#I just thought about taking a jab at what came naturally to this muse))

[intcritus]

a man of many talents, one of the few that remained his to claim was the ability to blend in with his surroundings, not stand out too much for too long as there'd be far too many prying eyes. he wished not to remain a specimen under the gaze of those that wished to understand him, those that yearned to find out what and why someone of his devious nature (as they so often referred to it as) had come to this particular place. they would simply have to wonder, for gallagher's intentions were his to keep and ponder on, to follow as well as see through as he spotted the familiar sight of welt under of the many trees on the xianzhou.

he hadn't been here, at least not this specific fleet, but circumstances had brought him on board for fun - and pursuit of a sphere he was searching for. who was to deny him some fun?

silently he'd approach the man from behind, hand reaching out as two fingers would drag themselves slowly up against welt's back; " lost in thought already ? it's not even noon in the right orbits yet, mister yang." a tease, naturally, jabbing at the very title that often earned him a similar title, but one that brought his head over the other's shoulder. like this, he'd nudge their heads together gently.

"but we could probably pretend it is."

cheeky, gallagher would let out a gentle laugh by welt's ear.

If there was one thing Welt could say he enjoyed, it was the open sky and the abundance of mechanisms in Xianzhou. It reminded him of being on his ship, all his own creations in reach and seeing different nebulae while traveling among the stars. He wasn’t alone anymore, he had a youthful crew and hobbies that occupied his time. And yet when he gets the chance, he always takes a moment to just exist in a secluded space – to take a breath and remind him that he’s able to just be some days. Of course, there are plenty of busybodies that need his knowledge, his expertise and he could hardly tell them no. To even think of it was a travesty. 

A heavy sigh filters through his nose, rolling the tension from his shoulders. Another day of no sleep was certainly catching up to him, though his senses were certainly more sensitive. Welt hoped it would dial down while he relaxed here in the shade. Arms came up to fold across his chest, lids sliding close over his gaze. Yes, he’d rest his eyes, just for a few moments.

 Even Welt, in this moment, could not tell anyone what made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but there’s a moment's pause then the touch of fingers drawing up his back like an intimate caress, even through his clothes. A hitch in his breath, lashes fluttering over his gaze before brow furrows, fighting over the full-body shudder that threatens to go through him. ❝ ━ Sir Gallagher, ❞ Beloved Gallagher, he muses silently, amusedly, as he slants a glance at his companion. ❝ ━ It’s never too early or too late to be lost in thought. Though, it was more so of me resting my eyes. ❞

The breath of Gallagher’s laughter on his ear nearly made Welt’s shoulders hitch up to shield them and he has to clear his throat to hide his fluster. Who told him to do that ? ❝ ━ Truth is, I was thinking about hiding for awhile. Just not existing for a few hours. ❞ A quiet confession, something wistful in his tone as he dares to lean back against the other, subtly like he hadn’t meant to do it at all. ❝ ━ Despite all the commotion that went on here, I find myself enjoying the open sky. ❞ Another sigh leaves him, lips curling faintly at the corners as lids slipped closed again, ❝ ━ Have you come to steal me away, Sir Gallagher ? My, my, an old defenseless man against the big, bad wolf ? ❞ He cannot help but tease quietly, enjoying the moment, for who else could he do this with so openly ? / @avaere

[theaudacitytowrite]

Disclosure

Series Masterlist

Loki x Fem!Reader

A/N: Request by @scorpionchild81​  I hope you like it even though I changed around your request quite a bit.

Maybe a bit angsty but with fluff at the end

Summary: Reader hasn’t been fully honest to Loki. What will happen when the truth comes out?

Word count:  1.509

“There she is. In all her glory on a Monday morning.” Lokis voice sounded through her lab like a soft cozy blanket, enveloping her gently.

“Good morning Loki.” she looked up from her laptop, welcoming him with a warm smile.

“How was the weekend? You look tired.” Loki inspected as he came around the lab table, only halting his step when he stood almost press next to her. He set down a coffee mug beside her, slowly pushing it towards her.

“My savior! Thank you.” she sighed and took a sip.

“Well.. it has been a couple of… exciting days.” Y/N mused about her not so relaxing weekend.

“That sounds intriguing. Is there a chance I might join you on one of those exciting days some time?” he inquired with raised eyebrows.

“We’ll see about that...” she hastily side stepped his question, returning her gaze to her laboratory report.

“Maybe if you behave yourself for once.” she just couldn’t bite back the teasing remark. It had become second nature by now to tease and let playful jabs slide into the conversation with Loki.

“I’m always on my best behavior for you, my angel.” Loki cooed, his elbows resting on the lab table. His head propped up on his joined hands, so he could glance up to catch her cheeks turn into a soft pink.

“Naw, you charmer.” she playfully swatted his arm, “What can I do for you today? Or have you just come around to shower me in compliments again.”

“Am I that transparent to you?” he grinned cheekily, “I do actually have an inquiry...” he straightened his posture.

“We’ve know eachother now for almost a year, and may I comment that you’re by far my dearest coworker, and it got me thinking…” Y/Ns stomach turned, she knew what was coming. She had dreaded this day for months now.

“Would you like to go out on a date with me, Y/N?” Loki asked with hopeful eyes.

“A date?” she choked, “With me?” Loki scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion.

“Well, I looked at you when I asked… and I used you name… So who else could I mean?” he chuckled uncomfortably, not knowing if Y/N was toying with him now or if she had been oblivious to his interest for all these months. He always thought he had been pretty open about it. The shared lunches, the sweet treats he often times brought around or the coffee he brought her every single Monday without a fail, the late hour talks every time she had to do overtime and Loki had joined her just so she wouldn’t be alone.

“Loki, I’m flattered. I really am… it’s just… I don’t think this is a good idea.” Lokis expressions dropped in a heart beat.

“Why not?” he tried his best to conceal the hurt in his voice.

“I mean we are coworkers, what if it doesn’t work out like we hope?” Y/N stuttered, but Loki could feel that this wasn’t her main concern.

“Don’t worry about that, my dove. This merely has begun.” he gently caressed her left arm, trying to sooth her running thoughts, “But I see, you do seem to share my feelings, aren’t you?”

“That’s not what I said.” her eyes went wide.

“But it’s not that you denied them either.” he stated with a hopeful tone, searching her gaze.

“Even if it doesn’t work out, which I don’t believe, I think we two are mature enough and close enough as friends, to not let it become a problem at work.” he reasoned.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea…” Y/N mumbled, avoiding his gaze at all costs and taking a step back. Lokis hand dropped back to his side.

“My love, I do accept your answer… and I promise that I won’t bring it up again. But could you at least explain to me why?” Loki sighed defeated. He wouldn’t nor couldn’t admit that she was tugging on his heart strings right now, and there wasn’t much missing anymore for it to break.

“I don’t know...” Y/N nervously chewed on her lips.

“Please Y/N.” he swallowed hard, trying to keep it together, “I just don’t understand what hinders you to delve into this. We laugh together, we spend practically every minute here together. We work perfectly as a team. We confide in one another…  Is it my past?”

“What? No! Not at all.” she cursed herself in her head. In a force of habit she reached out to cradle Lokis cheek but stopped her motion half way. The last thing she wanted was to make Loki feel guilty for this mess. This was on her. She slowly retracted her hand and instead started to fumble with her other hand.

“I know this will sound cliche but it’s not you.. it’s me.” she shyly looked at him, hoping this would be enough for the god.

“What do you mean by that?” Loki asked slightly frustrated.

“Please don’t be mad with me.” Y/N croaked, the lump in her throat betraying her and the tears she desperately tried to hold back, burning in her eyes.

“What could possibly make me mad at you, my love?” he took another step towards her. In contrast to Y/N he was brave enough to reach out once again to console her. He softly brushed away a tear that had escaped Y/Ns eye. Y/N gladly leant into his touch for it could be the last time they would share such an intimate moment.

“I haven’t been fully honest to you or rather I haven't told you everything.” she closed her eyes tightly.

“We all have secrets, Y/N.” Loki gently brushed away a strand of her hair behind her ear with his free hand.

“I know but this is different. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”  

“Fair to me? You’re talking in riddles, my love?”

“Loki see… I have… I have a kid.” she choked out, never opening her eyes. She waited for his warm touch to disappear, but it never did. When she opened her eyes hesitantly she saw his blue eyes gaze deeply into hers.

“A kid?” Loki breathed but Y/N couldn’t decipher his tone.

“Yes, a sweet little boy. His name is Finn. He’s 3 years old and I raise him on my own. It’s a lot of work and I don’t think you deserve to be pulled into this, especially since you probably won’t even want kids. So I understand that you’re probably not interested in me anymore.

And I know it was wrong and selfish of me to lead you on like this, but I liked the attention you gave me. It was just nice to have someone be that kind and caring to me for once. And it’s not like I did it on purpose, after all I did fall for you as well… I I just hope we can stay friends, but I can understand if you don’t.“ the dam of nonsensical rambling broke open. But it felt good to finally let it out all at once. Y/N often times was so close to just tell him. She even rehearsed what she would tell him but every time the moment seem to fit her courage left her.

“My darling, stop the rambling. Do you really think I was just nice to you because I wanted to court you?” Y/N only nodded as an answer.

“I don’t know with what dim witted fools you had to deal with in your life, but I can assure you, I’m not one of them. First and foremost I am your friend and I love you no matter what. You have a son, so what? But I do understand that you might not want me to be in his life like that.” Lokis hand that had cradled her face sunk down to rest tenderly on her shoulder.

“No! No, Loki. You got that all wrong. I would love nothing more than you in Finns life. I just wasn’t sure if you would want that.” Y/N covered his hand with hers.

“Why do you think that?” he asked but with no hint of hurt or offense.

“I just… overthought I guess. It would’ve been too good to be true if my best friend would’ve wanted to be with me and be in the Finns life as well.”

“Then how about we prove those little voices in your head wrong? If you give me the honor of taking you out on a date, you’ll see that it’s not just fiction. It will become reality, our reality. And then, when you feel like it’s the right time, I would love nothing more than to meet your lovely little son. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a plan.” she smiled at him. She would have to pinch herself as soon as Loki wouldn’t pay attention, just to be sure she wasn’t dreaming.

“And do not fret, I always had a way with kids.” he grinned, “You will see, he will love me, just like you do.”

Taglist: @lucywrites02​ @funsized-mimi​ 

~

Part 2

~

Let me know if you want to be added:)

[twistedmusings]

Reading Between The Lines

A/N: I feel bad whenever I say 'hey here is what I am working on' and then my muses tell me 'no...this is what you are working on'. It's like my brain can't concentrate on one thing entirely q wq. In my defense though, I'm exploring my twst faves...and Cater may be a runner up to Vil...

Warnings: Dry humping, dirty talking and a quick handjob just as unsatisfying and ungratifying as Cater feeling like maybe he shouldn't have let you go just yet.

“Whoops.”

Cater’s phone case cracked as it hit the floor, eyes locking with yours as you pull away from the Heartslabyul second year. Why had he even dropped his phone in the first place? The case had cost a lot and he had queued up for hours to get it, there should have been no reason for him to drop it.

Maybe the shock from seeing you in Heartslabyul?

No, that was normal. You were friends with Ace and Deuce after all so your presence in Heartslabyul was normal.

Maybe from seeing you in a bedroom that wasn’t a first year room?

He was coming to check up on a second year who had mentioned something about needing help in Astrology so Riddle had instructed Cater to help the guy out. The ‘strict Queen’ was aiming for the highest grade among the dorms, after all. So he was just carrying out his duty as an upperclassman!

So seeing you here, in this second year’s room, shirt around your elbows as a pair of hands--

that weren’t his--gently wrapped themselves around your waist was probably what made him drop his case.

Good to know, if he had come to that conclusion at any other time that you weren’t here, he might have said something mean to his lower-class men.

You move to fix your shirt as the second year rushes to apologize, walking up to him and spouting words Cater wouldn’t bother to hear. His eyes kept staring as you fixed yourself up to look a tad more proper than how he had found you.

It wasn’t like the sight of you in that state was unfamiliar to him, he just hadn’t seen it in a long time.

“Please just keep it between us, Cater-san! I don’t know what I’d do if the dorm head found out about this.”

He snaps out of his trance, looking down at the second year before grinning as he let out a slow hum, pretending to mull the request over in his head.

“Should I? If I remember correctly...Rule 345--Only when the sky turns red as it is dawning can a romantic partner be brought--”

“I--I’ll tell the dorm leader that you helped me with class!”

Cater grins, “That’s one way to make it up to me~ I guess for now I should leave you with a warning, right?” he tilts his head to call out to you, “The same goes for you [Y/N]-san! I can’t have you getting someone other than Ace and Deuce in trouble!”

He can't help but feel a sense of pride when you chuckle at what he had said, turning around to give him a peace sign as you walk by the second year.

“I’ll try to do an effort to hide in the closet next time.”

The second year takes your hand and kisses it, apologizing for the trouble and closing his eyes when your hands cup his cheek and pull him in for a kiss, the action making Cater look down at his phone and open whatever app he saw first.

You wave goodbye as Cater closes the door quickly, not giving you a chance to look at your second year lover fully as the both of you walk down the corridors of Heartslabyul in silence.

“So.”

“Hm?”

Green eyes keep looking at his phone, scrolling through Magicam absentmindedly but sparring you one look as he sees you scratching at a hickey--he would have left a bigger one-- the second year had left behind.

“Was he any good?”

In his defense, what had started between you two was clearly labeled as a ‘no feelings allowed, we are just here to have fun’ relationship. You seemed to understand his nature better than most and were down for something that wasn’t super serious and borderline erotic in a sense.

Cater was sure that you two had done it in at least one surface in every common room in Heartslabyul. The thought kept him awake at night, actually.

“Was he any good…” you repeat the question, “As good as I’m going to get from a second year.”

“Oh the poor guy.” Cater can’t help the snort that escapes him as you two walk down a set of stairs leading to the dorm’s entrance, “It is surprising you went for him, didn’t you mention that you liked the older type?”

“Well after a certain ‘older type’ decided to end things, I thought I should try my hand at something different. Change my ways, you know?”

He didn’t know. Cater had no idea what you were talking about, in fact. Why would you have to change your ways for anyone? You were amazing, interesting, entertaining and attention-grabbing all wrapped up in an older sibling type package that he had admitted to being attracted to when he had brought up the ‘friends with benefits’ proposition. If you changed in anyway he would be disappointed--

Dammit he was doing it again.

“If you want to start a relationship with someone in Heartslabyul, I would recommend Trey. He’s handsome, hardworking and you wouldn’t go hungry. Perfect man material right there.”

Cater knew that the small jab was directed at him so he decided to switch subjects, preferring not to linger in the awkward feeling that came with the consequences of his actions.

He ended things because he had broken the rules you both had set in place. Feelings weren't allowed and yet he had let them burrow deep inside his heart and fester like some sort of unknown virus. Cater didn't care for them so he nipped the problem in the bud, broke things off in an amicable manner and moved on.

But, like with everything in his life, it had all been an act.

If it had been just the sex keeping him awake, he would have understood. He's a healthy young man and some of the activities you two engaged in would make any first year jealous. And for a while the memories of you warming his bed generally did start to make him yearn for your warmth.

It was the possibilities of what you could have had that were driving him insane.

Would you have said no to a date? The only thing you two did when you were alone were have sex, make fun of Magicam models, sleep and then have sex some more so surely you would have liked a change of scenery as well.

But he didn't know you as much as he wished he did. Nights in his bed had been spent tossing and turning as to what your answer would have been. Why did he even care? You both still hung out, you still had his number, it wasn't like either of you were dead to each other!

Cater just didn't know how to react to you seeing someone else, if that is what you were even doing in the first place.

"Trey-senpai? I guess...he is rather sweet, isn't he?"

"In more ways than one."

"...but I will have to pass." you rub the back of your neck, "You know I don't like sweets."

The clock strikes ten as Cater's eyes take all of you in, his mind blanking out for a response before he clicks his tongue and points behind him.

"Say, Prefect, I think you may have left something in my room. Mind if I give it to you now?"

-----

"Oh. Your case cracked."

"Yeah. Dropped my phone. Bummer, huh?"

"Here I thought you held onto that thing for dear life, can I see it?"

Cater laughs as he takes his phone out of his back pocket and hands it to you, turning back to dig in his drawer for the sole sock that you had left about a month ago.

Who was he bullshitting? He was panicking, plain and simple. Here he was, rummaging through his drawer like an idiot as he pretended to have a sock that he knew he didn't have all to keep you with him for a couple more minutes.

Stars, who was he? He didn't know himself anymore.

“And...dammit.” he laughs as he closes the bottom drawer of his heart closet, “Couldn’t find it. I’m sorry [Y/N]-chan, I shouldn’t have taken your time like that. Do you want me to walk you back to the dorm...or maybe you wanna talk on the phone while you walk there?”

He goes to grab his phone but stops as he turns to look at you, your fingers tracing the giant crack on the case before tapping it twice in quick succession.

“[Y/N]--”

“We both really messed up, huh?”

Cater blinks as your eyes stare at him as if, for a brief moment, you could look through him. Through the act, the apathy, the very thing that was keeping him at the seams but also making him feel like he would burst from the inside out.

“...what do you mean?”

You keep gazing at him for a couple of seconds before smiling as you hold up the phone.

“I shouldn’t have snuck into Heartslabyul to just get a need met...and you shouldn’t have walked into that poor student’s room without knocking.” you wave the phone around, “Now your precious item is broken.”

The conversation didn’t feel right. It felt as if you were saying something else and all Cater needed to do was read in between the lines.

But he refused to, he didn’t want to go below surface level. Everything would get so much more complicated if you both took that plunge.

Yet he was feeling daring, the smile on your face a clear challenge as he walked over to you and grabbed the edge of his phone.

“Maybe I wanted to break it.”

Silence reigns in the room as you two stare at each other, both of your hands holding onto the edge of his phone and daring the other to let go. He smiles and tugs on his edge, the movement effortlessly pulling you towards him as you snicker when the edge of your foot touches his.

“Cater.” you whisper as your hands slowly let go of the phone.

“Yes?” he whispers back, purposefully leaning over you as he places the phone on his desk.

“Nothing. I just like saying your name.”

Whether he started it or you started it honestly didn’t matter to him, the only thing Cater cared about was pulling you close and pressing his lips against yours so he could stop listening to all of your complicated sentences.

He didn’t understand them, he didn’t understand you.

And yet you seemed to understand him probably better than he understood himself.

Arms are around his neck as you pull him close, Cater slowly walking you back to his bed as the back of your knees hit the comforter which causes both of you to fall down. You pull away to snicker at the action but are brought right back into the kiss by needy lips, Cater whispering your name as he pushed you upwards so that you would be pressed right against the wall--

He groans when you pull away and is surprised to be kissing a pair of fingers instead of your lips, your smile still as elusive as ever as you slowly push his face away.

“I have a lover, senpai.”

Cater rolls his eyes, “I don’t like those kinds of jokes.”

“I’m not joking. It’s late so I’m just going to go over to his room and tell him that you’ll cover for us, okay? Okay. ”

You pinch his nose as you try to push him away but find your wrists grabbed and locked in place, Cater giving you a hard glare as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I said I don’t like those kinds of jokes.” he leans in and gives you another kiss, “You’re not his lover.”

“Who says that?”

“[Y/N]-chan did.” Cater’s lips press against yours again as he makes his way down to the offending hickey the second year had left on you, “The way you talk about him, the way you weren’t even embarrassed at getting caught. You are toying with the heart of one of my second years and I don’t think I can forgive you for that.”

He nips at the bruise before placing his lips on it, teeth gently opening up more blood vessels to form a much darker shade on your skin than what was left there before.

“Is that all you can’t forgive me for?”

Cater smiles against your skin as he takes your wrists and leads your arms to wrap around his neck, pulling you into his lap as he answers your question with a kiss.

