#(habit installed it so they could go into the room and cuddle with him if he was ever sleeping there lmao)

[habitual-creatures]

*The radio cuts out. When it comes back on, Trinity's voice isn't with it, almost like she's hiding. It's playing Running Up That Kill by Kate Bush*

THAT'S...N0T G00D. I M3AN, TH3 S0NG IS. FUCKING H3LL.

*Teadosia is off cuddling with the cats again*

~🎈/🕕

(OH WAIT, how are the cats reacting to Evan and HABIT being gone?)

Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutup...

[rykno-j]

Ignorance (j/jk)

Summary: a new AC is installed to their shared dorm, and g/eto is (unfortunately) sensitive to the cold temperature

Ship: s/atos/ugu- they sleep together so its pretty established

Notes: i noted s/hoko calls g/ojo and g/eto by their surnames in the anime so i'll be keeping it the same way here.

the fic was just supposed to be g/eto falling sick due to the temperature, but it took a turn at the end where g/ojo experiences what a cold is for the first time.

3.2k words.

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

"Waahh- It feels so much better in our room now.. Seriously, why didn't we ask for this sooner?"

"We never needed it before, it never used to be this warm."

"Ahh, ah yeah. It's because of global warming."

Geto opened his mouth to argue that it was due to them sleeping huddled together, buried in each others embrace that caused the heat, but he decided to keep quiet.

Satoru has recently invited him to sleep over permanenly, and after a few weeks, they decided to send in a request for an aircon.

In all honesty, Geto was fine with the temperature. But Gojo would wake up and complain about the heat, ending their hug. Geto was getting annoyed with it.

So now it whirled overhead.

Geto had not been able to sleep well, he admits this to himself only. He had never been too good with low temperatures, with the way his nose would start to run and with the way an itch would form at the back of his increasingly dry throat.

Tonight was no different. Despite being under the blanket and cuddled from behind, Geto found himself shivering.

It wasn't violent enough to wake Gojo up, though. Geto doubted anything would wake the other up anyway. They had tired each other out after a whole night of activity, the weight of Gojo's fingers still somewhat lingering over his wrists.

Geto stares at the small green light of the aircon. Too cold. It was way too cold.

He inhales sharply as gojo hugs him tighter from behind. Right. Satoru had a habit of doing that.

Unfortunately, the wave of cold air that entered his lungs was quite unwelcomed. Geto could feel it tickling his airways.

"..hih-N'Gxt!!"

He didn't remember it being this bad the first day the aircon got installed. It had to be his lack of sleep. More than that, his throat had been uncharacteristically dry since a few days ago

Geto swallowed as a way to test the waters. No pain. He was fine, at least for now.

Pulling the blanket up to his chin, Geto exhaled, feeling the warm of his breath against his cheek. He's fine.

Morning rolled around much faster than he had anticipated.

----

"Ohayo Suguruu--"

Geto felt Gojo rubbing his head against his chest, bright blue eyes staring straight at him. He looked so endearing like this, Geto couldn't help but place a kiss on his forehead.

"Ohayo, Satoru.."

His voice had come out scratchier than normal, but he was sure it was overlookable due to it being early in the morning.

Gojo leapt out of bed, stretching himself awake. His hair poked out of his head from all different directions. To that, Gojo quickly ran a hand down his scalp.

Geto smiled to himself. Waking up like this everyday was pure bliss. Now if only he wasn't as tired as he was..

"Suguruu- c'mon, we need to go for our morning run before Sensei comes for our throats again."

Not waiting for Geto's response, Gojo takes off his shirt, bending over to dig through the drawers for his school track uniform.

Geto watches from where he was, still lying down, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. Satoru looked so damn good just by doing absolutely anything.

"Suguru? Aren't you getting up? We have to go."

"Mm, I'll catch up later.. wna lie down a little bit more."

"Ehhh..? Something wrong? Did I tire you out too much last night?" Gojo looked over to him, slight mirth in his eyes.

"Yeah, exactly that."

"Ahh, I'm sorry, heheh." (he was not sorry). "I'll see you at the track then. Half an hour max, alright? You need to run at least a round to make it convincing."

"Mm.."

Gojo turned to leave the room, before he changed his mind, scrambling over to where Geto was, leaning over to press a kiss against his temple.

"Okayyy, byeee-♡"

Geto huffed to himself. Seriously, who was the older one here? Still, he would do anything for the other. Anything.

"..hiH' hitchh-w!! hah'tzchh!!"

Anything. Even at the expense of himself.

Geto knew sooner or later he would come down with something. He always did, whenever the temperature got a little low. During the winter seasons, it was absolute hell. But at least he could dress warmly then.

In their shared dorm? Not so much.

"..hAH'dZzchh!! ..snff-"

The back of his wrist was already coated with a layer of mist. Nothing he couldn't handle. Some sleep would get rid of it, he was sure.

Geto blinked at the green light of the air-conditioner. He should.. he should really switch that off..

Curling into the warm pocket of space that Gojo had left behind, Geto drifted off once again.

-----

"Suguru- SUGURU-!!! Oiii, I thought I told you half hour max?!"

What was going on?

Geto was shaken awake, bright light invading his eyes as he opened them. The warm blanket around him was then yanked off roughly. A shiver ran down his spine.

"Satoru-"

"QUICK! HE'S GOING TO MAKE US CLEAN THE STOREROOM AGAIN!"

Geto felt his wrist being pulled as he was lifted off the bed. Another tug sent him flying out of the room, Gojo pulling him towards the shared bathing area.

He felt cold water splash onto his face.

"?!"

"Water. We have to make it convincing that you ran a few laps." Gojo stepped back, analysing him for awhile. "Alright. You look tired enough to pass, let's go, quickly!"

"Satoru.. I'm still in my sleepwear.."

"Heh? ..Eh?? EHHH-!!"

Gojo led him into the courtyard after a quick change of clothes. The sun had barely started to rise. Added with the consistent evaporation of the water on his skin, Geto couldn't help the light quivers that ran down his frame.

Really.. every morning with Satoru was sure to be an entertaining one, albeit tiring.

-----

Lunch was no different, say for the dull throbbing that had started to form throughout his head. Beside him, Gojo was talking on and on about how ugly his piece of lettuce looked.

"Shoko-!! I'm telling you! It looks juuust like the curse we exorcised last week. This part is its arms, here's the head.. Suguru- oi Suguru, it looks like it, doesn't it?"

Geto felt a jab to his rib.

"What-?" (his voice broke)

"It looks like it, right? Right?"

"Mm, yeah, yeah it does.." What was Satoru on about this time?

"See?!!" Gojo leaned back happily, waving the food item in front of Shoko, who looked extremely unamused.

Geto stared at his own tray. Inbetween closing his eyes, rubbing his temples and trying not to sneeze, he swore he had eaten more than what was left on his plate.

There was still time before the next lesson. If he took a rest now, his body might just make it in time. With that, he stood up.

"I'm going back first."

"Hahh? Suguru- I thought we were supposed to play basketball later?"

"Mm, yeah. I'm going to go get ready first."

Gojo flashed him an OK! symbol before he turned back to the table.

Now it was just a matter of how long he could keep up this guise.

Geto slid open the doors to the dorm, a wave of cold air 'welcoming' him. If he hadn't been gripping onto the door frame, Geto was sure his knees would have given way.

Shit. With their hurry this morning, they had forgot to turn off the aircon. Geto swears that if he pours water on the floor, it was going to freeze over.

The controller. Where was it? He had to turn this monstrosity off.

Geto fumbled through the mountain of Gojo's belongings on the table. Seriously, Satoru had to learn how to tidy up after himself.

Admist the searching, Geto accidentally knocks off one of their long metal rulers, and it hits the floor with a loud clang.

There goes the rest of his headache.

Finger pressed against his temple, Geto gave up looking for the controller. He wouldn't be surprised if Gojo had accidentally stuffed it into his school bag, which was currently on his person.

Well whatever.

Geto pulled open the cupboard with an effort, pulling out a few of his thicker jackets meant for winter. Throwing them onto the bed, Geto joined them shortly.

He would keep them before Satoru came to bug him for the game of basketball. He would keep them before- before..

Geto's eyelids felt heavy. He'd finish that thought later.. later.

-----

Back at the lunch table:

"Gojo.."

"Mm?" He pauses mid-bite. "What is it?"

Shoko sighs, playing with the lighter between her fingers. "You need to be a lot more sensitive, you know that?"

"Sensitive? You mean to cursed energy? My eyes already do that, don't worry."

"Idiot. I meant that you should be more sensitive to Geto."

"..Suguru? My eyes can tell apart his cursed energy from others."

Shoko sighs again, pressing her lighter onto the table. "Not that."

"Then? You mean I should be less rough with him when we-"

"Not that! I Do Not want to hear about that!"

Gojo smirks. "Alright, alright."

"..Anyway, didn't you notice anything wrong with him?" Shoko says instead.

"Mm? Ah.. I guess Suguru hasn't insulted my intelligence today."

"That's why I'm doing it right now."

Gojo feigns hurt as Shoko pulls out a cigarette.

"Cutting to the chase, Geto seemed barely able to stay awake just now."

He supposes she does have a point. Suguru had been exceptionally sluggish today, but he was sure it was nothing to be worried about, nothing a sugared drink can't fix.

"..Seriously Gojo, didn't you notice how tired he looked when he left the table?"

In all honesty, he had not.

"..So, do I really need to spell it out for you?"

Gojo sheepishly looked away as Shoko shot him a look that screamed "you suck!"

"I'll go check on him."

"Mm, thank me later."

-----

In the hallway:

Gojo made his way quickly to their dorm. Now that Shoko had mentioned it, he couldn't get it out of his head that something had indeed been up with the other.

Firstly, what was up with that whole 'sleeping-in' episode? He knew for a fact that Suguru was always the one chasing him to get changed and leave.

And Geto hadn't asked him to stop playing with his food during lunch, not once. Even though he was normally the one who ensured that Gojo's food actually made its way into his mouth.

Not to mention leaving the table alone. Suguru almost never went anywhere without him.

Picking futher, Gojo remembers how tired Geto looked in the morning, as if he didn't get a wink of sleep.

Had he really not noticed before?

Thinking about it now would do him no good. Steadying himself, Gojo slides open the door.

----

"Suguruu- are you there?"

Even in the dim room, Gojo could make out the mess of blankets on their bed. He could hear Geto's shallow breaths. They sounded.. rough.. for someone who was supposedly asleep.

Something was definitely wrong. Hadn't Suguru said he was heading back to the dorms to get changed for basketb- oh. Oh of course. How could he have been so dense? The other had probably said that in an attempt to escape the lunch table.

Gojo closes the door behind him, afraid the light from outside might wake Geto up. He clenched his fist. Open, close, open.

Dammit.

How was he supposed to approach the other?

Gojo had never been in a situation like this before. In his eyes, there was nothing wrong with Suguru. His flow of cursed energy was stable, though muted. But that normally happened when he was asleep.

What was wrong, then?

As Gojo neared the bed, he saw the edge of the blanket get tugged upwards.

He reached over, tugging the blanket back down.

"Suguru, are-"

His eyes widened.

Gojo remembers how his teachers would drill into his head the concept of "searching for signs of curses using their residuals" when he first joined Jujutsu High.

Of course, he could already do that naturally with his six eyes.

But this. This was something else entirely.

What he saw in front of him was not something that would ever have been written into any mission handbook.

Gojo's eyes traced over what was presented to him when Geto looked at him hazily, as if he just woke up from restless sleep.

Cheeks flushed.

Eyes unfocused.

Nose tinted pink.

Small quivers in the fingers gripping the blanket.

"Sa-toru..?"

And when he spoke, it was as soft as ever, with an added edge of roughness that made Gojo's heart run laps around his ribcage. His voice sounded like a running river that had flowed over a particularly rocky path.

If residuals showed signs of curses in the area, what did these show?

Gojo reached out gently. He wanted to know, needed to know.

"Sugu-"

Before he could finish the sentence, however, Geto turned sharply to the side.

"..hh' w-wait.. I.. hH'gNxXt!! ..hAH'nGxt!! .. snff-!! ..m'sorry.."

"Aahh- no. It's okay- are you okay?" Gojo felt his voice catch in his throat. He had never seen Geto like this before. It scared him.

But a part of him subconsciously made his hand move to Geto's neck, pressing in softly.

He was warm, extremely warm.

In an attempt to help, Gojo tugs the blanket off Geto's body.

"..Suguru, you're going to give yourself heatstroke, take the jackets off.."

"N-No, you don't g-Hh'!! ..get it.. it's c-chH'!! hah'Ngxtt!! hih'dNxggt!! hH'gNxx-chh!! ..it's cold.."

"It is?" A genuine question.

Gojo turned to the messy table, digging through the mess of papers and unopened sweet packets. When he came up with nothing, Gojo turned to another messy pile on the floor.

"Why didn't you just say something?"

Geto watched as Gojo fished the remote out from under a discarded mission file.

The aircon went off with a beep, leaving behind a sudden dense feeling in the air. The shift in pressure placed a fuzzy feeling in Geto's sinuses.

"..hh'nGx-tch!! hH'gNxxt-iw!!"

Gojo tilted a curious head in his direction.

"Why are you still sneezing? I turned it off."

Geto shot an annoyed glance at him. "That's n-not ..hH-! ..h'Ngxt!! ..not how colds work."

"Oh." Gojo replied, dumbfounded.

"..Do you even know what that is?"

To that, Gojo nodded. "Yes, but I was told that colds are a sign of weakness, that I shouldn't get them, because I'm supposed to be the strongest, so I don't have much experience with them."

"Who told you that..?"

"The people who raised me, of course."

Geto was suddenly glad that they no longer had a hand in raising his friend. Seriously, driving these thoughts into the head of a child was wrong, even if said child was the bearer of two of the most broken abilities.

"Anyway.." Gojo continued, "Suguru, you sure it's a cold? You're strong too, so I didn't think you could.. get colds."

Geto sighed. One step at a time, it seems.

"Everyone can get them."

"Ah, really?"

"..Surely you've gotten a fever before?"

"Fever?"

Geto sighed again, reaching out to grab Gojo's hand, pressing it against his forehead.

"Tryna tell me how hot you are?" Gojo smirks slightly. "Seriously though, isn't that because you've literally dressed yourself for winter?"

He points at the jackets Geto had sitting around him.

Geto exhales slowly from his mouth. Just how was he going to explain this?

"..When someone falls sick, they get a fever, and that makes them feel cold, because of the difference in temperature between the body and the surrounding air."

"..Then why didn't you just turn the aircon off just now?"

"Because I couldn't find the damn remote through all the mess!" After raising his voice slightly, Geto turns away to cough softly into his fist. Ah, he shouldn't have done that.

Next to him, Gojo reaches for the half empty bottle of water across the table before uncapping it, passing it to the other.

For someone so seemingly oblivious to the things happening around him, Satoru was surprisingly considerate at times, Geto notes with a smile.

"That doesn't explain why this is all pink though," Gojo says suddenly, stepping up so he can press a finger to the very tip of Geto's nose.

"Sa-hH'!! hIH'dZtcHH!! haH'EhkshH!! ..Satoru! Don't..dohH'!! ..hi'tgNxtt!! ..don't do that.."

"So that's how your sneezes sound like without you pinching them away!"

Geto froze in place. Ah.. the fit had set on so quickly that he didn't have time to stifle. He hadn't even realised. A blush creeped up onto his cheeks.

"Seriously though, why do you always do that?"

Geto looked away, hoping the flush wouldn't deepen. "It's not.. well, it's not-"

"..Everyone does it, right?" Gojo interrupted. "Just like you told me everyone can catch colds, everyone sneezes too, so why are you so shy about it?"

"..Well yes, but using that same logic, you won't just change your clothes in front of anyone, would you?"

Gojo went silent for awhile, as if he was contemplating something deeply. Seconds later, he turned to Geto with a small smile.

"So I'm special then!"

"Hm?"

"Because you sneezed in front of me."

Before Geto could calm himself down enough to give an answer, Gojo bent down, pressing his lips gently against the edge of Geto's eye.

"Suguruu, was the aircon really bothering you that much? You've got eyebags."

"Mm."

"Why didn't you say anything then?" Gojo asks again.

"..You were enjoying it, so I thought I'd-"

"Sacrifice yourself for me??"

"..It's not that dramatic, Satoru."

"Yeah but still," Gojo pouts a little before speaking. "I would have suffered through the heat for you."

Yet again he proves to be considerate. How was he to respond to that?

"But then you always.. always-" ..always break the hug when it gets too hot. Geto catches himself before the rest of that sentence slips out, but the other seemed to get its implication.

"I didnt want us to wake up all sweaty, that's all. But if you're okay with it, I won't let go."

Geto opened his mouth in an attempt to deny the fact he liked being hugged, but Gojo quickly circled around to his side of the bed, leaning forward to kiss Geto's temple.

"I heard sleep helps to make colds better."

"That's what I was trying to do before you barged in and tugged my blanket off."

"Heh, a consequence of moving in with me."

"Mm. I'm not backing out, though."

"Hah! As if I would let you do such a thing."

Geto couldn't help the soft laugher that escaped him, even if it made him bend over with a light coughing fit.

"Alright alright.." Gojo said, patting Geto's back gently. "Take off the damn jacket, I wna hug you."

"..As you wish."

----

The rest of the day was spent lazily in bed, with Geto occasionally waking up just to dissolve into rapid fits that left him exhausted and clinging onto Gojo for comfort.

Seriously, if colds made Suguru this touchy, he wouldn't mind helping the other through a few more.

-end-

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

Finishing notes:

Filling up plot holes: the teacher cancelled lessons for the rest of the day, since it was hand-to-hand combat. with geto sick and gojo having no partner to spar with, the lesson was postponed. that's why satosugu could just stay in bed. ofc, they would have either way.

Yeah gojo caught geto's cold after this, and experienced his first sick, yay!

Sorry for the once again plot>snz fic, but that's normally how my stuff goes

Also at the beginning of the fic i wonder if anyone got the global warming reference hahsvagj

tysm for reading agshhs

-- 2 weeks to Shibuya --

[mahi-does-some-art]

Oh damn everyone living in the same house would be chaos, but hey Sakuya is happy he gets to live with Mahiru, and Licht gets to see Mr. Fox and Mr. Cat more

Sakuya is SOOOOOOOOOOO happy he gets to live in the same house as Mahiru! He's not so happy that everyone else is there. Team M has made it an infuriating habit to bother the both of them when in common areas together. Sakuya wants to strangle his stupid family.

Licht is a menace. The Servamps all try to avoid being in their animal forms at first but Licht starts kicking them and demanding the animals so they have no choice sometimes.

Ildio is Mahiru's worst nightmare because he keeps eating more than Mahiru would make and forces him to completely readjust his grocery budget and fucks up all his pricing planning sheets and shit. After Mahiru adjusts to his appetite, its a nightmare because Ildio insists on trying to cook everything he sees that he thinks would taste good and makes a mess Mahiru will have to clean up the majority of. Niccolo helps expand Mahiru's budget as apology.

Kuro now has to get the complete Sibling Experience as an older brother and his siblings keep coming into his room so often to mess with him that they had to call C3 in to install locks on all the bedroom doors. It barely helps.

They have a music room! It has a piano for Licht and a lot of other instruments that some of the servamps know how to play + a violin for Mikuni. Sakuya sometimes scopes the place out to make sure its empty to practice his guitar because it sounds better in this room than his bedroom.

They do karaoke sometimes. Enough said, really.

Sometimes Tooru visits. He visits far more often than he would to his apartment because C3 needs someone to go check up on them and Tooru is least likely to get into a fight with anyone there. It makes Mahiru happy to see him more and he even stays the whole day sometimes and has dinner with them. Sakuya is a bit more nervous around him bc of the whole C3 and "I memory fucked your nephew in order to shimmy a spot in his life and you know and I know you know" thing.

That being said, Tooru has gotten into a fight with one of them before bc it was a particularly shitty day for Hyde and he thought he could pull it off. He could not. He got his ass handed to him and now he has a crush on Mahiru's uncle.

They end up living there for a very long time, all going about their individual lives but coming back to live together now that things were mended. So long, in fact, that the teenagers are no longer teenagers and everyone got to watch as Mahiru and Tetsu grow up to be hunks. Misono ages into an adult beautifully, of course, but he barely grows any taller. He's extremely mad about it.

Now, a tibit of the drama that i love especially:

Lily and Belkia would constantly, and I mean constantly, be at each other's throats. They are throwing shade at each other like nothing else and bitching and insulting each others fashion sense and choice of shades of pink. Everyone there is very lucky they don't have to share a bathroom.

Once, Tsubaki hid one of Jeje's wip ship-in-a-bottle and got shot when Jeje found it and found out he hid it.

Sometimes Ryuusei and Koyuki come over to visit Mahiru and everyone they dont know gets insulted hardcore at first before they get familiar. Freya really likes Koyuki bc he's interested in plants and loves her apples. Ryuusei once asked to work out with Ildio and Tetsu and... well... Never again. Lawless and Tsubaki are the ones that get subjected to Koyuki's rare verbal smackdowns and they sulk for like a week because of all the things said. They behave a little more around him. Sakuya has both of these incidents on record.

Kuro and Sakuya warm up to each other enough that Sakuya gets to bother Kuro without concequence (Sakuya and Kuro are like cats in a very similar way so they chill together mostly) and Kuro's siblings think its so unfair the first time they catch them cuddled up together playing their video games. Mahiru loves it.

Tsubaki and Team M play so many fucking pranks its insane. They prank Mahiru at a distance after the one time they scared him and Mahiru punched Tsubaki square in his face and broke his nose.

Higan hit on Tooru once and almost got jumped by Mahiru.

Speaking of Higan, he and Hyde are feuding, and he avoids Lily when he can.

Sometimes Tsurugi visits for Mahiru and causes some chaos.

And sometimes he drags Touma with him and many fights have to be stopped each time he sets foot the front door. This is why they send Tooru.

Mikado visited once but got so intimidated by all of the vampires that he swore he'd never visit again. Tries to get Misono back in Alicein Manor but it doesn't work and he sulks about it. Boohoo bitch.

Thats all I got for now.

