To this statement, Book!Lucy has no reaction at all (the topic changes).

[As an aside, Lockwood also obliquely calls Lucy and George “inessential” on p214, which they also don’t comment on. Also, at various points he calls George and Lucy “fishwives” (p 272) and Lucy “sensitive” because she’s a girl (p 353) (lmaooo what an ass).]

Lockwood, Lucy and Annabel

I’m lumping these three arguments together because they follow the same pattern: Lucy tries to talk to Annabel, Lockwood gets upset that she keeps trying. What is absolutely fascinating is just how he treats Lucy when he is upset, and how Lucy responds to his anger in turn.

The first argument begins the morning after the fight. Lockwood says:

“Why, Lucy? I just don’t understand! You know an agent has to report any artefact she finds. Particularly one so intimately connected with a Visitor. They must be properly contained.” (p179)

He continues berating her like this (with a lot more anger than he ever displays on the show).

Lucy tries to apologise:

“Yes. I said I’m sorry! I’ve never done that sort of thing before.” (p180)

But Lockwood is still angry:

“So why did you do it now?”

Lucy spends the next page trying to explain why she took Annabel’s source, but even after her apologies and justifications, Lockwood is still furious:

“You forgot? That’s it? That’s your excuse?” (p 181)

The three of them talk a bit more about the mechanics of how Annabel ended up in the house, then when Lucy is in the middle of talking, Lockwood cuts her off again, and they have this whopper of an exchange:

“I hope you’re not trying to change the subject, Lucy,” Lockwood said in a cold voice. “I’m in the middle of ticking you off here.”

I set the case down. “I know.”

“I’m not finished, either. Not by a long chalk. I’ve got a whole heap more to say.” (Lockwood loses his train of thought here). “The point is: don’t do it again. I’m disappointed in you.”

Lucy meekly takes Lockwood’s lecture:

“I nodded. I stared at the tablecloth. My face felt cold and hot at the same time”

Lockwood’s one-sided lecture of Lucy lasts a whole five pages!!!

But he’s not done. It comes up again on p248 where Lockwood accuses Lucy of being 'too sensitive’ (in both the psychic and emotional way), and of getting “too close to (the ghosts)”. Then, in a 180 from the dynamics of power in the show (remember, Lucy threatens to quit several times), Lockwood threatens to fire her!

“You need to be careful, Lucy,” Lockwood said, and his voice was flat and cold. “Wicked ghosts aren’t things to trifle with. You’re keeping secrets again, and any agent who does that is endangering the rest of us. I’m not having anyone on my team who can’t be trusted. You understand what I’m saying?”

Again, Lucy takes this lecture meekly and submissively:

I did understand. I looked away.

In the final argument about the matter (p284) we learn that Lucy is actually a bit scared of Lockwood.

“You deliberately let her free?” Lockwood said. “That was a stupid thing to do.”

When I looked at his face, my heart quailed. “Not free,” I said desperately. “Just…freer.” (emphasis mine)

On p285 Lucy starts crying/tearing up because she thinks Lockwood:

 “...Would not forgive me…this was the end of my employment at the company”. 

Ordinarily, you might be able to argue that her fears are misplaced and subjective (because of her narrow perspective). This rings a little hollow given Lockwood’s threat on p248.

Does Lockwood ever apologise to Lucy during the Annabel affair? Once, when at his suggestion, Lucy tries to talk to Anabel, and things go awry:

“I’m so sorry. I should have never asked you to do that. What happened? Are you OK?” (p192)

It’s a sign that Lockwood does care about her wellbeing, despite his general distance from Lucy and the way he carries himself, which is as a figure of authority, and more importantly, as Lucy’s employer.

Seriously. We like to joke in this fandom that Lucy is too wrapped up in her own head thinking that Lockwood is out of her league to notice that he actually likes her. But reading the books again with detailed notes, I think Lucy’s impression is actually accurate.

In fact, writing this up sparked a memory of reading TSS for the first time (prior to the release of TWS), I remember thinking there wasn’t going to be a romance between Lucy and Lockwood. I couldn’t articulate it fully at the time, but I imagine it was because of how much older Lockwood seemed and how much control her asserts over her behaviour, combined with the way early book Lucy (to borrow Holly’s words from THB) “can’t say no” to Lockwood.

It is only by the end of TSS, does Lockwood finally say to her:

“I trust your Talent and your judgement and I’m very proud to have you on my team. OK? So stop worrying about the past!” (p436)

It’s still a tad condescending (think: praise from kindergarten teacher) but it’s a momentous occasion because as shown, prior to the Combe Carey Hall case, Lockwood seems to respect and trust her very little. This bookend leads nicely into their growing dynamic in TWS.

THE WHISPERING SKULL

Lucy, Lockwood and the skull in Bickerstaff’s manor:

By The Whispering Skull, Lucy and Lockwood’s relationship has evolved (which would make sense given the 6 months between books 1 and 2) and consequently the way they conflict has too. However, they still don’t ever reach the level of direct conflict they do in the show. Take what I consider to be Lucy’s biggest upset at Lockwood in the first 2 books:

On page 258, Lucy says:

 “Forget it! What happened to us treading carefully, Lockwood? I’ve a good mind to go back home!”

Lockwood begs her to reconsider. Lucy remains angry. She says:

“You’re taking me for granted. Me and this house.”

However, it should be noted that although she mentions Lockwood by name, she’s actually angry at both Lockwood and George (yup, he’s there too). She calls them “both mad” for expecting her to agree to their scheme. She then stalks away from them in a rage, leaving “the others” (not just Lockwood) to follow.

In short, her anger isn’t directed at any particular trait of Lockwood’s (such as recklessness or foolhardiness), but rather at having been duped by both George and him. Nevertheless, it shows that she’s become more comfortable at expressing her anger in general by this point.

Lockwood’s door on the landing

As in the show, after the skull tells Lucy about Lockwood’s door, she confronts him about it.

In the show, after Lucy brings it up, Lockwood responds by diverting the subject:

Lockwood: That is not just a nick. You need to get that looked at. Could be some toxins got into your blood.

Then:

Lockwood: You're not Marissa Fittes.

Lucy: Cause you can't handle being my Tom Rotwell? Second best?