His tongue meets yours this time around, both of you giggling at the familiar taste. When was the last time you two had kissed like this? Nevermind that, the question was already too annoying to think about. Instead, Cater moves his hips upwards as he groans into your lips at the wanted friction.

He takes a hold of your hips as he pushes you down to meet him mid-movement, his hips rolling up as yours are pushed down. The movement is sloppy and the action itself feels so unsatisfying but Cater almost feels as if this is the only thing he deserves from you. If either of you enjoyed this it would mean you two went too far--

“Haha...look at your face.”

Green eyes look at you as you cup the man’s face, pressing a gentle kiss on his nose as you start to roll your hips on his, meeting him halfway.

“You probably want to cum inside, right Cater-senpai?”

His hips jump at the mere thought, the idea of you laying on your side as his cum drips down from your sex all the way down your thighs.

“We did it with protection a lot ~We always followed the rules of our agreement…”

Hands dive between you two, Cater’s eyes never leaving yours as he works to get his pants off while his hands try to unbutton yours as well. You smile and meet him halfway again, taking your own bottoms off and tossing them carelessly to the side as you both are left in nothing but your underwear.

“Every time we did it--you always looked like you wanted to do something else--”

Cater takes the chance of you biting your lower lip to go a bit faster, the tip of his cock rubbing against you at a faster speed as he changed position quickly and hooked your knees over his elbows.

“And at first---at first I thought it was just you getting bored…”

He gasps when two of your fingers press right at the tip of his cock, the way he was moving his hips allowing it to rub comfortably against the padding of your fingers as you gently cooed at the precum gathering there.

“But one time I was able to see it. See what you really wanted--!”

His own hand makes his way in between the mess of hips and stuttered movements, his fingers tracing a familiar pattern up and down your sex as he feels you pull him out of his boxers and start to pump in rhythm.

“If...If you cum after me...I’ll let you cum inside...”

It’s starting to get hotter, Cater feels like he can see his own breath fogging up his vision.

“Count it as reward…”

The coil in his stomach is tightening, your hands moving faster as his stutters with the rhythm you were setting.

“For being honest with me at least one time.”

It’s a sticky mess, the white stuff sticking to your belly and his as he rides out his orgasm against your hand and stopping altogether when the feeling gets too much. His fingers work overtime before your back arches and you give into yours as well, your toes curling for a moment before your feet hit the mattress unceremoniously.

He didn’t know where in the world that had come from or what possessed you to talk like that...but that was probably the hardest he had released in the month you two stopped interacting with one another.

Cater looks at the mess once again before moving to clean it up, stopping only when he feels a hand tug at the front of his shirt and a pair of lips meeting his all over again.

“Offer is still on the table, senpai.”

You unbutton the first few buttons of your shirt, smiling as larger hands batted yours away to continue the job.

“Please do your best to hold out longer.”

[shepherd-to-the-stars]

FFxiv Write - Prompt #10 (Channel)

“Y’mhitra!” The call tore the Sharlayan scholar from her more recent studies, just as the Summoner hoped, and she grinned at her fellow investigator. “I have quite the sight to show you!”

It had been some time since Kaleh last had a moment to meet with the younger sister to one of the two she’d fallen for. Truthfully, she felt awful for how long it had been, but given the woman had ushered her off to speak to Jajasamu the last time, she can’t say that it was exclusively on her shoulders. Not that she would point such a thing out. Instead, she simply came to a halt beside her, and watched as she knelt down to pet her Carbuncle briefly.

Once that was done, the younger woman glanced up at her. “And what might that be, Kaleh? Oh, but lest I forget, how fare the others?”

“They are all recovering nicely in the Rising Stones, awake and well. If you like, I can show you this sight in Mor Dhona, and we can pay Shtola a visit?” She offered, and the woman nodded. 

“A fine plan, if there ever was one. I take it you wish to keep up the element of surprise?” She answers back, and Kaleh’s grin says it all as she nods. “Very well, the Singing Shards, then?”

That earned a grin. “In fact, I think that is the best place for this display.” 

⊱ ━━━ .⋅❈⋅. ━━━ ⊰⊱ ━━━ .⋅❈⋅. ━━━ ⊰

It truly was only fitting to return here, to the place where their efforts to summon a Ramuh-Egi ended in failure. Especially with her intentions to display the new successes she has had more recently. She took great efforts in arriving ahead of Y’mhitra, and once she heard the scholar approach, slipped her book out and held it aloft, letting the bright wings of the Demi-Phoenix take shape. 

The gasp was more than worth it. “Kaleh! Is that…” 

“Another primal, aye. And from a trance state no less. Much the same as with… as with Bahamut, they both are taking shape upon my channeling of their energies.” She explained, letting the bird wash over them both in the healing flames that spark off it upon summoning, and tucked her grimoire away again. 

As expected, Y’mhitra wasted no time in starting to inspect the bird, awestruck yet still with that attention to detail, a similar expression she has all too frequently seen in her sister’s gaze in the past. After a bit of time, she seemed satisfied, and she dispelled the summon, returning her Carbuncle to its natural state as she turned to face the woman. 

“Fascinating, you truly are growing and expanding in your skills at an alarming rate.” She mused allowed, before quickly waving her hands for a moment. “I mean that in only the most positive of ways, I assure you! ‘Tis merely that, it feels as if only yesterday we struggled to access another summon.”

Kaleh nodded, glancing back at the lightning-attuned crystals littering the area. “Partly why I thought coming here would be good. This summon, and even Bahamut before this, are proof that my strength is improving. Perhaps…” 

Y’mhitra caught her train of thought, immediately grabbing her hand.

“You wish to investigate the other primals again?” 

She laughed at the excitement, nodding her response, and Y’mhitra grinned this time. “Well! I will need to read back over the tomes, double check that it will truly be possible. Such research must needs be the most thorough I can manage, so don’t expect to be returning here on the morrow!” 

The finger jabbed in her face earns another laugh. It was hard to tell in these moments that the two were related sometimes, with how much more emotional Y’mhitra could be, but that fierceness of a scholar’s determination was a trait they both shared. They merely displayed it differently. 

“In that case, we should visit Shtola and the others quickly, so you can get to those studies, no?” 

The woman nodded, starting to tug Kaleh along as if to hurry the trip up. She could almost see the thoughts swirling about in her head. Between the two of them, she was almost certain they could come up with something, even if it was nothing more than another trance state.

After all, she could match that determination. 

“Oh, and another thing,” she adds, prompting the woman to glance over her shoulder, “if anyone should learn about this outside of the Scions, who better than you? I should like to tell you of another form of summoning I’ve discovered in my most recent travels.” 

Her free hand touches against the orange stone resting on a cord around her neck, feels the pulse of Ancient magick, and smiles. 

“I’m hopeful it will catch your interest.”

[liquid-luck-00]

Lantern!Marinette 3

Part 3

@maribatmarch-2k21 Day 18: Protect

Part 1 *** Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~

It was supposed to be a fun day at the amusement park. Rides, haunted mazes, and not much else to spend a free October day (and night), but what's life without a bit of drama.

"Togetic!" An all too familiar voice called out to her. She turned and saw Wally.

"What's up Pikachu!” She smiled at him as he came up.

"Protect me please?!" he brought out the puppy eyes.

"From?"

"My team."

"They're here?"

"Yes, now hide me please." She rolled her eyes at his antics.

"Fine but I will not get involved, when your cover is in-evidently blown."

"I owe you one."

"Mazes then..."

"Food?!"

"Do you, ever think with your head not just your stomach.

"Come on Togetic."

"Sure Pikachu." They walked off and got in line for one of the many horror mazes that were set up around the park.

After three mazes they decided to do some rides while figuring out what to eat. Once they had their food they sat down, but seeing as the question has been nagging her, she had to ask.

"Why are you hiding from your team?"

"I may have... um..." He quickly turned a shade of red that rivaled his uncle's suit.

"So, it's either Ditto, Kirlia, or Chikorita." She noticed he seemed to go even redder. "Chikorita." She repeated. "Oh my gosh you're crushing on Chikorita!" She squealed.

"She's a spitfire." he sighed dreamily.

"Hm..." she thought as she finished her burger and was drinking her milkshake.

"Whatcha thinking."

"If she's a spitfire she can't be Chikorita."

"What do you have in mind..."

"Quilava."

"Keeping in Gen 3 starters," He mused.

"Yup. And she's got to be quick to deal with you so."

"That sounds like her."

"Okay now that that's settled, we still have more mazes."

"You’re not scared yet. You did run out of one already."

"I wasn't the one who barreled an actor over and tore out of the maze." She slurped her milkshake as she walked away.

"I did not!" He yelled at her back as he jogged towards her.

"Wally there you are!" A voice called out.

"Please," he turned to her and tried to beg but she retaliated with her doe eyes as she continued to drink her milkshake waiting for this show to start.

"We've been looking everywhere for you." The same girl started to talk.

By now the entirety of Wally's team was around them. The youngest, who looked closest to her age, stood next to her, on her right while the oldest of them stood to her left. The others seemed to surround Wally, so she pulled out her phone discreetly and started to record. Riolu, as she recognized after a moment, seemed to question her, so she put her index finger to her lips so he would stay quiet. Not long after did Wally finally notice his two missing teammates.

"Nettie, how could you? You were supposed to protect me."

"Can you?" she held her milkshake to Riolu and started typing. "I said I would help you avoid them, but I wouldn't get involved when you got caught." she finished the message attached the videos and sent it.

"What was that?" he glared at her, as she took back her cup and thanked RioIu.

"Oh nothing."

"How could you?!" He cried, now holding her phone.

She shrugged, walked over, and plucked her phone from his hands. "You guys can keep standing around but I'm going to go hit up some more mazes." she started to walk away.

"I'm sticking with you because I need to see that." Riolu caught up to her. "Robin." He stuck out his hand.

"Marinette," she shook his hand. "You are coming West?"

"Of course, you hit it off with Rob." He grumbled catching up to them, the rest trailing behind.

From there introductions were made and they were able to finish the mazes. Sure, she made one or two jabs at Wally, but it was his fault. If he kept insisting that she liked Robin well if she slipped in that he liked Artemis, then it was his fault.

It wasn't until they were getting ready to leave that her phone rang. Unfortunately, Robin, Artemis, and Zatanna were watching get another 'Wally's Hilarious Action Take' when the call came in. They all froze and looked between her and the phone before handing it over. (A picture of her and Hal after training on Oa, you couldn’t see their suits, but you could see green lanterns flying in the background).

"Hey Dad." she answered.

'Blue do you know anything about something called Miraculous?'

"Magical artifacts that are bound to these mini gods." Now if she didn't have their attention she did now. There was also no doubt that M'gann was broadcasting her dad's responses telepathically.

'Wait these are real?'

"Ya, the lanterns are actually an extension of these jewels."

'How can you just say it like it's nothing?'

"Because it's common knowledge." A sharp pain erupted in her head and voices chattered. "Hey!" she growled, clutching her head, towards M'gann.

'What's wrong?'

"Someone tripped me," she answered. "Can we continue this conversation at home? It's getting crowded."

'Sure. See you soon, Bluebell.'

"See you Papa."

"Mari are you okay?" Wally broke her glare.

"She tried to force herself in my mind." she stated in a hushed tone.

"It doesn't hurt..." Conner started to defend M'gann.

"Not to those who allow it or are untrained." She continued. "Telepathy is not a one-party consent. A person can resist or block telepaths if they are trained or have a natural defense. But if the telepath pushes and tries to force into a protected mind it is painful, a constant barrage."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." M'gann apologized.

"Not many humans can resist telepaths its fine." Before they could process what, she said her phone rang again.

'Change of plans your meeting the team.'

"Um... Kind of late for that."

'What do you mean by that?' She started a video call.

"Say hi?"

"You know I'm not even going to ask. Get to these coordinates." He ended the call.

"Something’s up." Wally was oddly serious.

"You don't say." She led the group to a clearing not far from the park.

~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist: @itsmeevie01 @adrestar @miraculouspenta @vixen-uchiha @animegirlweeb @jumpingjoy82 @thedragonbug @astoriaandroses

Taglist: @anjuschiffer @michaelshadow7779 @maskedpainter @corporeal-terrestrial @slytherinhquinn @greatcatblaze @too0bsessedformyowngood @blackroserelina @laurcad123 @mizzy-pop @schrodingers25

[anlian-aishang]

Kinktober Day 3: Threesome - Erwin x Levi x Reader

“I see it like they come back from expedition and relieving stress in bed together. And if it's ok with you I would love to see some nsfw interaction between Erwin and Levi too because normally when I read posts with this setting they end up focusing in the reader, so it would be nice to see some action with one another too?”

Word count: 2300 Tags: smut, levi x reader x erwin, MMF threesome, consensual and playful jealousy, overall: especially spicy, fem!reader

Remember! Levi hates art theft.

It was not the most intuitive thing, but it made sense for the two of you. Adrenaline needed to be expended. Time needed to be made the most of. After expeditions - a day’s long surge of flight-or-fight, a brutal reminder of how fickle fate could be, you and Levi would chase a new and better thrill together. It was scheduled but surprising. It was a reward but a ritual.

Erwin and Levi had a routine, too. Theirs of a more formal, pen-to-paper nature: sitting down, going over the expedition. How many titan kills? How many casualties? What went well? What went poorly? The latter always took the most time.

Returning back today, you wasted your usual time outside his office, waiting for the meeting to be over so that you could begin yours. An hour passed, then two. You thought it over, today had been another disaster, but not one that should take three hours to discuss. You made for Levi’s office, just to see...

Levi opened the door quickly, seemingly a tad surprised to find you. You thought nothing of it. Your appointment had been delayed so long, you could not hold yourselves apart a second more. Before you knew it, he was jabbing down himself down your throat and your swallows kept him there.

The surging hormones, the rushing chemicals, they overtook you both. It was pure bliss, and thus, ignorance as well.

To your horror, you heard the unmistakable sound of the doorknob turning. You froze in the motion - his entire length in your mouth - but Levi did not. He kept up the pace in his thrusts, seeming to know just who was coming in and why.

“Levi.” That voice was unmistakable. Levi was your captain but Erwin was your commander. View still obstructed, behind the door, he asked, “Ready for debrief?” His swift entrance proved the question was no courtesy, merely habit.

With panic, you snapped your attention up to your lover. Levi was always in control. For such a disaster, you submit to him again: trusting his decision making, trusting he would handle the situation.

When Erwin rounded the door and saw your sex, you were eerily alarmed that his expression had not changed. After a long day, seeing so many things one should never have to see, this was - in comparison - not half-bad. In fact, not bad at all. A slight jump and shiver his only signs of startle.

Boldly, Levi maintained the steady rock of his hips into your mouth while likewise maintaining a solid eye contact with Erwin. “You’re gonna walk away, huh? Pretend like you never saw anything?”

Mouth full, you merely knit your brows. Where the hell had those smooth skills had gone?

But Erwin surprised you, too. Instead of darting out of the room, he grabbed hold on the top of the door and stared, “Problem with that?”

“Jerk yourself off. Hell if I care.” Levi flashed his eyes to you, pet your head, and brought his gaze back to Erwin. “Just saying: she’s really something. You should give her a try.”

You yelped around his cock in your mouth. It was no protest. In fact, this all came as a more than pleasant surprise. The times you fantasized about this threesome were uncountable, however, you thought of it as just that: a fantasy, one that your boyfriend would certainly veto, deny, scoff at. Now, though, Levi seemed the eager one. Your eyes widened, desire uncontainable, heat pooling, you mused against his member. What the fuck is even happening?

“I know -” Sensation from your soundwaves interrupted him with a moan he attempted to swallow down. His hand on your head forced your bobbing to slow, a desperate attempt to construct the sentence, “We know you want to.”

The thought crossed your mind: your mouth was still preoccupied, but maybe this was a good excuse for your silence. You decided against popping him out, communicating only with stares.

Erwin’s expression stayed solemn. His still seemed endless. On edge, you noticed immediately when he changed his stance. The commander made for the desk, straightened the reports and set them on the flattop. It looked so orderly, along with his steady undressing, along with his slow stride towards the bed.

As Erwin showed more and more, neither you nor Levi could deny his appeal. An even skin tone, the build of a Greek god, he was nothing less than a work of art. At the sight of him, you could not help but reach a hand to his abs, one hand to your pleasure. Likewise, when it came to your naked body, Erwin could not, would not, keep his hands to himself, especially given the overt approval of your partner.

Watching Erwin engage with you, undeniable lust clear in both his boss and his lover, Levi drew himself out from your mouth - taking his matters into his own hands. He reclined against his headboard and stroked himself up and down. Past the usual flat in his expression, you and Erwin both knew: he was relishing this encounter.

Forearm flexed as he continued to pump himself, Levi looked you both up and down, “Enjoy.”

// // //

A man of such stature stayed true to his size. His length felt so good, unbelievably good. You never knew a man could be so big. It went without saying, you had never felt a man so big. Mounted on top of him, his erection sprung perpendicular and straight up into you. Your walls stretched. You thought it a miracle that you could fit him, made possible only by your dripping arousal from prior foreplay with Levi. Your excitement encased him, allowing him to slide all the way in. Your eyes rolled towards the back of your head, Is this a dream?

It was as if he could read your mind. Erwin thrust his hips up off the bed, slamming his entire length into you, reaching your deepest depths with his enlarged tip. An unintentional glamour shot: you threw your head back, hair flopping across your face and over your back. With a clear airway throughout your whole upper body, out came a guttural utterance you never knew you were capable of - one you had never made before - one Levi had never coaxed out of you.

Your torso began to pulse, legs began to jolt, breaths turned to pants, all telltale signs that Levi knew all too well. For the first time, though, your sequence had an abrupt change. Instead of his name, you cried, “Erwin! Oh, Erwin…!”

Levi’s eyes narrowed. Watching Erwin’s huge cock penetrate your sweet cute pussy, his one and only, was riling in every way. Suddenly, pupils dilated with delight and shrunk with jealousy. Rapidly, he propelled his back off the headboard and hurried towards your bodies.

Reddened hands scooped under your shoulders, knuckles made sandwiches with your hardened nipples. You felt him start to lift, “N-No, Levi… please!” You begged, your riding grew frantic, racing towards a great release. “Please! Let him - Let me…!”

“Don’t worry, you little slut…” His tone was so loving, a stark contrast to such naughty words. Levi bit down on your neck - hard, marking you with his teeth. He pulled you up and off Erwin, up and off his impossible member, and tossed you back-first at the foot of the bed. “I have an even better idea.”

A shameless position: completely naked, you and Erwin lay on the bed, feet at the other’s head. You looked between your thighs: Levi sitting atop Erwin’s lap, his sprung erection leaking all over Erwin’s. You blinked twice and shook your head. The expedition, the night, had been filled with so many surprises, but this was without a doubt the most shocking sight of your life.

Levi reached a gentle hand beneath your chin and traced your jawline. “See how it feels...”

Slight malice in his voice was largely unsettling. You shivered in his hands, a crazy cross of anticipation and anxiety you had never felt before.

An insane snarl snapped across his face. “See how it feels…” Voice trailed. “... to watch your lover get fucked senseless by another man.”

Your jaw dropped as you watched Levi lower himself onto Erwin. With Erwin still coated in your arousal, he was able to enter, but not without heavy struggle on the receiving end.

Levi grit his teeth, trying his damndest to fit him in, all so that he could mirror that pleasure you had displayed. However, watching his cheeks flush, sweat form, muscles writhe, he had inadvertently given you that same feeling. That cocky attitude he had shown was melting away as Erwin melted into him.

A few more exhausted wiggles of his hips, Levi fit him in as best he could, which was only half of Erwin’s entire length. Despite only half, he reached his prostate easily.

A tinge of envy - that you could not provide him with such internal stimulation - stimulation that seemed heavenly - stimulation that he seemed to adore. That tinge was buried under the enchantment with the scene in front of you. Your dominant lover now being fucked by his superior, a much larger man, the size difference was just one of many enthralling aspects. Maybe Levi was trying to make you jealous, he was both succeeding and failing.  