[fanfic-gallery]

Manager's random thots #4 [ NSFW MDNI ]

: ̗̀➛ Manager's/Author's note : I've only now realised that despite how obsessed I am with yanderes, I don't post much about them- let's change that ~<3

✦˚ more nurturing, maturnal yanderes have habits of 'babying' their darlings, some would even go to the extreme of 'baby-proofing' any and everything, especially those who are unnaturally paranoid and overprotective

✦˚ would purchase rubbers for the corners of tables and cabinets. giant custom made 'baby gates' installed on the stairs and every door in the house. would cushion proof everything in your room, from the floor to the frame of your bed, sometimes he would take away plushies he had bought for you previously due to him noticing sharp edges sticking out of the fluff

✦˚ plastic plates, bowls and utensils. if you think about stabbing him with it, good try sweetheart, but that spork was specifically made for babies to handle. won't settle for paper plates, even if you manage to snap all of your plastic dishes into two, he would rather place your food on his glass plate [ of course you aren't the one handling it, he is feed you himself ] than to give your own paper plate. what if you managed to bite some of the paper and swallowed it? he just can't let that happen, even if it's only a small percentage of that happening

✦˚ speaking of food, he would take the time to grind up homemade baby food for you to feast on. why, you may ask? so you won't choke, silly~ his heart can't bare the thought of you slowly coughing and grasping to death when he let's you get the privilege of eating on your own.

✦˚ bands you from even being an inch near the kitchen. you might slip from the oils that had founds its way on the tiles when he was cooking, or you might burn yourself and ruin your perfect skin. would literally faint if he sees you with a knife in your hand even if it's just a butter one, would either launch at you or sneak up from behind and take it away

✦˚ if they had some muscle to them, would insist on carrying you everywhere, bridal style of course, they could never be that barbaric with their love~ you need to have a bit of a bathroom break, you'd be already in their arms as they book for the nearest restroom

✦˚ most would have sensitive tits or for better phrasing, very sensitive nipples. absolutely loves when you 'suckle' at their pink bud, trying you're absolute hardest to milk them dry. would literally cum on the spot when only given a few hard nips

✦˚ 👏ser-👏vice👏tops, 👏soft👏doms, 👏ser-👏vice👏switches, the works. would treat you like their little princess/prince/baby, no degradation, always sicklingly sweet praises in your ear as their cock pushes at your spot over and over again, your back arching, your lovely moans and whimpers filling the room to his heart's content

✦˚ 👏ser-👏vice👏subs, their tongue dragging against your sex, nipping and grasing the expose skin, drinking up all that pre and the juices leaking from your slit, eyes in direct contact with yours, o' so hazed with lust, relishing in the fact that they are the only ones that could make you act, feel and be this way

✦˚ aftercare? 100 out of 10, literally nothing can beat it, sometimes dealing with their overly clingy attitude afterwards is so worth it. him scrubbing away at your skin so softly during baths, remedies of a warm tea with honey, and cuddles. whether you being the small spoon or big spoon, his touch and body are like literally pillows

[celestial-fucking-weeb]

WINTER WARMTH

__________________

Hi, everyone!! This is a part of the Citrus Dome Snowed In collab! I’m so thankful to be a part of this round and super grateful for @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten and @tomurasprincess for letting me be on the masterlist! I’m so excited, but I’m not super proud of this one, so please feel free to give feedback.

Masterlist Here!

Go see everyone’s super awesome fics and art pieces they worked so hard on!!

ART BY @brttpaige on Twitter🖤 Go check out her artwork, she’s fantastic!

Warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, AGED UP (mid twenties), fluff, insecurities, smut, body worship, chubby kink, marking (hickies), Papi kink

Pairing: Sero Hanta x reader

The local news station hailed it as “the storm of the century,” and they weren’t wrong. You’ve watched the snow pile up beyond the window, building from a light dusting on the grass to literal knee-high drifts. And it shows no sign of stopping.

The place you’re stranded is stocked up on groceries, you’d charged every electronic device to your name, and you’d cranked the thermostat as high as it would go until the inevitable happens —

The power goes out.

So now you’re stuck indoors, with only a certain someone for company. The same someone you’ve been pining after for ages. Snow stacks up higher and higher outside. As the cold seeps in, and you both drift closer, you realize this was somehow the one thing you hadn’t thought to prepare for…

The snow outside was pretty at first, but now with the doors and windows to your small cottage-type home half covered, it seemed almost oppressive. With the power outage, there was no television to drown out the quiet, only deafening silence and the movement of your new roommate, Sero Hanta.

It didn’t start this way, you hadn’t always obsessively paid attention to his mannerisms. At one point in time, he was just a hero working for the same agency you provided medical care for. You were just support staff, until a dumb villain thought you were “important” and kidnapped you, leaving the heroes you saw as coworkers to rescue you. After that, the agency wanted you to live in the adjacent apartments, but you refused. Magically, two days later, Sero Hanta approached you asking about your spare room under the guise of his lease running out. You thought it seemed a bit suspicious, particularly that this gorgeous man had “nowhere else to go”, meaning no significant other to take him in. Of course, you agreed, being a nice person and maybe bit naïve. He moved his stuff in, didn’t make much of a fuss, and mostly left you to your own devices. That is, until you noticed some... abnormalities. The lingering glances, the newly installed security cameras, the not-so-subtle ideas to spend time with you of having meals together or watching movies, making sure you’d eaten or slept... He cared too much. He was so perfect- gorgeous, tall, easygoing, had similar goals as a rescue hero, funny, and he cared. He cared for you, which made living with him so much harder. You found yourself enjoying nights with him, wanting to sit a little closer, wanting to impress him with new dishes to make for dinner, ditching your ex’s sweatpants for cute sleep shorts, relishing in fantasies of his protective nature and dominating stature with your hand between your thighs... You thought you were going to choke when he started walking around in only gray sweats or a towel after his shower. You tried your best to keep eye contact, not stick around too long, not encroach upon his comfort in his own house. You failed to notice the smirk on his face when you quickly excused yourself or when you turned away too fast after being caught staring.

Sero had originally taken this as an assignment, although he did have a bit of a crush on you from the times you’d patched him up after rough shifts. He thought of himself as your own personal hero, but that mindset soon turned into more than just an assignment. He was protective over you, and he found himself getting defensive if you even mentioned another guy. He had tried flirting within reason, just making dinners and watching movies, but he got cocky when he had walked past your door one night and heard your little whimpers. He decided to test his theory, wearing his sweats lower than he normally would and walking back to his room in a towel, and delighting in strolling past your room to hear your muffled moans and the vibrations of the toy you never used to use. You were getting desperate, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t boost his ego to hear his name through the walls. This, however, was NOT something he’d planned on.

Everything was fine, being stuck in the house together was nice, until the power went out. The heat somewhat remained in the house until night, when you curled up on the couch under every blanket you had and he layered on an extra hoodie and lounged next to you. He looked cold...

“H-Hey... Sero? Um... You look cold. Do you want a blanket?”

“Hmmm, but then wouldn’t you be cold too?” He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck.

“Well... Maybe... But that’s okay! You need to be warm too!!” God, you’re so sweet.

“I mean... You could always come over here, we can be warm together!” He stretches out his arm and beckons you over, inviting you to curl up next to him. You shift over, spreading the blankets over your roommate and hiding your blushing face under the pile of softness, keeping at least 3 inches of space between you before he rests his arm behind your head.

“Thanks, y/n, this is uh... nice!” He hides his disappointment at your perceived rejection, going back to look at his phone.

After 20 minutes of scrolling, you can’t take it anymore. He smells so good, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“I’M GONNA GO TO BED NOW. Uh, goodnight!” You basically shouted, too loud to be natural. You abruptly stood up before slightly shrinking from the frigid air. When did it get so cold in here?

“Hey, it’s really cold... We don’t really have a ton of blankets, and I’m worried you’re going to freeze, so maybe we could sleep in my room tonight? Just for, ya know... body heat?” He sounds nervous, like he expects you to freak out and reject him completely.

“Well... I-I guess that’s smart... You’re right. So... Let’s go?” Holy fuck, you are so nervous. You were originally escaping to your room like you normally do, too horny to continue hanging out with Sero and retain your sanity, but now you’re sleeping with him?! What the fuck are you thinking?!

He gathered the blankets and lead you into his room, holding the door for you before plopping down your nest of fabric. You stand awkwardly in the center of the room, waiting for something you have no idea what. Sero unceremoniously strips himself of his hoodies and sweats and climbs into bed, seemingly out of habit, before turning his attention to you and holding the blankets open.

“Are you coming?” He smirks, putting on a confused voice that doesn’t quite match the mischief in his eyes.

“I-...” FUCK, he’s beautiful. Lean muscles flexing with every movement, shaggy hair falling over his face, and holy... The tight black boxers are NOT helping the whole “too turned on to function” situation.

“Oh... Sorry, I read somewhere that skin-to-skin contact is better for warmth. You’d probably know better than me, I guess.” He grins, as though this entire thing is nonchalant and completely normal. “I can help you if you’d like~”

“Uh nope, yeah, you’re right!! I’ll uh just... Can you close your eyes?” You are panicking. Every insecurity you’ve ever had is coming to bite you in the ass. You’re suddenly hyper aware of how much space your body takes up, remembering everything those stupid bitches in high school said about you.

“Y/n, you’ve seen me in that skin tight hero suit and you’ve patched up most of my body. It’s totally fine! PLUS, you’re sleeping in my bed, am I gonna have to close my eyes the whole night??” He jokes, not knowing that your shyness isn’t rooted in principle, but fear. Upon seeing your face, his smile falters and he autocorrects, “You know, I think you’re beautiful, but if you want me to turn around, I promise I will.”

“No, it’s-it’s fine. It’s okay. Wait- did you just call me beautiful?” You try to cover your shocked expression as you take off your sweater and slide off your fuzzy pajama pants. Sero is thankful your head is stuck in your sweater as his jaw practically drops. Oh fuck, he’s screwed. His eyes follow your curves from your chest, down your sides, to the pouch of your tummy and the plump fullness of your thighs... If he thought he was having trouble focusing before, there’s no way there’s gonna be enough blood in his brain when you’re half naked next to him... Speaking of... Shit, he’s hard... Okay, it’s fine, just tuck it in your waistband like you did back in school...

You climb into bed as quickly as you can, still keeping a few inches between you and Sero until he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. You squeak in surprise and he chuckles, “You can’t be warm unless you’re over here! C’mere.” He nestles his face into your hair and splays a hand across the curve of your lower back. Feeling very naked and very nervous, you shift in his hold and snuggle closer to the heat he gives off, but halt your motions when you feel him twitch against your thigh. Neither of you are breathing, praying the other didn’t notice the rock hard length pressed between your bodies. Somehow, in the time you spent essentially playing dead, you both fell asleep cuddled together.

Over the course of the night, you had shifted to straddle your leg over his torso and he had turned on his back with his hand resting on the space between your thigh and your butt. Sero was the first to stir from his slumber when he felt you move against him, a small whine escaping your parted lips as your hips rolled against his. Oh... OH... Is y/n-? oh fuck y/n is dreaming... and grinding on me... fuck, this shouldn’t feel so good... He tries his hardest to go back to sleep, but the feeling of your sleeping body brushing up against his cock keeps him wide awake. He was trying to stay perfectly still until he heard your tiny whisper “Hanta~”... His hips involuntarily thrust, drawing out the most sinful moan from your throat as the head of his dick added friction on your clit that woke you up. You start to move away, embarrassed and hoping to check that he’s still asleep, but Sero’s grip tightens around your thigh and presses you harder onto him.

“Good morning to you, too~... If you needed my help getting off, you could’ve just asked, babygirl~” The lust and sleep clouding his voiced, combined with the steady roll of his hips makes you whimper and tuck your face into his neck.

“Awww so shy~ You were moaning my name earlier. Why don’t we see how loud I can make you, princess?” He speaks lowly as he flips you onto your back, hovering over you.

“I- I... Please.” You breathe wrapping your legs around his waist and stare up at him, wiggling your hips and sliding your hands up his biceps.

“Can I- Can I kiss you? Are you sure you want this? I’ve had feelings for you since before I moved in and I just... I never want to hurt you.” Cupping your cheek and searching your face for any hesitation, Sero starts succumbing to his own insecurities. He never wants to hurt you, and he knows he isn’t the flashy hero some of his friends seem to be... He needs to hear you say it.

“Sero... Yes~. I want you, please kiss me... I feel the same way. Please~...” Upon hearing your confession, Sero slotted his lips against yours. The kiss was sweet, gentle. Breathing each other in felt so right, so natural, and you followed his lead when he slid his hold to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. His hand drifted down, following the curve of your breasts, tracing your sides and resting on the pouch of your tummy. Just as you were starting to feel self conscious, Sero groans and moves to kiss your neck, mumbling “You’re so beautiful, y/n. Fuck, so perfect. You feel so soft, I need you so bad~” The whimper he draws from you when he sucks a deep mark into the column of your throat is absolutely lewd, you can barely believe it came from you. He kisses his way down your body, leaving hickies along your skin and squeezing every inch he can get his hands on. You look down at him, his eyes dark with lust and admiration as he leaves opened mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, making you more needy than you thought possible. He strokes his thumb along your clothed slit and moans at your wetness.

“Fuck- you’re so wet for me, angel. I want to taste you, you’re so cute like this. Let’s take these off, yeah?” He looks to you and hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties, asking for permission and grinning like an idiot when you lift your hips to help him. Before you can say anything, he’s prying your legs open and diving in, moaning as he laps your slit and sucks your clit into his mouth. You run your fingers through his hair and grip him, pulling him into you and grinding against his face. His groans send vibrations straight to your core, pinning your hips with one arm and sliding two fingers into your dripping cunt.

“M-more!! Oh god, please Sero, just like that- I want more!” You moan so prettily for him, but he wants something more. He releases your clit with a pop and leans up, stilling his fingers inside you and wrapping his free hand around your neck. The pressure and dominance has you clenching around his fingers, and he takes notice.

“You either call me Hanta or Papi, nothing else. You understand? I want you to say my name when you cum.” He commands, and sends a shiver down your spine. “Oh you like that, huh?~ I can feel you squeezing my fingers. Why don’t you tell me what you want, baby?~”

Your brain goes hazy when he leans in and places little love bites on your neck and collarbones. “PAPI~! Yes, I love it! Please fuck me, I want to feel you, I need moreee~” You pant as he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you unbearably empty.

“Oh baby, I’ll fill you up, don’t worry. But first, why don’t you suck my cock?~” He strips himself of his boxers and flips the two of you, pulling you on top of him. He’s so long, just thick enough to stretch you and reach every amazing spot inside of you. The sight of his hard length has you drooling, anticipating feeling the weight of him on your tongue. You give the head a few kitten licks, relishing in the way he groans and twitches in your hand. He laces his fingers at the base of your head and lets you set your own pace, wrapping your plush lips around him. Bobbing your head up and down, running your tongue along the vein on the underside of his dick and swirling it around the head- you love seeing his reactions. The way his breathing increases and his hips buck when you hollow your cheeks. He looks so pretty like this, you can’t help but rub your thighs together for some kind of friction. Luckily, he notices how desperate you’ve gotten and pulls you up to straddle him with one hand still on your hair and the other gripping your hip, calloused fingers digging in and massaging the fat there.

“As much as I want to cum in that perfect little mouth, I think my baby needs to be filled, yeah?” He fists his cock and strokes the head through your wetness, gathering your slick and making you involuntarily grind against him. “Beg for my cock, babygirl~, tell Papi what you want.” The smirk on his face is utterly sinful, teasing you and enjoying the fucked out expression on your beautiful face.

“PLEASE I want your cock, I wanna be full, just fuck me already!!! Please stop teasing me Hantaaa~” Just as you grind your hips down onto him, he thrusts into you, cutting off your pleading with a needy moan. “Ah~ fuck- so full, so full, oh my god! Yes Papi~!”

“Oh shit angel, fuck- you feel so good.” Hanta grabs your hips and helps you slowly fuck yourself on him, “Just like that, baby, just like that. Ride my fucking cock. Fuck- you’re so tight...”

The dirty talk pouring out of Hanta’s mouth, combined with the stretch of his hot length stirring up your insides, you find yourself embarrassingly close to climax already. Your first orgasm hits you like a train, completely knocking the air out of your lungs and causing you to collapse onto Hanta’s chest. He seizes the opportunity to flip the two of you, holding you underneath him and fucking you into the mattress.

“Ah ah ahhhhh~ Hantaaa~ I can’t! I can’t, I just came, it’s too much!!! oh FUCK Papi!!!” You feel the tears welling up in your eyes from the overstimulation and pleasure.

“Yes you can, babygirl. You’re taking me so well, you’re such a good girl. I know you love it, I can feel your pussy flutter around me. So honest, angel. You’re so perfect like this- fuck.” Hanta grips the back of your thighs and pushes your knees to the bed, hitting even deeper within you. The head of his cock kisses your cervix with every thrust and makes you scream out, nails digging into his back, and egging him on.

“Come on, mi amor, cum with me. I know you can, I can tell you’re so fucking close... Cum on my cock, that’s right. Cum for me.” His long fingers reach down and rub quick circles on your clit. He leans in to sink his teeth into the junction of your neck and your shoulder, sending you over the edge into your climax. Your vision goes white and you clamp down around him, cunt spasming as you squirt all over his thighs and abs.

“F-fuck!!! That’s so fucking hot~ I’m gonna- Ah~” He fills you to the brim with his sticky release, the warmth spreading through your core and coating your walls. Hanta releases your legs and lays on top of you, sweaty bodies pressed together until he comes down from his high.

“That was so amazing, angel. You were so good for me. Such a pretty baby, all mine...” He pulls back to kiss your temple and rolls over, petting your hair and lightly scratching your back.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me... I always want to be yours.” You giggle, bubbly at his claim on you and still buzzing from your high. You curl up into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him close. “Mine.”

“Mmhmm, all yours.” He breathes a chuckle and places a kiss to your hairline. “I’m glad I can warm you up, lovebug.” He smiles as your breathing evens out, falling asleep with you in his arms.

[aquilaofarkham]

title: mishpachah rating: T+ word count: 3,085 summary: Five years after rebuilding the manor—and the birth of a new Belmont into the world—Trevor decides to share an old recipe with his newfound family.

For @fibulaa 💛  Thanks so much for commissioning me!

READ HERE

The first bread Trevor Belmont ate while living his newly orphaned vagabond life was so dry it cut at the inner walls of his throat. He swallowed each bite with grimace after grimace, knowing that despite the pain, the already hardened child of thirteen could stave off starvation for a little while longer. Until he tasted the faintest tinge of copper on his ruined tongue.

Putting those years far behind, he now stands in front of a wooden counter, blurry eyed and with a yawn reminiscent of a sun drunk cat. It seems clean at first glance but in every corner Trevor notices fragments of past meals which he tried wiping away once they were finished and placed on a more pristine table meant for family. Bits of salt, half minced vegetables, and crumbs of bread much softer than the ones belonging to a later childhood he would rather forget. This kitchen, warm in its early morning sunlight, was the final instalment of the manor, newly risen from the ashes. Or rather, simply rebuilt thanks to the calloused, blistered, and splintered hands. No more ruined stone, no more fire blackened beams holding together little less than an architectural skeleton. The somewhat mirror image of Trevor’s lost home has been faring better than the castle. Too many memories, fresh, ranging from bitter to incomprehensible.

Slowly, he grows conscious of his surroundings and his own self. A continuing habit of being the first to wake not just in this manor hold but in life. Reluctantly opening his eyes prior to dawn covering the landscape while still traveling alone only to drag a pair of worn boots back along a similar muddy road. Trevor never wanted to wake up before the sun. He just couldn’t bear to stay in the same place for much longer whether due to the laundry list of dangers or more often than not, his newfound hatred of whichever backwater hamlet he unfortunately found himself in.

He’s happy to wake up early. Happy to never feel a need to leave or escape, happy to know that lack of food replaced with pints of liquid pleasure mixed with death will never plague him again. Happy to prepare breakfast in a hot iron pot over a well stoked fire. What he thought he lost forever has come back, along with new additions to the family he’s carved out.

Another presence bounds her way into the kitchen and ambushes Trevor from behind. He’s not old—not yet, he’ll give it time—but years of drinking have made their permanent stay, dulling the more acute senses. Makes it easier for a five-year-old to catch him off guard. Trevor’s eyes bolt open as tiny arms hold him in a tight cage.

“Good morning, papa!”

His ears ring at the sound of Mirele’s loud voice, but at least he won’t have to worry about nodding off. He stares down at the youngest Belmont who looks as though someone had split Trevor and Sypha straight down their centres into four pieces and sewed each differing half onto the other in order to create a new person. A homunculi of messy dark chocolate hair, bright eyes shining with blue ice, full rosy cheeks somehow conspicuously smeared with some sort of dirt or jam, and enough energy to wear out an electric powered jackrabbit. 

“How’s my little monster doing this morning?” Everything Trevor says is laced with his own personal touch of affection and Mirele loves it.

“Mama and papa are still asleep. Help me wake them up! Pleaseeee?”

This doesn’t surprise him; Sypha has always preferred to savour her last moments of sleep longer than normal and Alucard is… well, Alucard.

“Tell you what.” Trevor places a lid onto the simmering pot with a heavy clank. “While this heats up for our breakfast, we’ll go wake up those lazy bones.”

“Right!” Hand in smaller hand, the two make their way upstairs into the shadowy master bedchamber. Curtains drawn with only a sliver of light cutting its singular path across the floor and over two distinct lumps covered by blankets and furs. They seem conjoined, linked in each other’s arms, unaware that a third party has been missing for long enough. Mirele plunges into the room first, jumping onto the bed as all children do when parents refuse to join the land of the conscious. She playfully shoves and cuddles her way between the two bodies who sink deeper beneath the covers, lazily moaning like ghosts.

“Mama! Papa! Wake up! It’s time to get up!”

Trevor hopes that his tactic of throwing open the weighted curtains works in a more effective manner. Listening to the rising chorus of wordless protests coming from behind, he’s pleased with the results. “Never thought I would be the one setting a good example for our daughter.”

“Do not get cheeky, especially this early.” Sypha’s response spills out like running water. It’s clear her mind isn’t quite all there yet. But she can scoop Mirele into her arms, find every ticklish spot, and illicit giggles that only canines might hear. “At least we both know how to have fun, right my sweet?”

“Vampires… nocturnal…” A deeper, muffled voice emerges from under one of the pillows.

“Something you’d like to share with us, Alucard?” Trevor quips, amused at how the other father of the household can never seem to shake off his morning dishevelment. Perhaps sleeping in a coffin would help—a very large one so he doesn’t have to be alone. Alucard reluctantly removes the pillow as tangled heaps of gold fall over his face.

“Vampires are supposed to be nocturnal. Would you rather I burst into ashes upon contact with the sun? Think of our girls, Trevor.”

“We’ve all seen you in the sun before, it’s about as dangerous as a clove of garlic.”

“I have my own means of physical protection. Far beyond your measly human comprehension, love.”

“Personally, I’ve been able to comprehend you plenty.”

Mirele stares up at Sypha, her bushy brows furrowed. “What does… comp… sshhheshion mean?”