(This response is OOFT and also VERY Show!Lucy imo)

Another difference: in the show, Lockwood clearly believes Lucy, but doesn’t want to admit that she might be talented, because he’s used to being the most powerful one.

In the books, Lockwood just flat-out doesn’t believe her:

Lockwood lowered his mug; he spoke flintily. “Yes, I know (the door). The one you can’t stop asking about.” (p116)

He also calls her a “prima donna” (lmao LOCKWOOD).

Here, again, Lucy responds a bit more huffily than she probably would have in TSS:

We stood there, glaring at each other. (p117)

Lucy defends George

I think this argument, from page 398, though minor, nicely summarises Lockwood’s general attitude in conflict.

“Lockwood, we’ve been so blind! He’s desperate to investigate it. He’s been obsessed with it all this time. And you just kept criticising him, slapping him down.”

Lockwood responds at first by doing what he typically does (justify, accuse):

“Yes of course I did! Because George is always like that!...It’s just how he is! We couldn’t possibly have known.”

But compared to the chains argument in TSS where he deflects until the end, moments later:

His shoulders slumped. “You really think he’s affected by the ghost?”

Perhaps it’s because of the imminent danger George is in, but this time he takes Lucy’s anger seriously. Unlike the chains argument from the beginning of TSS, he doesn’t put on airs or “give permission” to Lucy when he senses he’s in the wrong. This way, they work together to prepare to get George back.

PART 3: BOOKS: THOUGHTS

“Wait,” you say, “Doesn’t this just prove that the show is like the books? Sure, it might have skipped that weird employer/employee stage from TSS, but it at least follows their relationship in TWS well, right?”

To this I say, yes, but also no. We need to take into account the role the arguments play in both mediums.

In the books, since Lucy is a very personal narrator, the arguments are a good way of showing the Locklyle relationship unmarked by her own thoughts. Although Lucy is quite inaccurate at judging what people feel and think (see: Holly), she’s not the kind of unreliable narrator that makes up things people say or do.

In the show, since we don’t get to see Lucy’s internal monologue; the arguments are instead used to show how Lucy feels. To that end, I can understand why they made her more direct/in touch with her emotions during them – if she didn’t say anything, the audience probably wouldn’t know.

SO: to get a full picture of her relationship with Lockwood, we need to examine both her acts AND her internal feelings.

What does Lucy feel in the show?

In the show, although Lucy does like Lockwood, she hates (or at least is troubled by) the following: he’s reckless, he’s (over) confident, he’s arrogant and loves the spotlight. But her two primary issues with his character seem to be:

His death-seeking nature:

“What does any of it mean if we end up stabbed or dead at the bottom of the Thames with nobody left to care?“ / “To be honest, the bottom of the Thames used to be a far more appealing place to be.”(Ep 8)

His distance/mystery:

“You might be able to turn your feelings on and off like a tap, but I am drowning here, Lockwood.” (Ep 2)

“At the centre of you is just a…” “A what? A cold, dead heart of stone?” “Yeah, maybe. But who knows, though? 'Cause you don't actually show anyone.” (Ep 7)

Is this the case in the books?

Nope. Not at all. This is the absolute biggest difference between Show!Locklyle and Book!Locklyle.

Lucy has very little to say about Lockwood’s general recklessness because, well, she is reckless too (this is the case in the show as well – makes her look just a little bit like a hypocrite).

In regards to his death-seeking nature: Lucy doesn’t even pick up on it until the Skull of all people points it out, and that is definitely much further along than in TSS and TWS.

But why doesn’t she see these signs? It ties back to how Lucy feels about Lockwood’s distance/mystery in TSS and TWS which is, well: she loves it.

Show!Lucy can’t stand Lockwood hiding things from her and running off madly towards “any old mystery”, and that’s what makes her a good grounding force for Lockwood there. 

Book!Lucy fully drinks the Lockwood kool-aid and buys into his grand myth.

From the very outset, Lucy immediately likes Lockwood. Unlike Show!Lucy who compares him negatively with the people “back home”, Book!Lucy thinks:

“Lockwood, I already liked. He seemed a world away from the remote and treacherous Agent Jacobs; his zest and personal commitment were clear. Here was someone I felt I could follow, someone perhaps to trust.” (TSS, p 112)

We also get Lucy’s opinion of Lockwood “throwing himself” into missions the very first full day she joins:

“Vigorous and energetic, eager to throw himself into each new mystery; a boy who was clearly never happier than when walking into a haunted room, his hand resting lightly on his sword hilt…It already pleased me to think of walking into darkness with Lockwood at my side.” (TSS, p 127)

She starts buying the “Lockwood narrative” very quickly too. When Lockwood says:

‘This will be one of the three most successful agencies in London…And you can be a part of that, Lucy. I think you’re good, and I’m glad you’re here.’ (TSS 129)

Lucy thinks:

“You can bet my face was flushed right then – it was a special triple-combo of embarrassment at being found out, pleasure at his flattery and excitement at his spoken dreams.” (TSS 129)

We see her continued fall into Lockwood’s all-consuming orbit on the next page:

“For a moment, as he said this, it all made perfect sense…when he smiled like that it was hard not to agree with him.” (p 130)

Contrast this to the show, where instead she cooly responds, “Thank you,” then immediately asks: “How do I know you’re good enough for me?” (Ep 1)

Show!Lucy clearly isn’t buying it from the beginning, and continues to not buy it. We can see the difference after the Hope House case when Lucy is talking to George.

George: “Maybe if you'd been more interested before you went charging.”

Lucy: “That was Lockwood's decision. I've only just started. What am I supposed to say to him?” (Ep 2)

George: “You're meant to say no. You have to, or you'll make him worse.”

George is another character who works well to contextualise Lucy’s behaviour towards Lockwood. In the show, George sees Lucy as someone capable of reigning Lockwood in. Whereas in the books, he sees Lucy as equally at fault for being reckless.