Hands sturdied themselves on Erwin’s thighs and knees. With this leverage, he carefully and deliberately began to ride him. Levi bent forward, bringing thirsty lips straight to yours of the lower half. Immediately, he tasted your difference, the blonde man’s precum still all over your sex. Tch… that’s mine.

Thus peaked his longing desire - his need - to hear you scream his name. Levi swiped his tongue all over each crevice of your cunt. With each taste of unfamiliar salt, it was only another push - another urge - that he had to get you there - that he had to be the one to do it.

Levi always gave his all for you, but this was something different. An entirely new force drove his efforts, exponentially compounding your pleasure. The merciless he displayed in circling your clit with a pointed tongue was a cruelty you craved. Changes from slow licks to fast thrusts were impossible to keep up with, impossible not to get lost in. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You arched your back up off the bed. A tidal wave of pleasure was returning. After being denied before, it was not being held back again. Breath caught in your throat and you choked on his name, “L-Le…!”

Almost there. Levi leaned into you even further, adding his rigid fingers to the mix. Hearing you scream his name, at this point, it was more than a need. He would do whatever it took. As Levi moved forward, however, the angle allowed even less of Erwin’s length. He was not going to take such a drop in sensation lying down. Erwin snapped up into a kneeling position, forcing Levi’s head right on top of you, the rest of his body into the mattress in a humiliating, submissive position.

Instinctively, ass straight up in the air, Erwin’s hand plummeted onto Levi’s cheeks in a punishing spank. Erwin’s lip twitched as eyes stung with dominance, a commander through and through.

At the unexpected hit, Levi grunted into your pussy, “Gah! Erwin...! Fucking shit...”

After encountering both of you for so long, being teased and denied repeatedly, Erwin was more than overstimulated. He dug his hands into Levi’s sides and fucked with all he had, entire cock slammed all the way in, likewise overstimulating Levi’s spot. Levi turned his head to the side, catching his breath against your thigh, “Oh, fuck! Fuck…!” He cried, “Fuck me, Erwin!”

At last, without having to play it up, Levi achieved his goal. At last, you understood that feeling. Watching your lover get done by another, providing him pleasure in a way you never quite could, your heart raced in more ways than one. Sure, the scene was arousing, but it was also aggravating beyond belief.

You fisted your hand in Levi’s hair, pushing his face back down into your pussy, “Please, Levi!! Please…” Tired, steel grey eyes met your half-shut lids. “Please me like only you can!”

Between gasps, grunts, growls, Levi gave all he had into pleasing you. His tongue was dripping with exhaustion, with your fluids, giving perfect friction where and when it mattered most. When you came in his mouth, you lost count of the waves, of the times you called his name. Based on the relief in his face upon your release, you were assured: it was enough.

Erwin looked down, watching his entire length sheathe in and out of humanity’s strongest, all while he pleased his dirty cadet. The power he had over both of you, the control he held over everyone’s pleasure, the way he towered and commanded you both, that alone was thrilling enough. When he watched you cum in Levi’s mouth, felt Levi’s tightness throb around his cock, he at last lost control of himself: grunting loud enough to wake the entire barracks.

Finally, the combination of your release in front, Erwin’s release in back, the sex scene and threesome had drained everything Levi had: his tolerance, his composure, everything. After whimpers and screams, warm strands of cum, a seemingly endless climax. Levi collapsed on top of you. You stroked his hair, Erwin rubbed his back. For a moment, you met the gaze of your commander: realizing that even humanity’s strongest could be taken down.

Levi under one arm, you under the other. A symphony of post-coital pants, the shining sweat across your men, the warmth of Erwin’s bicep under your nape, the hot in Levi’s hand holding yours. Such flawless sex, maybe it was too good to be true, too good to be unplanned.

Kinktober Year 1 Masterlist

[vecnawrites]

The Only Dog Blake Likes

Faunus AU-Blake didn’t normally like dogs, but Ruby was the exception. Not only due to her kind and brave nature, but also because of her “enthusiasm” during more private moments. Whether she was happily licking away at Blake’s folds, or sticking her “bone” in frankly whatever hole she could, Ruby always gave it her all, and Blake always showed she appreciated that, even if she wasn’t as exuberant in showing it.

Blake purred as she rubbed Ruby’s scalp, gently using her grip to direct the lapping girl’s tongue where it was needed most. She watched her leader’s tail wag almost violently behind her, the reddish brown animal part almost a blur as she devoured Blake’s core.

She would be the first to admit that she had been hesitant to have a dog faunus for a leader, but the little one had quickly grown on her, not only her kindness and bravery, but her heart and enthusiasm in what she did...especially her enthusiasm.

Whether it be coming up with new team attacks, perfecting her weapon, Crescent Rose, eating her out, or even fucking her, Ruby dove into whatever she did with wonderful enthusiasm.

Blake gasped and arched as she came, shuddering and moaning as she actually squirted, although with how fervently Ruby was moving her tongue as she ate her out, she worried little about making a mess as she rode the crest of pleasure.

Ruby whined, making Blake look down to see her palming her hard, knotted cock and rutting against her hand. She winced a little on reflex upon seeing how bright red her cock was. It must be hurting since Ruby had eaten her out to several orgasms by this point. She needed to fix this. “Ruby, stop for a moment…” she murmured breathily.

Ruby whined again, this time louder, but she did as asked, pulling away a bit and licking her lips. She looked up at Blake pleadingly as she continued to rut against her palm.

“Now, now, none of that...and stop humping your hand as well...I have a little treat for you.” Blake couldn’t help but chuckle as Ruby perked up at the word ‘treat’. ‘Such a puppy…’ she thought fondly as she began to move.

Ruby watched, silver eyes growing wider and wider as Blake turned onto her stomach and began to raise up...onto...all...fours. A rumble formed in her chest as Blake assumed a position that she had always seen her take in her fantasies: Doggy position.

Blake looked back, smirking as she saw how stunned Ruby was, cock twitching and dripping onto the sheets underneath her. “Well?” she asked, wiggling her ass, giggling as she watched Ruby’s eyes follow her rump. “Aren’t you going to mount and claim me?” she yelped a but as Ruby moved, jumping on her back and looping her arms around her stomach, hips moving rapidly and cock jabbing, tip poking into her rear and inner and the back of her thighs.

Blake chuckled again. “Easy, Ruby...my pussy isn’t going anywhere…” she chuckled, reaching underneath her and grasping Ruby’s cock, getting a surprised Yip from the dog faunus, and rubbing the leaking head against her soaking pussy. “There you goooooo!!!” Blake squealed as Ruby thrust in with a slick noise and immediately began to pound hard and fast into her, knot slapping against her lips.

Blake’s eyes rolled back as Ruby pounded her. “F-fuck, Ruby…s-so fast!” she moaned, gripping the sheets tightly and spreading her arms and legs out a bit to give her more stability...not that she thought Ruby would mind for a second if she collapsed on her face and put her ass in a more prominent position. She chuckled throatily as she heard Ruby panting and a thrumming whf, whf, whf as Ruby’s tail wagged fast enough she was sure it was caught within her leader’s semblance.

She could feel Ruby’s knot pressing against her lips more and more with each thrust, and was amazed with Ruby’s self control. “R-Ruby, it’sssss okayyyy….kn-knot m-me…” Ruby actually stilled for a long moment, before she pulled back until just her tip was inside Blake, before plunging down to the base, the knot slipping into Blake’s core with an audible pop.

Both cried out at the sensation, Blake from being filled and spread so much, Ruby from being clamped on so tightly. She whined as she began to rock back and forth, unable to do long strokes anymore now that her knot was locked in, but the sensations as her knot was tugged were just as pleasurable.

Blake’s eyes rolled back again as her arms gave out and she collapsed onto her front, moaning shamelessly into the sheets as Ruby moved back and forth, faster now, her hips smacking into her rear. A small part of her mind knew it was because her ass had to be jiggling, especially when Ruby’s whines and whimpers picked up in intensity.

Ruby stared down at the rippling and bouncing booty before her, desperately trying to hold back her seed for just a bit longer so she could continue watching. She was sure Blake didn’t understand how hypnotic her ass was...which was probably a good thing, otherwise she would be teased so much more. Her balls ached, telling her that she was going to cum soon, much to her dismay. She didn’t want to cum yet! She wanted this to last! She wanted-several small barking noises left her mouth as her balls jumped, rhythmically squeezing and relaxing as they began to pump her seed out, filling Blake’s core with her thick cum. Whines and whimpers escaped her mouth as her hips moved back and forth, helping her seed move further inside, draining downwards towards Blake’s womb.

Blake cried out into the sheets, rocking backwards into Ruby’s hips as she came hard, feeling Ruby do the same, intense wet heat spurting into her insides, her belly heating up and beginning to swell at the immense amount that Ruby was actually emptying from her balls. “Ruby...feels good…” she moaned, walls fluttering around the still pulsing cock. She knew they would be locked together for a while due to Ruby’s knot, but that wouldn’t be so bad, she mused, hearing Ruby whine behind her as the dog faunus trembled against her, balls still pulsing and emptying everything they had into her body.

Blake sighed as Ruby carefully shifted them (as carefully as she could with her body in a constant state of orgasm) so they were lying on their sides, cuddling flush against her back, nuzzling into her neck, still whining softly as her hips rocked against her.

“It’s okay, Ruby...you don’t need to say anything…” she knew that when Ruby was like this, speech didn’t come easy. She was capable of cognizant, rational thought, but she was more...feral, as much as Blake loathed to use the term. “It’s okay...I’m here, just relax…”

Ruby let out a happy and content Yip as she nuzzled against her, her breaths steadying. Blake knew she was falling asleep as her stress and tension bled away. Not that she blamed her. A nap sounded perfect actually.

Closing her eyes, Blake followed Ruby into the realm of dreams, the pair snoozing happily, each dreaming of the other and what might happen when they awoke.

Of course, they could have gone without the rude awakening they experienced when Weiss screeched as she walked in and saw them, but that’s a story for another day.

[soulmate-game]

Part1 ... Part2 ... Part3...

Marinette blinked, tilting her head a bit. The streets around them were loud and bustling with bodies and vehicles despite the sun being right at the horizon. Gotham would slow down soon, people being wary of the darkness in the crime-ridden city,but for now it was busy as usual. Marinette and Jon stood outside the stadium that would be hosting the World Fencing Finals, but a familiar face had stopped them right before they entered.

“I didn’t know you liked fencing,” Marinette mused out loud, making Damian tsk and look away. The boy got along with Marinette alright, but that didn’t immediately cancel out his natural standoffish nature.

“Of course you didn’t, I never told you,” he retorted smoothly, the youngest Wayne moving forward to reluctantly open the door for his two friends.

“You hardly talk about yourself at all, actually,” Marinette continued, humming to herself. “Are you keeping secrets?”

Damian scoffed again, even as Jon snickered behind them. “Everyone has secrets. Even a naive child like you should know that.”

Jon couldn’t quite wipe the smile off his face. He had long since gotten used to the strange way the two communicated over the past month since they first met. Marinette always seemed to know when one of Damian’s jabs were or weren’t meant as serious insults, just as Damian was somehow able to always pick up the exact second that Marinette’s caring nature switched from being rooted in kindness to coming from a place of fear.

Yet Jon was the only one of the trio of friends who could hear their heartbeats change pace when they spotted one another, or when their hands accidentally brushed. Neither Damian nor Marinette seemed to realize their own feelings yet, but Jon would be there when they did.

He just hoped their relationship didn’t develop too quickly. Both his best friend and his new sister were dangerously fragile, just in different ways. He didn’t want them accidentally breaking each other.

“Come to think of it,” Jon heard Damian say, pulling the young kryptonian from his thoughts. “You do not talk about yourself quite as much as it seems like you do. You’ve certainly never mentioned liking swordplay.”

“Ah,” Marinette gave Damian a lopsided smile, rubbing the back of her neck. “I like watching it sometimes, but I’m mainly here to see my friend. She’s one of the competitors today, she and I managed to convince her mom to let her sleepover at our place for two nights.”

“But only if she wins,” Jon added sourly. He and his dad had both heard that condition of the deal that Kagami’s mother had made loud and clear. “I’m sorry Mari, but your friend’s mom sounds way too strict and demanding. If she wins this competition, she can spend two days hanging out with you, but if she even gets as low as second place they have to go back to Japan for remedial training immediately?” Jon shook his head. It wasn’t right.

Damian raised both eyebrows at that, but seemed more intrigued than surprised. “I’ve seen stricter,” he commented casually, only succeeding in making Jon glare at him for the veiled reference to his own dark childhood. “But you are right, Kent. That is concerning treatment. Who is this friend of yours, Marinette? Perhaps I have heard of them if they are good enough to qualify for the World Finals.”

By then, the trio had already handed in their tickets and reached the stands. Jon and Marinette glared at Damian when they realized all of their seats were in the front row, right next to each other even, knowing without a doubt that the rich boy was somehow behind it. The two Kents had had much worse seats when they had first purchased their tickets online.

Marinette waited until they all sat down before answering. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you know her. Her name’s Kagami Tsurugi—“

“World class fencer from a long family line of Japanese fencers,” Damian interrupted, nodding knowingly as one of his hands raised to gently grip his chin. “Before Fencing was introduced to Japan, they were famous for their practice of kendo and katana technique. Especially considering their typically untraditional way of insisting that the females in their family take up combat. That, of course, traces all the way back to the ancient female samurai, or Onna-Bugeisha, Tomoe Gozen, one of the ancestors of the Tsurugi family before they split from the Gozen family.”

Marinette and Jon just blinked at the young heir, before Jon’s mouth slowly started to curve up in a mischievous smile. Damian’s eyes narrowed in warning.

“Kent—“

“You’re a fan,” Jon ignored the warning, gleefully grinning ear to ear. “You did your research on her and her family, that’s some hardcore biggest-fan behavior right there. Do you want us to see if she can give you an autographkfgdjgdgj—“ Jon was cut off as Damian lunged over Marinette, the only person separating the two boys, and muffled Jon’s mouth with one hand as his other tried to slam Jon’s head on the chair’s arm. Of course super strength was no joke, and Jon’s head didn’t move even an inch as he laughed through Damian’s hands.

Marinette was somehow able to separate them, and Damian sat back in his chair with a huff and straightened his button-down shirt imperiously.

“I am not a ‘fan’,” he denied primly, but not even Marinette missed the slight pink to his cheeks even through his denial. “I simply acknowledge her skill. As a practitioner of swordplay myself, it is only me being proactive to research her family history. If she is so inclined, I intend to invite her to the manor sometime before she leaves for a casual spar.”

“Oh, she’ll love that,” Marinette agreed, nodding even as the first duel started. “Kagami is always looking for new sparring partners who can keep up with her, but so far only our other friend Adrien and her mom are capable enough. But…” her voice had dropped to a whisper out of respect for the current combatants, but both boys noticed her pause and the way she worried her lip.

“What?” Jon whispered back, worried. Marinette’s nose wrinkled.

“But I don’t know if it’s a good idea to introduce Kagami to Damian. They might end up taking over the world.”

Jon slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a snort. Damian just smirked.

“Now you must introduce us. Perhaps I can finally meet someone who can conspire with me to get rid of my brothers.”

With that, the three quieted and actually watched the fights. Jon didn’t really understand the rules or what was happening, but he liked watching the footwork and the different styles that each competitor used when they dueled. Then, about the third or fourth match, a fencer in a bright red uniform walked out.

“That’s her!” Marinette squealed, leaning forward in her seat. She and Damian had occasionally whispered to one another about what they thought were good or bad calls on points, and critiquing different competitor’s techniques. It was a bit of an eye opener to Jon, who realized that he didn’t know much about what Marinette’s life was like back in Paris despite living with the girl for almost five months. In fact, he didn’t know much about her beyond what she actively showed at home.

Maybe Damian had a point earlier. Marinette had a weird way of making it feel like she spoke about herself a lot but in reality didn’t share much about herself at all. Most of what Jon knew about her came from experience. He knew her tells for whenever she started getting nervous, excited, worried, or was close to an attack. He knew how to tell when she was feeling overwhelmed or started retreating into herself because she didn’t want to intrude. But this?

Jon watched as Marinette stood up and cheered for Kagami when the red-clad fencer scored swift points.

He didn’t know the things that she liked to do besides designing. She mentioned listening to Jagged Stone, maybe that was her favorite kind of music.

Whatever. Jon wouldn’t let himself dwell on how Marinette didn’t open up as much as he would like—it was his job as the older brother for once to put some effort in too. Besides, with everything else Marinette had been through over the months it made sense for her to be a little closed off.

Jon moved his eyes back to the floor. Kagami lunged forward right then, ruthless as she slashed and didn’t allow her opponent a moment to do anything but scramble to deflect. But the red-uniformed woman was too fast, almost violent in her strikes, and she landed three hits on her opponent within one second.

Yeah. Now that he knew what was going on, he knew how to gently, slowly, learn more about his sister. Sorry Kon, but Jon had his eyes on the Best Brother prize.

Kagami won, without her opponent winning a single point against her.

“You know, Kagami’s fighting reminds me of someone,” Jon spoke up, ignoring the venomous glare Damian sent him. His sister looked over curiously as the fighters swapped out and Kagami was led to the back, where a locker room of sorts was set up for the competitors.

“Really? Who? I’ve only ever seen Kagami fight like that. Maybe her mom, but that’s different.”

Jon smiled, knowing he’d get some shit for this stunt later when he went on patrol with Damien but decidedly not caring.

“Robin. The newest one anyway, you can find videos online from different sightings of him around Gotham. He uses a sword.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow, obviously knowing that he partnered with Robin a lot as Superboy but not knowing that Damien was also intimately aware of that fact.

“Huh, that’s weird. Ryuuko, one of the Paris heroes, also uses a sword. But it’s a Miraculous weapon, so it’s a bit different than a normal sword.”

Jon winced. That backfired, he and his dad weren’t quite ready for the rest of the JL to know about the Paris situation. So much for the plan to bring it up later, when Marinette was better settled into life in America.

“Paris has heroes?” Damian asked, eyes sharp. All it took was one glance from the green-eyed boy for Jon to know that this would definitely be brought up to Batman. Great.

At least the next match started, distracting both of the fencing fans from continuing the conversation. For the moment.

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette was the loudest voice in the stadium, standing on her chair without shame as she cheered for her friend, Kagami’s lips twitching in the slightest hint of a smile before she bowed her head to accept her medal.

Marinette was not surprised at all to see her friend win first place in the whole competition. Damian was pleased, and suitably impressed. Jon was just happy that this meant Kagami’s mother couldn’t keep Marinette from spending time with her friend.

Hopping down from the chair, Marinette turned to her friend and brother with a large smile. “Come on! Kagami and her mom are going to meet us in front of the building once everything is done, but I don’t want to fight the crowds.”

Jon cringed, nodding and standing up immediately. Marinette didn’t do well in crowds nowadays, though it could certainly be worse. Inside buildings like the school wasn’t so bad, it was mainly outdoors. Jon and his parents never missed how Marinette would constantly hold Lois’s hand or stick religiously to the woman’s side whenever they walked outside around tall buildings or through thick crowds. None of them mentioned it.

Damien picked up on it, having observed Marinette’s behavior firsthand during the only time he had went outside with her somewhere other than school. They had merely gone to buy Damian a new tie that Marinette approved of, but the girl had scarcely gone further than a foot away from him the whole time they were outside in the city. Only the stern glances from Jon had kept him from commenting on it.

Moments later, the two had found themselves waiting outside the stadium at almost ten at night, though none of them seemed particularly uncomfortable. Marinette seemed downright at home, besides her occasional glances up at the building next to them and her refusal to leave Damian’s side. They waited a good half hour in the slight chill of the night air before Kagami Tsurugi, completely changed out of her uniform, walked up beside her mother Tomoe Tsurugi.

The older woman was, to Jon’s slight shock (Damian’s research was VERY thorough), blind. She tilted her head when she and her daughter stopped in front of the trio.