“It’s just another word your fathers use whenever either of them want to feel smart.” 

Alucard gives Sypha a gentle pinch on either side of her abdomen. “I thought you were on my side.”

“What about my side?” Trevor asks, excelling at the greatest strength he possesses—the ability to never take anything seriously, only when he must.

“I’m hungry,” Mirele speaks up. “Hungry and bored. Can we eat now?”

--

This life is not normal, but then again it is. It always has been for them. Normal once meant coming together because of violence, encroaching darkness, and some flimsy prophecy stringing them along one dead body at a time. A prophecy which never said what had to be done after they followed it to the hard earned letter. Perhaps that’s why Trevor, Sypha, and Alucard floundered afterwards. No instruction on how to live their upturned lives.

Fuck prophecy.

They made this life by their own standards and in accordance with their own desires. They loved how they wanted to love and no prophecy could have foreseen Mirele. How she calls for her father while both Trevor and Alucard turn their heads at the same exact second. How she quickly calms herself when presented with a bowl of warm oatmeal drowning in honey and wild fruits hand plucked from the surrounding forest. But it’s not enough. Nothing ever is for someone always growing, always wanting more from life at such a young age.

“Can I have bread?”

Trevor, half way through his bitter coffee, turns to Sypha then Alucard as all three parental figures exchange glances. They haven’t the heart to tell Mirele. No bread at the ready, only the necessary ingredients and a considerable amount of flour bags to blanket Enisala. There’s the option of making it themselves, yet it depends on a certain someone’s capacity for patience.

“How do you feel about baking our own?” Trevor’s voice wavers, which he tries to mask with his characteristic dry tone. It’s been a long time since he’s made bread. Then again, helping the manor cooks was a somewhat selfish endeavour as it meant extra servings for the baby of the Belmonts. Yet his proposal goes over well with Mirele, whose inherited eyes light up at the prospect of trying something new.

“I wanna make bread! Can we? Can we please?”

“When was the last time you baked anything, Trevor?” Alucard asks, genuinely curious and with a healthy dose of skepticism. “You still won’t tell us much about anything concerning your former life, let alone the sort of foods your family ate.”

Trevor feels a twinge in his gut—still better than a punch. His two lovers, even his daughter, they only know of his mother; a matriarch in her own right. They know her name, the monsters she killed, and not much else. Trevor’s excuses: he doesn’t remember anything about her, despite the fact that he does. He didn’t know her for very long or very well, so there’s no point in missing her. Trevor did know Sonia and he does miss her, sometimes more than he can handle. Then the easiest excuse: it’s just another self-preservation tactic.

Out of this inner reflection comes an idea. It breaks tradition in a way. For the Belmonts and other Jewish families, everything is passed down through the mother—recipes, forms of worship, blood memories, centuries old tactics of bruising one’s knuckles and temples. Trevor doesn’t think this slight deviation from his culture’s norm will make him any less of what he’s always been. Mirele will simply have to pick up where he left off when she’s grown.

He doesn’t want to think about that now. She’s only five after all. One lesson at a time. 

“Alright. Gather round, pupils. The bread we’re making isn’t just any bread. Forget everything you know and everything you’ve been taught because this will be the closest thing to heaven you’ll ever taste.”

“How dramatic…” Sypha mutters under her breath. Alucard joins her amusement with a subdued chuckle. 

“I believe you were partially his influence.”

Trevor knows how much trouble he’ll be in if he puts Mirele through the most agonizing cruelty of waiting a second longer than necessary. Fearful of her pint-sized wrath, he gives everyone the order to start gathering ingredients: flour, eggs, honey, and some indulgent herbs to make this particular bread something special. As much of a strategic leader in the kitchen as he is when the world is coming to an end. With everything spread out on the countertops, Trevor guides his family step by step through the only recipe he remembers. He calls this bread “challah”, which Mirele immediately strains her freshly green vocal chords, trying to pronounce the word exactly as her father does. She quickly gives up and focuses on mixing the ingredients with an intense look—almost to a fault as bits of sloppy dough fly out of the bowl. Good. This enthusiasm is what Trevor wants to see.

Kneaded and allowed time to rise, the next step is the most important. Trevor divides the dough into four halves, then again, and again until each participant has their own handful of raw unbaked strips. 

“We have to braid them?” Mirele asks following his explanation. 

“That’s right. It’s what makes this bread different from all the rest.”

“Just like when papa let’s me braid his pretty hair!”

Every pair of eyes turns to Alucard, whose smile widens in that way which causes his eyes to shut tightly. Fangs happily bared as he pulls Mirele into his flour and dough covered arms while she giggles in delight. After they all return to work, her loaf turns out the same way as the braids she gives to him—lopsided, uneven, lacking a few outsticking stray hairs, but filled with affection and genuine resolve.

Three loaves are placed into the oven, including a fourth crudely constructed but still adequately done piece. Mirele is now more willing to play the waiting game—so she claims. Sitting in front of the oven while staring directly into its insides, utterly fascinated, oblivious to her surroundings. Unaware that her three parents are whispering behind her back. Eventually, Sypha has to gently pull her away with her bottom dragging along the kitchen floor.

“How about you and I do something a little more interesting while your fathers keep watch over things.”

“But what about the c… the calla!”

“Don’t worry, they will look after it. And we are not going far, my sweet.”

“We’ll make sure nothing burns down.” Trevor assures, despite it being Sypha who usually revels in cinders and ashes, intentionally or not.

The two retreat down the corridor past diamond shaped stained windows and into one of the manor’s smaller libraries where the cabinets reach the high ceiling painted in deep blue hues. Scattered from corner to corner are constellations of stars and midnight clouds obscuring each phase of the moon. Once when Alucard found Mirele curiously asleep atop a number of pillows when she should have been in her own bed, it was his decision to paint the library in new colours. Sypha moves aside an entire shelf of thick volumes as though trying to find a carefully hidden switch that will lead them into a secret chamber. It’s what Mirele hopes but turns mildly disappointed when the books do not in fact magically shift to reveal a stone passageway. Her soured anticipation is only countered when Sypha places a box on the desk.

“Can you guess what’s inside?”

“Is it treasure?”

“Close! You are almost right.” Sypha opens the lid just as Pandora did except there are no horrors, no evils to be wrought upon humanity. Mirele peeks inside and her eyes shine with the glistening silver of trinkets, pendants, and talismans. She resists the innate urge to reach her hands, still white with flour, into the box only to briefly experience the sensation of holding one between her fingers. Even children know when something is sacred.

“These belonged to your grandparents. They used them for protection and strength. A long time ago, before you were born, their home burned down and everything was destroyed.”

“Papa’s home?”

Sypha nods, grateful that this story now has its happy ending, slight as it may be. “However, when your other father started building the manor we live in, he found this box trapped amongst all the rubble. It managed to survive.”

“What do they say?”

Mirele points to one pendant molded in the shape of a sword. Inscribed along the curve of its ash-riddled blade are the Hebrew names of angels which must have been muttered by Sonia or Gabriel. The longer Mirele stares, attempting to decipher yet another new language, the brighter her cheeks grow red with frustration. Her mother acts quick just as her eyes begin to water. 

“It’s alright if you don’t understand what any of them say.”

“I can learn! Please, mama? I promise I’ll study really hard!”

Sypha’s lips curl as Mirele continues her begging. Oh the mind of a child. How quickly it changes.

--

The kitchen feels hotter, wafting through the air. Enveloping the room and everything caught between its walls. Trevor stands by the oven, a thick cloth ready in his hand. It shouldn’t take much longer. At least there’s no stench of something burning. Almost makes him pine for the days of his family’s massive stone oven and how he would sneak around at night and pick out leftover morsels from inside like an insatiable mouse. Not unlike the actual beasts which he hunted throughout the hallways before moving onto larger prey typical of a Belmonts’ work—or as large as his own runtish body mass could handle.

Minutes of quiet pass, still eyeing the loaves with a keen gaze. Trevor’s concentration soon broken by the feeling of two arms wrapping around his softening yet still robust midsection. Slow and careful, until his back is pressed against an equally broad chest.

“Can I help you?” He asks as Alucard buries his face into the curvature of his shoulder blades.

“You’re already helping.” The dhampir, unchanging in his physical appearance (a revelation both Trevor and Sypha refuse to acknowledge for the time being), tightens his embrace.

“Something wrong?”

“No… I just enjoy feeling how much softer and warmer you’ve become.”

Trevor’s cheeks blush ever so pinker and not because of the oven’s heat. By now he should be used to Alucard’s sudden bouts of outward affection.

“You even smell better.”

There it is. Trevor thought he would be waiting forever to hear that little jab, though said with nothing but a good heart.

“That might be the herbs you’re smelling.”

Alucard shifts around so that the two of them are side by side, cheek to cheek, as he chuckles in Trevor’s ear. “Come here.”

He doesn’t offer a kiss, not where Trevor was expecting. Instead of his lips, Alucard singles out every patch of stray flour on his face, kissing, wiping, even licking them clean. Cheek, jawline, and nose. Trevor’s expression twists into a ticklish, surprisingly delighted facade. 

“You’re a half vampire, not a cat.”

“Better to clean you now than later.”

“Always so fucking odd…”

“You love it.”

Much to his lucky stars, Trevor manages one curse mere seconds before Sypha and Mirele return. They let their daughter speak at a breakneck speed neither one can fully comprehend—something about silver pieces and whether they can teach her a new language—until one series of questions finally sticks.

“Is the bread ready yet? Can we eat it now? Can we please?”

Trevor placates Mirele by revealing the fruits of their joint hard earned labour: four freshly baked and perfectly shined challah loaves each representative of whoever did the braiding. She bounces in her chair before simmering down to an excited tremble once Trevor warns her of how they need to cool. In order to make this more of a meal, he rummages about in search of two other beacons from his childhood. He’s rewarded with one of the few fresh apples they have left while Sypha, ever in tune with his inner thoughts, grabs another small pot of honey for him.

Trevor thanks her by gently running his palm across her lower abdomen, over the growing bump. He keeps it there for just a second longer, a subtle gesture of love noticed by Sypha. Fingertips intertwined with each other, they join Alucard and Mirele at the table as the midday sun shines golden through the windows.

[babybottlepop96]

Basement (Levi Ackerman)18+ Only

Summary: Levi saves you from an abusive Ex.

Warnings: Abusive relationship, Yandereish situations, graphic depictions of blood, death, murder, weapon use

This is for @welcometotheclubhoe ‘s all around the world collab

A/N: Thank you for letting me apart of this and thank you @spellcasterlight for beta reading this!

WC:1584 "I did this for you." He spoke, his hand trailing down your red, tear soaked cheeks. His thumb lightly running along your bottom lip, swollen and bruised from his insistent kisses. 

"But why?" You managed to choke out, throat raw from crying.

"I love you and he wasn't good for you, (y/n)!" His voice rising in anger from just the thought of your abusive boyfriend.

~~~

You cowered in the bathroom after another fight with your boyfriend, Erwin. You had approached him, yet again, about his drinking habit. Missing the days before he lost his business, the days where he would take you out every weekend to either dance or have a romantic dinner. The days where you would cuddle on the couch and watch the worst B rated horror movies you could find. The nights where your bodies were covered in a sheet of glistening sweat, chest heaving as he hovers above you, eyes looking at you with admiration as you both cling to each other, thrusting against one another with silent words of love and praise.

Those are the days you wanted back, those are the days you once lived for.

But everything changed that night, things were broken, the picture of the two of you on your one year anniversary now laid shattered on the hardwood floor. Harsh words hissed towards you, “You inconsiderable bitch! Don’t you care that my life is ruined?! You have no right to say anything!” Ribs were bruised as his foot collided against your side, sending an agonizing pain throughout your trembling body as you held yourself, desperate to hold back the vomit that threatened to expel from your mouth. You went to the only person you knew you could talk to, the only person who knew Erwin better than you did, Levi. Levi had been best friends with Erwin since they were wearing diapers, Levi knew Erwin like he knew the best tea shops and cleaning supplies in town. They were basically brothers and Levi was furious at Erwin for treating you the way he had, but you made Levi, you begged Levi, to not do anything or say a word about this. Levi reluctantly agreed, having been harboring feelings for you for years now. But he was furious at himself for introducing you to his best friend when he wanted you for himself. Besides, he trusted Erwin then, he was sure Erwin would've been the most amazing person for you, but now? All he wanted to do was put his best friend six feet under in an unmarked grave. 

Every night from then on, you called Levi, crying. Crying about the words Erwin would say to you, calling you pathetic and worthless. Crying about how every night you would worry yourself about his whereabouts just for him to come home, reeking of alcohol, hitting you when you tried to voice your concerns. Crying about how much you missed the old Erwin, how much you wanted that Erwin back. How you still loved him even though he gave you every reason to hate him.

Levi listened, his own heart aching for you. His mind tells you to run away to be with him. He voiced that once, offering you to stay with him, to escape from the toxic environment that you once felt safe in. Somewhere far away, away from the heartache that was Erwin Smith. But you refused, adamant on staying, believing that you and only you could bring the old Erwin back. It broke Levi's heart that night. It tore his heart in two hearing how you still wanted to be with a man who abused you emotionally, mentally and physically. 

And then that fateful night happened, the night where Levi got a call from you, voice barely above a whisper. "Levi? Levi! Please! Please help me! I'm so scared!" You quietly sobbed into the phone, Levi already out the door, keys in his hand.

When Levi had to resort to kicking the front door of your shared home with Erwin down, he knew things were going to be bad. He heard Erwin yelling down the hall and made his way there, finding him yelling and pounding away at the bathroom door. Your sobs coming through the splintering wood between each hard pound. Erwin's knuckles were bloodied, whether it was his own or yours, Levi didn't care. You were scared and he was going to save you. 

Levi tried to calm Erwin down, he really did, but once Erwin brandished the kitchen knife he had in his other hand and made a dash for Levi, he had no choice. He drew his gun and before anyone had time to react, before Levi himself had time to think,  it went off, hitting his best friend right in the chest with impeccable accuracy. He collapsed on the floor, holding the wound in his hand as he drowned in his own blood. The blonde gurgling on the thick, sticky liquid was the only sound filling the home before he took his last breath, collapsing on the floor in a puddle of his own red fluids.

You opened the door a few seconds later and screamed as your boyfriend’s blood continued to pool around his cold lifeless body. Crawling over to him, you placed his head in your lap, angrily looking at Levi as tears streamed down your cheeks. 

Levi had to forcibly remove you from the floor, leaving Erwin's now limp and lifeless body on the floor, taking you back to his place. 

~~~

"You… you did all this," motioning around the room under his home. The basement that he had spent countless hours cleaning and disinfecting, de-bugging, just for you. The room he filled with your favorite colors and small knick-knacks he thought you would like, stuffed animals on a queen sized bed and movies filled the tall, dark brown shelves he installed. Just for you. "You killed Erwin, my boyfriend, your best friend, your brother, just for me?" You were so confused, between knowing Erwin was no longer the man you loved and still loving him even through all the shit he put you through, you didn't know how to react. 

You were angry at Levi, he killed the only guy you really seemed to love, but you were also thankful for him. He saved you from a quest you could not complete because the old Erwin was already too far gone to be saved. 

"You're safe now, (y/n)." Levi spoke gently to you. You looked up at the man who seemed to show no sign of remorse for killing his lifelong friend, but instead his eyes showed worry, concern and love for you. You're all he has ever wanted and now he has you. He was a killer, but he was your hero. Saved you from Erwin and yourself because you knew you would have never had the balls to leave him.

You flung yourself onto Levi, knocking the two of you back onto the freshly cleaned carpet underneath. Your lips met his in a wet, sloppy kiss. Coming together like two missing pieces of a puzzle, not even the events of what had just happened minutes before could ruin what was happening. Levi gripped the back of your head and the back of your shirt, pulling you impossibly closer to him as he kissed back. Your hands gripped the front of his ironed white shirt, now wrinkled and stained with blood of your deceased boyfriend. This felt so terribly wrong, kissing the man who killed Erwin, his best friend, but nothing has ever felt so right either. Levi was always the one you ran to when Erwin was hurting you, Levi was the one who offered to take you away from the abusive relationship, Levi was the one who saved you. Levi saved you, he would've died for you, he killed for you. Maybe it was Levi all along, the one who you should've been with. The one who you should've chosen since the beginning, someone whom you had a small crush on when you first met him but decided on the blonde instead.

You pulled away from Levi, looking straight into his steel grey eyes. "I was wrong." You whispered just centimeters from his lips.

"What are you talking about?" He asked as he caressed your cheeks.

"I was wrong for choosing Erwin. It should've been you, it was always you Levi. I was just too blinded by my own heart to see you, right in front of me, the whole damn time. I'm so sorry." Levi then brought you in for another passionate kiss, flipping you over and running hands up and down your sides. 

"I love you, (y/n)." He said as he started to nip at your neck, nimble fingers swiftly lifting your shirt over your head.

"I… I love you too, Levi." You repeated his action and took his shirt off, running your fingers over his toned stomach, tracing scars from childhood and sport related injuries. "There is nowhere that I'd rather be than with you, right here, right now. Even if we had to stay in this basement for the rest of our lives, I don't think I could ever be happier."

So you and Levi spent the next few hours in that basement, the basement where you found yourself in love with the man who saved you, even if that same man was now a killer. He was yours and you now belonged to him.

[neovisioned]

♡ꜜ lipstick stain﹫jaemin na

she looks so perfect - 5 seconds of summer

pairing : jaemin x reader (f)

genre : smut with little plot, roommate!jaemin, college!au. 

warnings : solo masturbation.

word count : +2,5k

synopsis : you leave lip stick stains on your roommate Jaemin’s skin before leaving for the night and he can’t help himself and his hidden feelings.  or : “your lipstick stain is a work of art, i got your name tattooed in an arrow heart.” 

“Y/N, what are you doing ?”, Jaemin wonders out loud, a small laugh coming out of his lips after taking your expression in. Resting the controller of his PlayStation 4 on his thigh, covered by his light grey sweatpants, your roommate lets his eyes wonder up to you as his game loads on the screen of your shared television. From his spot on the couch of your apartment, he was watching you carefully tap your index on your lower lip, before examining your fingertip with a bit too much curiosity.

“I need to see if my lipstick is going to stay through the night, Jaems.”, you explain like it’s obvious, eyes still on your reflection in the entrance’s mirror. Tapping once again your finger on your bottom lip, you slowly check the makeup you flawlessly applied to your features moments prior. You were going out tonight. Any other night, you would probably go out with your beloved roommate but, you were seeing old high school friends. A reunion organized by teachers you barely kept in contact with and, you unfortunately wouldn’t bring the pink haired man with you. You have to say, you wish you could have him with you. The dress you’re wearing hugs your body, your makeup is flawless if it is not for the said lipstick. You know your presence alone will be able to take some people’s breaths away just like it took your roommate’s. But, having Jaemin with you would’ve sealed the deal. Maybe it was a bit childish, wanting to make people jealous. Can you blame yourself ? You were the first to gush over your roommate’s looks and melt at his sweet and gentleman-like personality. Let’s say he isn’t helping you at all at this very moment, legs spread wide, he isn’t wearing a shirt, abdomen on full display.

“Is that the one you got last week ?”, asks the tallest, eyes quickly going back from his game to your figure. The theme song of The Last of Us Part Two plays in the background, the young man’s eyes get stuck on your exposed neck for a bit too long. Brushing your hair with one hand, you use the other to apply some perfume to the base of your neck. Jaemin has to say, you look good every day of the week, every hour of the day. You look ravishing when you two go out every now and then but, it’s clear you decided to make a lot more today. He couldn’t complain, having a roommate like this but God, he wishes he could come with you at this reunion, make sure everyone understands you’re bound to be his. You hum at his question, unaware of his racing thoughts, remembering the day you dragged him to some makeup store, right after getting your paycheck. Fortunately, he didn’t complain, or maybe you just didn’t listen to his desperate sighs. Regardless, he helped you pick a color, he thought would go well with you after some minutes of thinking in front of the large display.

“Why don’t you just do the thing you do with your hand.”, he asks gesturing to the top of his hand. You and Jaemin decided to live together at the beginning of university and, after some years, he caught on to some things. Like how you had the habit of placing your lips on the back of your hand to check if any product would transfer on your skin. He had a good point, you would. But, you were too lazy to wash your hand after, your nails were freshly painted and you were running late.

“Ugh, I’m too lazy to wash my hand after. We’re also out of tissues.”, you sigh, eyebrows raised. Jaemin was the one who finished the roll and didn’t even think about buying a new one. Looking at the watch adoring your wrist, you quietly smack your lips together, hoping the lipstick wouldn’t leave a mark on the cups and straws at the reunion. You had a…weird hatred for lipstick stains.   Jaemin laughs a bit at your antics, leaving his controller on the side. Getting up, he doesn’t hesitate to stand right next to you. Extremely underdressed, he pushes your shoulder with his, checking his own appearance in the mirror. The pink haired man loves annoying you a little bit every now and then.

For a split second, you look over at your friend in the mirror. “We’d look good together”, you think to yourself but, you have to brush the thought away in a flash. See, for the past months, you stopped seeing Jaemin as a friend. And you hated it. You hated how whenever the two of you would cuddle in front of a movie, you’d wish he wouldn’t let go of the embrace to walk to his own, separate room. You started hating the way he’d sing while doing the dishes and while taking a shower. You wanted more and yet, couldn’t see yourself bring the subject up.

“Do it here, we’ll see if it leaves a stain.”, your roommate proposes, taking you out of your thoughts. His finger points at his slightly rounded cheek. Worst thing is, it isn’t the first time that the pink haired allowed you to test your lipsticks on him, he probably knew you were dying to test this one on him too. It happened one time where you were on a rush for work, no tissues or anything else to place your lips on and take the excess product out. Jaemin didn’t mind having a stain as he didn’t have class this morning, he could wash off properly right after and, he gained the guinea pig title. You don’t think twice, grabbing your roommate’s chin between your fingers. Under your touch, Jaemin faces you, angelic face too close to your own. He doesn’t seem to mind either, innocently blinking. There’s a small sigh coming from your lips, one Jaemin doesn’t bring up, like you can’t believe you’re doing this to your crush. You’ve faced it, the growing feeling, blooming butterflies whenever the man would look down at you, whenever he’d smile at one of your jokes. Your lips quickly find his cheek in a loud kiss, a dramatic “mwah” to dedramatize. They trail down without you understanding or processing your actions, placing your lips on his jaw and right under the sharp bone as he willingly tilts his head.  