“When is going to be the time? When you and Lockwood are both dead, maybe? When I open the door one night and see the two of you hovering beyond the iron line?...All you and Lockwood care about is going out and snuffing Sources, as quickly as you can! ” (TSS, p 139-140)

Rather than deflect blame onto Lockwood as she does in the show, she says:

“Because that’s what makes our money, George!...If you were less obsessed with it, we’d have done twice as many cases in the last few months…We waited all afternoon for you.” (TSS, p140)

The “makes our money” line sounds a lot like something that would come out of Lockwood’s mouth, and makes me wonder whether she’s parroting something he said at this stage. Conjecture aside, it shows the reader that Lucy is firmly on Lockwood’s side – as established, Lucy “never says no” to Lockwood, and everyone else knows it.

I suspect part of the reason this continues for so long is because Lockwood never is too approving of Lucy, which causes Lucy to scrabble for the rare moments of his approval.

“Moments before, he’d been promising to incinerate the locket. Now it was the key to all our troubles. Moments before, he’d been giving me a rollocking; now I was the apple of his eye. This was the way it was with Lockwood. His shifts were sometimes so sudden that they took your breath away, but his energy and enthusiasm were always impossible to resist.” (TSS, p 190)

“As usual, the full warmth of his approval made me feel a little flushed.“ (p TWS, 108)

Although by TWS Lucy is far more comfortable with Lockwood to his face, she can’t help but put him on a pedestal at the back of her mind, which marks the remaining difference between the show and the books.

“One full year after my arrival at the agency, the unrevealed details of my employer’s early life remained an important part of his mystery and fascination.” (TWS, p 40)

Even George calls her out on it:

“Oh, come on. You love all that mystery about him. Just like you love that pensive, far-off look he does sometimes.” (TWS, p 55)

Putting aside the “haha Lucy has an obvious crush on Lockwood” part, what’s interesting is that George specifically hones in on Lucy enjoying the “mystery” of Lockwood – although she does want to find out what’s behind the door, she also is drawn to, rather than repelled by (unlike Show!Lucy) the part of him that keeps things hidden. Her encounter with the Fetch in THB shows her precisely what is underneath that mysterious facade of Lockwood’s, and that (combined with Holly) is what, I think, finally scares her out of her idolatry.

As for Lockwood, we can only guess at his thoughts in the book, but we do know that he’s far less open than he is in the show. It is George who reveals to Lucy that Lockwood’s parents are probably dead (TSS, 114).

Lockwood only really brings up his parents (and quickly moves on to other matters) at the END of The Hollow Boy (p 391).

I think he makes a concerted effort to act as Lucy’s employer, to the extent that he hardly asks about or takes an interest in her personal life at all. Compare the line in the show where Lockwood says:

“Interesting outfit, Luce. Didn't have you down as a fan of unicorns. Or rainbows.”

To the book, where not only does Lockwood never comment on Lucy’s appearance, that line is a callback to a line said by George: 

“Ooh, Lucy – I’ve never seen you wearing that.” (TSS, p175)

In fact, I’d maybe even go so far to say that the show has snatched bits from George’s relationship with Lockwood and Lucy respectively and repurposed into Locklyle dynamics [see: George worrying about Lockwood’s recklessness, George upset at being treated as an asset (TWS, p107)].

This isn't to say that he doesn't care about them: he very clearly does and it is most clear in moments of crisis. But Lockwood is such a unique character, plus a known Stepford Smiler, and so "typical" signs of feelings of happiness (smiling at Lucy etc) shouldn't be taken at face value when trying to ascertain how he feels – and this is true until THB.

I don’t want people to think I’m cherry picking moments of tension between Lucy and Lockwood to make a point here. Once again, Lockwood does care about Lucy. When Lucy isn’t caught up in her Lockwood-filter, and when Lockwood isn’t preoccupied with his role as THE Anthony Lockwood, they share plenty of moments where they joke, laugh and generally act like teens, which the show captured just fine.

But those moments of cheeriness belie a narrative backbone that is very different. Lucy in the books is just 14 years old, and she’s looking for a (metaphorical!!!) “grown up” mentor after losing her father and being betrayed by Jacobs. Meanwhile, Lockwood is trying his best to shut the door on his childhood and act wiser than his years.

Thus when they meet, Lockwood just happens to be playing that authority figure Lucy thinks she needs (but we know she doesn’t!), and is only happy to oblige by continuing to play that role until slowly Lucy (and George) start breaking down his guard.

TLDR;

Show!Locklyle has a far more balanced dynamic than Book!Locklyle, which is objectively pretty “boss and employee”. Perhaps controversially, I don’t think Lockwood felt anything other than general workplace fondness/friendship for Lucy for most of TSS (at least until Combe Carey Hall).

Most importantly: Lucy in the show hates and is hurt by Lockwood’s secrecy, but Book!Lucy fawns over the very shadow consuming his soul – that is, until her rather rude awakening at the end of THB.

The ramifications of these changes have also spilled onto the characters. Lucy in the show comes off as more strong-minded, practical and confident, whereas book Lucy seems tougher, more of a tsundere (ye) and more love-starved. Lockwood in the show is the same attention-hungry “politician”, but more sincere, troubled and subdued. Whereas Lockwood in the books is crueller (remember that time he threatened to shut a kid in a coffin?), flashier, more competent and a huge brat (affectionate).

Which Locklyle is better is a matter of personal taste. In the show there’s arguably more dramatic tension, and the relationship is more tender/romantic and caring overall. But I think there’s something to be said for how unique Lucy and Lockwood’s dynamic is in the books, and the very carefully written unfurling that takes them to the end of TEG.

Either way, I hope I’ve convinced any readers of this giant word vomit that the show and book dynamics are two very separate beasts.

Agree? Disagree? Found it interesting? Hate my guts? Let me know what you think!!!

Till next time!

#lockwood and co #lockwood and co spoilers #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #this thing is absolutely massive i hope it doesn't wreck the app #if i see a typo or factual error after i post i will perish #locklyle #i guess

[itsasainz]

passionfruit | pierre gasly x reader

Summary: You’re pulling away, so is he. Neither of you can blame the other, it’s just the natural progression of things.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings/tags: anxiety, breakdown of a relationship, angst, minor implications of some mental health difficulties

a/n: never written for pierre, but here I am writing all this in a few hours. I don't know where this came from lmao. requests open <3

masterlist!