“Miss Marinette?” She asked in flawless English. “How have you been?”

Marinette smiled, the expression oddly soft compared to her usual beaming grin. “As well as I can be, Madame Tsurugi. With me are my adoptive brother, Jon Kent, and one of my new friends, Damian Wayne. If it is alright with you, we would like to go to Damian’s house for the night. My guardians and his father already approved.”

Jon and Damian blinked, never having heard Marinette speak so properly before. It truly said a lot about the kind of woman Tomoe Tsurugi was. The woman gave an icy smile, pleased but distant. She raised one delicate eyebrow.

“I am getting old, but not dumb Miss Dupain-Cheng. I know very well who the Waynes are, and referring to his home as a mere house is a gross understatement that you couldn’t hope to fool me with in a hundred years,” the woman remarked with subtle humor. Marinette chuckled.

“It was worth a shot,” she defended herself with a shrug. Tomoe shook her head in amusement before settling both hands on her cane and straightening her posture.

“If you vouch for your… friend…” Tomoe said with deliberate slowness. Marinette was quick to nod.

“I do. Damian is trustworthy, and I won’t leave Kagami alone, Madame Tsurugi.”

Tomoe’s mouth flattened, and she was silent for a moment. “You know that you are one of the few people I trust with my daughter, Marinette. I will trust your judgement this time as well. However, Kagami must still call me in the morning and when she does reach your new home as well. And you remember her vacation training schedule?”

Both boys looked at each other, wondering why Kagami did not even try to speak up even though they had their own suspicions. The Japanese teen found that to be the moment she was done being silent however, and sighed.

“Mother,” Kagami spoke, back straight and tone level and proper. “I am perfectly capable of sticking to my training on my own. I do not need Mari-hime to remind me.”

Tomoe pursed her lips, but nodded nonetheless. “Alright. Mister Wayne? I trust your father is alright with Kagami bringing her fencing equipment?”

Damian nodded, despite knowing that Tomoe would not see it. For some reason he got the feeling that she was fully aware of the gesture regardless of her lack of sight.

“Of course. I am actually a fencer as well, though not competitively. I was hopeful that Kagami would humor me with a spar, our manor has a rather nice gym that would provide a more than sufficient space for such an activity.”

At that, Tomoe seemed rather pleased. “That is, of course, up to Kagami since she has not seen Marinette in quite some time and likely has plans for her time already. But I encourage any opportunity that my daughter finds to hone her skills.”

“The competitors today were skilled, but lack knowledge of real battle,” Kagami added, locking gazes with Damian. “My mother trains me as if I were actually fighting, so I seldom find fencers able to match my reactions. If you believe yourself capable, I would be honored to cross swords with you.”

“Oh no,” Marinette stage-whispered to Jon even as her eyes stayed on Damian and Kagami. “This is where the world domination starts.”

Even Tomoe couldn’t resist a small grin at that, and it wasn’t much longer before the trio were picked up by Damian’s butler, who introduced himself as Alfred Pennyworth. Inside the limousine, Kagami visibly relaxed. Her back was still straight, though not overly so, and her face was no longer stringently stoic. Once they pulled away from the stadium, she wasted no time pulling Marinette into a tight hug.

“I am sorry I could not be there for you, Mari-hime.”

Marinette laughed, returning the hug enthusiastically. “Don’t be silly! You were at the funeral, and you video chat with me at least twice a week. That’s plenty.”

Kagami shook her head, tightening her hold. “My mother would have been more than happy to take you in. Sometimes I believe she likes you more than me,” Kagami finally pulled away, turning to level a hard stare at Jon. “But that obviously did not happen, so you and your parents better take good care of Mari-hime, or nobody will find your bodies.”

“Kagami!” Marinette immediately reprimanded, aghast. “The Kents are wonderful! And what did I say about the death threats?”

Kagami rolled her eyes. “My cousin’s family still makes traditional katanas. I have plenty of available arms to carry out my promises.”

“Kagamiiiiiii.”

“If they treat you well, then they have nothing to worry about.”

Marinette groaned in despair, dramatically flopping over until she was draped over the side of Kagami like a limp towel. “I’m gonna get you a spray bottle, and every time you threaten somebody with violence I’m going to spritz you.”

Kagami’s eyes narrowed in playful challenge. “You will have to catch me first.”

Damian was smirking, enjoying this interaction a bit too much. “I believe the two of us will get along just fine, Tsurugi. Do you have a favorite katana craftsman, by any chance?”

—*—*—*—*—*

“They’re so tiny!” The man did not seem to realize the danger he was in with that statement. He was apparently one of Damian’s older brothers, Jason Todd. Both Kagami and Marinette, the “tiny” people in question, glared daggers at the man. “Okay, you,” he said to Kagami, “You’re at least intimidating. Don’t unsheathe that sword please. Bruce already told us that you won the World Finals, and I would rather not die today.” He held his hands up in surrender. Kagami just smirked smugly, and crossed her arms.

Marinette narrowed her eyes. “And me?”

Jason blinked. “What about you? You’re tiny and adorable, even when you’re glaring at me!” He boldly came forward to rustle her hair. “Like a little pixie.”

Kagami covered her smile with a hand, eyes dancing with amusement. Bruce, who had been the first to welcome them all in and introduce himself to Kagami, was pinching his nose next to Alfred in the background. Damian’s other brothers were also gathered. Apparently they all had wanted to meet his new friend and Jon’s new sister.

“Be careful, I’m not the one you should be worried about. At least without my sword I am not as dangerous,” Kagami warned. Everyone blinked at her, and her expression quickly turned confused. Her eyes darted to Marinette, who was too busy glaring at Jason with puffed-out cheeks to notice. “Mari-hime… you didn’t tell anyone?”

Marinette finally looked over, shrugging. “I mentioned it to Jon, Clark, and Lois.”

“What are you talking about, Miss Tsurugi?” Bruce asked, curious after the warning from the fencer. Kagami looked up, and slowly a devious smile spread over her face. It was small, but sent shivers over Jason’s spine.

“Jason and Marinette should spar. Mari-hime is quite the combatant when she desires to be.”

Jason crossed his arms, raising his brow and looking Marinette up and down. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but I’m about double her size—“

“Hey Jon, why don’t you call Lois?” Marinette interrupted, turning to look at her brother with a small smirk. “We’ve got her a huge story— burly biker is too scared to spar a girl half his size.”

Cackles arose, the other two of Damian’s brothers leaning on each other as they guffawed. Bruce and Alfred even stifled chuckles of their own, and Damian’s smirk was infuriatingly prominent. Jon was much like the other two Wayne boys, nearly bowled over in laughter. Jason, after a brief moment of shock and offense, straightened up and grinned. He shrugged off his leather jacket with a small huff of laughter of his own.

“Alright, that was pretty good. You want a spar that badly, you got one. But you’re gonna have to really impress me if you want me to take back what I said about you being adorable and nonthreatening.”

“I’m putting fifty dollars on Marinette,” Kagami bet loudly, raising her hand. “Who wants to bet against me?”

Jason and Marinette both shook their heads in amusement, the big man leading Marinette to the family fitness room (the public one anyway, outside of the Batcave) as everyone besides Bruce and Alfred energetically placed their bets on who would win the spar.

Dick and Tim were betting on Jason, for obvious reasons. Damian withheld from betting, but it was clear he was hoping Marinette would somehow win. Jon just stayed quiet, refusing to share any opinion on the matter. But once Jason and Marinette started heading to the sparring mat that was already laid out, he stopped her.

“You sure about this?” He asked, pulling her away so that nobody else could eavesdrop. “I know I laughed and everything, but you don’t have to spar. Jason won’t hold back if you tell him not to, but he’s not a pushover in any respect.”

Marinette frowned. She had gotten a little caught up in the moment, but at the same time… she wanted this. “You guys are great,” she replied to her brother, voice equally soft. “But you and Clark don’t focus on combat technique. I haven’t had a real fight, at least not one where I don’t have powers to fall back on, in a long time. I need this.”

Jon sighed, but nodded. He squeezed her shoulder for a moment, before smiling at the shorter girl. “Then show everyone what you can do. And I suggest telling Jason not to hold back, or you won’t be able to show off as much as you want.”

Marinette bounced on her heels happily, leaning up to kiss Jon on the cheek. “I’m winning Kagami some money today!” She yelled with a fist-bump before jogging over to join a very amused Jason.

“Was your bro giving you some tips?” He asked, stretching out his arms as Marinette giggled.

“Kind of! Jon suggested that I ask you to not hold back!”

Jason froze, gaze sliding over to the young kryptonian, who only smiled back enigmatically. He might not have spent much time around the youngest Super, but he hung out with Kon often enough and he knew that Jon was fully aware of what he was capable of as Red Hood. He wouldn’t suggest that Jason not hold back unless he was actually confident in Marinette’s skill.

The rest of his family seemed to pick up on that as well, also frozen in shock. Jason was one of the most ruthless fighters of all of them, fearless and brutal.

“Kent better know what he’s doing,” Damian hissed under his breath, to which his father and brothers could only nod to silently.

“So the pixie wants me to not hold back? Alright,” Jason agreed to after a moment of stunned silence. Immediately most of his jovial manner drained away, replaced with focus as he spread his legs and sunk into a stance that came naturally to him at that point. If Jon and Marinette both wanted him to treat her like a real threat (without forgetting that this was just a spar, anyway) then he would. Maybe the girl had super strength or invulnerability like the other Supers. That would explain why Clark was so quick to take her in.

“Oh I hope we don’t regret this later,” Bruce groaned before stepping into the center mat and raising one hand. “Alright. Winner is whoever can pin or otherwise subdue the other first. Please, don’t break any bones or skin. I do not need an angry Lois Lane on my doorstep tomorrow morning. You can use the whole room as long as you don’t risk hitting or involving any of us innocent bystanders. Ready?” Bruce backed up off the mat. “Start!” He wasted no time backing away to a wall.

There was no moment of stillness. There was no waiting with baited breath or looking for an opening. As soon as Bruce called Start, Jason attacked.

He jumped over the distance separating him and Marinette, bringing his knee up to try and end this in one strike like he would have in the field.

Only Marinette wasn’t there to take the hit. Just as quickly as Jason had lunged, she had jumped. Instead of Jason kicking her in the stomach, the small Asian girl had leapt up, and landed on the upraised knee balanced on only one nimble foot.

Suddenly, they were face to face. They grinned at each other, and then they were nothing but movement again.

—*—*—*—*—*

@fantasiame @thestressmademedoit @amayakans @resignedcatservant @too0bsessedformyowngood @chocolatecatstheron @mooshoon @jeminiikrystal @bigpicklebananatree @thezestywalru @bugaboosandbees @ironspiderstark @mikantsume @marinettepotterandplagg @more-or-less-human-i-guess @myazael @ladybug-182 @buticaaba @dast218 @maribat-is-lifeblood @elspethshadow @fandomsaremylifeline @moonlightstar64 @whats-she-gonna-post-next @toodaloo-kangaroo @maybemanymuffins @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @legendaryneckjudgestudent @goblinwhoships @yin-390

Part 5

This got long, so the majority of the spar will be in the next part so that I don’t get cut off. :D OMG, StOrY DeVelOPmeNT?! Who am I?!

More good stuff next chap.

[honeybeesiness]

an unholy holiday.

word count: 2k.

slight nsfw warning! dw tho, there’s absolutely no smut and it’s 97% fluff. it’s just the reader being a tiny bit of a thottie ;).

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two limited edition sucre frenzy tickets.

The next day was your day with the beloved otaku Leviathan. Based off the kind of person he was, you figured that he would want to watch some anime with you or take you to a convention somewhere in Devildom (or the human world if you’re lucky). Binging the TSL series in the beginning of the year for the quiz against Levi proved beneficial to you (aside from being able to make a pact with him), as after that you became quite invested in the series to the point where you would want to name your pet Henry too. You knew Levi liked how you were fond of the series, because it wasn’t every day where he met someone that shared the same interests as him and didn’t put him down for it. With that being said, you were perfectly content with watching TSL or any other series that Levi chose today.

After breakfast that morning, you had gotten a text from the boy in question, who had not shown up for the meal.

💞weeb husband💞: meet me in my room

💞weeb husband💞: wear ur pajamas

You began to grow excited, as your suspicions were seemingly correct. It seemed like you were quite good at guessing what the boys had planned so far, given how you knew what Beelzebub was planning yesterday as well. Were you a psychic? Maybe you just had really good intuition. Or maybe you just knew the brothers so well that guessing came easy for you. Either way, you were smiling like a madman as you typed out a reply.

You: aight fam, i’ll be there asap

You: want me to wear my tsl jammies

💞weeb husband💞: yes

After his swift reply, you slid your phone into your hoodie and bid the others at the breakfast table a farewell. You headed on back to your room to swap into what you called your “TSL Pajamas”, which was just a worn-looking oversized brown t-shirt with the TSL logo on it along with a pair of comfy grey pajama shorts. After you got dressed, you slid down the hall and knocked on Levi’s door.

“Come in.”

And you did, shutting the door behind you. You grinned giddily at Leviathan (who was situated in his bathtub) before turning your attention to the rest of the room. Surrounding the bathtub that was Leviathan’s bed was a large array of snacks and drinks, most of which were your favorites. You didn’t think Devildom had human food like this, and you wondered if Levi went out of his way to get you these things. You were grateful, and you sent him a cheeky look, also deciding that it would be funny to tease him just a little. Embarrassed Levi was one of your favorite Levis, after all.

“Did you get all of this for me~?” You batted your eyelashes, slowly and sensually bending over to pick up a bottle of banana flavored ramune, which you examined while still being crouched. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the bluenette’s face flush a scarlet color, and that was enough to satisfy you for the moment. “Thank you.”

“LOL, they’re not all for you, you know!” He squawked, still mildly embarrassed, but soon his face returned to its normal hue. “Believe it or not, there are some foods from the human world that actually taste good!”

You rolled your eyes, picking up a packet of chocolate pocky (a classic) as well as another favorite snack of yours before sauntering over to where Levi was sitting in the bathtub. “What’re we doin’? With all these snacks, I would assume you have something in mind.”

“You and I are going to be having an anime marathon.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of one of his PC monitors whose position he changed so the both of you could watch. “I wanna watch TSL and I don’t listen to normies who say no.”

“No. We literally watch TSL EVERY time I come to hang out here! Let’s try somethin’ new for once.” You said defiantly, earning a huff and a mini pout from the boy in return. You were clearly contradicting what you had thought to yourself earlier, but we don’t talk about that.

“FINE. What do you suggest?” He grumbled, pulling his keyboard closer to his lap so he could bring up his Softbun account. You put one foot into his bathtub and his head immediately shot over to look at you, his expression a little bit wild. “What are you doing?!”

You put another foot in. “Getting comfortable, of course, so scooch over! Your fatass is hogging the tub.”

“Excuse me?!” Levi sounded offended, but he was smiling as he (hesitantly) moved over. You plopped yourself down, hanging your legs over the rim of the tub. It was a small, Levi-sized bathtub, and you eyed the boy as he blushed fervently at your close proximity.

“Hey, have you watched Beast Assassin yet?” You asked, pointing at the series on the monitor in front of you. The show was in Levi’s library, but you couldn’t tell if he watched it or not.

He gave you a look that told you that you had asked a stupid question. “You mean the hit series where the protagonist’s sister gets turned into a beast and the protagonist must go on a journey to find a cure for her? OF COURSE I watched it! What are you, some kind of pleb?”

“NO. Shut the hell your mouth, we’re watching Beast Assassin, but we’re skipping to the part where Airitsu first appears because he’s the best.” You snatched his keyboard off his lap and placed it on yours, reaching your hand over the side of the bathtub to move the mouse (which was placed on the floor next to the bed) over to Beast Assassin.

“What are you saying?! Are you crazy?! We can’t just start on the second episode without watching the first! It’s called “Episode 2“ for a reason!” Levi attempted to take the keyboard away from you, but as soon as he laid his fingers on it, the entire room went pitch black.

You were the first to react. “Eh?? Levi-san, it’s so dark! H-Hold me!” But you, in fact, did not hold onto him. You could hear the boy, scoff, though. “Are we havin’ some sort of blackout? Has this ever happened in Devildom, or—?”

“This is SO unfair,” Levi grumbled to himself, and you felt him move beside you. “Just as I was going to click on the first episode of Beast Assassin!” You aggressively shoved him on the arm for that comment, sending him stumbling out of the bathtub and flat on the floor. Since you couldn’t exactly see him, the only way you could tell that he was on the floor was through the sound of skin hitting the tile that was the floor of Levi’s bedroom. “Hey!”

“What, I didn’t do anything!” You “harumph-ed” and crossed your arms, but you were generally curious as to what Levi was up to. And, as your eyes began to grow used to the dark, you could make out his silhouette approaching his desk where the rest of his monitors sat. “What’cha doin’?”

You watched somewhat blindly as he reached over the screens to the shelves that sat behind the desk, grabbing something that you couldn’t make out. You, too, got out of the bathtub, and you stumbled over to where Leviathan was standing. As he sensed you approaching, he turned away from you and hunched over slightly so you couldn’t see what he was holding. You shoved him again, but much more lightly this time.

“If you don’t stop, I won’t be giving you any of these glowsticks!” Ah, so that was what he was holding.

“Glowsticks? You have glowsticks??” From your spot behind Leviathan, you could spot a faint glow coming from his frontside. He turned around to face you, his face lit up by pink and red glowsticks, but still remaining shrouded by the surrounding darkness. He gave you another incredulous look that told you that you asked a stupid question. “Don’t give me that look! I thought that you used them all at the last concert you went to!”

Leviathan squinted at you. “Bold of you to assume that, since I’ve taken you to all of the concerts I got tickets for in the past year!”

That was something that had completely failed to cross your mind. It’s not that you didn’t remember Levi taking you to all those pop idol concerts before (you did), but you were always more invested in the music and the choreography rather than what the audience was doing or even holding.

“Well, I’m sooooorry that I forgot! It’s just-”

“Enough of your excuses, woman.” Leviathan interrupted you with a flick on your forehead. “An otaku never is without their glowsticks.”

“You can’t say that ‘cause glowsticks aren’t even used for anime! ...Unless it’s of Lyricoids. You like Lyricoids, right? You better. Who’s your favorite?” You reached out your hand to grab at the pink glowstick, hoping to distract the bluenette with your chitchat, but he moved his hands away.

“Of course I do! I like Muka. Her voice is so melodic and graceful, and her songs are so beautiful and meaningful. The settings of her music videos are always so detailed, especially with the backgrounds and how the plot of the song is portrayed through the visuals. Muka also always looks amazing in any outfit since her figure is naturally curvy and mature, and the musicians and animators never fail to make her draw the audience’s eyes. I also really like how—”

“I like the OG queen herself, Riku, thanks for asking.” You interrupted somewhat sarcastically, having another go at trying to acquire one of Levi’s glowsticks. “She’s so bubbly and her voice is so versatile that she can sing and sound nice in literally any genre.”

“I agree, but,” Levi moved the glowsticks out of the way once more. “Muka is—”

There were several knocks on Levi’s door, and both of your heads swiveled in that direction. You also took that moment to swipe up the pink glowstick, and Levi glared at you.

“What if a serial killer busted the lights and is out to kill us.” You mused, scratching your chin. “He’s being awfully polite if he’s knocking on the door, though.”

You were on a roll with your stupid statements today, for Levi gave you another look, this one being much more annoyed. He didn’t bother to correct you, and instead said, “I hope he kills you first because you’re being so annoying.”

Your reply was immediate, and the knocking was heard once more. “Jokes on you, I actually want to die.” Pink glowstick in hand, you marched to the front of the room and opened the door. “Stab me, daddy.”

“...What?”

You blinked several times and held up the glowstick to the person’s face. It was Satan, and you shuffled awkwardly in your spot. “Oops.”