“Oh, that’s a lot...!”, you notice out loud, brushing your actions off, eyebrows furrowed. A mark of your lips was clearly visible of his cheek, another one on the sharp jawline, and the last one in the middle of his neck. Faded, sure, but still clearly visible. “I’m taking it with me, will probably have to do some touch ups, y’know.”, you mumble quickly, grabbing the lipstick before throwing it in your purse. Get out, quick. Jaemin’s eyes are glued on the mirror, not daring to look at you. Pupils blowing a little wider, they expend a bit more at each new stain discovered. His lips are dry, he noticed. Poking his pink tongue out to wet his bottom lip, he slowly parts them, a feeling he knows too well growing in his stomach.

Biting softly on his chest, he nods as he hears you saying something about time and some teacher you’re excited to see. The pink haired doesn’t pay attention, a finger coming to touch the stain on his neck, cheek growing the same color as his locks.  Why was he so…turned on by such a simple thing ? Was it the stains, or you ? Probably both ? The marks, proofs of your lips on his skin, he wonders what they’d look like lower, lower. His pants grow tighter, the poor thing has to move to the side and hopefully hide the print on the grey fabric. The heat travels down to his chest, coloring the smooth skin there. His breath gets caught in his throat for a second and he has to clear it to hide the fact, wrapping his wondering hand around his upper arm. It’s aching to wrap around his growing length, release the tension growing, but his line of thoughts gets cut by the loud sound of the front door closing behind him. He didn’t even hear you saying good bye, he doesn’t even know when you’re coming back but all of this, are second thoughts.

His breath grows uneven as he looks around the now empty apartment. When the thought finally registers in this foggy brain, he quickly walks towards his room, the theme song of his game still playing.   He doesn’t care to close his door, leaving it slightly open. He can not believe he’s already semi-hard, the young man will never understand the affect you have on him. His mind, his body, it all reacts too quickly to anything you do. From the way you make playlists for his showers and manage to always bend down for the washing machine just at the right moment for him to see by the opened door of the kitchen. Sitting on the edge of his bed, the mattress sinks down under his weight, Jaemin faces the mirror installed right in front of him. Giving him a full view of his body, Jaemin leans back on his hand, his free one wondering on the smooth skin of his chest. With the huge mirror, it was even better. He could clearly see the three marks along his cheek and neck, the last one almost looking like a fading hickey. Oh, how his imagination could wonder so far, so quickly. The young man’s mouth falls slightly agape at how good the color looks on his skin, contrasting with his epiderma. Veiny hand goes down to his bulge, feeling his semi length through the fabric of his pants. His digits wrap around the base, sighing as he teased himself like he knows you’d do too.  Lips reddened by his relentless biting, glittering with a coat of saliva, Jaemin’s hand grabs his sheet as the other sneaked beneath the fabric of his sweatpants. Finally giving himself some skin to skin contact he was craving for, though he wishes it was someone else’s.  A sigh of relief leaves the pink haired’s lips when he feel his rough hand wrapping around his base, tinted lock falling in front of his dark eyes. His dick feels heavy in his hand, a vein pumping at the side. Ever so slowly, his hand moves up, and down. Drawing the pleasure out, his thumb wipes the small pearl of precum threatening to fall. He uses it for smoother movements, lewd sounds echoing in his room. Mind blurred, focused on the ounce of pleasure he was giving himself, he tilts his head to the side. Jaemin was trying his hardest not to close his eyes, he wanted to see the marks and his skin. He was feeding off of them, letting the most perverted side of his brain make whatever he could up in his daze. A pleased sigh leaves his lips the moment he fully pumps his shaft up and down. They grow faster, pleasure taking over his body, sweat gathering at his hairline and soon enough, he was pushing the hem of his pants down. Entirely exposing himself, his imagination was out of control. He wasn’t picturing his hand, rather yours. Petite compared to his, wrapping around his thick shaft, Jaemin wondered what you’d look like, on your knees in front of him. He knows you’d let your tongue drag up his length just like when you catch a drop of melted ice cream. A grown leaves his lips when he vividly pictures your mouth around him and deep down he knows, he knows you’d beg him to fuck you in front of this very mirror. The sound of skin fills the room, rhythmically. Alongside, his sighs grow deeper and deeper, turning into groans and desperate moans. Jaemin doesn’t care to hide them, all alone in his bedroom. He tries his best to remember the feeling of your lips on his skin, picturing them kissing his neck, down his torso, and his hand pumps faster. Maybe your lipstick would leave a few rings around his shaft, a deep moan coming from his chest at the thought, his eyes screwing shut. “God.”, he whines, his hips bucking against his hand. A gasp leaves his lips as his lips his hips fuck his fist. He pictures you again, seeing you in that dress, how the silky fabric hugs deliciously hugs your body. Wishing he could take it off, he’d probably let the fragile fabric rip under his hands, Jaemin couldn’t help himself when it came to you. He wonders, what does you skin would feel like under his fingers, he knows you’d react in the most hypnotizing way to his teases, he knows he can make you cry his name out if you’d let him. His lip gets caught between his pearly teeth again, drawing blood. The iron taste lingers on his tongue, fighting with the newly made fantasy of your arousal coating his tongue. God, he wishes you didn’t leave, his hand moving faster and faster, chasing his high desperately.   “Y/N, fuck.”, it leaves his lips without thinking, he doesn’t care to understand the meaning behind the desperate moan. The blurry image of your body underneath his clouds his mind, made up moans of his name, picturing just how you’d babble because of his cock. God, he wants to hear you moaning, whining, begging. Even better, not being able to form coherent sentence just because of him, coming around his cock because of his, for him. The pink haired loses track as he wonders, getting closer and closer to your climax. His Adam’s apple bobs against the skin of his throat, regular gasp leaving his lips as he mumbles incoherent phrases himself, because of you and, you aren’t even there. He knows he’s about to come, bucking his hips. Letting out a loud moan, his voice cracks towards the end in what sounds like your name, yet again. Jaemin comes in a few short moments, hand never stopping as he milks, giving himself too much pleasure. Zoned out, he pants, a familiar ringing blocking his hearing, some cum on the smooth, slightly red skin of his torso.  Jaemin slowly opens his eyes, slightly regaining more coherent thoughts. Chest falling up and down at an irregular pace, he tries to catch his breath as best as he can, a small curse falling from his lip as his strong orgasm fades away. Damp colored hair in front of his eyes, Jaemin tries to comprehend everything, letting his body fall down on his bed. Closing his eyes, his veiny hands half of his face and he doesn’t even bother covering himself. Poor thing only now starts to calm down, hear clearly again. It’s weird, did he turn his game o-.

“Jaemin…? I forgot my wallet.”

His eyes shot open.

© NEOVISIONED l NO REPOSTING OR TRANSLATIONS ALLOWED.

[drwcn]

The Shadow Beneath the Light: Complete 

Concept: Sect Master Wen Qing & her harem of Jiang heirs demonic cultivators. CQL Verse. 

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Epilogue]

--

A few years later...

“A-Kuo, one last fish and we’ll go, okay? Gan’die says we’ll have to be back before dinner; if we’re  late again, yi’fu is going to make us copy Lan Precepts whilst doing handstands -”

“Yes! Gotcha, you son of a -”

“A-Kuo.” 

Lan Jingyi laughed, reeling in the line to inspect his largest catch yet. The koi fish flopped and writhed as he pulled it out of the water, a triumphant grin on his seven year old face. 

“A-Yuan, look!” He turned to his adoptive brother, who sat on the shore with sleeves and pant-legs rolled up as he diligently cleaned the contents of the small basket filled with their afternoon’s effort. “And for the upmteenth time, call me Jingyi. I have a courtesy name now - you now - like a real cultivator.” 

Jingyi said ‘real cultivator’ like he meant ‘big boy’.   

“Right. Real cultivator.” Wen Yuan smiled. “Excellent, can the real cultivator among us bring over his large catch, so I can clean it? We can turn that one into a stew tonight, with chili peppers and pickled veggies - your favourite.” 

Spring was Wen Yuan’s favourite’s time of the year. Every spring since his adoptive fathers were officially married, they would leave behind their sects and their duties to bring him and his brother to live at their small cottage, situated in the serene forest east of Mt. Dafan.  

His family was the happiest, most relaxed when they were at the cottage. Their days were simple, filled with a quiet kind of a bliss and a soft, unassuming love. They dressed like all mountain households did, sturdy clothes of hemp and cotton dyed dark blues and browns; drank water from the well gan’die dug in the yard; and ate the food yi’fu managed to prepare. They rose with the sun, not at the strict hour of five (much to A-Kuo’s joy), and rested when their fathers said so. (Note: gan’die and yi’fu are both terms used for godfather or adoptive father) 

Boys your age need to grow, so you must get plenty of sleep. 

Wen Yuan knew they were getting spoiled as it were, and soon maybe their careless days would be coming to an end. He overheard yi’fu speaking with gan’die about sending him and A-Kuo to Cloud Recesses to study there permanently instead of just a few short summer months each year. Already, yi’fu had picked out a courtesy name for A-Kuo - Jingyi - which gan’die liked very much, but they had yet to come to an agreement for himself. 

Wen Yuan wondered what name he was to be given. He took the new catch from Jingyi, cut and cleaned it the way shushu taught him last autumn when they visited Lotus Pier for the first time. The rebuilding efforts had begun, just as Wen-gugu promised. Gan’die said soon they may even be able to get their own rooms installed. Wen-gugu had written several weeks ago stating she planned to move Nevenight’s court every autumn and winter to the Wen sect’s new secondary palace in Yiling, so that Jiang Yanli and Jiang Wanyin may be close to Lotus Pier, their ancestral home. 

Gan’die had gotten rather emotional at that, and after he read Wen Qing’s letter, he had cuddled against yi’fu for a good hour decidedly not crying. 

“Wen Qing wants their next heir to be born in Yunmeng. It’s what she promised shijie and Jiang Cheng.” Gan’die had explained to yi’fu. Wen Yuan figured that meant he was getting another cousin soon. 

Little Wen Lian, the absolute pearl in her parents eyes - all three of them - was already turning two. 

“There, finished.” He plopped the fish into the basket and wiped his hands on a cloth. “Ready to go?” 

“Yep,” Jingyi stuffed his feet back into his shoes, smoothed down his robes and cringed. “I stink.” 

“Me too. We need to bath tonight or we’ll end up going to Jinlintai smelling like fish.” Wen Yuan looped his arm through the vine straps of the basket and hauled it onto his small back. For an eight year old, he was rather strong. 

“I don’t want to go to Jinlintai. It’s a wedding, so we’ll have to get all dressed up. I hope gan’die won’t make me wear the robes Jiang-shushu sent. They’re so...extra.” 

Wen Yuan laughed at Jingyi’s obvious ire. “No, yi’fu promised you can just wear your Lan robes. Only gan’die has to wear shushu’s designs. It’s a set for three anyway. Something about being the ‘better-dressed’ 3-zun...apparently there’s both pride and money on the line.” 

Jiang Cheng always insisted the Three Demonic Grandmasters could not allow the Venerated Triad to outdo them in the wardrobe department. Everyone knew Wen Qing indulged him, plying him with yards and yards of silk and satin and damask, but maybe she should stop, because it was getting ridiculous. 

A lot has happened in the last couple of years, many changes Wen Yuan and Lan Kuo didn’t see coming. One day Wen Yuan was a simple village boy up on the mountains of Dafan and the next he was being whisked away to Nevernight and placed in a position of importance and respect. He had lost his family during the war, and Wen Qing, his aunt of distant relations, was his guardian. She loved him and cared for him, but she had others to love as well. Ultimately it was not Wen Qing with whom A-Yuan had formed an attachment. When Wei Wuxian remarried, Qishan Wen and Gusu Lan formed an alliance and a child from each clan was adopted by Yiling Laozu and Hanguang-jun. Wen Yuan was the obvious choice, but Jingyi was the unexpected. 

A-Yuan looked to the other boy and smiled. He couldn’t have asked for a better brother. 

The sun was just starting to set by the time the two of them trekked their way back to their home - a little provincial cottage tucked away in the woods. Yi’fu and gan’die had build it just for the four of them. It was a quaint little place, surrounded by a bamboo fence with a stone well in the front, a little vegetable garden in the back and enough clearing space for them to practice their forms each morning. Under the arching willow tree by the south end, yi’fu had strung up a simple wood-plank swing, something that never failed to bring a smile to gan’die’s face. 

Wen Yuan and Lan Jingyi loved this cottage. As much as Cloud Recesses was ethereal, and as much as Nevernight was magnificent, it could not measure up to this home in the woods that was theirs. 

Wei Wuxian was collecting dried laundry from the clothing line and folding them into the woven basket when he saw them. Straightening up, he huffed and called out over his shoulder, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, they’re back! No need to go look for them.”  

By the external hearth, Lan Wangji was chopping firewood into smaller pieces. “Good.” 

“Oi, you rascals, you were gone for so long we were starting to worry you’d fallen into the river and got washed away.” Wei Wuxian admonished them half-heartedly, already lifting their baskets to inspect their batch. “Not bad, not bad indeed. I taught you well! Your yi’fu will make a stew for dinner.” 

Lan Wangji thumped his axe onto the block, scooped up the firewood and nodded. “Mn.” 

Living away from Cloud Recesses for so many seasons, he had slowly learned to cook non-vegetarian dishes for his family, especially for Jingyi, who had quite a carnivorous appetite. They’re growing boys, so they should have plenty of fish and soy and lean meat. 

When Jiang Cheng was their age, Wei Wuxian had lamented to Lan Wangji one night, his eyes taking on a far away look, he could eat Madam Yu and Uncle Jiang out of their house and home. 

“I’ll make Jingyi’s favourite. They did very well today,” Lan Wangji gave them a little smile.  

The boys grinned, basking in their father’s approval. 

“With pickled vegetables and chili pepper?” Jingyi pleaded hopefully, glowing with anticipation. 

Wei Wuxian pinched his cheeks, “Yes, my little dirt ball. Now go wash up, you’re both filthy, dear immortals. There’s water in the basin. A-Yuan, do you know how to use the fire talisman to -”

“Yes, gan’die.” The boys dropped their baskets onto the ground and sprinted off with a little cheer. 

Wei Wuxian sighed in contentment. “Boys...hmm!” 

Lan Wangji drew him shamelessly into his arms and was pressing kisses against his neck. “Hahahahaha, Lan Zhan, that tickles! And the neighbours will talk!” 

“We don’t have neighbours.” Lan Wangji mumbled against his nape, hiding a small smirk. It was true. The nearest hut was at least a good half a mile walk from theirs. 

“But they’ll still talk! Auntie Chen gave me the smuggest grin last I was in town to pick up supplies!” Wei Wuxian protested, half indignant, half delighted.  

Well, the truth was the venerated Hanguang-jun was a shameless exhibitionist when he was in the mood. A couple weeks back, they had been high up in the mountains cultivating together through duelling. The fight lasted the better half of the day and when they were done, Lan Wangji had apparently worked up another kind of appetite and ambushed the unsuspecting Wei Wuxian, ravishing him right up against an old pine three. Not expecting anyone to catch them in the act, Wei Wuxian saw no reason to keep quiet, which was how the two of them ended up giving a group of herb-picking aunties an eyeful of their “rigorous exercise.” 

That, and Lan Wangij’s increasing habit of leaving marks high up on his neck, too high to be covered by the fold of his lapel. 

And then there were nights when they’ve sent the boys off to be looked after by one of the many people who would be more than happy to spoil them (Nie Mingjue was somehow the worst but given the way Nie Huaisang turned out, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise), Wei Wuxian would emerge from a quick bath to find Lan Wangji draped across their bed in not a stitch, beckoning him with a demure little lowering of his gaze. 

“How would the fearless Yiling Laozu like Wangji tonight.” 

Wei Wuxian nearly died on the spot that one time. 

Lan Zhan, you absolute shameless tart.

Sometimes he had to remind himself that this was the man who once walked away from Cloud Recesses to volunteer himself for Wen Qing’s harem. Wen Qing was a strong woman who worshipped Jiang Yanli and adored Jiang Wanyin, but hmm…sometimes Wei Wuxian believed that if Lan Wangji wanted to, eventually even Wen Qing would have caved. Ooh, and then they would have a real harem. 

Jiang Cheng would be so jealous. 

Wei Wuxian chuckled inwardly. He was glad though that it was just Lan Zhan, the boys and himself in this quiet little cottage. It was almost the end of spring now, which meant they’d have to return to Cloud Recesses soon for the summer. Wei Wuxian sighed, content in Lan Wangji’s arm. He leaned back into him and watched the sun fade beyond the trees. 

The whole world was golden. 

“Wei Ying.” 

“Yah?” 

“Are you happy?” 