Listen

Seein’ you got ritualistic

Cleansin’ my soul of addiction for now

‘Cause I’m fallin’ apart, yeah

He can pinpoint the moment you realised you’d reached a stagnant point in your relationship with him to the minute; it had been early December — he had spent the fortnight after Abu Dhabi sorting everything out with Alpine, having wrapped things up with AlphaTauri within days of the last race. You’d flown back to London on the Tuesday after the race, leaving him in the Middle East with his new team — you still had a job, you’d reminded him, and that he’d see you in two weeks when he came to London to see you. It would be your third Christmas together, and you were spending it in France with him. Three weeks together, the longest you’d have spent together consecutively in months. He remembers the realisation in your voice, the two of you stood in a cramped South London flat you hated; still refusing to move to Milan.

“Pierre, we’ve had this planned for weeks.” you had said — there was no malice in your tone, a surprising lack of your usual heat. He remembers it striking him more deeply than he’d anticipated — the disappointment, and the overwhelming loneliness in your voice.

“Mon ange, there’s nothing I can do. It’s a team thing, I can’t start missing them before I’m even a proper member of the team.”

Your eyes never left his, a sense of judgement in the furrow of your brow. “Is Esteban going?”

He opened his mouth to say something, then a flicker of doubt arose. He’d thought he wasn’t, but now he thinks about it, the Frenchman had been discussing it with Elena only days ago. “I think so.”

“Then they’ve got one driver, they don’t need two. You’re double booked, and we’ve had this planned for weeks.”

He’d sighed — you understood exactly why he couldn’t just cancel, and he now understands that you wanted him to confirm to you that you were also a priority, and that he wasn’t only focused on work. He remembers the way you’d looked away from him, tears threatening to spill; it had felt disproportionate in the moment — crying because he couldn’t make it to dinner with your friends who he barely knew was dramatic. Now, he regrets his dismissal.

You’re asleep beside him, turned away, as curled up as you can be in a plane seat. He’d been surprised when you’d told him you were still coming to Bahrain, and then embarrassed that he’d assumed you wouldn’t come; did he really think that poorly of your relationship?

He’d realised, in his travels through January and February, his days away from you, that he can only really breathe when he’s with you; now though, you seem further away, like he’s never quite with you, even when he’s sitting inches away from you. He wonders if the closest you get these days is during sex, and hates the idea that nearly three years of your relationship might have come down to sex being the most emotional you can be with him. When was the last time you told him about your work anxieties or, for that matter, any of your actual emotions, deeper than a dismissive comment about being stressed or simply fine.

Appearances are maintained at the airport and the hotel, where you smile and kiss his friends on each cheek, laughing and joking with them like you’re not down, like you’re not avoiding his conversation. It persists into the weekend itself — you spend more time with Isa than with him, chatting in hospitality until he’s done, and then seem to immediately shut down, even if he knows you’ve had a good day. You’re brief with your affection until, seemingly suddenly on Friday evening, as he’s skipping through channels on the TV in the hotel room, you wrap yourself around him, ear pressed to his heart, breathing soft and hands cold. He’s puzzled, almost upset by your sudden affection, but he leaves his thoughts at a kiss to your temple. He falls asleep with you on top of him, your shampoo filling his senses.

The next day, after Quali, you apologise for his poor luck. Again, he finds himself blindsided; you’ve never been one to apologise for that which you can’t control. He turns it over in his head all night, once again finding your affection puzzling, and his reaction to it even more confusing, and decides he’s overthinking it. You fall asleep in his arms less often than he’d like, and he’s got to make the most of it.

Sunday has a stranger vibe still. You’re withdrawn, and he can probably count the words you share on his fingers. It’s impossible to know how to deal with it, or what to do or say to fix it. It’s that thought that he gets stuck on in the media pen after the race — what if it can’t be fixed? What if it’s not his responsibility to fix it?

When Charles asks if you’re coming out after the race, Pierre responds for you, given your absence. “No,” he says, “I think she’d rather stay in tonight.”

“Are you staying in?” Charles frowns. It’s admittedly unusual for Pierre to want to come out on nights like these without you at his side.

“Nah, I’m coming.” he assures his friend, leaving you a text to say he won’t be home until late.

Tension

Between us just like picket fences

You got issues that I won’t mention for now

‘Cause we're fallin’ apart

You want to say; points are impressive given where you started. You want to say; I’m proud of you. You want to see him, at the very least, but other than the ten minutes he spared for you after the race, you’ve barely spoken to him. His text is glaring up at you, a cruel joke.

He doesn’t want you here.

It’s the most logical explanation; he nearly jumped when you started cuddling on Friday, and barely any words have been shared. At least if you’re not speaking you’re not arguing. It doesn’t help that you’re down as it is, feeling like your brain has been fried by travelling and anxiety and the overwhelming feeling that you’re at the end of a chapter in your life. It doesn’t help that he hasn’t asked, hasn’t probed to find out more about your current state.

It’s not his responsibility, you keep reminding yourself, he’s your boyfriend, not your parent. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, though. The debate has been circling your mind for hours. If he cares so much, why doesn’t he say anything when you’re like this. If you’re as grown as you think you are, why are you so dependent on his care?

There's a nineties RomCom on the TV — you leave it on in the background while you scroll back through your texts with Pierre, wondering when it got like this, when he started to feel so distant. Who started it? Is it possible to say it was either one of you? Is it salvageable?

A thought of breaking up passes through your mind, snagging on unwelcome thoughts. You know that of the two and a half, nearly three, years that Pierre has been your boyfriend, more than two of those years were blissful. But the past months are tainting it — if you were to break up, would your memories of his love be marred by how lacking it feels in these moments?

The thought that snags, catching like cotton on barbed wire, is that perhaps you have wasted the first half of your twenties being in love with a man who cannot love you like you need him to. You think of the nights out you’d vetoed to spend an evening with him, of the opportunities you’d passed on to be around when he was in London, or the things you’d missed by constantly jetting off to Milan or whichever Grand Prix he was headed to. You think of the hours of your life you’ve spent in airports, anxious and tired, uprooting your life to spend 24 hours with him, to cry two nights later when he dropped you off for your flight home. You think of the years of your life you’ve spent caught between where your home was — with him, or with the rest of your life. It wasn’t a fair comparison. It wasn’t fair to resent him for something he had repeatedly provided solutions for.