“I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear that.” Satan surveyed the room, and his stiff posture relaxed— if only a little. “Good, you two aren’t the only ones whose rooms are affected by the blackout.”

You leaned against the doorframe. “This happened to you too?”

Satan nodded. “And the rest of us as well. It is unusual, is it not? This never happened before.”

“Well, I hope it gets fixed soon, because Levi back here,” You jabbed your free thumb in the man’s direction. “is being the biggest prick. He said he actually WANTED me to die! And for what, being annoying? Sheesh, how harsh.”

Satan smiled a little bit, glancing back at Leviathan, who he was only able to see thanks to the glowstick he was holding. Upon hearing your words, Levi marched up and slammed the door shut.

You held up your hands in front of yourself in mock surrender. “Let’s just agree that we’re both being annoying.”

“But YOU’RE the one who’s being annoying!”

“Agree to disagree?”

“...Fine.” ‎‎ ‎‎‎

i have a headcanon where Levi uses crackhead/internet/gen z humor so i decided to incorporate that into the story :”). had a lot of fun writing this!

also, if y’all forgot, Levi legit sleeps in a bathtub 😤.

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and yes that is a Sayaka Maizono/Danganronpa reference in the beginning ;)

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Beast Assassin = Demon Slayer. Airitsu = Zenitsu.

Lyricoid = Vocaloid. Muka = Luka Megurine. Riku = Miku Hatsune.

taglist: @wetleafwrites​ ::​ @midnight-moodlet​

[likecastle]

In which Jaskier cuts Geralt’s hair

Well, folks, I was inspired by Geralt’s slightly wavier wig in the new S2 promo photos to write a story in which Geralt finally gets some proper haircare and it brings out his natural curl pattern. This somehow turned into 7,000 words of Geralt musing about his own terrible self-image and Jaskier tenderly negotiating a haircut.

Credit for Geralt’s 3-in-1 shower products goes to @exrayspex​, with my thanks for their enthusiasm about this exceedingly soft concept!  

I’d like to put this up on AO3 at some point, but the title has me stumped, so if anyone has a suggestion, please let me know.

“When are you going to let me cut your hair?”

Geralt snorts, incredulous. “I’m not.”

Jaskier fixes Geralt with a pleading look. The streaks of peacock blue Jaskier recently added to his hair really bring out the color of his eyes—all the better to beguile him with. “Come on, Geralt, don’t you trust me?”

“No,” Geralt says, trying without much luck to keep his attention on the TV screen. Suddenly he has to fight the urge to tuck a stray strand of his hair behind his ear.

“It would look so nice if you just took proper care of it,” Jaskier wheedles.

“It doesn’t need to look nice.” Geralt can feel his shoulders creeping up towards his ears, and he wishes Jaskier would look at something else besides him. “It’s just hair.”

“But—”

Geralt jabs the remote in the direction of the TV. “Are you going to let me watch this or do you want to go home?”

“Fine, you grouch,” Jaskier says, returning his attention to the screen.

It must not hold Jaskier’s interest, though, because he can feel Jaskier’s gaze returning to him periodically throughout the rest of the film—which in itself isn’t all that unusual, since Jaskier watches even movies he really likes with one eye on his phone. Except that when Geralt meets his gaze, Jaskier’s looking at him with a wistful, almost sad expression. Geralt doesn’t let himself wonder what might be on his mind.

Later, Jaskier yawns wide and says he’d better be going if he doesn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel on the way home. It’s just a dramatic excuse not to help clean up, Geralt knows, but he can’t help smiling at the way Jaskier rubs at his eyes, smudging the faded remnants of his eyeliner. Geralt walks him to the door, and for a moment Jaskier just stands there on the porch, looking at Geralt thoughtfully.

When his hand reaches up, Geralt freezes. He thinks for a moment that Jaskier’s about to cup his cheek and drawn him down—but he just takes a strand of frizzy hair that’s come loose from Geralt’s ponytail and twists it around a finger.

“I thought so,” Jaskier says, with a private little smile.

Geralt’s sure Jaskier must be able to hear the way his breath’s gotten jammed up in his chest. “Thought—?”

“Nothing.” Jaskier digs his hands into the pockets of his jacket and starts down the front steps. “G’night, Geralt.”

As Geralt tidies away their takeout containers and empty beer bottles, his mind keeps wandering back to Jaskier’s offer. He knows Jaskier’s just trying to be nice—or trying to fix him, the way he tried to “liven up” Geralt’s wardrobe early in their friendship and tried to set him up on dates after he split up with Yen last year. But the options he tries to push on Geralt—the overpriced bomber jacket Jaskier bought him that’s still sitting at the back of his closet, the gorgeous chestnut-haired nurse Jaskier introduced him to—always seem to reflect more about Jaskier’s idea of Geralt than they do about Geralt himself.

Because the thing is, he’s not brash and stylish like Jaskier, who’s all eccentric colors combinations and flashing rings that accentuate his expressive hands. Jaskier knows how to construct an outfit that tells the world exactly who he is at any given moment, from his ever-evolving hairstyles to his painstakingly-sourced vintage clothes. Geralt, on the other hand, is just—nothing, an absence of style. His idea of a good outfit is one he can forget he’s wearing, one that will make everyone else forget him when he’s wearing it. His relationship to his appearance is as estranged as his relationship to his ex-wife. Being in his body, making use of it when he’s lifting weights or hammering a nail or swinging Ciri up in his arms—that makes sense to him. But thinking about his body is the opposite of that. He doesn’t like being looked at, even by himself. He avoids the mirror on his medicine cabinet as much as he can and starts feeling close and queasy if he so much as looks at himself in a dressing room mirror.

Before he goes to bed that night, he shakes his hair out from his ponytail and makes himself take a long, hard look in the mirror. All he sees is the sallow, tired-eyed face of a man who can hardly remember how to smile anymore, a face scarred from carelessness and creased from years of worry. His dull white hair, which Jaskier had twisted so carefully around his finger, is somehow greasy and dried out at the same time, limp around his face but bristly at the ends. He can’t find any sign of the potential Jaskier seems to think is there. He suspects it was never there in the first place—a mirage visible only to well-intentioned flatterers like Jaskier—and he feels foolish for looking.

No, Geralt decides, he’s not going to let Jaskier cut his hair, or do anything else to him. Better not to bother at all.

*

The next time the topic of Geralt’s hair comes up, he’s brought Ciri into Jaskier’s salon for an emergency haircut. Ordinarily, Yennefer handles things like haircuts and clothes shopping, but Saturday night, Ciri emerged from the bathroom with the front her hair lopped off somewhere around her eyebrows and a dawning expression of anxious regret on her face. Geralt had reassured her that everything would be OK, while texting Jaskier frantically for help and silently panicking about what Yen was going to say when she came to pick Ciri up on Sunday night. Thankfully, Jaskier was able to squeeze Ciri into his schedule this afternoon, and he promised to fix Ciri up.

So now Geralt is sitting awkwardly in the waiting area, hunched on a squeaky vinyl-upholstered chair. He’s been to Jaskier’s salon plenty of times—to meet him for lunch or a post-shift drink, to drop off something he left at the house or to give him a ride home—but he rarely does more than stand uneasily just inside the door. The relentless pop music and the echoing acoustics never fail to overwhelm him, as does the muddle of scents—clouds of different hair products and the pervasive smell of something sharp like ammonia. The abundance of mirrors unnerves him, too. Nobody can possibly need to see so many views of their own reflection, can they? Between the curious patrons peering at him in the mirrors and passersby staring in through the plate glass storefront, Geralt feels like he’s on display. And to make matters worse, he keeps catching glimpses of his reflection, his own hunted expression looking back at him from unexpected angles.

Ciri, at least, is having a great time, chatting happily with Jaskier as he snips away at her hair. The last time Geralt took Ciri for a haircut, it was at one of those children’s salons where the chairs looked like toy cars, and now here she is, sitting beside grown women almost like she’s one of them. It scares him, sometimes, to think of her growing up—more than sometimes. There are so many ways the world can fail her, and he can only do so much to protect her. There’s going to come a time when she’s going to get into some kind of trouble he won’t be able to bail her out of, and he’s not sure what he’s going to do with himself when that day comes. But for now, at least he can pay Jaskier to fix her disastrous home-brew haircut.

“What d’you think, Dad?” Ciri calls, and he looks up to see Jaskier removing her cape with a flourish. When he turns Ciri’s chair around to face him, Geralt’s heart catches in his throat. How grown up she looks, he thinks, but what really makes his chest ache is how much she’s coming into herself—becoming someone with her own unique taste in clothes and books and music, who won’t compromise about the bullshit dress codes at school and is brave enough to try something new even if the results are atrocious. He doesn’t know where she gets it.

“You like it?” he asks, not trusting himself to say something that won’t embarrass her.

“Yeah, I guess,” she says with a shrug, and hops down from the chair.

“We could do yours next, Geralt,” Jaskier offers, sweeping up the little blonde fragments of Ciri’s hair from the floor around his station.

“Ooh, yeah!” Ciri grins up at him. “I bet Jaskier would give you a really cool haircut.”

“I’m sure he would,” Geralt says mildly. He doesn’t want to quash Ciri’s enthusiasm or impart his own discomfort to her. It’s one of the things that keeps him up at night, the fear that he’ll pass down all his insecurities. He tries so hard to keep that shit buttoned up, to shield her from his own shortcomings—and he knows it’s inevitable that he’s just going to mess her up in other ways, but he wants to do better for her, has to do better. “Maybe some other time.”

“So you’ll consider it!” Jaskier says triumphantly, coming over to tell the receptionist the total for Ciri’s cut.

Geralt notices Ciri looking at herself in the big mirror behind the front desk, fussing self-consciously with her new fringe. Jaskier must notice, too, because he gives Ciri a big hug and says, “You look great, kiddo. Right, Geralt?”

“Definitely,” Geralt says, surrendering his credit card to the receptionist to pay a frankly staggering amount. He tips a hundred percent.

*

“You should take him up on it,” Yennefer says that evening when Geralt concludes the story of Ciri’s haircut by telling her about Jaskier’s offer to cut Geralt’s hair.

Geralt blinks in surprise. “Really?”

She glances back to where Ciri is waiting for her in the car. “Jaskier did a good job. She and I are going to have a serious conversation later about when to ask for permission and when to ask for forgiveness, but I have to admit it suits her.”

“It does,” Geralt agrees. He realizes he doesn’t know what it would be like, to feel his appearance suited him. He’s never tried, really, to make his exterior reflect his interior, wouldn’t even know where to begin.

“Besides,” Yennefer says, gesturing to his haphazard ponytail, “you really do need to start taking better care of yourself, now that I’m not around to make sure you’re presentable anymore.”

Geralt’s eyebrows shoot up, a smile twitching his lips. “Is that what you were doing? Looking after me?”

Yennefer lifts one hand to tug a lock of his hair, the gesture so similar to Jaskier’s that it makes him shiver, for some reason. “No, but somebody ought to.”

He ducks his head, hoping to hide the ache that washes through him—a longing for something they both wanted but never quite managed to find together. “If you keep Ciri waiting much longer, she’s gonna make a break for it.”

“She would, too,” Yennefer says affectionately. “Take care of yourself, Geralt.” She surprises him by brushing a kiss against his cheek, then turns to go.

Geralt waits until Yennefer’s car is out of sight before he goes inside. As he loads the dinner dishes into the dishwasher, he thinks again about Jaskier’s offer. He’s never been good at asking for things, let alone holding on them once he has them, but it’s been especially hard since he and Yennefer split—even the littlest things feel like they require an effort it’s not worth making. It’s so easy to tell himself he doesn’t need anything—a fancy haircut, a new jacket, a reassuring glance, a gentle touch. But sometimes, maybe, it’s enough to want them.

Wiping soapy water off his hands, Geralt pulls his phone from his pocket and texts Jaskier. Does your offer to cut my hair still stand? Only if you’ve got time.

OMG YES!!! comes the immediate reply. I can be there in 20. Then, a moment later, Jaskier amends, Shit wait make that 40 need to run to get some supplies

Geralt huffs out a laugh. Have to get up early tomorrow. This weekend?

All booked up this weekend but I’m off on Tues so I can come over to your place in the pm if that works for you

He’d hoped to give himself a few days to cancel, just in case he changes his mind, and in this respect Tuesday’s almost no better than forty minutes from now. But he does like the idea of doing this at home, instead of in the salon. He types out OK and hits send before he can think better of it.

Don’t chicken out before then

No promises, Geralt answers.

Jaskier responds with a string of emoji that Geralt finds completely inscrutable, but which make him smile nonetheless.

*

Jaskier arrives on Tuesday evening with a six-pack of cold beer and bag crammed full of supplies.

“I thought you were going to cut my hair, not outlast a siege,” Geralt says, trying to ignore the way his stomach twists with nerves over this impending ordeal. He should have cancelled. He should never have said yes to this ridiculous idea.

“Oh, none of this would be remotely useful in warfare,” Jaskier replies. Then, contemplatively, he says, “Well, maybe some of it. But first, I thought we could have a drink.”

“So you can cut my hair drunk?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier rolls his eyes and brushes past Geralt into the kitchen, dumping his bag into an empty chair at the table. “So you can relax a little for once. And so we can talk.”

Geralt feels the knot of anxiety in his stomach tighten even further. “What is there to talk about? It’s just a haircut.”

Jaskier lets out a long-suffering sigh as he rummages around in Geralt’s cutlery drawer in search of a bottle opener. “Geralt, have you not listened to a single word I’ve said about my job?” He pops off the caps of two bottles of beer and hands one to Geralt. “No, don’t answer that, I know you haven’t.”

Geralt takes a sullen sip of his beer, but he doesn’t dispute the accusation.

With a nod of his head, Jaskier gestures for Geralt to follow him into the living room, and flops down on what Geralt has come to think of as his side of the couch. Geralt sits at the other end, turned to face him. “You need to know what you want going into this, or you won’t get good results.” Jaskier fixes him with a gaze that makes Geralt take another swallow of his beer. “Have you ever given any thought to what you like, or don’t like, about your hair?”

“Not . . . really,” Geralt mumbles, wondering how angry Jaskier would be if he called this whole thing off now.

“Well,” Jaskier says patiently, “why do you keep your hair long? I always assumed it was because you liked how it looked, but I’m realizing now I’ve never asked about it.”

Geralt takes another sip of his beer and tries to think of answer that’s not Because I do. He’s worn it long since high school, when it was primarily something to hide behind. It felt like a kind of fuck-you, an off-putting choice to keep people from looking too closely at him—and to help him forget about other people, too. “It’s easier,” he says finally. “Don’t have to get it cut every few weeks, and I can keep it out of my face.”

“OK, that’s good to know.” The calm, encouraging tone Jaskier’s taking should feel condescending, but Geralt finds he doesn’t mind—or maybe it’s just the beer starting to relax him a little.

“You don’t always tie it back, though, do you?” Jaskier goes on.

Geralt shakes his head. “When I’m working, yeah, but the rest of the time . . .” He shrugs. It depends—on who he’s around, how comfortable he feels with them, hell, how hard the wind is blowing. Sometimes he can’t stand the feeling of it in face, and sometimes the pressure of the hair elastic at the base of his skull is enough to make him want to rip it out.

“Can I . . . ?” Jaskier gestures to Geralt’s hair, and Geralt inclines his head. It’s inevitable that Jaskier will have to touch him if they’re going to go through with this, so there’s no point in being shy about it. Jaskier scoots forward on the couch, and Geralt holds very still, letting him reach back and undo the tie holding his hair back. A sheet of frizzy white strands spills around his bowed head, almost obscuring Jaskier from view.

He can feel Jaskier, though, running his fingers through his hair. The touch makes Geralt’s scalp tingle and a shiver runs through him that he tries and fails to suppress.

“OK?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt nods.

“You’ve never told me when you went grey.” Jaskier’s voice is hushed, almost as if he’s afraid of startling him. He continues to card his hand through Geralt’s hair—with professional curiosity, Geralt realizes, but the touch is so gentle it also feels like a reassurance. Geralt closes his eyes, grateful to be shielded from Jaskier’s view.

“Started in high school,” he says. It’s been a long time since he thought about how, when those first thick streaks of white were coming into his dark hair, kids at school would call him skunk and Cruella de Vil, shit he knew better than to respond to but that just made him even more self-conscious. It occurs to him now that most of his memories of being looked at—really noticed—are colored by other people’s derision for things he can’t help. “It was all like this by the time I was twenty-one, twenty-two. Someone told me once it’s genetic, but . . .” He shrugs again. He’s got no one to ask about a family history of premature graying, no photos of distant relatives to compare himself to.

Gentle fingers tuck his hair back behind one ear, and Geralt looks up to see Jaskier smiling at him. “I would pay good money to see pictures of you in high school. I bet you were so surly.”

“You wouldn’t have liked me,” Geralt says “I was insufferable.” Miserable and ungrateful and roiling with self-righteous anger all the time, hardly able to string a civil sentence together.

Jaskier rewards him with a snort of disbelieving laughter. “You’re insufferable now and I like you just fine.”

This is true, Geralt thinks. His anger has banked down somewhat since those days, but he’s no less difficult to be around, and Jaskier’s never seemed to mind his rough edges. If he’s being honest, he wouldn’t have been able to appreciate Jaskier in those day. His constant talking and absurd jokes would have grated on Geralt’s nerves, back then. They did when he first met Jaskier, in fact. He tried, for a long time, to keep his distance, sure that there was nothing he and Jaskier could possibly have to say to each other. But Jaskier kept turning up, kept surprising him, kept being kind to him for no damn reason. Geralt’s glad he did.

“So,” Jaskier says, pushing the conversation back in his desired direction, as he always does, “what I’m hearing is, you like wearing your hair long?”

Geralt considers, taking another swallow of his beer. Liking doesn’t figure into his thinking much, but it’s not just out of habit that he keeps it this way. “Yeah.”

Jaskier’s nod is solemn. “Anything you don’t like about it?”

Again, Geralt has to give this serious thought. “There are, uh . . .” He gestures to the wiry flyaways that tend to form around his head by the end of the day. They tend to tickle his face unpleasantly as he works, which is irritating when he doesn’t hand a hand free to brush them away.

“Yeah, it’s a little dry,” Jaskier says. “But we can fix that up.” Geralt knows exactly how soft Jaskier’s hair is, and he can’t imagine his own ragged hair could ever come close. “Anything else?”

Geralt shrugs.

“OK,” Jaskier says, “enough with the interrogation. I think I’ve got everything I need.”

Jaskier gets up and retrieves another beer—not for himself, but for Geralt. Jaskier’s fingers brush his as he hands over the bottle, and it gives him the same little shiver that he felt when Jaskier was combing through his hair. “D’you want me to tell you what I’m thinking, or just surprise you?”

Geralt’s gut instinct is to make Jaskier tell him what he’s got in mind, so that he has the option to veto it and put this whole thing to a stop. But he thinks of Jaskier’s teasing question the first time they talked about this—Don’t you trust me?—and how he’d said no when the answer is really yes. So he takes a deep pull of his beer and says, “Surprise me.”

The look of glee on Jaskier’s face is worth the knot of dread that immediately forms in Geralt’s stomach. He takes another drinks and reminds himself that it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.

“You’re not gonna regret it, I promise,” Jaskier says, and then his warm hands are urging Geralt up and off the couch.

It takes them a while to get everything situated to Jaskier’s liking—the bathroom is too cramped to accommodate a chair, so Jaskier has Geralt drag one into the kitchen, covering the floor in newspapers to catch the stray clippings. Then Jaskier sends Geralt to wash his hair while he sets up the rest of his supplies. When Geralt comes back downstairs, his hair soaking into his t-shirt, there is a truly staggering array of equipment spread out on the counter, Jaskier’s own little traveling apothecary kit, with everything from dangerously sharp scissors to brightly-colored bottles of product to some kind of instrument that looks like a bowl full of dull spikes, which Jaskier says attaches to his hair dryer.