“I am, Lan Zhan, I am.” 

~~~

Jiang Cheng opened an eye to the fading sun. He was lying on a luxurious wicker lounge chaise with silk pillows and fur paddings, taking a glorious nap under the tall blooming willow tree. 

The warm weight of a small body burrowed into his side like a puppy drew his attention away from the sky. Pressed against his chest was a round, rosy cheek, slightly wet from the drool that trickled down from a rose-petal like mouth, a sight which endeared Jiang Cheng to no end. 

Very carefully, he shifted his weight and curled his arm around the toddler. 

“Jiang-xiansheng.” A servant curtseyed and greeted him quietly. It seemed she had waited for him to come to for some time. 

He had returned at noon from a week-long night hunt excursion with a blend of Wen and Jiang disciples. Both Wen Qing and A-jie were busy tending to sect matters, so he bathed, consumed a light lunch and found rest under his favourite willow tree. He hadn’t thought he would have company, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. 

“Cui-momo,” Jiang Cheng greeted. 

The old nanny smiled and said, “Lian’er-guniang wanted to nap by her diedie.”

“Of course she did.” At three years old, his only daughter and child was absolutely a spoiled princess. “You’re free to go, Cui-momo. I’ll take her from here on.” 

The momo hesitated. “Ah -” 

“Something the matter?” 

“Ah no. Just, fu’ren sent word saying she and the sect master will be dining here tonight, and that afterwards the sect master would be staying, so perhaps it would be inconvenient for guniang to stay.” 

Even after all these years, Jiang Cheng still couldn’t manage to hide a blush. Wen Qing was never one for public displays of affections, but it was no secret how much she adored Jiang Wanyin. And Jiang Yanli too was incredibly secure in her position and belief of Wen Qing’s affection that she often created little occasions for Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng to have quality time together while she monopolized little Wen Lian.

A-Qing, don’t neglect my little brother, she’d admonish, as if Wen Qing would ever. 

You just want A-Lian to yourself. 

Yes, that is true, and I want more A-Lians, so you and A-Cheng should go make more. 

Yanli!  

Wen Qing loved him and his sister beyond reason, equal but different. With Yanli, her feelings were almost akin to a reverent kind of worship, poignant and consuming in a way that her feelings for Jiang Cheng just wasn’t. A-jie once said that Wen Qing made her feel invincible, more than the demonic arts ever did, and Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure how they could love the same person and be so different in their love. 

With Jiang Cheng, Wen Qing was soft and gentle, their affection for each other easy and sustained, like a stream of clear water melting in the spring. His favourite moments are the mornings when Wen Qing would lean out the window by their bed, letting the sun catch the shine in her loose, spilling hair, in no rush to be anywhere or do anything except enjoy the moment with him at her side. 

Jiang Cheng sighed. After Lotus Pier’s massacre, he never thought he could be so happy again. 

“It’s quite alright, Cui-momo, I’m sure A-jie will want to take Lian’er for the night.” Jiang Cheng said to the old nanny. He picked up Wen Lian in his arms, rising from his lounge chair. The child slept on, none the wiser. 

“We’ll be heading down to Lanling in three days time. Have the packages been sent to Wei Wuxian?” 

“Yes, Hanguang-jun wrote back saying the robes are all in Wei-gongzi’s measurements.” 

“Excellent.” 

As a rule, Jiang Cheng didn’t enjoy going to Lanling, mostly because he couldn’t stand to even think about Jin Guangshan’s face. But the old fucker has been dead for a couple of years now - an “unfortunate” encounter with a small bout of qi deviation and falling down stairs - and Lanling Jin has become greatly more tolerable under Jin Zixuan’s leadership. With any luck, his union with Luo Qingyang would rid their clan of the residual effect of Jin Guangshan’s bullshit all together. 

“It won’t do to let the ‘venerated triad’ win in the wardrobe department. Lan Xichen is getting far too comfortable thinking he’s the epitome of fashion. I think we ought to keep him on his toes, don’t you think so, Cui-momo?” 

“Indeed, Jiang-xiansheng, I do.” 

Jiang Cheng smirked to himself, bouncing his precious toddler softly as he made his way back inside, not a worry on his mind. 

~ FIN

[blissfulsun]

3rd installation of the lessons in love series, written for and with my angel Nics in mind because it’s my best frenssss bday!!! I love you so much💖@vlobsessed

word count: 2,311

A masterpiece in the making // Jeff Wittek

‘You’ve been quiet...’ 

It’s a simple observation made by Jeff, his fingers intertwined in your own as he leads the way and you follow. 

The fact you look so much like a couple right now is not lost on you, hands clasped tightly together and his jacket adorning your frame. 

An older lady even smiles as she walks past you two, it’s the fondness in his eyes that’s corresponding your own which makes her compliment how lovely of a couple you make. 

He’s right, you’ve been quiet since then, far too focused on the hammering in your chest and whether Jeff can hear it. 

If not that, then he can definitely feel just how clammy your palm has become. 

‘Angel?’ there’s humour in his tone, underlying concern that dances in his eye when you finally look up at him just as he pulls your clasped hand up and lays a feather light kiss to the rings adorning each finger. 

‘Sorry, ‘m just hungry’ it’s half a lie, since your stomach does grumble following the confession. 

Jeff knows there’s more to it, but he also knows how you operate, will tell him what’s on your mind when you’re ready. 

Besides, his primary concern right now is to feed you before you get grumpy, a look consisting of a permanent pout and furrowed brows that he secretly loves. 

‘What my girl wants she gets’ You soften, staring up at him with uncontrollable wonder but Jeff just misses it, already looking around the street for a place you might like. 

You end up in a quiet coffee shop, quaint and homely despite it’s location in the city, yourself taking a seat after Jeff has promised he already knows what you want as he goes to order. 

He sits close in the corner booth, your thighs touching and one of his arms around your shoulders while the other pushes another dose of caffeine your way. 

‘Is it-’ You begin to ask. ‘oat milk? Course, told you I know exactly what you like baby.’ 

He feels smug in the way his words seem to make you frazzled, teeth nipping at your bottom lip which makes his heart lodge itself in his throat in return, accidental payback. 

Because you are, frazzled that is, it’s a simple detail: knowing how you like your coffee or that you always forget to bring a jacket wherever you go. 

It’s the choosing to remember that keeps you in your own head so much on this day, Jeff’s choice to take notice of your habits, and you’re not even sure why it feels so different now, why it seems to have such an earth shattering effect on your thought process but it does. 

It feels good to be known without asking, you don’t remember the last time you’ve let someone close enough to even have the opportunity. 

Not like this, with his feet kicking against yours under the table as Jeff retells a story from a barbershop shoot you missed earlier that week, his fingers playing with the hair at the nape of your neck. 

Hours pass like this and you never really notice, afternoon slipping away without a care in the world, your usual habit of glancing at the clock forgotten in favour of looking at him, face animated in the storytelling, eyes reflecting the sunlight bouncing from the windows as strangers come and go but you don’t want to look away and miss a single thing. 

Has he always held your full attention like that? Hours turned to days spent in each other’s company, with your friends crowded around you but no one else truly in your sight. 

‘We should head back to the car if we wanna make our booking in time’ Jeff finally says, bursting the little bubble that’s somehow become your favourite spot in a couple of hours. 

You nod, standing up to follow him outside after thanking the barista in passing, hands once again intertwined. 

Maybe, just maybe your mind has been playing trick on you and there’s nothing different in the way Jeff glances down at you while you roam the streets, there’s nothing unusual about the comfort of his frame towering so closer over yours, or the way he opens the passenger door for you and lands his hand on the top of your thigh as he drives. 

It’s nothing more than two friends pushing boundaries in the name of your forsaken assignment. 

But then he’s smiling over at you, wind blowing his growing hair underneath the cap and cheeks full with bubbling laughter and you think, god, I love you, almost whisper it across the console when you’re sure the music playing is far too loud for him to ever hear it. 

Yeah, it’s definitely you that’s falling, simultaneously for your best friend and apart.

The day continues on, as if you haven’t had an epiphany that’s shaken you to the core. 

Jeff put the truck in park, runs around to your side of the car to open your door and reaches for your hand. 

You fight the urge to shiver when your fingers intertwine. 

‘You ready baby?’ He asks, dimples on show and brown eyes lit with underlying excitement at the prospect of the next part of your evening. 

‘I would be if you finally told me what it is exactly that we’re doing’ you whine, lips forming into a playful pout that Jeff mocks with his own before letting your hand go in favour of throwing his arm around your shoulder to pull you tight into side. 

He comes clean with his lips pressed against your forehead, a half peck accompanied by an instruction ‘We’re just around the corner, you’ll see’ Once you do, the excitement surges through you. 

‘The Broad?’ Jeff observes carefully, fondness sparking in his heart at how easily your expression brightens at the sight. 

Deep inside, he’s already sure you’re bound to be the most angelic work of art he’ll see tonight, a masterpiece of freckles, scars and booming laughter all wrapped up in the best girl he’s ever had. 

Jeff coughs, hand flying to rub at the back of his neck as he nods in answer to your question. 

‘I got us tickets to that light exhibit you wanted t-’ Your eyes almost pop out of their sockets as you interrupt. 

‘Kusama? I thought they were sold out’ your attempts at getting tickets proving futile in months passed. 

You watch the man shrug, expression a mixture between sheepish and smug, ‘I have my ways doll.’ 

The only thing left to do is leap into his awaiting arms, you whisper a gentle thank you with your head furrowed into his neck, lips pressed against the skin there momentarily, the touch is so feather light Jeff’s left wondering if it ever really happened as you pull away only to grab his hand and head inside with a new found bounce to your step.  

He’s right. The mirror rooms are beautiful, each installation of light stretching on in its endless path. 

Your eyes brightened by colour in wonder, each reflecting in the smile that shows your teeth and dimples as Jeff takes pictures and poses accordingly at your request. 

He listens to your explanations , every single thought, hangs on to every word as it leaves your pretty lips.

I could stay here forever. The thought presents itself through an exhale in your mouth, eyes travelling around the final room to land on the brunet that’s asking one of the other visitors to take a picture of you guys. Jeff returns with a sweet older lady in tow. 

‘C’mere doll’ he finds himself behind you, arm wrapped around your waist and palm splayed across your stomach, you smile, first at the lady and then again in preparation for the picture when the same hand turns your frame around and closer in his clasp, Jeff’s face leaning down. 

The flash goes off. He doesn’t kiss you, merely hovers with his forehead pressed against your own, but each of your erratic breaths makes the cupid bow of your upper lip graze the tip of his own. 

‘You two make a lovely couple, it’s sweet to see two young people so in love’ the older lady interrupts the storm brewing in your heart. 

The two of you reluctantly pull away, each reeling at the almost that hangs in the air as Jeff clears his throat and takes his phone back. 

We do..I am, you admit to yourself, gaze following the man that’s somehow the brightest beacon of light to your pacified mind. 

You’re surrounded by art, sculptures and reflections of beauty but there’s only one masterpiece worth observing in wonder for eternity if you get the chance. 

Unknowingly to you, Jeff’s heart is settling in his rib cage with the same realisation. What now? 

Something changes. Shifts as you exit the art gallery to be met with darkness of the night and sidewalks illuminated by streetlights. 

Jeff’s at ease, movements intentional as his hand slips into your own. 

You lift the intertwined fingers up to kiss his knuckles, pretending the blush you see dusting his cheeks and mirrored in your own is caused by evening breeze and not this new found quiet affection that feels so right. 

‘Hungry?’ Jeff asks, breaking the comfortably silence as he swings your hands as you walk to the car. 

‘Mmmm’ you ponder, ‘we could cook something back at mine?’ he nods, the journey spent listening to another one of your playlists made with him in mind. 

It should still terrify you. How your body slots against his, filling every space and gap with gentle precision, each of you mindfully working around the other as you teach him how to make the pasta dish of yours Jeff loves. 

The rest of the evening slipping past you in a domestic bubble of his aftershave wafting through the air and directly into your nose as you cuddle into his chest on the couch. 

‘Y/n...baby wake up’ the soft whisper stirs you awake. 

The moan of protest that leaves your mouth in realisation of being awake causes Jeff’s chest to rumble in laughter under your weight. 

‘Let’s get you to bed doll’ he insists again. 

‘Mhm...yeah, I wanna shower first’ you protest sleepily, body clinging to his warmth like a koala as Jeff sits up and begins the journey to your bedroom. 

Though once he sits you and pulls away you open your eyes to see the tiles of your bathroom from the sink counter. 

Your eyes watch his every move, white cotton shirt stretched along his muscled back as Jeff turns on the shower and sets it to a warm temperature that immediately fills the room with steam. 

He turns around to give you a soft smile, a sweet go ahead before turning to step out.

You’re not sure when you move, feet meeting the cold floor tiles as your small hand wraps around his wrist.

Jeff’s lost, brown eyes searching your own for an answer once he turns around, only seeing the vulnerability laced in your own that causes a stammer in his heart. 

You’re not sure what you’re doing, toeing this invisible line as you pause to momentarily fidget, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip before you whisper ‘Stay.’

One word, short and simple but enough to shatter the thin veil of almost that’s hang over both of you all day, if not for months. 

You think he’ll protest, respond with a Jeff like nervous giggle and the shake of his head that’s meant to let someone down easily, you’ve seen it happen in the past with your very own eyes. 

Instead, you watch the man take a shaky breath, eyes fleeting up and down your frame that’s changed into a hoodie of his earlier. 

He moves, hands instinctively reaching in your direction before they go for his own T-shirt instead, each garment falling to the floor with a thud as you slip your own off and step inside, distorted by the foggy window of your shower. 

Jeff hovers outside, inches of colourful glass separating him from you. 

Before you have a chance to call out his name he’s inside, pools of darkened brown tracing every detail of your bare face framed by wet hair. 

His gaze drops only for a short second, but it feels like a lifetime as you allow yourself to admire his toned chest and pause at the deep v lines of his hips without looking any lower.  

‘Turn around’ the gentle command pulls you away from reverie, you do as he asks. 

Breath quivering in your throat as you watch his hands reach to the shelf built into the wall to pull out your favourite bottle of shampoo before he squirts some onto his palm and begins to massage the soap into your strands, from the roots down to the ends that fall down against the lover skin of your back. 

The sensation is heavenly, Jeff’s long fingers gentle in their effort to clean your hair thoroughly before moving on to conditioner. 

You turn around after, silently returning the favour once he gets the hint and leans down slightly to match your height and allow you easier access to the locks matted against his forehead. 

There’s a moment of clarity, your eyes falling closed as he pulls you into his wet and naked chest, arms wrapping around your shoulder as you both sigh against each other. 

It remains, buzzing in the air when you slip into the bed and slot yourself against his side, head on his chest and leg thrown across his own as Jeff whispers a sweet good night that’s met with your soft snores.

It’s gone in the morning. When you wake up tangled in cold sheets and alone, tears blurring your vision at the realisation that your twenty four hours is finally up.

[yoongsgguktae]

honey, i’m home 03 | pjm

summary; your relationship with your neighbor has evolved into something stable in your life. this morning, you help ease his tension pairing; jimin x reader genre; neighbors!au | s2l | fluff | smut rating; M(18+) word count; 2.9k warnings; cussing, teasing, oral (m receiving), slight penetration with finger (f receiving), spit, saliva, lots of eye contact, some praise kink, exhibitionism (kinda?), ass slapping, boyfriend jimin, the type of man we all want, and cats

a/n i cannot thank @taestybae​ enough for reading this over, she’s amazing! check out her masterlist for her awesome work. and @dollwithluv​ for always letting me talk about my ideas. ily. MASTERLIST PART 01 | PART 02 | [PART 03]

—

You placed your baskets of fresh fruits and veggies on the kitchen counter with a heavy thump. Today has been a long day of errands, the majority of your Saturday was spent running around the city in the hot and humid weather. Your shirt clings to your body which only amplifies your discomfort. You made the mistake of leaving your food shopping as the last thing on your to-do list. The farmer’s market is around the block from your apartment, it would be easier to grab your groceries on your way back home. That is until you realized the market was crowded and you weren’t able to get all that you wanted before all the stalls started packing up after a successful day. 

You hang your keys on the newly installed hook by the door before heading to your room to change into loose clothing, your body begging to breathe in the comfort of cotton fibers. Jimin insisted on installing key hooks for you; he claims it will help keep you organized, something you desperately need to get better at. He's called you out on many occasions for losing your stuff and he's not wrong. You're well aware of what a hot mess you are, or at least were before Jimin appeared in your life that one night. He’s helped you create better habits and has become a stable influence in your life in the short amount of months you’ve known each other. 

The sound of a cat's meow catches your attention as you pass through your living room, making you halt in place. Kitty Cat rounds the corner from behind your sofa, she pointedly looks up at you, greeting you with her soft meows. "Well hello there darling," you say as you bend to pick her up. She meows again in response, cuddling into your embrace. You glance over to your window, only to realize you once again forgot to close it before leaving the apartment. This must have been the third time this week she has come for a visit, seeking your affection. It has become habitual at this point that you’ve placed food and water dishes in your kitchen and a litter box in your bathroom just for her. You brag that you have become her favorite human, that she likes you more than Jimin.

You grab a container full of apples from the baskets you left in your kitchen. Your hands are suddenly full as you step up the small stool Jimin has placed underneath your window, which has made it easier to pass through the threshold and onto the fire escape. Juggling the cat and fruits, you make your way to Jimin's open window.

"I brought you some gifts," you shout, stepping down onto his matching stool, into his living room. You place Kitty Cat on the oversized cat tower with the other two felines who are lounging in their respective cubies just as Jimin enters the space. "I got you a cat and some fruits."

"You left your window open didn't you?" Jimin asks with a knowing smile as he walks towards you. He slips one arm around your waist, bringing you flush against him, your bodies collide softly. He dips his head and captures your lips gently before letting go with a smile as sweet as honey. You'll never get tired of feeling his mouth on yours.

"I was able to grab the last basket of apples available that you asked for." You hand him the container in your grasp, letting his question go unanswered. You know he was going to continue teasing you if you didn’t drop it. He never fails to remind you what may happen when you leave your window open, “some random guy can just show up unannounced in your apartment.” The smirk he gives you whenever he brings it up makes your stomach flutter at the memory. “I also ordered pizza for dinner, we can have it at my place this time.”

"Thank you." Jimin strides to his kitchen to place the basket down. You watch as he runs a hand down his face while he lets out a groan quietly to himself. His arms extend above his head as he bends forward to stretch his body. He was busy this morning, stuck in a meeting for several hours. His upper body is probably stiff from pacing back and forth like you know he does during those long calls. The look on his face tells you the meeting didn't go well. 

You make your way over to where he stood, reaching for his back. His tense muscles visibly loosen at your touch as you press soothing circles into his shoulders. His head moves to crack the tension in his neck, it’s an awful sound that you haven't gotten accustomed to, a habit of his that still freaks you out every time you hear the snap. You continue your soft massages, coaxing him to relax against you. "How did it go?" You tread carefully, not wanting to stir up any more stress in him.

Jimin turns around with a low moan escaping his lips, your hands fall to your side at his movement. He faces you and gingerly grasps your wrists to reposition them back onto his shoulders while he moves to drop his head on your own. “It went terrible,” His arms circle your waist again, he breathes in the smell of your hair before he exhales his continued response, "the client made us wake up early on a Saturday, sit through a three-hour-long meeting, only to say they want to push back the date of the release."

He brings a hand into your hair, wrapping one of the curls around his finger. "Such a waste of my Saturday morning. I could have had you laid in my bed, taking care of you as I should." You feel a soft kiss against your neck, and then another one. He trails small pecks down to your collarbone, his hand moving to grasp the back of your head as the other holds your waist to keep you close. 

Your hands find purchase in his locks, you revel in his selfless affection. "How about I take care of you?" you whisper. He always thinks about you first, your wants and needs, his always coming second. Your nails scrap against his scalp gently. You know how much he loves it, how much it calms him down. “Let me take your stress away.” Jimin groans in response to your ministrations and at your suggestive words. His warm breath fans your neck.

He lands another kiss on your collarbone. "You don't have to do that for me, baby." He brings his lips up higher, giving you an open mouth kiss just below your ear. “Just having you here with me is enough.”

"But I want to." 

His body untangles itself from yours as you move back from his embrace. Jimin lets out a whine at the separation. You slide your hands down his arms, gripping his biceps in appreciation. You have claimed them as yours since you started dating a few weeks ago. And he gladly welcomed your possessiveness; he relishes in your attention and praise, and he’d been unashamed in admitting just how devoted he was to you. You pull him by his hands with a smirk, you already know what he needs. "Come sit on the couch and relax," you hum.

His eyes grow dark with lust as he allows you to guide him into the living room. He takes a seat on his couch, slouching back into the cushion as you pull a leg over his lap to straddle him. His hands automatically find your thighs, running them up and down tenderly. Your own hands find themselves back in his hair as you hover over his lips, close enough to feel your breaths intertwine. 

"I missed you," you whisper. Jimin smiles before he captures your lips in a slow kiss. 

"I missed you more."

You connect your lips with more need this time. Your mouths immediately open to play with each other's tongue in urgency. His hands move up your body, stopping at your ass to palm you. You moan with appreciation directly into his mouth. You love it when he touches you there, it makes you feel sexy when he plays with your backside. His fingers slide under your cotton shorts, tracing the edges of your panties until he reaches your folds. A shiver runs up your spine at the touch. 

You pull back from his lips and drop your face against his neck with a low moan. "I'm supposed to be the one taking care of you."

You feel his body tremble as he lets out a small laugh. He moves your panties aside before he dips a finger around your entrance. He swirls it around, coating it with your growing wetness, and slides his finger up and down your lips tantalizingly slow. "I want you to feel good too." 

You shudder in response, more moans escaping your lips as he continues to rub circles around your clit. His finger returns to your entrance every so often to barely dip inside your heat and return to your folds, using your own juices as lubrication. Your thighs tighten around his waist in response to the pleasure building up inside you, your knees dipping further into the couch on either side of him. 

You trail kisses down his neck as he toys with you. He shifts in anticipation underneath you in response to your attacks along his neck, your teeth and mouth leaving marks against his clear skin. You reach down between your bodies, your fingers grazing his clothed bulge. You start undoing the ties of his sweats, not wanting to delay his pleasure.

As much as you loved the attention he was giving you, your mind was set on his growing need. You pull his hand away from your heat as you get off his lap. Your lips meet again in a quick sloppy exchange before you hook your fingers into his waistband. You catch his piercing gaze as you kneel in front of him, his legs automatically spreading in response to your position with his mouth hanging open. You’ve never set your eyes on a more beautiful man than Jimin, especially when he spreads his legs for you with lust-filled bedroom eyes.

Jimin raises his body off the couch to ease the effort of tugging his pants. You pull them down along with his briefs, just over his ass, enough to release his member from the confines of his clothing. He sighs at the feeling of his sensitive skin suddenly being exposed to the warm air, as if all his tension has been released. Unable to wait any longer, you don't give yourself time to admire the beauty of his cock before you eagerly reach to wrap your hand around his shaft.

You rub your thumb along his slit, playing with the bit of pre-cum that has begun to leak. His gaze is set on your lips as you position your mouth above his tip. Your lips part slightly as you drop collected saliva onto his awaiting cock. 

"Ah fuck." 

Jimin hisses as you use your own spit to lubricate him, spreading it up and down his rigid member in slow drags with your hands. His eyes move from watching your strokes back up to your eyes. "You're so fucking good to me."

His hand finds its way in your hair, he wraps his fingers around the nape of your neck and pulls you towards him. Your lips crash against each other as you continue twisting your wrist to please him, the other hand lightly massaging his thigh. His soft moans flow into your mouth, hot breath can be felt against your tongue. You jerk at his tip, giving it special attention. His teeth pull your bottom lip as he lets out a groan in response. “I haven’t even gotten started yet.” You chuckle against his lips. Your own desires stirring with his words of encouragement, you’re determined to give him all the attention he deserves.

You capture his lips once more in a tender peck before you lower your mouth back above his cock. You kiss the pink head softly, his breath hitches at the feel of your lips on him. Your gentle kisses trail down his length, you look up to meet his gaze again. His eyes are blown out with anticipation. 

Your thumb moves around his tip with care as you start sucking the base of his cock with open mouth kisses. Jimin's hips buck in response, his moans are music to your ears. Your tongue leaves a glistening sheen in its wake as you drag your tongue up his length before swirling around the tip and taking him in your mouth.

"Holy shit." 

His eyes flutter shut and he lets his head fall back against the couch as you take all of him ever so slowly. Your hands grip either side of his thighs while you bob your head up and down, hollowing your cheeks as he continues to hit the back of your throat. His low pants encourage you to increase the intensity of your motions simply to elicit more of them. Your own thighs start rubbing together at the sound of his sinful moans.

Saliva drips down his cock with your relentless motion, coating his balls with your spit. Your hands remain on his thighs, you’ve been faintly leaving scratch marks against his skin. You grip at his tense muscles, you can sense he's holding back, trying to restrain himself from fucking into your mouth. You release him, a string of your spit still connecting you to him. His head lifts from the couch in disappointment at the sudden loss of contact, your mouth was so warm and tight. His eyes search yours in question as his rigid member slightly sways with no support from your hands or mouth. “Baby, why’d you stop?” he whines.

Your hand replaces your mouth once again with long, even strokes. You give him a smirk as you lower your lips to his balls while maintaining eye contact. You've learned how much he loves it when you give them attention. Your mouth starts to suck at one before taking it fully in with a slurp. Jimin threads his fingers in your hair once again, the slight tug feels delicious against your scalp. A low grunt pushes past his lips while you suckle his balls. He hisses out, "Yes, just like that.” 

His body starts shaking, the combined pleasure from your hand along his shaft and your mouth sucking around his base has him seeing stars. You feel his rise in pleasure as his breathing picks up and his moans are dragging out in low guttural sounds. You see the sweat forming along his forehead, his face scrunching up in pure bliss.

From the corner of your eyes, you see a figure appear beside Jimin on the couch. Your gaze sweeps over to find one of his cats looking up expectantly at their owner, wanting her own share of attention. With one of his balls still in your mouth, you look back at Jimin as he becomes aware of the intruder. He watches his cat take a seat on the adjacent cushion as it curiously watches. You can't tell if his cheeks are turning pink because of the pleasure you're giving him or if it's because he's getting shy. 

"Fuck, I can't."

He lets go of your head and grabs at your hands. You release his ball from your mouth, confused on why he stopped you. He reaches for your lips, cleaning up the spit running down your chin with his thumb. He holds your face in the palm of his hand. His breathing is still erratic. 

"I can't do this in front of her." 

It takes you a moment to realize how truly shy he was. "Are you seriously embarrassed to have sex in front of your cats?" You try your best to hold in your laugh. 

"Yes, ok. It feels extremely awkward when she's staring at me while you suck me off," he huffs. His cock continues to stand rigid while he explains. 

It's just you, him, his cock, and Kitty Cat stuck in a moment of silence before you burst in laughter. He furrows his eyebrows at you, not amused by your outburst. "Are you laughing at me? You think this is funny?" 

You fall back to the floor on your butt as Jimin scoots forward on the couch, giggles still tumbling out of you. He stands to pull his sweatpants back up before he bends to scoop you with little effort. His strong arm holds your thighs in a tight grip against him and his other hand suddenly makes contact with your rear. You feel a stinging smack against your ass cheek just as he settles you over his shoulder and you gasp.

"I'll teach you to not make fun of me." His hands slip under your shorts, rubbing his palm over your sensitive skin. 

"Oh no, I'm scared." Without a moment of hesitation, he gives you another smack, but this time you moan in response as he palms you again to soothe the sting. He turns, heading in the direction of his room, away from the eyes of his girls.

He drops you on the bed, your body bounces against his mattress, your laughter hasn't stopped. He closes his bedroom door and turns back towards you. Jimin grabs at your calves and pulls you to the edge of the bed. "You won't be laughing once I'm done with you."

—

< PART 02

all rights reserved © 2020 yoongsgguktae copying / redistributing the work is not allowed

—

reviews are always welcomed :)

MASTERLIST

[yeoldontknow]

Back To The Stars: Primis

Author: @yeoldontknow​ as part of The Fault of Light collaboration with @j-pping​ Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: astronaut!au; space travel!au; mars mission!au; soulmate themes; romance; smut; heavy angst; themes of abandonment Summary (this installment): Chanyeol is 11 years old the first time someone walks on the Moon. He is 11, and already he feels his life is changing. Rating (this installment): G Warnings: none; chanyeol is just a cute beybey with his big ears and big eyes and big heart and big excitement and i made myself terribly soft for someone who doesnt really like writing children :( Word Count: 4.2K

masterlist

JULY 20, 1969

It’s the biggest televised event since the coronation of Queen Elizabeth.

At least, that’s what his teachers tell him. 

He struggles to understand the magnitude of their words, finding it terribly difficult to wrap his mind around the concept that Kings and Queens could still exist. It seems very fanciful, this idea, but he likes that some kind of magic still seemingly exists within the world. Having spent so long ensuring his best grades are on mathematics and science, keeping his father placated, he feels reassured that there is some truth to fairy tales - a new Queen stepped into power; the books on his shelves are true even if he does not understand why, even if he was not alive to witness it.

Even if his family was still in Korea, so far removed from the pomp and circumstance of this celebration he doubts his parents even remember the significance of such an occasion.

Cuddling into his mother’s side, Chanyeol presses himself deeply into the couch, and listens intently to the anxious chattering of his father as he turns the dial of the TV. It is one hour past his bedtime, and already his eyelids feel heavy with sleep, but he and his sister have finally been allowed to witness the secret activities of adults after they have been tucked into their sheets, and so he listens, not wanting to miss any details. Lips set in a small pout, he nods in time with his father’s pauses, hoping this makes him look mature and astute, wanting, more than anything, to be encouraging.

This is the single most important moment of his career, he says, and Chanyeol hums, aware that his father has been a mathematician his whole life, presumably always, the concept of a career so far reaching and permanent he knits his brow together as he tries to fathom it.