Nevertheless, it felt clearer now. You didn’t feel settled in his company the way you always had — no, now you felt anxious. Anxious about being enough for him, about how good of a wag you were, or how good you were at being his girlfriend, at doing everything you felt you should.

Passionate from miles away

Passive with the things you say

Passin’ up on my old ways

I can’t blame you, no, no

It’s strange, you realise, that your communication with Pierre suddenly spiked the moment you were apart. How could you feel closer to him from 600 miles away than you did when you were right next to him?

He’d been texting lots, the two of you telling each other about your days again, complaining about rude colleagues or getting excited over the smallest of things. Over the phone, he’d listened while you talked about how you’d been down lately, worried about work and friends and, though you didn’t say it, him. He’s loving, and you return it in earnest. You miss him more than you care to admit, and for a few seconds at a time, you get the sense he misses you too. There’s no bickering, not a cruel word said.

You’re doing most of the talking, that much is also true. He listens, which feels like an achievement, but you still catch yourself wondering if he’s absorbing what you’re telling him, or if he still thinks about you when you’re not on the phone or texting. You don’t tell him you’ve been crying more than usual, or that your anxiety is through the roof, nor do you tell him that whenever you try to find the source of your anxiety, your mind finds to him like a compass finds north. You don’t tell him that you’re biting your nails again, or that you keep making mistakes at work.

Midweek, you’re in your kitchen, cutting a passionfruit in half on FaceTime. The pulp has covered your fingers, and you sit with a bowl under your hands, a spoon scooping the seeds out of the rind. For a minute he’s distracted by the fact that he’d forgotten your love for the fruit, and then wonders if they’re in season. He watches you eat a little, and continues what he was saying. He’s talking about the Saudi Grand Prix, about the logistics and some issues with his flight. A few weeks ago he’d mentioned that he wanted you to be there, but he’s avoiding talking about guests now, or Paddock Passes.

“Pierre,” you say, a deep breath.

“Yeah, love?”

“Do you want me there?”

There’s a long pause, stretching out before you. Does he want you?

“Do you want to be there?” he asks in return.

It’s like a kick to the gut. You don’t have it in you to answer, only a fear that if you open your mouth it’ll all spew out — the resentment, the fear, the anger you suddenly feel. You want to be there for him, and it feels like he’s just told you you’re no longer an important factor in his well being — no longer a person who makes him feel remotely good. What’s worse is that you think that, if that is true, it’s entirely justified. You’ve not been the easiest to be around lately, nor the most easily placated. He hangs up not long after, and you wish he couldn’t make you cry quite so easily.

Passionate from miles away

Passive with the things you say

Passin’ up on my old ways

I can’t blame you, no, no

It seems to Pierre that you are present in every spare second he has. Walking between meetings, pausing during training to take a drink — you’re there, in his mind, a constant reminder that he can’t breathe. Bahrain fucked with his head — suddenly, not even your presence eased his mind. You’ve always been easy to be around, aware of the dynamics and moods around you, always knowing what to say or what to do. You weren’t like that in Bahrain, you were quiet and withdrawn and a hundred miles away. The thought that circulates his head comes back stronger every time he thinks of you, misses you — is it him? Is he the issue?

That night in your flat, back in December, has been turned over in his head so many times he’s sure his retrospection has completely distorted the night, that his memory of it is more of a manifestation of all the possible ways he could have fucked up than a true representation of what happened. He’s trying to find time for you, responding to your texts the moment he has a free minute, FaceTiming you on his free evenings. He’s going to Enfield for a few days before he’s off to Jeddah, and the idea of getting to spend a few days with you is exciting, and yet somehow he’s dreading it.

He’s not sure how he’s gotten to this point, especially when he cares so deeply for you; his dread seems to root from the fear that he’s worse for you than he is good, and that is too scary a thought to address. He wants the best for you, he always has, and for years he thought he was that — something right, and something that made you feel better, happier, the way a loved one should. Now he's less sure that that’s true — he’s scared he’s draining, and the thought is pulling him away from you. What’s worse is the fact he knows, intuitively, that your feelings are mirroring his. How do you break out of this? How do you get back to a place where you are both confident in your love for one another, and assured in the fact that you are loved?

And then on Wednesday he’s watching you cut that passionfruit and he’s saying more than he has all week, getting the drama about travelling to Jeddah off his chest, scared to bring up the possibility of you coming with him in case you shut him down, and he has to go knowing you actively avoided coming. That’s when you drop the question, right as he’s stumbling over how not to get rejected if he asks you to come. He doesn’t want a repeat of the awkward silence that plagued you in Sakhir.

“Do you want me to be there?”

He doesn’t know what to say. Yes, God, he wants nothing more, but if you’re going to be quiet and cold like you were in Sakhir, he’d rather go without the stress of doubting himself and your relationship. He finds it strange that you’d ask — he would have you by his side every weekend if you’d let him, and he is certain you know that. In his head, the only explanation for your question is that you’re asking for a reason not to go. If you don’t want to be there he won’t ask you to be.

He doesn’t get a response when he turns the question back on you, and the seeds of doubt have been planted. His security about where he stands with you has crumbled, its already worn foundations collapsing under him. He is nearly winded by the panic of losing you. By the time he’s understood how he feels and what he wants to say, you’re hanging up, wishing him a good night. He curses himself for his indecision, and prays you’ll text him to say you do want to come to Jeddah.

Listen

Harder buildin’ trust from a distance

I think we should rule out commitment for now

‘Cause we’re fallin’ apart

It’s cemented in his mind that he has to end things by the time he’s landed in London, your text waiting to say that you can’t wait to see him. It’s for the best, he thinks, that he doesn’t drag this on for longer than need be — you’re clearly miserable in this relationship, and it is the right thing, the good thing, to do. You won’t end it yourself, he knows you well enough to know that; he knows you have a thing about not giving up, it’s a trait he understands better than you’re aware of — he can respect nothing if not your commitment. But he doesn’t truly believe that commitment of this kind, where he keeps making you cry, where neither of you can see a way of fixing it, is the kind you should cling to. It’s one thing to be committed, it’s another thing entirely to refuse to see that you are clinging to something that is long gone. He loves you, and he is more than aware that you love him, but he cannot justify the static, drawn out suffering of your relationship’s breakdown. He thinks you’ve probably already broken things off mentally, that your final probes have been about confirming that it’s the right thing to do — he’s done little to help his case.