“Rule number one,” Jaskier says, grabbing the towel out of Geralt’s hands. “No more regular towels on your hair. Your hair deserves to be treated with care.” Geralt snorts, but the towel he hands Geralt is pleasantly soft, with finer knap that’s soft as fleece in his hands. “And don’t rub at it,” Jaskier scolds. He steps closer, wrapping his hands around Geralt’s to guide him, his hand moving in a gentle squeezing motion. “That’s good,” he says, and Geralt feels his cheeks flush.

Once Geralt’s hair is toweled dry, Jaskier maneuvers him into the chair, and combs out his hair with a wide-toothed comb. Jaskier is exceedingly careful not to yank on the knots, but even so the gentle tug sets his skin tangling. Geralt knows his scalp is sensitive—he can remember fighting back tears while Vesemir struggled to brush out his unruly hair as a kid—but it’s never felt like this before. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that ordinarily, when he finally breaks down and subjects himself to a trim, he just asks Eskel do come over and cut it with the kitchen scissors. Even with someone he trusts as profoundly as he does Eskel, it’s still an uncomfortable ordeal that makes him unaccountably tense. But this isn’t painful, or unnerving at all. It’s . . . nice, embarrassingly so. He can’t help wondering what it would feel like if Jaskier were to drag his nails along his scalp—and then he has to force himself not to think about it, because even the thought of the sensation sends a shudder through him.

Thankfully, Jaskier is busy fiddling with his phone, and a moment later he puts on a playlist he likes to call Geralt’s Sad Dad Rock mix. Geralt appreciates the background noise—familiar songs he can tune out if he wants to, quiet enough that the music’s not intrusive.

“OK,” Jaskier says, snapping a cape around Geralt’s throat. His hand comes to rest on Geralt’s shoulder and he leans in to speak almost directly into Geralt’s ear. “Ready?”

Geralt suppresses another chill and says, “As I’ll ever be.”

Jaskier gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and gets to work. Geralt’s grateful for the lack of mirrors, because it means he doesn’t have to see what Jaskier’s doing, but at the same time it leaves him without much to go on—just the touch of the comb, Jaskier’s hands carefully repositioning his head, his fingers pulling this or that lock of hair taut to snip at them with the scissors. Eventually, Geralt closes his eyes and lets Jaskier’s voice wash over him. Jaskier often accuses Geralt of not listening to him when he talks, but in truth it’s easy to get lost in the lilting cadence of his speech, like hearing a song but not its lyrics.

“. . . and the thing is,” Jaskier’s saying, though Geralt lost the thread of his rambling long ago, “the more you do it, the better your results will be. You just have to help them along . . .”

He can see why Jaskier’s clients like him so much, how nice it is to fall into the pattern of someone else’s words, especially when that someone has as nice a voice as Jaskier. He’s often grateful for Jaskier’s conversation, which fills silences Geralt didn’t even realize were empty until he came along.

When Jaskier says, “OK, you’re all done,” Geralt is surprised by how quickly the time has passed. “We can just leave it at that and just let it air dry, or . . .” Even though he can’t see Jaskier, he can picture the hopeful expression on his face.

“What?” Geralt asks, twisting around in the chair to look Jaskier in the eye.

Jaskier bites his bottom lip, looking almost nervous. “Or I could show you how to style it. If you wanted. Nothing over the top, I promise.”

Geralt thinks it over. On the one hand, there’s no way he’ll ever bother repeating anything Jaskier shows him how to do, but on the other hand, he wouldn’t mind having Jaskier’s hands on him a little longer. “All right.”

“Really?” Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “Nope, never mind, I’m not gonna second-guess this. No take-backs! You’re committed now.”

Which is how Geralt finds himself being hustled back upstairs and into the bathroom. Jaskier pulls back the shower curtain and is about to start issuing instructions when he lets out a squawk and staggers backward.

Geralt looks around in alarm, expecting to see a giant spider in the tub. It’s only belatedly that he realizes he’s thrown an arm out in front of Jaskier, as if that will protect him from whatever nonexistent threat he was reacting to. “What?”

“Geralt, for shame!” Jaskier exclaims, pointing to the bottle of 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash on the edge of the tub. “Is that yours?” He says it with all the breathless horror of someone discovering a murder weapon.

“Uh . . .” Geralt has the distinct feeling he should try to deny it, but there’s no point in trying to pretend. “Yes?”

And then Jaskier is laughing, but it’s warm with delight, not mocking or cruel. In fact, he looks up at Geralt with such fondness that Geralt almost can’t bear it. “Oh, you poor man,” Jaskier says between gusts of laughter. “No wonder your hair is so dry!”

“. . . It’s efficient,” Geralt mutters in a half-hearted attempt to defend himself.

“It’s like washing your hair with dish soap. But don’t worry,” he adds, pressing a hand to Geralt’s chest, “I’ll get you sorted out and then your hair will be so soft it’ll be completely irresistible.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says dubiously, but Jaskier just grins at him.

“OK, this next part is going to be a little awkward. Ordinarily you’d do it by yourself in the shower, but I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’d rather not jump in the shower with me right now.”

Geralt very much does not acknowledge the wave of heat that rolls through him at the thought.  “Probably wouldn’t fit, anyway.”

“Eh, I’ve made it work in smaller spaces than this,” Jaskier says, with such casual confidence that Geralt’s mouth goes dry. “But luckily, you’ve got one of those detachable showerheads, so we should be just fine. Might be easier, though, if you, uh, take off your shirt off.”

Geralt’s already come this far, and, besides, it’s not like Jaskier hasn’t seen him without his shirt on before. As Geralt strips off his shirt, Jaskier puts a towel down on the floor and beckons him to kneel down at the edge the tub. He’s careful to get the water to a comfortable temperature before he puts a warm hand on Geralt’s bare back, guiding him to lean over, his head bowed.

The routine Jaskier directs him through is more complicated than Geralt could ever have anticipated. There’s a thick, dark purple shampoo that Jaskier instructs him to use only once a week—he has another shampoo he’ll give Geralt to use at other times, but really, Jaskier insists, he should only be washing his hair a couple of times a week, anyway. Jaskier shows him how to rub the shampoo into his scalp only and let the water draw it down through the rest of his hair. The pressure of the spray on his scalp makes his skin tingle, as does the press of Jaskier’s body against his side. When Geralt doesn’t apply the conditioner to Jaskier’s liking, he adjusts Geralt’s hands with his own, smoothing their joined fingers through Geralt’s slippery hair. And when it comes time to rinse the conditioner out, he shows Geralt how to cup the water in his palms and press it into the wet mass of his hair.

“You’re doing great,” Jaskier tells him, and Geralt is grateful his face is hidden behind ropes of his wet hair.

Finally, Jaskier pronounces himself satisfied and turns off the water. Now that they’re done the task of washing his hair, Geralt’s awkwardly aware of his chest dripping with water in the cool air of the bathroom—and of Jaskier standing less than an arm’s length away from him.

Jaskier, on the other hand, is nothing but professional, rubbing a series of products into his hands and then smoothing them over Geralt’s hair. After each application, he gathers Geralt’s hair in his hands and presses it up toward Geralt’s scalp, just like they did with the water. It’s a bizarre motion, like nothing Geralt’s ever seen before, but it seems to be having the desired effect, because the strands of hair hanging down in front of his face are slowly forming into thick coils, and Jaskier keeps making little satisfied humming sounds with each new application. Jaskier finishes by wrapping Geralt’s hair up in another one of those extra soft towels.

“And now we wait,” he says, hopping up onto the sink.

Geralt pulls his shirt on again, careful not to disturb the towel on his head, and he might be wrong but he thinks that he catches a little disappointed frown cross Jaskier’s face, but it’s gone before he can be sure.

“Thanks for indulging me,” Jaskier says. “I know you don’t really like this kind of stuff, but I’m having a great time.”

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” Geralt replies. But that sounds worse than it did in his head, and he hastens to add, “I mean—it’s nice—when it’s you.”

Jaskier’s smile is something Geralt can’t quite get to the bottom of—fond and wry and maybe a little sad, too. “Well, I’ve been dying to do this pretty much since the moment I met you, so, you know, thanks for that.”

It’s strange to think Jaskier has been harboring private aspirations where Geralt is concerned. But then Jaskier’s always been full of surprises when it comes to him—immune to his ill temper, amused by his rudeness, tenacious enough to bully his way past his silences. He’s never understood what Jaskier sees in him, and he often feels he offers a poor reward for the hard work Jaskier puts in to being his friend. Because it’s not easy, Geralt knows. Plenty of people have decided Geralt was too difficult to get to know, or too prickly to stick with. Even Yennefer, who’s loved him better than he could possibly deserve, struggled to make inroads against Geralt’s defenses. It never seemed to matter how much he loved Yennefer, he could never bring himself to relax around her. He was always on tenterhooks, waiting for the other shoe to drop—until, in time, it did, a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. He can’t blame Yennefer ending things. She wants things he doesn’t know how to give. He couldn’t figure out how to change himself into the sort of person she deserved.

“D’you want another beer?” Jaskier asks, nudging Geralt’s knee with his bare foot.

He wouldn’t mind another drink, but he’s loathe to puncture the peaceful little moment that’s grown up between them. “Let’s just stay here.”

Jaskier nods, and a moment later Fleetwood Mac comes on over Jaskier’s phone speakers—one of the only bands they can agree on—and Jaskier treats him to an inspired rendition of “Dreams,” his voice turned otherworldly by the chill acoustics of the bathroom tiles. Geralt watches Jaskier dance on his perch on the edge of the sink and wonders, with an ache in his chest, what it would be like to be so uninhibited, so comfortable in his own skin. He can’t imagine it, but sometimes he feels like he’s maybe just a half-step closer to knowing when he’s around Jaskier.

When the song fades out, Jaskier hops down from the counter and says, “OK, time for the last step.”

Jaskier sticks that torture device attachment onto his hair dryer and lets Geralt’s hair down from the towel. Jaskier lets him stay seated, and starts drying his hair. He doesn’t pull Geralt’s hair taut with a brush, as Geralt has seen Yennefer do when styling her own hair. Instead, he gathers it up a section of hair in that little torture device accessory and holds the dryer still, letting the air work around the strands. Geralt closes his eyes against the noise and sensation of the air against his scalp. It lasts a long time, Geralt bracing his arms on his thighs as Jaskier moves the hair dryer around his head. The noise of the dryer makes conversation difficult, and Geralt feels strangely distant from Jaskier all of a sudden, even though he’s standing so close Geralt could press his face to the soft flesh of his stomach if he wanted to. He knots his hands together between his knees to keep himself from just reaching out and pulling Jaskier close.

When Jaskier finally switches off the hair dryer, the silence it leaves feels big. It’s probably just the heat from the hair dyer, but Geralt feels flushed and a little rubbed raw.

“All right,” Jaskier says, fixing him with a considering look. “Let me just . . .” He reaches out and grips Geralt’s hair in both hands. He doesn’t so much tug as gently crush the strands, but the pressure is enough to make Geralt’s mouth fall open, and he doesn’t exactly make a noise but something happens in his chest like his lungs kickstarting. Jaskier glances down at him with an inquisitive smile. “Sorry, too hard?”

It’s all Geralt can do to shake his head.

“All done,” Jaskier says. When he lets go, Geralt immediately misses the touch. “Wanna take a look?”

Geralt stands up and turns to regard himself in the mirror. To say he doesn’t recognize himself would be an overstatement, but the sight of his reflection is a surprise. The cut doesn’t seem all that different in terms of length, but the ragged edges are gone. The dingy white of his hair has turned a gleaming silver, and it hangs around his face not in its usual lank tangle, but in softly curling waves. It’s almost . . . pretty, a word he’s never associated with himself in his entire life. The new brightness of his hair makes his face seem clearer, more open somehow, and the gentle curls offset the hard lines of his face in a way that make his features look almost delicate, or in any case less roughly hewn than usual. He reaches up to touch it, and to his amazement, it’s just as soft as Jaskier promised it would be. Maybe not as soft as Jaskier’s own hair, but much nicer than he can remember it ever feeling before.

“You like it?” Jaskier asks, and in the mirror, Geralt can see he’s looking at him with a hopeful expression. It makes something twist in his stomach—longing, and at the same time a rejection of what he wants, the certainty that he can’t possibly hang onto anything nice for long enough to enjoy it.

“You know I’ll never go to all this trouble,” he says, gruffly, and immediately regrets it when he sees Jaskier’s smile slip from his face.

“No, I know,” Jaskier says, and starts packing up his supplies. “I just wanted to try it. I’ll still leave you all the products, just in case you change your mind, or—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt swallows hard, and puts a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “I—”

Jaskier looks at him with such a searching expression that Geralt hardly knows how to look at him. He’s never known someone who’s so much all the time, expansive and loud and demanding and generous and so goddamn bright.

“What I should have said,” Geralt says, against the tension threatening to stop his throat, “is that I wouldn’t have tried this if it weren’t for you. It’s . . .” He’s not sure how to answer Jaskier’s question. Does he like it? He looks so unlike himself that he honestly doesn’t know what to make of it. He can’t tell if it suits him or not, because he still isn’t sure what that would mean. But he likes the idea that Jaskier’s uncovered this version of him, that this might be how Jaskier sees him in his mind’s eye. “I’m glad we tried it. Thank you.”

“I am, too,” Jaskier says, quietly. “Even if you never do it again, I’m glad you trusted me enough to try. And for the record?” The twist of his lips is almost pained, but it’s a smile all the same. “You look fucking gorgeous.”

Geralt ducks his head, his shoulders inching up. “Jaskier . . .”

“No, I’m serious, Geralt.” Jaskier sounds annoyed, almost angry, all of a sudden. “I know you don’t care about superficial stuff—”

“That’s not—”

“—but take it from someone who spends a lot of time looking at people and doing my best to make them look as good as I possibly can: you’re objectively really fucking good-looking.” Jaskier lets out a harsh, reckless laugh. “And if you don’t care about my professional opinion, I also happen to think you’re the most attractive person I’ve ever met in my entire life, so there’s that.”

“I—”

Now that Jaskier’s started talking, he can’t seem to stop. “You’re the most incredible person I know, Geralt,” he says, in a breathless rush, “and I’m not talking just about your looks—although you are genuinely so ridiculously handsome that it’s really not fair. You’re kind for no reason and incredibly devoted and, OK, sort of a dick sometimes, but also so goddamn careful with other people and so fucking hard on yourself, and I just—I wish you could see yourself the way I do. I wish I could show you, even for just a second, because—”

“You did,” Geralt says. Jaskier stares at him, stunned into silence, and Geralt takes the opportunity to continue. “You do. Not just tonight.” He’s breathing hard, and he tries not to think about how dangerous this feels, like standing up on the top of a tall ladder or walking the line of a roof that might collapse under him at any moment. “When I’m with you, I feel like I could be that person you see in me, maybe. I just . . . don’t know how.”

Jaskier laughs again—softer this time. “You dummy,” he says, “you already are. You’ve just got to believe it.”

“Oh, is that all,” Geralt says.

“Yeah, no big deal,” Jaskier says, waving one hand dismissively. “You’ve got me to convince you, after all.”

“Oh, yeah?” Geralt can’t help the smile spreading across his face, despite the shivery feeling still simmering under his skin. “How’re you gonna do that?”

“Well . . .” Jaskier takes a step towards him, and then another, settling his hands lightly on Geralt’s hips. “I’d probably start a little like this . . .”

The first touch of Jaskier’s lips on his is like a breath of clean air after a storm, and Geralt can feel something that’s been knotted tight inside him for a long time unfurling itself. It doesn’t feel dangerous anymore, that buzz under his skin transmuting into a golden glow. He knows it’s not as simple as it feels—he can’t expect Jaskier to change him with a single kiss—but for the first time in a long while, something feels purely, unequivocally good, and he wants more of it.

In time, Jaskier’s hands creep up Geralt’s sides to his back, even as Geralt’s own hands drift down past Jaskier’s waist. When Jaskier’s hands slip into his hair, Geralt wrenches himself free with a shiver. “You’re going to undo all your hard work,” he says, teasingly.

“D’you really care?” Jaskier asks, and scratches his nails along Geralt’s scalp, wringing a whine from deep in Geralt’s chest that should be embarrassing but isn’t.  

“Not really,” Geralt gasps, his whole body pressing closer against Jaskier’s. “You can always do it again.”

Jaskier’s smile is wide as he bends to kiss him again. “That’s what I thought.”

[pomfiores]

" Oho, how lucky i am to catch our revered queen alone for one moment. " the fae chuckles as he floated away from behind him. He had his guitar attached to him " Now i shall kidnap this queen all for myself " and that he did. He picked up Vil bridal style and flew out of the window, somewhere in the pomefiore garden. The night was quite stunning just like Vil himself. The sky was clear, and the stars were beginning to appear one after another. " Now that the ambiance is right, please allow me to play my present for you, my queen. A song from the heart that i wrote originally for you, so you see, it was crucial that only your ears shall hear it and no other bystanders. " he muses with a grin and places a quick butterfly kiss on his lips before he starts to play. " Happy birthday my queen " /yes, he wrote him a love song, but is subtle

    " If by lucky, you mean you lurked in the shadows, stalking. You do know that if you wanted my attention so badly for a moment, I would've given it. Fufufu.. You must use your words. " He's teasing. At least Lilia had the decency to wish him happy birthday earlier and he did it with confidence and sincerity versus being like some people who, having done so with a sizable stick up his —

   It comes naturally to him, going along with this little parody he's found himself in, time and time again with Vanrouge. Eyes catch a glimpse of Lilia rising from the ground and hovering over him, though, the queen doesn't blink. Instead, he'd let Lilia carry him off. This time, with the faintest grin gracing his lips as he held on (quite frankly, he didn't set time aside to properly break into his prized mirror heels. As breathtaking as they were, he wished to preserve them exclusively for special occasions. This was but a small price to pay and came with its perks).

   As peculiar as Lilia was, at times, Vil thought nothing of being kidnapped by the fairie (though, that'd likely raise several red flags to others). The knight has proven time and time again that he wields auspicious gentility and Vil believes there's a clear, unspoken understanding that he is not afraid to correct discourtesy. With that, he likes Lilia. He'd even go as far to say that he trusts Lilia. Even if he takes his (what Vil likes to call) big talk with a grain of salt.

   " Ara, from the heart? I wonder, was this "from the heart" piece being rehearsed earlier when I got a picture of you? " Vil's in quite a good mood tonight, hence his playful jabs. Though, it would make sense if that were the case. However, Vil isn't shy about receiving gifts. That includes, songs played from the heart.

  So, he situates himself in his spot in a position that'll alleviate the burning pressure on his heels. In their seclusion, Vil even accepts Lilia's bold butterfly kisses, tempted to take it a step further just to get a rouse out of the knight but he holds off.

  It is a perfect night, Lilia knew his timing. From the way the moonlight perfectly illuminated the garden, catching the shine in his knight's crimson eyes as well as his bass, even adding onto Vil's own ethereal glow. The queen doesn't speak, only smiling as silent thanks while he watches his knight perform a private show, exclusively for him. He'll cherish this moment.

[spahhzy]

A Better Tomorrow: Chapter 0.1 - Her Hope.

For as long as she had walked this world Salem had been akinned to two types of feelings.

Fear; was one of those feelings to which she has given far more then she had received over her immortal lifetime.

She would be lying if she didn't take any joy in making those who dare oppose her flinch in terror!

Their lips trembling, the sweat pouring out the pores, the eyes widening and moving about frantically as the brain struggles to cope with the indomitable force that was her.

Yes fear was something she took joy in giving.

However, fear can often lead to such other things.

Which brings us too the other feeling.

Betrayal.

For as long as she could remember, betrayal seemed to cling to her like tar to the lungs.

How many times had she been betrayed in her lifetime?

Gods, her husband, Ar-

A portal of blue energy snapped Salem out of her musing as her red eyes looked deep into the blue light as if searching for something as she extended her right hand mere inches before the portal.

... where was she?

Ah yes betrayal.