This is precisely why he brought the family to America, and therefore this evening is momentous and personal. Chanyeol was very small when they immigrated to the country, but he distinctly remembers the terribly long boat journey and the way his mother always looked pale and slim under the dim lighting, lips pressed into a tightly shaped grimace that never managed to smear her lipstick. He enjoyed the spray of the ocean as he hung over the railings, and even now he can recall the faint droplets of mist on his fingers; the sort of refreshing happiness that still makes him release a giggle, recalling the faint bubbles on his skin, and his mother hugs him to her side tightly, pleased by the sound as she presses a kiss to the crown of his head. 

He remembers the journey, and while he still does not yet fully appreciate why they are here, he knows his mother likes this house more than the other, and that it made his parents happy enough to provide him a sibling. This kind of enthusiasm is something he understands quite well. At eleven years old, he thinks everything should carry this kind of excitement, and so it is nice to see his father finally allowing the tone of it to saturate his words, not just his actions.

And tonight, this is the most excited his father has ever been. 

Slowly, and with careful footsteps, his father backs away from the television, doing his best not to introduce any static by interfering with the antenna behind the box. The barely contained apprehension and exhilaration in his joints keeps his limbs remarkably still, even as he relaxes into the reclining chair without truly relaxing at all. Leaning forward on his knees, he adjusts his glasses on the tip of his nose and releases a slow, almost silent sigh. Chanyeol releases his own deep breath, hoping he sounds just as serious and invested.

'How come you're not there, Papa?' he questions, looking between his father and the television.

For months, he has been working late, coming home with deep set bags under his eyes long after supper has been cleaned and put away. It strikes him now that his father came home relatively on time today, joining them for dinner without eating, talking in large, complicated theories and figures that has his mother nodding in interest. Kicking his feet against the couch excitedly, he wonders if, maybe, he will see his father on the television.

'They don't need me there,' he explains, getting off the chair to turn the volume up. 'I helped with only some of math, some of the planning. Essential people are there to provide emergency support.'

'Oh,' he hums airily, and his mother chuckles, pointing at the screen for him to pay attention.

Muffled voices speak over an insignia he can only just make out. Low and gruff in their authoritative urgency, they confirm a rotational degree that has his father releasing a grunt of confirmation, seemingly pleased by the number. Over and over, he traces the shape of the logo with his eyes, its blurry letters arched elegantly above a rocky landscape. CBS news broadcasters talk amongst themselves in between command announcements, narrating a screen they confirm to be an animation, and Chanyeol’s eyes bug slightly, having been convinced the rocket was entirely real. A countdown clock depicts twelve minutes and twenty-seven seconds until touchdown, the rocket releasing a blast that has fire streaking across the screen. 

Wiggling out of his mother’s hold, he leans forward and points. 'What's that, Papa?'

'Those are the thrusters,’ he says quickly, though he does his best to keep his voice gentle, doing his best to educate. ‘They help with getting the rocket into orbit for landing.’

Transfixed, he stares at the screen and reads the numbers in English. Recently, his teachers praised him for his excellent reading skills, and he takes his time forming the words with his mouth and tongue, ensuring there is no trace of his natural accent. 

‘Velocity is 4,000 F.P.S,’ he recites, folding his hands in his lap, proud that he can pronounce numbers so well in his second language. ‘Altitude is 45,000 feet. That’s higher than Mount Everest, Mama,’ he says, offering her an informative smile as he, too, adjusts the glasses perched on his nose.

‘Is it?’ she asks, sounding surprised. Keen to hear more, she leans close, regarding him expectantly.

‘Yes,’ he nods seriously. ‘We just learned about it in geography this week. This is higher by about…’ Knotting his brow together once more, he quickly does mental math the way his father taught him to, converting kilometers to feet, counting diligently with his fingers. ‘By 15,900 feet,’ he finishes confidently.

‘That’s very high,’ she affirms, looking at the television in wonder. ‘And some very large numbers. You did well.’

‘Well, I am eleven,’ he chastises, because she should know that he is old enough to manage the digits and carry his zeros well. 

Still, it bothers him that he does not have a proper scale to understand how high these numbers are in physical metrics, and he quietly makes a plan to create this with his own hands by collecting popsicle sticks his sister discards after her snack.

Focusing his attention back to the screen, he sees that it has changed, the animated rocket moving over the rocky landscape, and now he can finally see the words clearly. The land below the letters is dotted with black holes, some areas brilliantly smooth and others, craggy and mountainous. It is unlike any place he has ever seen, and he casts a sidelong glance to his Atlas in the living room bookshelf, wondering if he missed a page, a country, or, perhaps, if he has not studied the section on the sea closely enough.

'Apollo 11,' he reads out loud, cocking his head to the side as he racks his brain for a country with this name. 'Where are they going?'

To no one in particular, his father smiles. 'That's the Moon.'

‘The Moon?’ he exclaims, incredulously. Sitting up straight, he casts his father a bewildered expression, feeling the tips of his ears growing hot in anticipation. ‘This is the Moon landing? We’re watching the Moon Landing? That’s what you’ve been working on? Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘I couldn’t tell you what I was doing.’ The explanation is curt, brief at best, and pressed between the pauses on the television. ‘It was classified. Besides, isn’t this a nice surprise?’

‘No, it’s not,’ he protests. As he speaks, he hears his voice become filled with the emphatic and insistent cadence it adopts when he has been scorned or told that he is wrong when he knows he is right, and while he can hear it happening, knows that this kind of indignant protesting will result in his being scolded, he simply does not know how to stop. ‘Everyone knows someone is going to the Moon. It’s all anyone has been talking about at school.’

‘Yes.’ The nod of vague acquiescence he receives makes his hands grip the cushion of the couch, the tips of his fingers taking on a curious tingle, swollen with adrenaline. ‘But I couldn’t have you telling everyone your father was involved, could I.’

Chanyeol shakes his head vigorously, lips parted in slight dejection. ‘I wouldn’t have told anyone.’

Finally turning to look at him, his father peers at him knowingly over the rim of his glasses, one eyebrow arched in warning. In this false sense of quiet, Chanyeol is filled with the overwhelming sense that he is treading on dangerous waters, his overzealous nature getting the best of him - a habit he has and, at such a young age, is still learning to manage. Silence is difficult, makes his skin hurt when he is this passionate, this eager, finding it impossibly difficult to calm his abject disquiet at being denied information. 

Still, his father’s watchful brow is admonishing enough, words drying in his throat as he crosses his arms over his chest with a quiet huff. 

Falling back into the couch, he frowns and settles back into his mother’s side. ‘Okay,’ he mumbles, doing his best not to sound dramatically despondent. ‘But only just Rodney. He’s my only friend, and he’s here all the time anyway.’ 

Turning his attention back to the television, his father effectively puts an end to the conversation. ‘Just watch.’ 

It takes less than six minutes for his sister to fall asleep, shoulders slumping as she curls in their mother’s lap, tiny hands gripping her shirt for comfort. She breathes evenly, peacefully, and while Chanyeol does long to join her, steadily growing more tired the longer he stares at a terrain that looks precisely the same from all directions, something in his belly keeps him awake, far more alert than he usually would be. He can hear it in the voices of the announcers, the way they say just enough, never too much, mystified just the same by the words of the commanders. 

As time passes, he latches on to certain phrases, words that normally would not go together but sound remarkable when said within the same breath. 

Fuel Monitor. Approach phase.

His vocabulary books have not yet taught him some of these words, but he recalls, very distantly, hearing his father muttering numbers and ratios alongside these phrases late at night while hunched over the dining table. Sometimes, when he would sneak down from his bedroom in the late hours of the night for a glass of water, Chanyeol would see him curled over in his chair, scribbling notes in the dim light of a desk lap. At the time, they sounded musical, like lullabies he might have been rehearsing to help his sister fall asleep.

Now, he chastises himself for not having paid attention to the way they are heavy, powerful, curving around his tongue as they take hold of parts of him he did not know existed. They cling to him, burrow down into his marrow and settle, not unlike roots.

Wondering how they would sound coming from his mouth, in his voice, he mumbles to himself, silently letting them escape on his exhale, trying them on for size. All at once he feels terribly important, the sudden weight of responsibility impossibly great, and so he returns to simply watching, feeling as though he has rushed himself somewhere he is not yet ready to be, but wants just the same.

When the countdown hits zero, he expects a cacophony of noise, and inwardly prepares for an eruption of joy so volatile he thinks the earth may crumble. It is finished, so therefore everyone should be celebrating its completion, but still his father remains seated - though, he is hardly in his chair at all. Over time, he has inched forward on the cushion, preciously balanced on the edge as he presses the palms of his hands into the fabric of his slacks. 

Everyone seems to be waiting, and so he decides to wait too, the tension in the room feeling not unlike the threat of loss. Wringing his hands together, he squirms restlessly, room so quiet he wonders if anyone is even breathing, if even the men on the news have decided to stop the air in their lungs, oxygen unnecessary now that men have learned to walk through space. 

Eventually, after what feels like an impossibly long time, he hears it:

“Houston, the Eagle has landed.”

In one swift motion, his father leaps from his chair, hands clutched at his sides in fists and eyes latched on the screen as his mouth opens, uncertain if he should laugh or cry or both all at the same time, a guttural noise of unprecedented awe. His mother lifts one hand to her mouth as she laughs, the fervor of her amazement jostling him gently, their determinedly poised expression of triumph somehow wondrously loud. Outside, beyond the picture window of the living room, he can hear other families celebrating, some brought out into the street to set off firecrackers; the magnitude of their excitement a thunder that rolls through the night sky, victorious in nature and marvelously unifying in its breadth.

Craning his neck up and back, he glances out the window to the night sky and studies the moon, her paltry light and her enduring solitude, and he shifts against the couch cushion to get closer. Nestled deeply into the inky black of the night, the moon is not yet full, little more than a sliver of light he thinks could be his fingernail, a piece of him etched into the sky. Never in his life as it appeared so close, the surrounding shadows doing little to mistake her shape for smallness, so near to him now he imagines he could reach out and touch it. He tries to picture it, the bodies of people walking along the surface as he holds it in his hands, tries to imagine them, their figures moving through the light, but sees nothing, just the rise and fall of her light, the craters and the white. 

When he looks back at the broadcast, once more the scene has changed but this time the animations and projections have completely disappeared. Now, it is simply the Moon - the Moon and its landscape, inching ever closer as the rocket made its descent. A small notice in the corner states that footage comes with a delay, and therefore he is seeing, now, what he should have been seeing several minutes ago. He falls into them the same way the rocket seemed to fall slowly, delicately, to the surface, as though he was there, as though this secondary, retroactive landing is all his own.

Gripping the edge of the cushion, he finds there is something profoundly compelling about the surface of the Moon, and all its vast emptiness. Though there is nothing, it seems there is an ever present something, an itch at the back of his mind that feels perplexingly like delight and disappointment at the same time. 

‘How come we’re only seeing these now?’

Looking to his father for just a moment, he hopes there is a reasonable explanation for why he should only be receiving this information now. Now, when there is likely so much more to be seen, so much more to know, and so much he is unable to see, doing his best not to feel heartbroken at the prospect. 

‘It takes time for the image information to come back to Earth,’ he explains evenly, having finally reclined back into his chair now that the great work has been completed. ‘It takes time for Mission Control to receive, process, and broadcast them.’

It is logical, he knows, but still it is not enough. He thinks nothing will ever be enough, ever again. ‘Why?

Chuckling, his father releases a sigh. ‘Light has to travel between Earth and the Moon, and our technology just hasn’t caught up with light yet.’ He pauses momentarily, falling quiet in that dreamy way Chanyeol admires when his father is about to say something profound, something that always makes him feel like puzzles are the embodiment of bliss. ‘It will, though, one day.’

Chanyeol likes that idea, the notion that something, anything, could move alongside beams of light. Sometimes, when his mother lets him set up the tent in the backyard, he takes his flashlight and his binoculars out and points them to the sky, hoping for a better view of the stars. The beam from his flashlight reaches upward, higher than his own arms can stretch, far past the trees and up into nothingness. It always seems to happen in an instant.

‘How fast is light?’

His father hums, considering the question. ‘Think about it this way,’ he begins, still sounding far away, immersed in his thoughts. ‘It takes light from the Sun eight minutes and seventeen seconds to reach Earth.’ Chanyeol’s eyes widen, acutely aware of the vast distance between the Sun and the Earth, and the way his parent’s Buick could never go that fast - not even the boat they took to get here could compete. ‘Imagine moving that fast.’

His attention moves back to the lunar surface, eyes still wide as he studies the deep craters and the way the black of the sky beyond is somehow even more black than the one he sees beyond his window. This black is infinite, all consuming, and he has the creeping sensation that if he were to reach out to touch it, his very hand would disappear. Swallowing thickly, he stares at it, mystified, trying to recall if the monochrome of their television has ever been so dark. 

“It’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

A laugh erupts from his father, the loudest his laugh has ever been and his mother simply shakes her head, voice having fled perhaps to where the stars are hung. Chanyeol watches as his father laughs and claps his hands, a myriad of emotions walking over his face with each exhale of breath. 

‘Whose voice is that?’ he asks, wanting to know who made his father so happy.

‘Astronaut Neil Armstrong.’ 

Astronaut. This is a word he knows, one his classmates have been saying repeatedly over the last three days. The first time he’d heard it, he returned home and went immediately to his mother’s English dictionary, searching for a better definition than the one his peers have provided. 

Astronaut. A noun. Added to English lexicon in 1929, a date not too far reaching in the past, a date that reminds him of sepia toned white linen clothes and Japan. A compound of Astron and Nautes, Greek for Star and Sailor respectively. Popularized in 1961 due to America’s space travel program, now meaning space-traveler. 

He likes Star Sailor better, but up until this moment he had no frame of reference for the application, no sense of who would do such a thing, or how. Astronaut Neil Armstrong has a rich voice, one that he likes listening to, clear toned and full of good humor. Apprehension waits at the back of each of his words, every word he says a first, every step he takes a first, everything about Neil Armstrong is first.

‘I could do that,’ he whispers to no one, just for himself and the sky.

Gripped by his sudden jealousy, by Neil Armstrong’s voice, and the way he must wait, impatiently, for several minutes just to see something new, he seemingly both forgets his parents are in the room with him and wishes, simultaneously and all the way into his blood, that it was him on the Moon and not Neil. He doesn’t want to wait to see it all, he wants every moment to be filled with this kind of enterprising discovery, this kind of relentless adventure. It is not enough to see the high contrast of black and white on the screen, because he knows, as though he has always known, the world beyond is so much more colourful than this. 

Sometimes, when he goes camping with Rodney and his parents, they sneak out of their tent long past bedtime and look up at the stars - the sky dotted endlessly with blots of light. In the shimmer of night, the light has colours - the sky a deep purple, the stars a mix of red and blue and yellow, sometimes even green in their hue. Surely, the view from the moon must be just as brilliant, and Chanyeol hates that he is not seeing it, not really, not for himself. 

It’s when Neil Armstrong begins to jump that things begin to change, the lines between himself and the astronaut blurring altogether. In the low gravity of the Moon, the scene fades from the surface of the moon to something new entirely, the broadcasters laughing incredulously at the sheer silliness of it. Neil Armstrong takes long strides, lifting off the balls of his feet and jumping forward, landing gently on the surface before repeating the action.

Everyone is laughing. Neil’s voice is full of childish glee. His father presses his head back into the cushion of the chair, eyes closed as though welcoming a rapture. Beside him, his mother swallows her laughter, afraid of moving too much and waking his sister. Chanyeol thinks the whole world might be laughing in unison, bonded by the pure euphoria of this moment.

But he is excluded from this. He is not euphoric. He is ravenous.

Chanyeol rises to a stand, convinced now that he is just the same as Neil and, because there is no difference, he should not have to wait to touch the Moon himself. 

Moving through the living room with fast strides, he is reminded of his mother’s rule that there is no running in the house. He’s not really running, he thinks, moving at a speed just below the true definition of running, passing through the kitchen to the sliding glass door and into the back yard. Behind him, his parents are calling out, demanding that he come back to the couch. But he ignores them, eyes trained on his singular goal.

Summer’s trampoline is set up in the center of the soft grass, just beyond the patio. A consolation for their lack of a pool, he spends most of his days bouncing while his sister watches from the side, head craned upward to watch him soar. He’s been tremendously silly, he thinks, spending nearly the entire month of June and into July attempting a back flip when he should have been doing this.

Hippity hoppity.

Climbing onto the trampoline, he takes off his slippers and socks, tossing them over the side and into the grass. His mother lingers in the doorway, calling for him to come down and come back inside, but he doesn’t listen. Chanyeol jumps, bracing himself and bending his knees for each landing so he can gain more height, more speed. With each rise and fall he keeps his eyes trained on the Moon, the sliver of light that looms ever closer, growing more bright the longer he looks. At his highest point, he reaches out his arms, letting his hands trace its edges, before falling away, slipping away back to Earth. 

If he gets close enough, he is certain he could grab hold of it, certain that he too is defying gravity, the laws of science that his father so often lectures him about. Putting more force into his knees, he jumps again, his mother’s voice a scolding bark of annoyance and irritation - claiming that he will break the trampoline, that he will hurt himself, that he will wake his sister and other neighbors. 

Let them see, he thinks. Chanyeol wants them all to watch as he grabs hold of the Moon and refuses to let go. 

Because, why shouldn’t it be him?

Hippity hoppity.

Author’s Note: this originally was intended to be part of the much larger one shot, but as i was writing i felt that it kind of stood alone as more a prologue than anything else. this moment is not referenced again in the full story, but it does set up a lot of information about chanyeol, why he goes to space to begin with, and will be reflected in a different scene within the full story. @j-pping​ and i both agreed it suits the series best as a prologue so i hope you enjoy it ;--;

Research Notes: i watched the archival footage of the Moon landing from NASA and CBS news archives. the quotes italicized were actual words said during the landing. neil’s famous quote is actually ‘one small step for a man [...]’ however due to delay and dropped frequency the word was lost - this is also why most commands and answers were four words at max. the original news broadcast was done in technicolor, however owning a TV in technicolor was still not entirely common in the 60s and become more prominent in the early 70s, hence why Chanyeol watches everything in black and white. if anyone reading this is an astrophysicist, im doing my best to research everything featured in this story to precise accuracy but if something is wrong im sorry and please let me know :(

tag list: @delightpcy​ @noellestrash​ @falsemagic​ @wonderlustlucas​ @junkfoodwriting​ @taestfully​ @heatofmyexoheart​ @5am-rainyandgrey​ @dont-have-fear​ @cloudyhaechan @pimolalola @ahgishaman​ @softly-savage-mint-yoongi​ @yehet-me-up​ @lamichellee​

[adiwriting]

@litwitlady​ requested more Isobel, so here you go.

As always, prompts for this verse are open. Drop them in my inbox or message me. (gif by @darlingnotso​ <3 ) 

PSA: I’ve been struggling all week with how to continue writing Malex given my current emotions about the TB situation. And I realized that not creating anymore isn’t going to help anyone. What WILL help is putting money towards relief for Native Americans. So from this point forward, every time I post a fic, I am going to be donating $$ to the Navajo Nation COVID-19 Relief Fund and if you are willing and able, I invite you to do the same. 

Week 14: 

Michael is laying in bed with Alex, both of them just starting to wake up after a late night. Alex had performed at open mic night and then Maria had offered up a round of shots. One round of shots quickly became several and after an Uber home, they’d continued drinking over a very competitive game of strip poker, that Alex had lost spectacularly at. So when the puppies start barking incessantly from the other room, Michael can only groan. 

A moment later, the doorbell rings. 

“No,” he grumbles and Alex whines. Neither of them make a move to leave the bed when the doorbell rings again. 

Michael looks over at Alex expectantly, and Alex’s only response is to wave at his leg, helplessly. 

Michael snorts. “Interesting how you are so ready to pull the disability card when it comes to things like this, but when you’ve been on your feet for hours and I’m offering you a chair, it’s all, ‘I can do anything anyone else can do, twice. Three times on Saturday.” 

Alex continues to smile at him until Michael rolls his eyes and gets out of bed. The moment he vacates his spot, Bell jumps into bed and cuddles up next to Alex. 

“Traitor,” Michael tells her, with no real malice behind it. He’s glad to see that she’s getting more comfortable with them both every week that she’s here. 

He slips into last night's jeans, zipping them up but ignoring the button. Whoever is at the door can deal with it. He’s not planning on being in his clothes for long. 

“Bring me a coffee on your way back,” Alex tells him with the most adorable smile that he doesn’t even flip him off playfully like he normally would at such a request. Instead he kneels on the bed and leans over Bell to give him a kiss. 

The doorbell rings a third time and the puppies go crazy. 

“Alright, I hear you,” he says, standing back up and heading out the door. 

He rubs his eyes and he makes his way through the house. He peeks into the kitchen. The moment the puppies see him, they start jumping over each other, trying to hop the baby gate to get out, barking to get his attention. 

“Give me a minute,” he tells them as he reaches the door. 

The doorbell rings again and Michael curses as he opens it, annoyed to see Isobel on the other side. 

“You couldn’t just use your powers to unlock the door yourself?” he grumbles, confused at the grocery bags in her hand. He’s 100% sure he didn’t agree to her coming over today.

“Your neighbor’s watching and being super creepy. I got nervous,” she says. 

Michael looks over her shoulder and rolls his eyes when he realizes who she is talking about. 

“Asshole,” he explains before raising his hand with a fake smile. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Register!” Through his teeth, he adds, for Isobel’s enjoyment, “not a single one of her flowers are gonna bloom this year. She reported us to the HOA last week.” 

“Why?” Isobel asks, perfect mix of annoyed and confused. “Your guys house could be the cover of Better Homes and Gardens.”

Mrs. Register glares at him before heading back into her house, at which point he flips her off. 

“She claims our fence is too tall,” he says, stepping out of the way so she can come inside. 

“Was it?” she asks, heading for the kitchen. The dogs go crazy when they enter. Isobel greets them all, pulling treats out of her pocket for them. Determined as ever to buy their affections. 

“No,” he says offended. “You think I would install a fence that wasn’t the proper height? I told her I’d cut it down if she wanted to see all the queer sex we have in the backyard. She’s a homophobic bitch who’s pissed off that I moved in.”

“So you moved in!” she asks, squealing in delight so loudly that he rolls his eyes. 

“No,” he answers quickly to cover up his slip. He’s certainly been calling Alex’s place home for weeks now, but he doesn’t live here. Not yet. Not until Alex brings it up. It was his space first and Michael doesn’t want to intrude or push too hard or too fast. “You know what I mean,” he says, hoping she’ll drop it. 

Thankfully she does. She starts unpacking her bags and he leans against the counter to watch. Trying to figure out what it is that she thinks she’s doing. He’s well past the days where he needed Isobel to stock his fridge for him. 

“So you did your little weed-o-magic curse on her?” she asks. 

“Trust me, the woman deserves far worse, but it’s all Alex will let me do,” he complains, taking the eggs from her and putting them in the fridge. 

“Well luckily, my orgasms don’t depend on being in Alex’s good graces.” Michael makes a face. He doesn’t want to hear about his sister’s orgasms. “I’ll let the air out of her tires on the way out.” 

He smiles at that. After some of the hateful things the lady has said to Alex and him, it’s what she deserves. “You’re my favorite sibling,” he says. 

“I know.” She smiles at him, patting his cheek lovingly. 

He hears the creak of the bedroom door open down the hall and sighs. If Alex is up, his hopes of crawling back into bed are slowly fading. 

“Are you going to explain why you’re waking us up on a Sunday?” he asks as Alex appears at the baby gate, puppies yelping to get out. Alex opens the gate and moves to the back door to let the dogs outside. 

“Everyone else is gonna be here in an hour. I figured I’d help you get the house ready,” she says. 

“Ready for what exactly?” Alex asks, returning to the kitchen. He leans against the counter and Michael shuffles over so that he can lean against him. 

“We’re having family brunch here,” she says, like it’s no big deal. 

“What?” he asks, as if he misheard her. He heard her just fine, but he doesn’t accept. He did not agree to this. 

“Our Sunday family brunch,” she says, like that somehow constitutes an explanation. 

He looks over at Alex who mutters, “I better go find pants.” 

“Oh I don’t know Captain Manes, I think you look delicious,” she says batting her eyelashes in a way that Michael knows is teasing but he still steps in front of Alex to shield him from her view. 

“Stop flirting with my boyfriend and get your own,” Michael tells her. Alex’s hands find their way around his waist and Micheal leans into the touch. 

“You’re no fun,” she says, turning back to put the rest of the groceries away. 

“Iz, explain,” Michael tells her. 

“We’re having brunch.” She smiles at him without an ounce of remorse even though Michael knows that she knows exactly what she’s doing. 

Alex snorts. 

“Okay, now explain it like we are 5,” Michael says, fighting back an amused smile. He is not going to be happy about this, no matter how hilariously persistent she is. She’s a brat and he isn’t going to encourage her. She’s ruining his Sunday. 

“You said that, under no circumstances, were you leaving this house today,” she tells him, crossing her arms, daring him to challenge her on her interpretation of his words. 

He shakes his head as Alex whispers, “I told you to not to leave her a loophole to climb through.” 

Michael looks over his shoulder at Alex, who is fighting back a smile, clearly having already settled on amused instead of annoyed. 

“I hate you,” he says, rubbing his face in defeat. 

“I love you, too,” she says with a laugh. “Now button up your pants and go find a shirt that isn’t covered in last night’s sexual activities. 

“It happened one time,” Alex grumbles into his ear and Michael laughs. 

“You’re doing all of the cooking and the cleanup,” Michael tells her. 

Isobel shrugs. “Done.” 

“We’re going to go get ready,” Michael says, taking Alex’s hand and walking out of the kitchen. 

On the way out, Alex turns to her and says, “We aren’t making a habit of this.” 

Isobel raises her hand in a salute and says, “Whatever you say, Captain.” 

The challenge in both Alex and Isobel’s eyes has Michael groaning. Michael lets the puppies back in and then heads back to the bedroom with Alex. 

“You shouldn’t goad her,” Michael complains. “If you give her a challenge, she won’t back down. She doesn’t know how to lose.” 

“Babe, I’ve been to actual war. I think I can handle your sister,” he says. 

Michael shakes his head. No matter what Alex may have seen in Iraq, he’s never really had to combat Isobel in full on event planning mode. 

“I’ll be sure to say nice things at your funeral,” Michael jokes. 

Bell whimpers at them as they start pulling clothes out of the closet. 

“Sorry girl,” Michael tells her. “We won’t be spending the day with you.” 

Bell turns her head to look at Alex, expression hopeful, if that’s even possible for a dog. 

Alex shakes his head. Bell puts her head back on the pillow and shimmies until the blanket is covering all of her. 

“She’s got the right idea,” Michael says with a laugh, trading out his old jeans for a clean pair. 

“It’s not so bad.” Alex sits on the bed to get his prosthetic on. 

“Isobel’s brunches from hell aren’t so bad?” Michael says, eyes going wide in comedic shock. “Did Alex Manes just admit that he likes a party?” 

“It’s not a party, it’s a family brunch,” he argues. “It’s kind of nice. You know?” 

Michael does know. It’s the kind of thing neither of them had growing up. 

“I still get to be mad about the lack of morning sex though, right?” 

Alex laughs. “Always.” 

Tagged: @callieramics​, @redstalkingdeath​ @alexmaanes

(wanna be tagged? hit me up)

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 11: Discharge Plan

Characters: Captain Syverson x OFC (Shane Dawson)

Summary: The highs of Shane and Sy’s first weekend as a couple are followed up by some big news from Sy, leading to our couple’s first fight.

Don’t miss a session! Click here to catch up on this story or explore my other works!

Word Count: 2.7

Warnings:  Language, mature themes, smut, sort of unprotected sex, rough-ish sex, angst, alcohol consumption,

Author’s Note: First off, I wanna talk about the word “victuals.” I’ve loved this word for a long time, even though it makes no sense, phonetically as it actually rhymes with the “fiddles” or “riddles.”(It’s true, look it up!) It’s very pastoral and somewhat archaic, so you don’t hear it too much anymore in current writing about the present, but I just felt like Sy would say it. Secondly, it was really hard for me to put my darlings through the argument in this chapter. I want them to have only happy times…but that provides no tension or motivation for story development…and I want to keep writing them more than I want them to be happy… I guess I finally understand why authors torture their characters! Lol! It might take a bit of time for me to sort out what their relationship looks like adding the distance factor, but I have some ideas that might work. Also, it might be an opportunity to do a bit more of Sy’s perspective, which I thoroughly enjoy, and may go back and fill in some blanks for him in between chapters I’ve already done. I hope you all enjoy this installment of the Treatment of Captain Syverson! Feedback in any form is always appreciated!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags: 

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland

@speakerforthedead0

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Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

The rest of the weekend was spent in blissful relaxation. Sy went to his place to feed Aika and bring her over at Shane's insistence. The dog had been slightly standoffish with her, but Sy assured her that it was in her nature to be aloof, and that she needed to be engaged or instructed to behave more doglike.

"It's her training. She's still a soldier. It's hard for us to shake those habits. Like me calling you 'ma'am' at first."

"She's another die hard. I respect that." she chuckled, scratching Aika behind her perked ears, and eliciting pants of contentment from her.

Sy's skills with a spatula were unmatched. That was to say, he made the best pancakes she'd ever had. They almost didn't need syrup…almost. They ordered an obscene amount of Chinese takeout which lasted them about three meals each. Sunday evening, though, which had a gloom to it no matter the circumstances, required some comfort food. They agreed on pasta, so Shane made up some of her famous alfredo sauce and probably twice the recommended portion of pasta for two humans to consume. There were no leftovers. Sy had three helpings, himself. Three heaping bowls of it. Shane couldn't handle more than one and a half servings, even though she wanted to gorge herself. She knew too much would make her ill.

When they weren't eating, the were cuddling on the couch, or in Shane's bed. They watched more Parks and Rec, and a few other films and shows that Sy requested, just to break things up. Their bodies were constantly wrapped in each other, leading to frequent bouts of making out, fooling around, and sex in almost every room of the house.

Her favorite had been the shower. She insisted on getting cleaned up, but Sy had objections.