He stands in the stairwell of your flats for longer than he should. He’s motionless in the landing between two floors, suitcase beside him, suddenly wondering if he should just get it over with. He can’t though, he’s not ready, and it’s not fair on you if he’ll be around for the next few days. He’ll do it on the last day, so you don’t have to look at him for too long.

He’s never been less sure of himself. That’s why he’s doing this — if he should be sure of anything, it should be his relationship.

When the doubt persists for the rest of his three days in London, he is assured that neither of you are in the place for a relationship. It feels strange thinking that knowing that you’ve spent nearly three years together, but he guesses you’ve grown apart. Grown apart or fallen apart, he’s not sure there’s much of a difference when it comes to you two.

On Wednesday morning, eating breakfast in your kitchen before he gets ready to go to the airport, he braces himself. He’d meant to do it last night, but you’d gone out for dinner together and he was too distracted by self doubt to do what he meant to.

“Y/N,” he starts. You watch him squirm, trying to find the words, and he suddenly realises you look expectant, like you know where this is going. “Do you actually want to be with me? Because I just have this feeling that you’ve been preparing yourself to break up with me for weeks.”

With the way your silence fills the air, he’s suddenly wondering if this is how you felt on FaceTime the week before. Your silence is the worst kind of murder.

“You want to break up?” you ask, never one to beat around the bush when you don’t want to. You’re more concise than he is, better at putting yours and everyone else’s thoughts into reality.

“No, but I don’t get the sense that either of us are particularly happy.” he admits. For the first time he wonders if the honesty he can exhibit around you is due to your own honesty, and not because he’s simply more comfortable in your presence; he is anything but comfortable now. Your bluntness is salt in the wound.

“So what, you’re leaving?” you ask. “You think that leaving is going to fix us?”

He shakes his head, “I think leaving is better than trying to fix a relationship that is dead in the water.”

You frown. “Dead in the water?”

He hates the way you repeat his words back to him. “It’s the better thing. I don’t like it, trust me, I don’t. But I can’t keep making you cry, and I can’t ask you to move to Milan again.”

For a second there’s a glimmer in your eyes and he thinks you’re about to tell him you’ll move to Italy. He wouldn’t let you, not matter how much it hurt.

“Don’t tell me what the better thing is.” you practically spit.

“Y/N…” he says, watching you stand up.

“I love you.” you tell him. “I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you.” he says. “That doesn’t make us right.”

You’re crying. He’s simultaneously horrifyingly guilty and utterly assured that he’s doing the right thing. “Get out of my house.”

Leavin’

You’re just doing that to get even

Don’t pick up the pieces, just leave it for now

They keep fallin’ apart

Your jaw is tight as you watch him put his coat on. He stops at the door. “Y/N,”

“Stop looking at me like that.” you say, a newfound venom in your voice. You open the door for him, showing him out. He starts down the stairs and you find yourself calling out to him.

“Pierre, leaving is the coward’s way out.” you say. You’re angry, beyond angry, but the feeling in your chest is the same kind you get at a funeral, the heaviness of knowing that the inevitable has happened and it’s painful no matter how much you knew to expect it. He only nods, leaving you barefoot in the hall.

Back inside, you book a flight to Milan. It’s surprising how quickly you’d accepted the end of the relationship — perhaps there was some merit in his idea that you’d already broken the connection in your mind. You’re tapping your bank card on the kitchen counter, looking at the notice on your laptop confirming the purchase, and you’re completely and utterly done with him. His silences, and how the only times you ever seemed to talk lately ended in tears.

It’s easy to blame him, you acknowledge, easy to say he’s the issue. You’re not blameless.

Milan is the same constant hub of business it has always been, but its culture gets to you a little more than usual. It seems like every café and every restaurant is one Pierre had showed you, and you’re all the more determined to get the hell out of the city; you only have one stop, his.

It’s the easiest time to do it — you can get all your belongings from his flat and go straight home, not even a day away from home. The walk from the station to his flat is a familiar one, one you’ve walked a thousand times. Without Pierre, it’s easier — you don’t have to stop every five minutes for selfies with a fan, but somehow that gets to you. Perhaps it’s the young-ish fan, a teenager, who looks at you with the curiosity of someone who knows exactly who you are and doesn’t understand why you’re here. She frowns slightly, points you out to her friend, who gasps. As you pass, you hear one of them say; She doesn’t live in Milan though. Why’s she here without him?

When you get to his flat and let yourself in, you allow yourself to check your phone. He’s left a text. I can still see your location, you know. Why are you in Milan? You ignore it, opening up your empty suitcase and starting to make your way around the flat; room by room, you extract your things from his. Meanwhile, your notifications are going into overdrive. These are hardly his first texts — he’d texted and called you from Heathrow telling you he regretted it, and he needed to talk to you the moment he got back from the race — but you’re determined now. If he thought you were so bad for each other, you’d make sure to be gone by the time he got back.

I know you’re getting your things. Please, wait until we can talk about this.

Can I call you?

Mon ange, please answer

I need to talk to you

I fucked up

I love you. I’m in love with you.

Eventually, you cave. You’re sitting in front of your packed suitcase, your key to the flat on his kitchen counter.

“Love?” he answers. It must be late where he is, but that’s the least of your concerns.

“Pierre.”

“I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want you to leave me.” He says, “You’re right, it’s the coward’s way out. We should try, at the very least.”

“Don’t you see, Pierre, I have. I have tried more than ever these past weeks, and, d’you know, when you said what you did I finally understood something. I don’t have the capacity to try any harder — I don’t have the capacity to love you in the way I think you need me to. I don't think you love me the way I need you to either. You were right — more than I’ll ever care to admit — but we can’t drag ourselves through this. Let’s not torture ourselves.”

There’s another long silence. Silences seem to be half the communication between you these days. “I can fix this. I can pick up the pieces, I know it.”

“Pierre, I don’t want you to. Stop trying to pick up the pieces, stop trying to fix us. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is, and I refuse to get in your way. Let’s leave it as it is, and not ruin the memory of us anymore than we already have.”

“I love you.”