The funny thing about betrayal is that you never really count it unless it's someone close to you.

Someone you could trust.

How foolish of her to trust deities.

How foolish of her to trust her husband...

How foolish of her to trust those two...

....

"Calm down...Calm down" She thought to herself as she closed her eyes and continued searching.

Like finding a needle in a hay stack only the haystack was millions upon billions of aura users.

"But you are different...your signature is one I know" She thought to herself trying to find the familiar thread.

She may not have the capacity to use aura but she could still trace and find it.

Millions upon billions of tiny aura threads kept popping in and out of the blue portal as Salem concentrated on that familiar feeling of his aura.

These feelings where the most common she had felt during her endless time here.

But she would be a lying again...if their wasn't a third feeling she felt.

It was something she felt again just recently after regaining back the memories that had been locked away.

It was a strong feeling.

Very strong.

An unstoppable force of nature kind of feeling.

It was a feeling something she hadn't had in a long time since they robbed her of h-

Salems eyes widened as she saw the gold aura thread and her right hand reached out grabbing hold of it.

All the other threads vanished away as the portal revealed an island.

In her view was a group of people which she had come to view as a thorn in her side but that wasn't her priority.

Her eyes caught hold of the tall blonde man in gold and yellow armor giving a hug to a a girl with red hair as a pink and brown haired girl kept jabbing him in the chest looking slightly annoyed.

That strong feeling kept rising and rising and finally Salem could understand now what it was.

Hope.

Yes, Hope.

She felt it once before...before it was taken and locked away from her but now she remembers...

And she would be damned if someone let her take that hope away from her again.

Salem, with a big breath of air, raised her left hand before shoving it through the portal.

Yes, hope would return to her now, and all it would take was one big tug.

And tug she did as she felt resistance a bit but suddenly it all came too easy as suddenly the blonde hair boy flew through the portal and into her.

To which she caught him into a warm embrace.

She looked back at the portal to see the group on the otherside look back on in horror as the girl with silver eyes reached out futility before the portal disintegrated.

Salem looked down as a the blonde boy with a smile as the knight's blue eyes looked up and widened in horror at who he was looking at.

Salem smiled warmly.

"Welcome home my boy...my little knight"

Nothing to see here folks Salem just nabbing folk outta hell/purgatory/Beach episodes.

[pasteljeon]

white chocolate (m) | heartbeat 2

series index. 

summary | how is it they know you so well already?

warnings | sub!jungkook, handjobs, soft gguk, some angst

length | 4.9k

notes | hello! super overdue, i know :( but please enjoy, and let me know what you think of this chapter <3 if you’d like to be added to the tag list, please dm me or leave a comment :”)

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.

.

“You look like you haven’t slept properly in days.”

“No, I just have a natural resting bitch face,” you deadpan. Ahri raises an eyebrow unflinchingly. You wave her off immediately. “Seriously, I’m fine.”

She remains unconvinced, but there’s not much she can do from cities away except send you virtual care packages (read: texts). She’s fully suited up for the day, and you watch absently from her bustle around from where your laptop is propped up on the counter as you drown your poorly shaped pancakes in maple syrup.

“Alright, well. Keep me updated on the roomies situation, and remember to drink plenty of water,” Ahri orders as she finishes applying her lipstick. She checks the screen to ensure there’s no smearing and then she’s buttoning her jacket.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll let you know if one of them suddenly decides to expose their daddy kink,” you say dryly as you stab your sad excuse for brunch. Ahri perks up. “Rea—”

“No.”

“Okay, but real talk for a second – I heard Jungkook—”

“Go to work,” you chirp, flashing her a smile before you promptly jab the call button.

“Holy shit,” you mutter, closing your laptop.

A jangling of keys interrupts your thought, head snapping up at the sound.

“Jungkook?”

He freezes, halfway to his room already. His gym bag hangs off his shoulder. Oh … Oh.

“H-hi, n-noona,” he mumbles. He refuses to meet your gaze, back muscles tensing through his sweat-soaked shirt. “W-what’s up?”

Oh … he looks …

You imagine the resemblance to the bedroom would be uncanny. You press your thighs together, trying to shake off the feeling. No, you remind yourself. As tempting as it is, anything other than friendship could greatly jeopardize the harmony of this place.

“Do you want something to eat?” You offer instead. You’re relieved when your voice remains steady.

“A-ah, that’s okay noona, I-I’ll grab something later,” Jungkook says hastily as he begins to climb the stairs.

“And risk heart disease with the amount of cholesterol you’d intake with all that greasy food after you’ve just worked out? Hell no,” you retort sternly.

He pauses at the top of the spiral staircase, and you tilt your chin up to catch him rubbing the back of his neck guiltily.

“O-okay,” he says hesitantly. “T-thank you, noona. I-I’ll be down in a few mins, I just need to take a shower.”

He bounds into his room in one leap and snaps the door shut quietly before you can respond.

You close your mouth, blinking. “Uh. Alright, then.”

.

.

.

It hurts.

Jungkook groans, squeezing himself hard as he doubles over, bag tossed to the corner and shirt all but ripped off.

His knees sink into the mattress, other hand gripping his covers tightly as he strokes himself.

His cock has been half-hard since he woke, the lingering ache of a pleasurable dream spiking his arousal.

Every touch is uncharacteristically heightened, even more so than usual, given how sensitive he is.

Shakily reaching for the bottle of lube on the counter, he pours a generous amount on his palm. His hand, rough and covered in calluses, is cool where he thumbs the slit of his cock. Jungkook sucks in a breath.

The chances of meeting you at this exact time was slim – so slim he hadn’t anticipated you standing there, looking so effortlessly beautiful despite how tired you were. Despite his urge to cup your cheeks and kiss those dark circles under your gorgeous eyes, his dick twitched at the sight.

He couldn’t turn around – the sizable tent in his sweats would have been a dead giveaway.

“N-noona,” he whimpers.

A thin sheen of sweat coats his skin, his other hand skimming the crevices of his stomach, pushing the fabric down further until he was kneeling on the bed, spine arched as he increases the speed.

His wrist aches, but he’s so close he can taste it —

.

.

.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Jungkook’s going to cry.

Embarrassment and horror flushes through him. His expression is panicked, doe eyes blown out and wide. His fully erect cock, reddened tip dripping precum, is gripped tightly in his hand.

And you are staring right at him.

“N-n-noona,” he squeaks. He’s appalled at the way the syllables are forced out, his tone edging hysteria.

You close your eyes. And open them.

Yep, that’s Jeon Jungkook alright. On his knees, thick, muscled thighs spread wide and his long, thick cock weeping beautifully in his grasp.

“Well,” you say, after a pregnant pause, leaning against the doorframe. “Go on, since you’ve been begging so sweetly.”

“I—I …,” he’s floundering, shocked, but his erection doesn’t falter. If anything, you think he’s growing even harder at the prospect. It’s interesting how, despite the way his arm jerked upon realization of your presence, as if to move to cover himself, he remains completely bare to you.

He swallows, mouth suddenly dry as you watch him, mouth curled into a lilting smile.

You push yourself off, stepping in and shutting the door firmly behind you.

The firm click of the lock has him tensing in anticipation as you stalk toward him.

You don’t touch him, just slide onto the bed, your legs bracketing his, the heat of your body making his breath catch in his throat.

“Lie down, baby.” He obeys immediately, dark locks spilling across the comforter. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his chiselled body beckoning you closer, but you simply hover over him, arms caging him in.

Your hair falls over him like a silk curtain, tickling his cheeks as your lips brush the shell of his ear. “Is this okay?”

Jungkook looks like he’s about to faint, cheeks colouring and eyelids fluttering shut. He nods furiously, unable to speak.

“I need to hear it, baby boy.” Your breath is warm, skin prickling pleasantly at the feeling.

“A-ah, y-yes,” he mewls.

“Touch yourself.”

You withdraw slowly, rising until you’re resting on your knees above him. Jungkook looks absolutely wrecked already, and you marvel that he truly is an extraordinary specimen, so deliciously muscular and broad yet so willing to submit. The need to feel small.

He moans, the shame escaping him as he starts stroking himself again, cock so generously coated with precum and lube that the slide is seamless. His pace quickens as he gains momentum, the other hand slipping below to fondle his balls.

“Such a dirty boy,” you croon. “Jerking yourself off in front of your noona. You enjoy it, don’t you? Having me watch you come undone, begging so prettily.”

“… me.”

“What’s that?” You drawl. Jungkook pants, practically vibrating as he pleads, “Touch me. Please. P-please, noona. I’m so close.”

His eyes are glossy, eyelashes wet and lips cherry bitten. His spine bows, head tossing from side to side in agony.

Your nails dig into his chest, scraping his nipples. You pinch them lightly as you lean over him once more to murmur, “come.”

Jungkook stills. He lets out a weak cry, voice hoarse and fraught as he explodes. He writhes beneath you, eyes rolling back and back arching as he milks himself. He collapses when he’s done, body melting into the mattress, boneless.

Cum paints his abdomen, stains your shirt and you hum, scoping it up and popping a finger into your mouth thoughtfully.

Jungkook peeks up at you in exhaustion, groaning at the erotic sight. “Noona, please. I don’t think my dick can take any more,” he whimpers.

You smile fondly, brushing his damp locks back as you press a soft kiss to his temple. “Thank you, Kookie.”

“N-noona,” his hand shoots up to grasp your wrist loosely as you move to get up. “I … I don’t … usually do this. I’m a … I’m clean,” he flushes darkly, neck colouring as he glances away shyly.

“… I don’t want to get your hopes up, Kook,” you say ruefully. Your smile is crooked, wistful. You squeeze his hand firmly. “I like you, I do. I think you’re sweet and compassionate and that’s why I’ll never be good for someone like you.” Too innocent, too easily corrupted.

“That’s not true,” he protests immediately. He meets your gaze earnestly. “You’re honest and kind and thoughtful. I know it.”

“I don’t want to break your heart,” you reply softly. “You deserve so much.” More.

“Then I’ll chase you,” Jungkook says, determined. His brows are knitted, lips pursed.

You chuckle, expression unwittingly warm as you lean in to kiss the corner of his eye. “Baby, I’m no good for you.”

“You’re wrong, noona,” he shakes his head furiously. He’s glowing. He’s resolved. “And I’m gonna prove it to you. Just wait. You’ll fall for me.”

I know. “Wash up,” you say instead, patting his cheek as you rise. “I made lunch.”

.

.

.

You wait until you hear him twist the knob and step in the shower before you leave, the steam curling around your wrist as you shut the door quietly.

“___-noona.”

“Taehyung,” you flinch at the familiar baritone of the photography major, turning around slowly. You bare him a smile. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He looks windswept, raking a hand over the curls falling over his eyes. A camera hangs over his neck, his English hat askew over his head. He looks like he stepped off a freaking runway. His fashion sense is impeccable, as per usual, you muse, maybe a tad fonder than you would’ve liked.

“Hi. Uh, yeah. The stove was on and I rushed upstairs because I was worried,” Taehyung chuckles, glancing at where your hand rests on the doorknob. Something flickers in his gaze, but it’s gone before you can ascertain what it is.

“Ah, yeah. Jungkook came back and I wanted to ask him something, so,” you shrug.

You wait with bated breath for the inevitable question that you know teeters on the tip of his tongue, though you should’ve realized Taehyung isn’t one to barge into unrelated business. He doesn’t ask despite the obvious curiosity that lingers in the way he peers at you.

“About last week … Did I … did I say something weird when I was sick? I can’t remember anything, but Jin-hyung mentioned you asked something about it,” he says instead. His grip on the strap tightens and you tilt your head.

“… Not really,” you say eventually. “You were pretty out of it. Don’t worry, you didn’t embarrass yourself too much. Nothing tweet worthy, anyway.”

“Oh.” Taehyung exhales, the relief flooding through his veins so palpable you frown. “Are you okay? Do you have some dark secret you’re scared of accidentally spilling or something?” You joke.

He laughs, flashing you a wry smile as he takes off his camera. “Would it surprise you if I did?”

You shake your head. Don’t want to know. “Hungry?” Stepping past him, you make your way down the spiral staircase briskly.

Taehyung’s left standing at the top, watching you with an unreadable expression. “Always,” he calls.

He wants to chuck his camera over the railing.

.

.

.

“What did you do?”

Jungkook starts, shirt halfway over his head. He tugs it down, calmly taking a seat on his bed as he pulls on a pair of socks. His heart is thrumming at his throat. He swallows.

“Nothing, hyung. What happened?” Before he can fully twist around, Taehyung’s standing in front of him, hazel irises blazing.

“How could you do this, Jungkook? I trusted you. You promised!” His voice breaks and Jungkook think he’s drowning. It hurts, knowing his hyung is hurting.

“I-I’m sorry,” Jungkook whispers. His gaze drops, guilt causing his shoulders to hunch in. “It’s just – we’ve waited so long to see her again, to meet her again … I was – I was weak. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, hyung,” he buries his face in his hands, shaking. He’s an idiot. He couldn’t have waited? God, he’s despicable.

“We made a pact, Ggukie. Please, it’s not fair to the rest of us if you do things like this,” Taehyung pleads, kneeling and prying his hands away. Jungkook hiccups, cheeks wet as he nods. “I-I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t control myself, she caught me and I couldn’t resist her, she’s just so beautiful and – and I love her, hyung!” He groans.

“I know, I know,” the older fusses over him, wiping his tears and wrapping him in a tight hug. Jungkook sniffles, settling as he whispers, “I really am sorry. I’ll stay away, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Taehyung says, pulling away. “Just for now, okay? We’ll tell her soon, when the others are ready. When she’s ready. I promise.”

Jungkook nods, fingers knotting the hem of his shirt. “Yeah. Okay.”

.

.

.

Jungkook hardly speaks another word the entire meal, save to express his gratitude. He avoids your probing gaze and eats silently. He scarfs down his food, finishing quickly, washing his dishes despite your insistence he doesn’t need to, and disappears back into his room within half an hour.

You prop your chin up with a hand, eyebrow raised as you sip at your cup. “So. Mind telling me what you said to him?”

Taehyung shifts uncomfortably, chopsticks poking at the sad piece of kimchi curled up in the corner of his bowl. “Ah … he’s just embarrassed you caught him earlier,” he mumbles into his soup.

“He told you?” You nearly spit out your water in shock. As it is, the photography major chuckles ruefully, reaching over with a surprisingly gentle hand as he wipes the water from the corner of your lip with his thumb.

There’s something tender in his smile, and something wistful in his expression. Something soft in the way he tilts his head and gazes at you. Maybe it’s the way the sunlight strikes his face at the exact angle because his dark eyes glow, like molten chocolate. The type you’d dip a strawberry into and savour for countless moments after, for the perfect combination of tart and sweet. Taehyung has always been extraordinarily handsome, but you’ve never taken much notice to it until now.

Those tousled curls, the strong jaw line, the boxy grin. But you’re not a fool. Like Jimin, you know he has his own … filters.

It is unwise to fall for someone like him. You’re not compatible. You know this because you’ve tried … once.

“We tried, Tae. It didn’t work, remember?” You whisper, taking his hand. He automatically shakes his head, flipping his palm up to weave his fingers through yours. He’s always been so much bigger than you. You used to feel safe with him.

You hate how he still makes you feel that way despite all this time. Despite everything. His grip is firm, his touch warm. Familiar.

“Please don’t,” you say, but your protest sounds weak, even to your own ears. “I can’t go through this all over again.”

“I know. It was my fault. It wasn’t fair to you, the way I kept all my feelings locked up. I’m sorry. Though I wish we would’ve talked about it after,” he says. He sounds honest now, and you hate it. It makes your chest ache a little at the mention. You’re over it—you are. But sometimes the memories can be a haunting reminder. It’s hard to simply toss away years of what were once precious moments shared with someone you thought was your ‘forever.’

“There wasn’t much to talk about,” you respond dryly. Your arm is limp in his hold. “We just weren’t good for each other. We didn’t work.”

His thumb strokes the back of your hand slowly. “You’re wrong. You were the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You still are. We just didn’t try hard enough. I should’ve never let you go.”

His voice suddenly sounds so honeyed. Airy, despite the low timbre that doesn’t quite match his sharp features. Like he’s sharing an old wound, one that’s scabbed over a million times, but he can’t help picking at until it bled and bled and the scar that forms is thrice as large as it should’ve been.

“Well,” you say after a beat, gently twisting out of his grip. You dump your untouched meal into your bowl, collecting the plates before standing. You flash him a half-hearted smile. “Then it’s too bad you did, isn’t it?”

He’s left with his fingers curled around empty air, heart heavy and stomach roiling. He thinks he can hear the blood dripping from his ribcage, hear the sound of something within him cracking. Love is a lie, lie / don’t tell me bye, bye.

He thinks he’s never going to be able to tell you the truth. And that hurts more than anything else.

.

.

.

It’s a Saturday for crying out loud. The week you’ve just had was borderline atrocious and all you want to do is curl up in bed and watch Netflix, equipped with a steaming mug of tea, wrapped in your fluffy blankets and cuddling your giant bunny plush. You’re not asking for much, really.

“Hello, Namjoon.”

Instead, here you are.

He looks up, startled, as you slide into the seat across him. And then he smiles. “___. I didn’t think you’d come, truthfully.”

At a small, quant café across the science building. It’s rather empty today, the occasional cluster of students wandering in to order bundles of drinks. You’ve been here a thousand times and still you can never find the words to express just how much life this tiny space has sucked out of you. After last semester, you swore you’d never be back.

And yet, here you are. The joy.

“Don’t,” you warn, shaking out your hair as you take off your hat. “Don’t start. I’m just here to hear you out.”

“There’s something you should know,” he starts, faltering briefly at your stern expression. He rakes a hand through his hair, pushing up his glasses impatiently, and it occurs to you this is the first time you’ve ever seen him so stressed and wrung out. “About us …”

“Namjoon, please. You asked me to keep it a secret, and I did,” you answer flatly. Did you seriously drag yourself out of bed for this? You really don’t need another rehash of one of your life’s greatest mistakes. He’s fiddles with his drink, untouched and likely lukewarm at this point.

At your pointed look, he moves to rummage through his messenger bag, and pulls out a plain manila envelope.

Namjoon hesitates, mouth downturned as he says quietly, “The results came through. You’re innocent. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

You raise an eyebrow, snorting in disbelief when he doesn’t react. “You’re serious. Wow. Colour me shocked. Well,” you deadpan, rising to your feet, “This was fun, but the only person that didn’t know was you. Now please don’t ask to see me like this again. I said we were done, and I meant it. Goodbye, Namjoon.”

The bell rings timidly as you disappear through the door, Namjoon watching as you walk away, each step a harsh reminder of how badly he’s fucked up.

And the worst part is that he doesn’t think he can fix it. There’s no making right something like this.

He downs his coffee and stands. He’s always been a failure anyway. What difference does this really make? Sliding the folder back into his bag, he slings it over his shoulder and nods at the owner on his way out.

Bad, bad bye / don’t say goodbye.

.

.

.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Hell. No,” you emphasize, crossing your arms, determined to stand your ground. She pouts, clasping her hands together.

“Yes!” Ahri cries, pulling at your sweater. She adamantly ignores your glare as she riffles your closet. “It’s my only free night back. Please, please, let’s go out! Have a night of fun! I’m so tired of filing tax returns and staring at Excel sheets. I need a break and by the looks of it, so do you.” She turns to give you an appraising look and you groan, flopping onto your bed.

The ceiling is unimaginably unhelpful, so you sit up with a sigh.

“Fine,” you say, but before she can open her mouth, beaming, you hold up a hand. “No boy talk. We are not discussing them or anyone else tonight. Just fun. We can talk about anything else. Deal?”

Your best friend visibly deflates at the thought but acquiesces reluctantly before returning to her hunting.

Finally, she whirls around with a flourish, grinning widely. You eye her warily, not quite liking the evil glint in her orbs. You groan when she brandishes a two-piece you don’t think you’ve broken out in months, probably.