~~~~~~~~

"I'll be less than ten minutes, come on, I reek! You can't wanna kiss me when I smell like this!" she said, trying to shut the bathroom door on the human mack truck before her. Broad and formidable.

"You smell like sex, and…me, darlin. I've never wanted to kiss you more," he said, backing her up toward the shower doors. "but I guess if you must. Lemme help, though." he pulled open the glass door, forcing her into his captivating kiss, and maneuvering her backward into the walk-in, stone tile shower. He pulled off her tank top, capturing her breasts in his hands and mouth for a moment before kneeling to remove her shorts and kiss her thighs. He pulled himself away too quickly and started the water flowing.

"Sy, you're fully dressed!" he was barefoot, but otherwise, in jeans and her favorite of his tees. The letters DILLIGAF across a skull, black on red. She always laughed on the inside when she saw it. Because although Sy often had to put on a calloused and brusque act when he'd been an officer in the Army, he was terribly soft and sweet when the occasion called for it. The irony being that although he didn't look like he gave a fuck, he actually did.

"I've got more clothes in the truck and you've got a dryer." he maneuvered her under the pulsing stream of the showerhead. "Gotta get you wet." he let the water run through her hair as he reached for her shampoo, a coconutty concoction that reminded her of summer, squeezed a bit into his hand, and lathered it up. He worked the suds into her wet hair gently, raking his nails across her scalp in a way that excited and ignited every atom in her. She sighed at his touch which made him groan with need.

He tilted her head back to rinse the lather out and reached for the conditioner. He was a bit more generous with it than strictly necessary, but she didn't protest. He pulled her hair forward in two sections, one over each shoulder and worked the emollient into the strands. His hands slick from the product, he ran them over her breasts and her abdomen and hips…between her legs. There her own arousal was primed to combine with the tropical unction. She gasped as he worked his fingers over her, slow at first, but speeding up, only to slow again. When she finally whimpered in frustration, he undid his jeans, and backed her up to the stony grey wall, not giving a fuck, as his shirt had suggested, that he and his clothes were getting soaked. His only care now apparently, was to satisfy the simpering cries of "yes, please." from Shane.

His first few thrusts were slow and measured, knowing that she was still adjusting to his size. But it didn't take long for him to lose control. She wasn't sure what was making him like this, but she was not complaining in the least. The texture of his jeans on her bare, wet thighs was a sensation she wouldn't soon forget. She gripped at him, holding onto his shirt for dear life as her climax built to impossible heights.

She was loving the way he lost himself in the ferocity of the act. And his release led to hers immediately. She wrapped herself around him in blissful embrace, and whispered his name as a prayer.

"Sorry, darlin,' I meant to…"

"It's okay. I'm on the pill and I'm not at a particularly dangerous time in my cycle."

He kissed her tenderly and reached for her bath puff and some body wash. "Well, let’s get ya cleaned up."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The only good part about Monday was that she'd be treating him. Although, he was scheduled in the afternoon. Her morning would drag on eternal.

He greeted her with a typical "hey, susnshine" and she led him into the gym, feeling his gaze on her ass, wanting, even though they'd just left each other quite satisfied that morning. He was freshly showered, beard well groomed, and his hair growing back in very nicely. He'd asked her weeks ago whether he should keep the buzzed look or not, and she had been entirely for growing it out. She wanted something to run her hands through. She'd be fine if it was at least shoulder length, but she wouldn't push that on him.

They did their normal warm up on the bikes, followed by some plyometric drills, which made him scowl at her in a way that lit her up like a firecracker. But the fact that he was able to jump up onto the box was encouraging. He couldn't have done that a month ago. He was progressing so well and was so close to his long term goals and discharge. It almost made Shane sad. It wasn't as though they wouldn't see each other, but having him break up the insanity of her day three times a week for just an hour was invaluable.

As they were doing their usual end of the session stretch in her treatment room, and she noted the improved range of motion he was getting, he broke the amiable silence with a question.

"Hey, can I bring a pizza or somethin' over for dinner tonight after you get off?"

"Sure!" she could tell there was something he wanted to say, but was holding back. She prodded. "Everything okay? You've been a bit…off today."

"I'm good. Just a little distracted." he deflected by touching her hip, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. She swatted him away.

"Not here, Sy."

"But that makes it fun!" he pouted.

"No, that really could get me fired! Getting frisky on company time!"

"Mmmm, I'd love to frisk you right now." he reached between their legs to try and grab her again, but she thwarted him and pinned his wrists at his ears.

"Cool it, cowboy, or your last two sessions are gonna make you wish you'd never met me." she threatened.

"Ain't nothin', nothin' on God's good green earth could make me wish that, sunshine." His stunning blue eyes softened her resolve and she let go, continuing to stretch him.

"Still…cool it." she grinned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She'd just had time to change into some comfy clothes, wash her face, and put her hair up when her doorbell rang.

Sy stood smiling under the porch light, a modern white knight, carrying a large pizza from Pizza Hut and a six pack of Miller High Life.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes! And it's nice to see you too, Sy!" she laughed, teasing him.

"Should I leave the victuals and go?" he asked, mock concern on his sarcastic brow.

"Get in here, soldier."

She got out napkins and paper plates because as horrible as it sounded, she just couldn't think about doing dishes tonight. She was even glad Sy had brought drinks in disposable or recyclable containers, and not wine, which she tended to prefer. She was exhausted, but not upset, which made the silence they ate in bearable. Sy still seemed to have something on his mind, though.

"Did you have something you wanted to talk about tonight, Sy?"

"Kinda, yeah, uh…it's kind of a big thing for me, and I know this is new, what we have, but…well, I'll just tell ya."

"Go on." she encouraged, worried.

"I…I talked to my old CO about jobs in the private sector. He referred me to a company that…well it's sort of an employment agency for vets. Mostly security for private companies and individuals. I had a phone interview with them this past Tuesday. I just got a call this morning that they want to meet me in person to finalize everything. Mostly a formality. When I go for that, I'll also have to stay there a couple of weeks to a month for training."

"Where is this…gig?" She said, flat affect hiding the feelings brewing under her skin.

"The offices are in Charlottesville…Virginia. And there may be some cross country training there in Shenandoah National Park."

"Cross country…by that do you mean survival training?" She was still cool, but getting more livid.

"You could call it that, I guess. But it won't be a challenge for me. I'm more worried about the technical stuff." His bravado and flippancy about the whole endeavor was enraging her. The thought that he'd be in the wilderness alone, was only a fraction of the big picture. He was going away for a month? And he had known about the job for a week now. A week in which so much about their relationship had changed, and shifted. How could he think she'd just accept this without a bit of raging.

"You waited until after we slept together to tell me this. You did it on purpose, Sy." that was the biggest problem, she thought. The fact that he seemed to be hiding it from her. It brought back old trauma that she thought he'd never have subjected her to.

"Yes and no, Shane. I wasn't intentionally keeping anything from you, I just didn't wanna bring it up until somebody bit."

"You wanted to keep me in the dark about something you were excited about? How do you think that makes me feel?"

"I didn't wanna get your hopes up or mine. Honestly."

"Saying 'honestly' doesn't make it honest, Sy. I've told you about everything that Elliott put me through. The lies. The secrets. This puts a bad taste in my mouth. You have to see that. Can't you?"

"Oh, sunshine, I--"

"No, please. Do not do that right now. Don't call me sunshine when all I can see is the night."

"I'm so sorry. My intention was not to make you feel in any way like that asshole ever did. Please hear me when I say that. I want to be the opposite of him in your mind in every way, darlin.' Please believe that."

There was so much sincerity in his voice, now nearing tearfulness that she felt he must be telling her the truth. She nodded. But was still apprehensive about the nature of the job and the training.

"But…what if you get hurt again?"

"I won't. You've all but fixed me, Shane. I'm stronger than ever."

"Can't you just…find a safe job? Here?" She was being selfish. She couldn't help it. Even though she knew she might regret it.

"Sit at a desk, ya mean? Deliver pizzas?" he indicated the box between them on the table. "Call people and ask them if they're happy with their cable services, Shane? Is that all I'm good for now?" he was angry.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"No, of course not. You're a PT. That's what you were meant to do, right? Well, imagine if you couldn't do that no more. Something or another, an injury, perhaps, or just plain ol' shitty situation, left you in a position where you couldn't go back. Couldn't do your dream job. Couldn't fulfill your purpose." he spat. "Wouldn't you do anything you could to be some shadow of what you were meant to be?"

She couldn't speak. Because he was right in so many ways.

"Because right now, I'm nothin'. I'm not doin' anyone any good. I'm a drain on my country, the one I swore to protect with my very life. It's like I've broken an oath. And it's fractured my soul."

"I see that. I truly do. But I need you here. You do ME good, Sy. I'm already half dreading d/c'ing you. I don't wanna have to say a goodbye, too." it was her truth. But it hit him very much sideways.

"So…what is it, Shane? You only want me when I'm broken? You only want me so you can fix me?"

"No, of course not! That's not what--"

"Am I a charity case to ya now? Is that why ya finally gave in and let me in your bed?"

"Sy, no!" she was crying now. It had hurt so much to think that he could have gotten that from what she'd said.

"I think if you can have feelings hurt about this situation then so can I."

He stood to leave, but she caught him by the wrist.

"Shane…you know I would never, ever harm you. But please… don't test my limits. Let… go." She did.

She was still quite a bit faster than him, so she ran ahead and blocked the door.

"Move." he insisted. She didn't.

"Hear me out, and then I'll let you go."

He crossed his arms and nodded, his gaze still one of cold steel.

"Sy, I didn't mean to make this job that you're clearly excited for into a source of anguish or to make it about me. I'm thrilled that you're going to get to do something you want in another field. I really am. I just…being with you has made me realize how good life can really be. And even if you'd told me before we slept together, I would have said the same thing. It was selfish of me to haul my baggage into the conversation when you aren't, have never been, and could never be Elliot. His best couldn't compare with your worst. And I will do my best in the future to think about who you are before I complain about the work you find to do."

"It's like I said about Aika before. She's a soldier. Hard trained. And so am I. It took a lot of hard work for me to get where I am, so much that it fundamentally altered who I am as a person. Now, in my opinion, those changes were for the better. I was kind of a shit before I became a soldier, thought the sun rose and set with me. I got some perspective and met some good people…lost some, too. Saw some shit I can't unsee. Some of it haunts me to this day, and I figure it always will. But I reckon if I can keep fighting the fight somehow. Keep protecting people in whatever way I can, my training and experience won't be a total waste."

"I understand and respect that, Sy. And I will back you in any way I can. I'll water your plants, I'll keep Aika whenever you're gone, I'm here for you."

"Oh, shit! I wasn't even thinking about having to leave my dog behind! Maybe this WON'T work!" he chuckled.

"Second fiddle to another woman already. I knew you were gonna break my heart, Captain Logan Syverson."

"Never intentionally, sunshine." he hugged her, tight, and with his whole body. Their argument in the past and their future an exciting mystery. Shane had never felt so safe and loved.

Up Next: Chapter 12: Final Home Exercise Program

[weasleydream]

Family reunion - Part 3 (Last part)

Here we are for the last part of this mini-serie! I hope you enjoyed it and don’t forget to tell me what you thought about it, I really would like to know. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 

Later that day, while Fred, George and I were eating dinner, I told them what happened at the Ministry. I told them everything, except the fact that Percy was afraid they would hate him forever. I felt like I didn’t have the right to do so, and I could just hope that one day, he would have the courage to face his beloved family.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The two following weeks had been busy, to say the least. 

George was almost constantly angry because of Percy’s reaction. I knew he would have been, I knew him quite well. The Ministry’s commands of Shield Hats were increasing, and made it impossible for the boys to keep up, I had to help them although George was not okay with it. Being aware that I didn’t like Verity’s proximity with him, he had begun to be more distant with her, which obviously didn’t please the helper. In short, our private and professional lives were full of tension. 

However, George had never been sweeter with me than now. He always tried to keep his anger away from me. He was so protective, and when we cuddled together, his hands eventually found a new home: they both rested on my belly like a loving protection for our baby. 

We were currently in each other’s embrace. The moon was shining in the sky, but I couldn’t find sleep. It was like this since the day we found out I was pregnant, one week ago. Too many preoccupations were in my mind, too many questions were obsessing me. 

Would I be a good mother? My only model was Mrs Weasley. Of course she was awesome, but was I really able to be as gentle, caring and perfect as her? And the war… We didn’t even know if we would have a future. I was afraid - no, I was terrified. What if something happened to George? He would do anything to keep us safe, but that was the point: he would do anything, even if it had to kill him. Without him by my side… Of course, I would have Fred: he would be broken, devastated, but he would still be here for us. If only nothing happened to him. 

Merlin, Y/N, stop this right now! They are both here with you, alive and okay. Stop this!

But I couldn’t. The dark in our room was an invitation for the dark thoughts. It was like when you’re a child: you’re not afraid of the dark but of what’s inside. I was in the same situation. What was scaring me was the vicious fears creeping where I couldn’t see them. I curled up in a small ball, my head resting on George’s torso, and his slow and regular heartbeat acted like a beautiful lullaby. 

“Fireworks, really?”

I had just told the twins about my idea. I wanted to announce my pregnancy in a special way, and considering their talent, I had thought fireworks could be fun. George smiled sweetly while holding my hand. Fred, however, seemed like he couldn’t believe it. 

“Yes, it could be fun! Plus, I thought you loved fireworks?” I added in a teasing tone.

“Of course I love fireworks! It’s just… Well, usually, you’re not the one to propose such extravagant things.”

“I know, but we’re going to announce the arrival of George Weasley’s baby! We have to do something extravagant.”

“I’m in!” Fred was, indeed, very excited to organize a firework at the Burrow.

“Whatever you want, babe.” George agreed. 

It was going to be fun. 

The friday before Easter, Bill arrived from France. He had let Fleur with her family. 

“I know mum doesn’t really like her and I didn’t want to ruin her family reunion.” he explained. 