“I know, Pierre. I’m sorry we couldn’t love each other right.”

“It’s my fault.”

“Ours. It’s our fault.”

I can’t blame you, no, no

#pg10 #pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x you #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #formula 1 #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x reader #Spotify

[grape-juice03]

Hi!!! If you don’t feel up to it you can ignore this (your writing is so good but you need to take care of yourself first and foremost! )

Would you be willing to write headcannon or about the rise boys with a s/o who likes dressing girly? Like sun dresses and lipgloss and enjoys doing their hair. And when they start dating they’d buy a dress in the boys color and is really excited to show them.

Of course!! I meant to publish a request yesterday!! But forgot due to college life!! So, this is an I'm back post!! By the way, I will be publishing one request a week! This is kind of how I dress, love wearing dresses, wearing makeup, and doing my hair! Come ride the fluff choo choo train!! Also thank you so much for your compliment on my writing!! And don't worry, I do take care of myself!!

LEONARDO

Leonardo knew you loved dressing up, wearing makeup, and doing your hair, unlike April who was more of a tomboy, and had more of a sporty aesthetic, you had more of a cottage core mixed with a vintage aesthetic, wearing dresses rather than pants as it gets hot rather quickly.

You typically bought a dress once a week, so he often tagged along for the adventure, due to him wanting to tag along so often, you went shopping in the hidden city to look for either new accessories, clothing, or makeup that is friendly towards human skin.

So, when you found the perfect dress to wear to your date that was happening tomorrow, Leonardo was not there, and it was perfect since you wanted it to be a surprise, it was white with blue flowers and birds (I actually have a dress exactly like it), it was gorgeous. So, you bought it.

Leonardo stared, as you showed off your new dress, it complimented the curves you had, and despite wearing a tank top underneath it (since you don't like showing your boobs, believe me, I don't either lmao), he kept staring during the entirety of the date.

DONATELLO

Unlike Leonardo, Donnie hated shopping, it was exhausting, and quite overstimulating sometimes with the loud noises, so he often stayed home, and you would text pictures of what you got; he did shop with you every now and then when you were shopping during the quieter hours of the day.

He also knew how much effort you took into getting ready for the day, you would spend a good two hours just getting ready, which included doing your hair, makeup, and getting dressed. It gave you time to wake up and get used to the business of the family day, you visited every Friday and often spent the night.

It was also that day when you wanted to find a dress for your one-year anniversary with Donnie that thankfully he couldn't shop with you, it was a lavender dress that didn't show too much and didn't have that elastic waistband that you detested, it was a sensory thing.

Donnie had heard from you that you felt like you were being squeezed with that waistband. You were so stoked to find the dress, Donnie would be impressed finding that lovely lavender dress. He started to stim happily when he saw you in that dress, he knew that dress needed to be worn every anniversary date, so it hung ever so happily in your closet.

MICHELANGELO

Mikey, like Leonardo, loved shopping with you, he was sort of your personal stylist, and little bodyguard when men would start flirting with you, so it's like a package deal when it came to those sorts of things.

He knew how much you took getting ready seriously, you would always get dressed and would always do your hair and makeup after eating, cooking, or baking with Mikey, these dresses were often gifts from your grandmother and mother that were passed down each generation. So thankfully you were pretty girly.

So, the day that it was pizza night, Mikey didn't come with you, you wanted the dress to be a surprise for him, because you nearly had every color in your wardrobe, except for orange, which not only frustrated you but also him.

So you were pretty excited to find the dress that was sunset orange, every other dress was colored like that bright fluorescent, highlighter orange dress, you nearly ran Donnie over, racing over to Mikey, yanking out that sunset colored dress, "Hey Mikey!! I finally found it!!" You had said, both pumping your fists in the air.

RAPHAEL

Raphael was... the rough houser, ambushing his siblings basically everywhere, but made sure not to hurt you or his younger brothers, especially when you were all dressed up, he didn't want to face that smite again when he got mud all over you and your dress, it took you and Donnie nearly four hours to get all the mud out. That's almost as long as you take getting ready for the day. You wake up at like 5 am so you're all dolled up!

He never came with you to shop for new clothes, makeup, or accessories for your hair or jewelry, so he was surprised to see them tried on when you got home. He was always nervous about breaking something, which I don't blame him, the first attempt at shopping with you, he was like a bull in a China shop.

So you shopped with April, who liked shopping with you, she got a dress every now and then but preferred wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but today was pretty special, it was your birthday date with him, so you needed to find a red dress, but every single one looked like that red homecoming dress from freshman year.

So when you found that gorgeous wine-red dress, you showed off your prize so proudly, Raph was often the quiet cheerer, but on the inside, he was stoked that you finally found a red dress that you can wear every now and then for special days.

#rise raph x reader #rottmnt mikey x reader #rottmnt x reader #rise leo x reader #rise donnie x reader #rise mikey x reader #rottmnt

[ghost-bxrd]

Hey! I was the anon asking about your thoughts on Bruce being a bad dad (or really just closer to who he is in recent times) and honestly I just wanted your thoughts on it, so thank you!

I also love reading batfam fics where Bruce is a father that loves his kids and believes everyone can be redeemed regardless of whatever crime they may have committed: that’s honestly the Batman I like reading about bc thats what got me into his comics. But it gets complicated when I read fanfiction that uses stuff like UTRH as part of the fic’s lore and then just glosses over Bruce nearly killing his kid to save the Joker, bc that’s very uncomfortable to think about. It’s hard for me to believe that Bruce and Jason are cool when Jason now has the experience of his throat being torn open by his ‘father’ (bc I wouldn’t call someone like that my parent), and our last glimpse of him being his body crumpled to the floor in a pool of blood. Like thinking about how much had to happen between then to ‘now’ in the fic takes me right out of the fic bc that’s just what mentions of times Bruce was a bad father do to me 😭

I prob could’ve worded that more succinctly and shorter but as you may notice I expand a lot on my thoughts lmao. But if you do think up any prompts on Bruce being a complicated father in regard to Jason’s rule over Crime alley, please share!! I’d love to read them and MAYBE write something if the creative juices start flowing

Side note: Good mom Talia is my life blood. Like the struggle of trying to raise her children in such an unforgiving environment where she’s been trapped since SHE was a child OR in a place that, while not actively harming them (in a League where Ra’s isn’t evil), isn’t giving them the opportunity to shine the way she knows they could. Good shit.

Very valid. Everyone’s got their own preferences regarding tropes and world building 💚 and I can totally understand the batarang incident part. Jason should be pissed about it. Rightfully so. On the other hand I refuse to view this part as canon because the Batman I know would never and I steadfastly refuse to write this part as anything other than an accident/misunderstanding in every single fic ever lmaooo

Hehe I’ll try to come up with some complex parent Bruce Wayne prompts soon, so keep an eye on the corresponding tag ✨

And y e s, good mom Talia is awesome. Talia’s life hasn’t been easy but she’s trying to make the best of it and carve out her own little space of happiness for her and her son, and upon realizing that it’s still not enough immediately prioritizes her son’s safety and wellbeing to send him to live with Bruce. Something I imagine would be absolute agony for any loving mother. 🥺

#ghost talks #jason todd #talia al ghul #bruce wayne #batfamily #batfam #musings #I still think people are allowed to write Talia however they want tho #there’s just too many character inconsistencies across the DC multiverse to have one correct characterization #and half the fun of fandoms is that you’re allowed to switch things up a bit #go wild

[cbk1000]

Fandom Creator's Self-Rec Game!

Choose five favourites from your own creations (and tell me why, if you like!), then pass on to at least five other people. I'd love to hear what you're proudest of.

Tagged by @the-pen-pot and actually I think @anonymintea also tagged me a while back? I vaguely remember seeing that in my activity and kind of recoiling at the idea of trying to rec my own stuff. lmfao But I have time to sit down and do it now and I am being so brave. I am just going to rec Merlin fics for this post, since that's what I've been working on and thinking about for the last four years or so, and those fics are the ones that are fresh in my mind. (Honourable mention goes to my Originals series, though, because I spent so much time on that sumabitch.)

All right, five favourites...know that this is excruciating for me and feels very cringe, because I am not normal. lmao

And Down the River's Dim Expanse (Merthur, 13k)

In which Arthur is a water spirit who tries to drown Merlin. Merlin is not impressed.

(This one feels like it kind of just disappeared into the morass of words I've vomited up on the topic of BBC Merlin. I don't think it's got nearly as much attention as any of my other fics, but I'm fond of it because I love fairytales and folklore and specifically anything to do with any kind of creature that lives in the water and especially if said creature tries to drown people. I'd love to do something like this again and have several ideas for fairytales to adopt (i.e. twist completely out of shape).

The Book of Merthur (Merthur, 600k+)

'It was awkward business to ignore a man sitting the length of one knee from you, especially when he had such voluminous ears, and though Arthur made a valiant attempt at it, he had soon to abandon this in favour of grousing at Merlin for a myriad of grievous transgressions, the most pressing of which was his manner of sitting far too close, as if they were mates. This shortcoming was to become a theme when they laid down after passing round a hard cheese and some bread, Merlin in Arthur’s cloak, and Arthur in nothing at all, because his was the greater constitution; and whilst Arthur was working himself into the choicest bit of ground, with the least stones, Merlin suddenly rolled over, mummified within the cloak Arthur’s thoughtfulness had provided, and put his nose into Arthur’s neck.'

The 'yes homo' we all deserved, righting the heterosexual wrongs of canon.

(My thus far 646,363-word essay on the issues I have with canon. I'm eight chapters from the end and already feeling that post-huge-project depression even though I have several ideas for what I want to do next. I really love writing historical fiction and have incorporated that into fics before, but this fic has shown me that I really really love writing fantasy heavily inspired by history: it's the same amount of research, with the added bonus that I can do whatever the hell I want. Also, as mentioned in my first rec, I really love fairytales and folklore, and this gives me the chance to incorporate them in a way that straight up historical fiction doesn't allow. Basically, this fic has allowed me to shove my boner for Arthurian legend and medieval history down people's throats at the same time. Ain't free gay fanfiction where I can do what I like great?)

Fools by Heavenly Compulsion (Merthur, ?k)

In which Arthur is gay and besotted, Merlin is bisexual and oblivious, and they have to get their shit together through WhatsApp.

(I have no idea how many words this technically is, because it's comprised entirely of screenshots of fake social media posts. I've read a few social media fics and enjoyed them and got a whole bug up my ass wanting to try it. I thought it would be an interesting challenge because it would take away so many things that a writer can usually rely on to tell a story, and for me specifically it would completely cut me off from any kind of descriptive writing. So basically I cut off all my limbs except like one arm and decided to see how I got on with that. And it HAS been really interesting to try and shape a narrative through texts and Instagram and twitter posts and still try and convey emotions and distinct personalities with such limitations on what I can actually show. It's also a lot of fun putting the posts together, although you can definitely fall down a deep rabbit hole of trying to pick just the right photo.)

Whereat the Two Sword on the Field of Death a Deathless Love (Merthur, 131k)

In a land of myth and a time of magic, the destiny of a great kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young boy. But not quite in the way you think. 'The Once and Future King'/Merlin mashup; now with 50% more gay.

(This was the first Merlin fic I ever wrote, and an homage to one of my favourite books. It was also me trying to get the show rewrite monkey off my back and distinctly failing at that, since I went on to write one that is over 600,000 words and still not complete. It's also proof that I am 100% capable of rewriting the show in under 150k, I just chose to inflict over 600,000 words on anyone insane enough to sit down and read a 600k gay porn version of BBC Merlin.)

And Time and the World Are Ever in Flight (Merthur, 39k)

In which Arthur returns to the 21st century, learns about Google, and finally realises his dream of running away to a farm with Merlin.

(Listen, the finale damaged me, I'm still damaged, and I tried to undo it with nearly 40k of tea and baby sheep. A.K.A. the one where Arthur returns and they run a sheep farm in Ireland together and finally figure out they're gay for each other and neither of them is alone ever again.)

Tagging @aemelia (you will have to rec all of yours lmao) @kirythestitchwitch @thetourguidebarbie and anyone else who wants to do this and has multiple fics.

#fic #writing #the-pen-pot #anonymintea #thetourguidebarbie #kirythestitchwitch #aemelia