The flat was small and, even if Charlie, Ron and Ginny weren’t here yet, we were starting to run out of room. Fred shared his room with Bill and they would be joined by Charlie. George didn’t want me or Ginny to sleep on the couch: he decided to sleep in the living-room with Ron while Ginny and I would stay in the room. When Charlie, Ron and Ginny arrived the following day, the flat was full. It remembered me of the Burrow at Christmas. 

It was the first time in more than two years that Charlie was in England and he had plenty of fascinating stories about dragons. We spent all the saturday afternoon listening to him, watching him with big eyes, gasping when he told us about a particularly dangerous Hungarian Horntail, Ginny and I cooing when he described the three dragon births he had the chance to see. 

By this time, the fireworks were ready. Fred had decided to develop them alone so that it would be a surprise. No one knew about the baby: obviously, the Weasley were suspicious, they knew something was going to happen but we did a pretty good job ensuring everyone this reunion was perfectly innocent. 

Easter was the following day. Everyone woke up way too early for me. Once Ginny in the kitchen, I was alone in the bedroom, still under the soft blankets. George came to see what was taking me so long. When he saw me half-asleep, he couldn’t resist the temptation and cuddled with me, which caused Fred and Ron to mock us the entire morning. 

We had decided to take the Knight Bus in order to go to Ottery St. Catchpole. When we finally stepped out of this hell-with-wheels, relieved and wanting to throw up (it was my case), we headed towards the Burrow. The walk was nice, the sun was already high in the sky and the trees showed the most beautiful colours. Soon, the fantastic house could be seen, and Charlie seemed a bit emotional. We stopped outside, in front of the door, positive that Mr and Mrs Weasley were up but not aware of our presence. I grabbed George’s hand as I was starting to feel stressed. He hold mine tight, sending me a sweet smile as Fred knocked at the door. 

To say that Mrs Weasley was shocked was an understatement: in fact, she looked like she didn’t know if she would scream or faint. Fortunately, she choose the first option. Her shouts of joy along with her tears were heartwarming. She practically jumped into Charlie’s arms, sobbing and constantly repeating how much she was glad to see him. Charlie, with the biggest grin I had never seen on his face, was hugging his mother and stroking her hair, telling her he would stay in England during all the holidays. Knowing her son wouldn’t vanish soon, Mrs Weasley finally moved to Bill, then to Ginny, to Ron, to Fred and finished with George and I. Mr Weasley arrived soon after we all entered the house and seemed quite shocked, like his wife. Like her, he pulled Charlie into a strong embrace, though shorter, and welcomed everyone. 

“Who do I have to thank for this beautiful surprise?” Mrs Weasley’s voice was still emotional.

“I think the one you can kill with your hugs is Y/N, mum.” Ron responded. “Even if we had to drag her and George out of bed.” He added, much to Fred’s amusement. 

Mrs Weasley practically ran to me and engulfed me in one of her famous hugs. I could feel her tears on my skin, and she apologized about a hundred times before I could stop her. 

“You don’t have to apologize, Mrs Weasley, it’s a pleasure to see you that happy.”

Everyone was gathered in the living-room, chatting happily. Charlie was telling his father the story about the Hungarian Horntail he had told us before, and Ron and Ginny were also listening to him. Fred and George were showing Bill some new product they kept in their old room. The only one silent was Mrs Weasley, and, when I saw a single tear on her cheek while she was rushing to the kitchen, I knew it wasn't a tear of joy. I joined her and found her sobbing. I sat next to her and silently passed my arm around her shoulders. I knew what was bothering her. 

“I’m sorry.” My voice was quiet. 

I didn’t want to tell her why Percy wasn’t here. She would probably run to London, begging him to talk to her and ensuring him they didn’t hate him. However, I didn’t want her to think her son hated her either. I decided to tell her the truth. 

“Mrs Weasley, I… I went to see Percy at the Ministry.”

Her reaction was immediate. She squealed and looked up to me with teary eyes. 

“He doesn’t hate you” I spoke softly. “He’s afraid, Mrs Weasley, afraid that his father would hate him. He’s sorry.” I added, even if he hadn’t told it explicitly. 

She nodded, sighed, and started to prepare the lunch for everyone. I helped her and, after a while cooking silently, George’s worried voice echoed in the house. 

“Y/N, where are you?” 

“In the kitchen” I replied, not without hearing Ron chuckling to Fred’s answer (“Your boy wants to cuddle, kiddo!”)

George went to check on me and sent me a questioning look. I shook slightly my head, and he understood I would tell him later. He joined Fred in the living-room without telling a word. 

“Why did you do that, Y/N?” 

Mrs Weasley’s voice was calm. She was obviously curious, because she stopped what she was doing, waiting for my answer. I suddenly found myself very uncomfortable, because we wanted to wait for the night to fall to announce my pregnancy with the fireworks. We thought it would be better. I avoided her eyes and responded quickly.

“I just thought you would be happy.”

She seemed suspicious but didn’t tell anything. We finished while chatting about a lot of things and everyone reunited around the table. The lunch was a typical Weasley lunch: loud, full of laughters and absolutely delicious. The good old habits were slowly re-emerging: Mrs Weasley was complaining about Bill and Charlie’s hair length and Mr Weasley was babbling with Ron about some muggle objects. Ginny was laughing at Fred while he was trying to turn a chicken wing into something more entertaining. George was holding my hand under the table, just like he used to when we were younger. 

“It was a wonderful idea, baby.” He murmured into my ear. “Look how they’re all so happy, and we didn’t even tell them the good new yet.” 

The afternoon was honestly one of the best I had in months. After eating, we installed ourselves in the living-room. I sat on George’s lap while Ginny was complaining about the Slug Club. Then Ron proposed to play Wizard’s chess, and a true tournament was organized. It reminded me a bit of Percy, because playing chess was something I did with him during the holidays. Ron was the undisputed winner. During the following hour, each one went about their occupation. 

George and I went into the twins’ old room and cuddled in my boyfriend’s bed. He immediately put his hands on my belly and sighed in satisfaction. He had been unable to do that since Bill’s arrival and it was pleasant to feel his hands again. But George seemed to have missed our baby more than I thought: he slowly lied me in the bed and kneeled next to me. He slowly pulled up my shirt. He kissed lovingly my belly, murmuring some sweet things to the baby. 

“I love you so much, little one.” His voice was low, his eyes full of pure love. “I love you both so much. I can’t wait to finally meet you.” 

My eyes were filling with tears in front of this beautiful scene. He seemed so happy, at this moment, so genuinely happy that my heart seemed to be ready to explode. He slowly came back in the bed and kissed me. Moments that emotional were rare, and I knew George wasn’t really comfortable with opening up like this. That’s why he started to tickle me, my giggles getting louder and louder as he continued. I was almost crying when we stopped, a soft knock on the door being heard. It opened and Fred’s face was on the opening. 

“The night is falling, lovebirds.”

We followed him downstairs. Everyone was gathered in the living-room, but soon Fred was nowhere to see. Outside, the sky was turning bright red as the moon started to show itself. A loud noise disturbed the peaceful silence and everyone hurried outside, almost as if they were waiting for something like that to happen. 

The sky stayed empty for a few seconds. It was as if the purpose of the noise was to make everyone go outside. Then the real show started.

At first, the space in front of the family was coloured in blue and pink with plenty of pretty little explosions. It looked like flowers. When these first fireworks disappeared, others were thrown and wrote a sentence in the air. 

George and Y/N have a surprise for you!

All eyes turned towards us. George sent his family a bright smile and his grip on my hand tightened. When other fireworks exploded, no sentence was needed and everyone understood perfectly. It was a pretty good representation of George and I. The firework-George was behind the firework-me and both had in their hands a baby. Below this pretty portrait of our future family was written:

We're going to be parents!

While it was fading, a big orange W, the inimitable signature of the twins, appeared in the sky with written in yellow:

See you soon baby Weasley!

And the sky was empty. The silence was almost deafening as I was waiting for the reactions of the Weasley, and most particularly for Mrs Weasley's one. I was also tearing up because what Fred just offered us, it was… It was perfect. He showed up, a huge grin on his lips. The other Weasley were still silent, probably trying to process what they just saw. Ginny was the first one to squeal happily as she threw herself in my arms. 

“I’m gonna be an aunt!”

From this point, everything became a blur where I could just distinguish the congratulations. George never released his grip on my hand. However, despite everyone’s kind words, I couldn’t stop to look anxiously at Mrs Weasley who was still silent. Tears were rolling on her cheeks and when she made a first hesitant step, everyone stopped and watched her. Then she ran towards George and I and took us into a bear hug, our heads colliding in the process. She was sobbing and muttering something that seemed like “I’m too young to be a grandmother” but when she looked at us, her eyes showed her happiness and her pride. 

“I’m genuinely happy that you have decided to start a family. I still think you are too young but… I know you’re made for each other. Congratulations!” 

Her voice was still a bit trembling. We all went back to the living-room because it was starting to get cold outside. Mrs Weasley looked like she wanted to talk to us alone, but we had something to do before that. I spotted Fred and jumped into his embrace, sobbing like Mrs Weasley a few minutes ago. 

“Fred, it was… It was… It was perfect! Thank you so much! Thank you Freddie!”

He laughed and ruffled my hair. 

“Anytime kiddo. I can’t wait to see the little one.” 

When I finally agreed to let him go, George took my place and pulled his twin into a hug. 

“You don’t know how much it means to me what you did, mate… Thank you.”

“I know George, I know… You’re gonna be a great father.” Responded Fred while patting his brother’s shoulder. 

“And you a great godfather.” Replied George with an emotional voice.

“Godfather?” Fred looked like he couldn’t believe it, but a sparkle in his eyes showed how much he was touched. 

“Of course you silly, I would have asked Hagrid but he’s too far right now.”

“Hagrid? You’re disappointing me brother, I was sure you would have chosen McGonagall.”

  As laughter erupted in the living room, Mrs Weasley took my hand and led me into the kitchen. We were now alone, and she sat next to me. 

“Are you mad?” My voice was trembling. 

“No dear, I’m not mad.” She answered sweetly. “But I’m worried.”

“Me too.” I confessed. Seeing her interrogative look, I explained to her my insomnias. “I always think about this war. What if George is killed? What if I’m killed? Who- who would take care of our baby if we weren’t here anymore? What kind of life can I offer to my child with all this darkness in our world?”

Mrs Weasley listened to all my questions, all my uncertainties, all my worries without saying anything. She was just holding my hand, allowing me to know she would always be there. When I was finished and waiting for her answer, I was half-sobbing. Her answer was short and her voice was sweet.

“Everything will be okay, dear, because George and you have a family who’s gonna protect you at all costs. I promise you that you will be able to raise your baby with George. You hear me? I promise.”

I nodded slowly. But I had other worried, way more normal for a pregnant woman. I felt like I could confess these things to Mrs Weasley, after all, she had always done the job my mother should have been able to do with me. She had answered all my questions, she had helped me. 

“Does it hurt?” 

I felt quite ashamed to ask such a thing, but I wanted to know. 

“Giving birth? Yes darling, it hurts like hell. But when you have your baby against you… All the pain vanishes. It’s the beginning of a wonderful story.” Her eyes were a bit teary because of the memories. 

“What if I’m not a good mother?” As I expressed my worst fear, Mrs Weasley took firmly my hand and put her other one on my cheek. 

“The fact that you’re already worrying shows that you’re gonna be a wonderful mother, Y/N.”

With that, we headed back to the living-room, where George was telling how we found out about my pregnancy. He was already at the pillow part, but Mrs Weasley wanted to hear all the story. 

“Y/N hadn’t thrown enough pillows at Fred’s face and he found it suspicious.” Ginny summed up the story. 

Her mother seemed confused. As everyone laughed at her furrowed eyebrows, George went to me and kissed me.

[lovelivingmydreams]

Thank you guys: TS sides secret dating prank p1

As a thank you to my 230 followers. I decided to write out a concept I brought up a while ago. I know not everyone is here for my sides stuff, I'll write something for OUAT and Voltron too. So here's the first of the two part Sanders sides instalment of my 'secretly dating bet' idea.

Secret but not forbidden

Roman was pouting.

It wasn't very princely and he wasn't proud of it, but he was pouting none the less. Finally he gets Virgil to go on a quest with him and just about everything that could go wrong did.

Now he was dirty and soaked and injured.

“I can't believe you. Why in the world would you even go head to head with a manticore? What were you thinking?” Virgil mumbled as he helped Roman get to the bed in the abandoned cottage they found. Their first lucky break since they left the castle.

“I'm telling you falloutboy. I've fought more ferocious creatures than that and gotten away with barely a scratch… this one just got- argh!” Just then Roman accidentally moved his foot and a vicious sting shot through his body.

Virgil scowled as he took in Roman's pained expression. “Can't you just magic your injuries better? Or do you enjoy making me play nurse?”

Roman let out a flustered scoff at the accusation. “No! It's… I…it’s against the rules!”

Virgil blinked a few times in astonishment. “Rules…?”

Roman lifted his chin in defiance. “Unlike my brother I like to run a world where there is consistency and consequences. Until we get back to my room I’ll have to heal naturally,” he huffed as he turned away dramatically, ready for Virgil to berate him some more… but nothing came.

He turned back to Virgil and found the darker side looking at him thoughtfully.

“What?” he demanded.

Virgil shook his head and focused his attention on Roman's ankle.

“It' just… really mature of you… in your own way…” Virgil muttered as he ever so gently inspected the wound and tested how much movement it could handle.

Roman didn't realize he'd leaned in to see what he was doing until Virgil looked up and the tips of their noses came a hair’s width apart.

They both leaned back as fast as they could. Without another word, Virgil scrambled to his feet to get a fire started to warm them both up.

Roman took the time to consider the day’s events. If he was honest most of his misfortunes, with the exception of the unexpected downpour that had forced them to seek shelter, had one and the same cause. He had been distracted.

And not just today. He'd been noticing his tendency to get lost in thought when he was around a specific side a few weeks ago.

“I found some dry blankets,” Virgil announced, not quiet looking at him as he laid one next to Roman, another already wrapped around his own frame.

“Give me your cloak and stuff, I’ll lay it out to dry.”

Roman really, really wanted to protest, but he felt that would give him away so he just got it over with as fast as possible. And honestly, the warm blanket was worth the mild embarrassment.

Virgil sat down next to him.

“Your horses wouldn't happen to be the kind that always return in the end would they?”

Roman chuckled humorlessly. “They're not supposed to run off with all our supplies while we refill our canteens in the first place…” he should have tied them down better, but he had seen them brave much worse threats than a stray viper and he'd wanted to join Virgil at the river as soon as he could.

“I don't get it it's as if the entire realm…” then it clicked. “Oh…”

“Is that a good ‘Oh’ or a bad one?” Virgil asked tensely.

Roman blushed and looked back at his companion. “I… the imagination is playing out a different story than I thought… it's forcing us to follow the narrative.” His kingdom was trying to set him up.

“So you know what to do?” Virgil looked relieved. Roman was terrified.

“Yes. If I am right… well we could be home within the hour.” But everything would be different.

“That's great… isn't it?” Virgil picked up on Roman’s nervousness. Well, if he was going to risk it all he better go all in.

He took a deep breath and allowed his face to be soft, his eyes admiring, to show how he truly felt around his former adversary. He gently took Virgil's hand in his.

“Thank you, for saving me from the manticore… I am continuously astounded by your courage.”

Virgil blushed under Roman's praise and intense gaze, but he didn't look away.

“Virgil you are… I…” suddenly Roman felt soft lips gently touching his. The moment was over so fast he almost thought he might have imagined it. But then Virgil spoke. “Me too.”

Roman was ecstatic. He swiftly took hold of Virgil's face and kissed him properly.

And just when they parted they heard horses outside and a voice calling out for them.

“Deus ex machina?” Virgil scoffed dryly. The grin on his face took away from it though.

“Looks like we brought the story to it’s desired end. So… just to be clear…”

“Ugh. You want to hear me say it don't you?” Virgil complained.

“By the gods no. Not unless you want to. Just… we are officially dating, right?”

Virgil sighed. “Yes Princey. We're official. Now let's see about getting back so we can tell the others. Pat is going to freak!” Roman chuckled and let Virgil pull him up.

The man who'd followed their horses to their refuge had brought fresh clothes and some pain soothing herbs that would let Roman get home without too much trouble.

On their way Roman thought about everyone’s reactions… and out of nowhere he got an idea for an interesting once in a lifetime prank.

“Virgil?”

Virgil chuckled. “What? One kiss and you’ve got no more clever nicknames?” he teased.

Roman chuckled. “I have plenty don't you worry my dark knight in patched up armor. But I was wondering… what if we didn't tell anyone?”

Virgil grew silent. “you… don't want the others to know?” he asked tensely.

“My dear angel of darkness, I would love to shout from the rooftops that you are mine. But… what if we let them figure it out on their own?”

Virgil’s guarded expression immediately gave way to a mischievous gleam.

“Want to make it interesting?”

Roman was glad Virgil seemed on board. “I’m listening."

“Whoever does the thing that makes everyone realize we’re together has to plan our first official date.”

Roman nodded. “Alright, but some ground rules. We can’t straight up lie. And Remus doesn't count.” Virgil grinned wickedly. Already imagining the harmless chaos they were about to cause.

“Deal.” And with that they arrived at the gateway.

If the others noticed a difference when they got back, none of them mentioned it. To be fair their banter had steadily grown more and more flirty even before they confessed so the change might not raise any suspicion.

In all honesty it made their little game more exciting. They kept pushing the line of what they could get away with. Roman especially had a blast finding excuses to get close to Virgil and touch him casually in front of the others. His favorite was when one morning he took full advantage of Virgil's habit to sit on the kitchen counter for breakfast.

He stepped up to him and reached overh his head to get in the spice cabinet. He looked down at Virgil with a pleased grin when he noticed his boyfriend struggle to keep himself from checking him out. His sleepatire was much more casual and while he usually never left his room unless impeccably dressed and completely groomed, today he hadn't even combed his hair. Roman had found that Virgil had yet to deem any look on him unattractive and it had done wonders for his self image. So he let himself relax a little when it came to his appearance and man was it paying off.

"Eres tan lindo," he whispered lowly before stepping away, leaving Virgil to compose himself. Logan, who was reading the newspaper at the table didn't even spare them a glance.

While Roman liked proximity and sweet nothings as his hints to the others Virgil set up inuendo's and jumped on every opportunity to imply their relationship, remaining vague enough to be written of as something else.

"We both know who you think is the hottest of all of us. Fairest of them all, if you will, a hot topic..." he grinned during a game of truth or dare where Patton had dared Roman to give complement cards to the side they fit best with in his opinion.

Roman just threw up his hands and conceded.

“You got me there short, dark and handsome.” The jab at Virgil's height earned him a pillow to the face. And once again they flew straight under the radar.

The first real close call came from Remus. As expected honestly...

“Come on! I get why you are nit a fan of the classic princes, but Naveen and Tiana?!” Roman exclaimed gesturing to the paused screen that showed off the couple in question during their first wedding. They were sitting on the floor of Roman's room, cuddling underneath a blanket fort. Virgil had ran in earlier because he'd felt an attack coming up and wanted his boyfriend with him.

Once he'd calmed down Roman had made them both comfortable and got them some comfort snacks.

“They are fine. Tiana and Megara are my favorite Disney ladies. And Naveen is a well meaning airhead who can handle being humbled by a far more competent woman. But that,” Virgil gestured wildly at the screen. “Is not the best Disney kiss.”

“Alright. Then what is?” Roman demanded. Ready to defend this one. It was earned it came with magnificent outfits and the dialogue!

“This,” Virgil purred before laying one on Roman.

It was short and sweet and perfect. When Virgil pulled back he found his boyfriend looking rather pleased with himself. “What?”

“’So what you are saying is, I’m a Disney Prince?”

Virgil chuckled. “Well Thomas stole the show in a Disney production twice. And you are a Prince so…” Virgil didn't het to add anything else because Roman was now kissing him. It was a happy kiss. Playful and light but also earnest and…

“Roma…” when the door burst open they parted ways. Remus was balancing a pile of papers, props and fabrics related to whatever elaborate prank he’d come up with and didn't look at them in time to see them making out. But their position was far from platonic.

His eyes widened, he dropped everything and ran of screeching.

“Rude,” Roman muttered looking at the chaos his brother left behind.

“Leave it. He can clean it up himself. Let's finish the movie. Next one's my pick,” Virgil suggested, sitting back upright in a slightly less compromising position.

Roman considered going after Remus for a second. But he'd probably come back of his own accord.

And indeed. They'd only just settled back in after putting on Treasure Planet when the door flew open.

“See!?” Remus screeched gesturing to them in their fort.

He was talking to Janus, Patton and Logan who were taking in the scene.

“Did I misunderstand? Based of the description you provided I was under the impression we would find them in at the very least a state of undress.”

Virgil burst out laughing while Roman gasped scandalized.

“I'd never! Not without proper courting! Patton did I ever ask your permission to win Virgil' affections?”

“Pardon?” Virgil asked no longer laughing.

“If I were to ask you out it wouldn't be very princely to do so without Padre's approval,” Roman explained casually. "Then I’d ask you for the honor of taking you on a date.” Roman then turned back to their audience so he could pretend he wasn't aware of Virgil's blush.

“What exactly did he drag you lot here for?” he asked, sounding like he didn't even care.

“According to him you two were ‘going at it’?” Janus drawled narrowing his eyes at Roman. The snake might not approve of them. But Roman didn't really care about his opinion so it was fine.

Virgil groaned. “I… needed to calm down. Roman helped me out and we started watching Disney movies. We were not planning to do anything above a pg rating.”

“Oh… well… we'll let you get back to that then…” Patton smiled though he looked disappointed. Virgil was pretty sure he was rooting for them.

“Thanks Popstar,” he sighed relieved as Patton ushered the others outside. “Remus! Get your stuff to your side of the room at least!” Roman called after his brother. Remus reappeared in the doorframe with a pout. He started picking up his stuff as the door closed behind him.

Suddenly he heard Roman and Virgil chuckle. He looked up and they looked a lot cozier. Roman even kissed Virgil' hair. Dropping everything once more he jumped up and down pointing at them accusingly. “I knew it!” he screeched.

“If only your mind hadn't been in the gutter. Then it wouldn't have been so easy to keep it secret,” Roman grinned, relishing just a little in his brother's frustration.

“Your little stunt could've lost you the bet though,” Virgil countered.

Remus looked lost so Roman and Virgil explained the bet to him.

“So… what are you going to do? Tell everyone we're an item. Or help us?”

Remus grinned at his brother and his childhood friend.

"Let’s sow some chaos.”

@slytherin-halfblood you wanted to read something like this so here you go.

Part 2