She cheers, hugging you tightly. “It’s going to be great, promise.”

You take the proffered outfit, lips pursed doubtfully. “It better be,” you grouch. “After the week I just had, I’m about ready to throw myself into a floor of lava.”

Ahri pats your back, grinning. “You just need a good dicking down. Trust me.”

.

.

.

The club is inordinately crowded.

The bass booms in the background, reverberating through your body and echoing with every expansion of your chest. Voices are muted in the sea of sound, Ahri eagerly tugging you along as she effortlessly weaves through the throng.

“Hey guys,” you offer them a bland, knowing smile as your friends chorus your name back at you. They seem genuinely excited to be here tonight, to let loose for a few odd hours, and so despite your initial misgivings, you sit and order a drink.

You like social interaction, yes, but after the week you’ve just had, you’d much rather be curled up in bed. But then you glance to the seat next to you to see Ahri laughing and talking animatedly.

“So, ____,” you turn to see a familiar face. “You came.”

“Yuto-sunbae,” you say, pleasantly surprised. He looks great, cheeks lightly flushed, alcohol already circulating his system.

“Dance with me?” He extends a hand.

“Before my martini arrives? How scandalous,” you joke, accepting his offer as he pulls you to his feet.

“You look like you could use some fun,” Yuto teases, coaxing you to the dance floor. You give him an exasperated look, to which he pointedly ignores, sliding your arms over his neck.

“Dance with me,” he says again, eyes imploring. With an exaggerated sigh, you take his hands and put them on your waist.

“Lead the way,” you answer, smiling crookedly.

.

.

.

Jungkook grimaces, uncomfortably pressed against strangers as he fights his way through the crowd, letting out a relieved sigh as he spots them.

“Kook,” Jimin beams, standing to let him in. Jungkook gives him a grateful smile as he shuffles into the cushions next to the group.

“C’mon, maknae,” Taehyung says, patting his thigh as Yoongi slides him a mug of familiar liquid. The composer is already nursing a half-empty glass of his own, not appearing even remotely buzzed.

“Do we have to be here right now?” Jungkook asks, sipping at the concoction. His nose wrinkles, the burn particularly strong tonight.

“Yes, because you’ve been moping all day and you need to get out. Some sunlight, fresh air, you know,” Jimin waves his hand. Jungkook watches as he pours another shot of vodka.

“You, or me?” The youngest remarks dryly as he pushes away the drink.

“Guys,” Hoseok cuts in before Jimin can protest. “Is that … ___?”

.

.

.

Fifteen minutes of staring and stalking your elegant figure twirling through the swarm of people, and they’re drunk.

Yoongi huffs, watching as the other boys make fools of themselves, falling on top of each other as they slur song lyrics like they’re waxing poetry.

With the sole exception of a certain graphic design student. Yoongi keeps one eye on the mess of bodies on the table and the other on the bathroom door Jungkook disappeared into some minutes ago.

“I’m dancing too,” Seokjin announce suddenly, sounding shockingly coherent as he stands. He only sways lightly, slapping away any help, and Yoongi reluctantly sits back, nodding.

“Keep your ringer on,” is all he says. Where the eldest is going, he’ll be able to hear it loud and quick, Yoongi thinks wryly. Seokjin dismisses his concerns and quickly melds into the crowd. Logically, the music major knows the Masters student can handle himself, given his age and experience, but he can’t help but still worry.

Taking another rich swing of his drink, he returns to babysitting and bunny watching.

.

.

.

“Hi gorgeous,” a deep, raspy voice ghosts across the shell of your ear.

You’d lost sight of Yuto a while ago, the boy having been whisked off by a brunette earlier. You were content swaying alone, sweaty bodies pressed against you. By now, you’re agreeably tipsy.

“May I?” You can feel the heat of him, warm and strangely comforting. At your nod, his hands tentatively resting on your hips. They’re a welcome weight.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you murmur. It’s not loss on the newcomer, head tilted down and lingering at the juncture of your neck. You know he’s tall, much taller than you, with the way you gingerly lean into him, upper back meeting the cold metal of his belt.

“I’m nothing if not a gentleman,” he answers. His voice is so smooth, like a glass of aged wine.

You move to turn, but he stops you gently. “You might not like what you see.” For the first time, his tone breaks a little, uncertainty and a tinge of fear edging it.

“I don’t care,” you say, gripping his hand and pivoting on your heels.

His eyes are downcast, bangs covering his expression. You know him, those broad shoulders and thick lips. That beautiful, half-smile he sports.

“Are you sure you want this?”

“I don’t care,” you repeat, cupping his cheeks. A blush rises, complexion reddening lightly. Uncharacteristic of him, thought you suspect it is actually more him than anything else he pretends to be.

His mouth is hot and unbelievably soft, arms drawing you close as he runs his tongue over the seam of your lips.

“Come with me?” He asks quietly, smiling shyly as he tucks a strand behind your ear. You press your forehead against his. “Yeah.”

.

.

.

You laugh into his kiss as he elbows the door open, unable to pull your hands away from each other as they roam the firm expanse of his chest, the first few buttons of his dress shirt torn open, exposing that lovely golden skin you’ve been craving.

“Jessica-noona, please—”

Pulling away at the eerily recognizable voice, it takes you a moment to register what you’re seeing.

A pregnant pause fills the now exceedingly claustrophobic space as Jungkook’s eyes widen, staring at you with panic filled orbs.

“Ah. Sorry, didn’t know this was occupied already,” you say after a beat. You don’t waver, flashing them an apologetic, tight-lipped smile as you close the door, pulling your momentary lover with you.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he blurts immediately when you find a secluded corner. It’s cute, the way he’s anxiously fretting over it.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” you assure him. You smooth your hands over his front, trying your best to fix his dishevelled appearance.

“Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?” He tips your chin up, and you hate the concern in his expression.

“I’m fine. I don’t feel very well, though,” you say regretfully. You give him a small but genuine smile. He allows you to slip away from his grasp hesitantly.

“Please drink plenty of water and rest up,” he murmurs, kiss the crown of your head. “I’m sorry the night couldn’t have ended on a more positive note.”

“Thank you,” you say, squeezing his hand gratefully. You take one last look wistfully, at those deliciously swollen lips and mussed locks, before disappearing back into the crowd.

[11:49] you: not feeling well :( drank too much. heading out, enjoy your night everyone <3

You leave Kim Seokjin standing there, the neon lights flickering over his silhouette as he watches you leave.

You’re going to go home and try your best to scrub the image of Jungkook with his dick in another woman’s mouth.

.

.

.

“Hey.” A cool, firm hand shakes you out of your daze.

“Oh.” You blink. “Yoongi. Hi.” Just your luck. You guess everyone’s here tonight.

The night is cold, a chilling breeze ruffling your hair.

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay, or how you’re doing. His gaze is unsettling, eyes sharp and almost knowing. He doesn’t say much at all, really.

He just gives you his leather jacket, telling you to be careful and to be safe tonelessly.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and trudge back into the building.

Your Uber arrives before you can say anything more, however.

So you shrug it off, resolving to thank him the next morning, and step into the vehicle.

.

.

.

“Idiots, all of you,” Yoongi seethes, whirling around to glare at the three boys that sit on the couch, awkwardly pressed together as they looked away.

“Joon, how could you possibly think a folder and an apology was going to solve the problem?”

Namjoon shrinks, dropping his gaze in shame. “I—I …”

“And you! Jungkook, how could you do that? You effectively acted like some—some uncultured fratboy!” He fumes. The boy in question has his jaw clenched, fingers curled into fists as he stares at his lap.

“Jin-hyung,” Yoongi whirls onto the eldest. He puts up a hand instantly. “That’s enough, Yoongi. We all know where we messed up. What you’re doing here isn’t constructive. Now, the real question is: how can we fix this?”

[salvejoon]

Life is Beautifully Ugly (At Times) - pjm | 01

⇒ Warnings for this chapter: Death of minor characters, mentions of a car accident, losing a loved one, a child being orphaned, cursing, Jimin being an ass, reader being a bitch.

⇒ A/N: Hey lovelies! I’m back-ish! I’ve been working on this project for months now and I’ve finally found my muse again and so I got to writing more and more chapters for this. Please enjoy the first chapter of hopefully my first series (but not my last). xoxo

“Imo!” Your head shot up at the happy squeal and you bent down to one knee, opening your arms, almost toppling over at the force your niece ran into you.

“Oof!” Your arms closed around her and she buried her nose in your hair as her arms went around your neck, “Hello my pretty little flower.” You drew back and nuzzled her nose with yours to which she frowned. 

“I’ve grown 1 inch so I’m not little anymore.” 

“You’ll always be my pretty little flower, Hyejin. No matter how tall you get.” You picked her up as you stood, groaning briefly as you adjusted her on your hip, “But you are getting a little bit heavy.”

Hyejin giggled, “Appa also says I’m getting heavy. Says his back hurts.” 

“That’s because your Appa is getting old.” 

A hum came from the doorway and you saw Han, your brother-in-law, standing there, looking dapper in a black and white tux, his natural black hair swept back from his face, “You’re the one to talk, Y/N. You’re closer to 30 than I am.” 

You rolled your eyes, “No need to remind me, Han.” You said just as your younger sister, Charlotte gently pushed Han out of the doorframe, looking a little bit frantic, “Missing something?” You asked her as she walked over to the vanity, opening several drawers.

“My watch.”

“The one laying right in front of you?” 

Charlotte sighed heavily as her eyes landed upon her watch, “Thanks.” 

“What would you do without me?” You smirked as she walked over to you and took Hyejin from your arms and her daughter protested with a small whine.

“Can’t I go with you, Eomma?” She asked and glanced longingly at you and her father, “I also want to go to the ball and look pretty.” 

Charlotte chuckled and kissed her forehead, “Another time, baby. This is for grown-ups only.” 

“Why is it always only for adults? I want to go too!” She protested loudly, crossing her arms and pouted.

You ruffled her hair, “How about you and I play dress-up tomorrow, hm? How does that sound? I’ve bought new shoes you can try.” You winked at her and Hyejin’s pout slowly vanished. 

“Can I put make-up on you, Imo?” 

“Sure.” 

Charlotte put her down and bent down just as the doorbell rang, gently wiping her daughter’s hair back from her face, “You be good to Mrs. Shin, okay? We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Yes, Eomma.” 

You absentmindedly stared out the window as the limousine drove through one of the high-end districts of Seoul. Closed off ground containing High-Rise buildings towered the streets and in between, they were grand mansions. 

You felt out of place here, in this part of town.

You preferred Han and Charlotte’s apartment in the more affordable part of Seoul. 

“Y/N.”

You hummed at the sound of your sister’s voice.

“Promise me you’ll be nice.” 

You shifted your gaze to her and raised a brow, “When am I not nice?” You asked and shook your head when Charlotte sent you a knowing look, “Oh please. Just because he’s going to be there doesn’t mean I won’t be nice.”

Han snorted, “The last time you saw each other, it ended up in the tabloids.” 

You glared at him and tch’ed, “Your brother called me - me - a prude, and I simply wanted him to teach him some manners.”

“You don’t teach someone manners by threatening them, Y/N.” Came the rational voice of Charlotte. 

This time you snorted and rolled your eyes, “Wow, you two really take his side.” 

“We are not but you two should bury that hatchet, whatever it is. He is actually nice once you get to know him.” 

“He’s a conceited asshole that needs to be beaten down a peg or ten. There is nothing nice about him.”

“Y/N…”

“Yeah, yeah.”

There was once a time where you would have taken in the beautiful surroundings of the ballroom with all it’s marble and gold, tall doors, and crystal chandeliers and would have felt like a princess. 

But this wasn’t your first rodeo at a gathering such as this nor would it be your last. 

You hated them now. Well, not hated but found them so superficial because all it was was rich people prancing around with their noses in the air while they had a pissing contest of who had the most money, the fastest car, the grandest of mansions, or the youngest wife.

“Smile.” Charlotte noted as she sat down next to you, followed by Han who had finally managed to break free of one of the old ladies' claws, no doubt talking about finances.

You plastered on a fake smile but said smile quickly vanished when you spotted a familiar face approaching the table. 

You tried to hide your scowl as the man came up to the table, dressed in a burgundy-colored suit that cost more than what you earned in a year, his ears adorned with silver dangling earrings with matching diamond rings on his fingers. The last time you had seen him, he’d donned blonde hair but now it was gray and it was swept back neatly, showing off his face. 

And he had a new chick on his arm.

No surprise there.

Park Jimin was one of the biggest fuckboys you knew, if not the biggest. 

He dragged his eyes from his date to you and a knowing smirk spread on his lips when he saw your scowl. No doubt he was already planning various ways to piss you off. 

“Jimin. Nice of you to show up…” Charlotte glanced at her wristwatch, “20 minutes later than we agreed upon but it’s better than an hour like last time.” 

Jimin removed his eyes from you and looked at your sister with an innocent smile, “I apologize, Charlotte. Things dragged out at the board meeting.” The woman on his arm tugged at it, “And may I introduce Jisoo. My date.” 

Han bowed his head and your sister smiled sweetly at her and you… Well, you ignored them. 

That was until Charlotte jabbed you in the ribs, “Ow! Hi, whatever.” You grumbled, glaring at her before meeting Jisoo’s smiling face and forced your lips upwards. 

“As formal as ever, Y/N.” Jimin drawled before sitting down across from you, his smirk back on his lips, “Where is your date?” 

“I came alone.” You answered stiffly. 

He scoffed and leaned back in his chair, “As usual.” 

Arrogant asshole. 

“At least I’m not fucking my way through the female population of Seoul.” 

Jisoo opened her mouth to object but a tap on the mic shut all of you up and you just aimed a glare at him. He met you with one of his own. The tension rose at the table and you heard your brother-in-law sigh softly. 

“It’s going to be a long evening.” You heard him murmur. 

The hours dragged on and so far you’d listened to four long speeches, three performances by some musicians you had never heard of, and had Charlotte remind you of your promise ten times.

You found yourself sitting alone at the table, date-less while your sister was out dancing with Han and Jimin had vanished. 

Probably aiming the money-shot between his date’s breasts.

The image of that left a bad taste in your mouth, so you focused on the dancing people on the floor.

You could easily find a willing dance partner. There were loads of young bachelors at such an event like this but they were so boring to you. You didn’t care about numbers, board meetings, or future merges. Charlotte had given up trying to set you up long ago since you scared most of them away. 

You deemed your independence a part of your charm. Charlotte didn’t agree. 

The ironic part was that the only man here, that could keep up with you, was an arrogant dickwad with a stick so far up his ass, he could pick his teeth with it. 

And he was probably fucking his date at the toilet. There you go again with those thoughts. 

“Ugh.” You shuddered and willed the images away as you picked up your wine glass and took a sip. The best thing about these events was the free booze. 

Too bad you weren’t allowed to get hammered because the last time you got shitfaced, you had dragged Jimin by his collar, trying to get him outside so you could ‘rearrange that stick’. The tabloids had a field day with that instance. It hadn’t been the first time you had threatened to kick his ass and you doubted it would be the last. 

Jimin just knew how to push the right buttons. 

“No one has asked you for a dance yet?” 

Your left eye twitched in annoyance, “No. Not yet. Are you offering?” You asked as you looked at Jimin with a raised brow. 

“No. I prefer my dance partners to be more… graceful. I don’t like getting stepped on.” 

“But I can be graceful, Jimin.” 

“Oh? When?” He asked as he sat down in the chair and crossed his legs. 

“When I step on your throat, choking the life out of you.” 

“Kinky, Y/N. I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

You scoffed and leaned back in your chair, “Where’s your date? Recovering from having your filthy hands on her body?”

“And if she is?” 

“Then tell her I know a therapist.” 

Jimin threw you a glare, one you returned with an unimpressed, bored look, “She’s in the restroom.” 

“Trying to wash away her sins, no doubt.”

“Are you jealous, Y/N? You seem oddly fixated on my sexual interactions.” 

You picked up your wine glass and shrugged, “For me to be jealous, Jimin, it would require I had some sort of feelings for you, which I do not other than absolute disgust.” You downed the rest of the wine that was in the glass, deciding you were done entertaining him, “And I’d undoubtedly get more satisfaction by watching old men dance with their young wives than having sex with you.” With that you rose from the table. You flicked a strand of hair over your shoulder as you put your bag on the table, “Now be a good boy and look after my belongings.” 

“Where are you going?” He asked stiffly. 

“To dance, of course. Might step on a toe or two but what the hell.” 

Your escape from the table hadn’t gone as smoothly as you had hoped because Charlotte and Han were nowhere to be found, the men that had approached you were either 60 and above and the bartender hadn’t seemed particularly keen on entertaining you with small talk. So you opted to venture outside instead. 

The air was chilly and you shivered a little, rubbing your arms to regain some heat as you looked up. The sky was clear and the stars twinkled while the moon showered the ground in it’s white glow. It was a pretty evening, really. You had the sudden urge to just lay down on the grass and stargaze. 

You felt something heavy being draped over your shoulders and you turned around to see a pair of dimples and a bright smile. 

You knew those dimples.

And that smile.

Those kind, warm, honeyed eyes. 

Your heart sped up. 

Before you could open your mouth to greet him, Namjoon booped your nose, “Thought I saw you dash outside. Are you avoiding me?” 

You shoved his shoulder, albeit gently with a smile on your lips, “Duh. Of course, I am avoiding you.” 

He frowned, “The sex can’t have been that bad.” He pouted.

You rolled your eyes, “It was terrible. Absolutely terrible.” 

“You really know how to hurt a man's pride, Y/N.” He chuckled and enveloped you in a tight hug, “I’ve missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you too, Joonie. I haven’t seen you in, what, 3 months?” You drew back, “I didn’t know you were attending the fundraiser.”

Namjoon kept his arms around your waist as he sheepishly smiled down at you, “I wasn’t planning on attending since I am so busy lately but when Han told me you’d be here, I had to come.” 

“Aw, my little Joonie bug.” 

He let go of you and you stepped back, “So how is the partnership coming along?” You asked, standing next to him, “Charlotte told me you’ve been super duper uber busy.” 

He sighed, “I have been so fucking busy and work has just been taking up all of my time and I am so tired of it.”

“Oh, Joonie.”

“But I can now call myself partner and a board member of Kim & Co Lawyers.” 

You squealed, your arms finding purchase around his neck as you jumped up and down of excitement, “OH MY GOD! CONGRATULATIONS!” 

Big hand engulfed your face and squished, “Thank you but calm down, sprout. No reason to entertain the whole neighborhood.”

“Buf u gos te parfership.”

“Yes.”

“lso yo ar ruinf te makuf.”

“I am fully aware of that, sprout.” 

“Le gof.”

He chuckled and let go of your face, placing his hands on your shoulders instead, “Thank you. But how are you? Charlotte told me you’d be expanding the brand soon.”

You grinned and nodded, “Yes! I am so excited but at the same time also a little sad. That shop has been my bread and butter for 4 years now but it was about time I listened to my sister and expanded… With the help of some investors, of course.” 

“Well, I am looking forward to seeing you take over the world, Y/N.” 

You snorted and grabbed his hand, “Pfft, I think I’ll just deal with getting my designs on the interwebz first and see how that goes. Now let’s go get some wine and talk shit about other people.” 

“There you are!” You and Namjoon halted your conversation as Charlotte appeared between you, “We’ve been looking for you.”

You smiled sheepishly, “Sorry, sis.”

She glared but there was a teasing glint in her eyes, “Joonie has a habit of stealing your time.” 

“I’m like the most important man in her life, what did you expect?” Namjoon rolled his eyes as Charlotte bumped his shoulder, “Not in the way you want, woman.” 

Your sister huffed and shook her head, “What do I have to pay you to marry Y/N? Seriously, you’re like the only guy that can keep up with her shit and not want to run away.”

“Who says I don’t want to run away?” 

You slapped his arm that was draped over the bar counter, “Fuck you. You love me.” 

“I do but not enough to get my dick wet.” 

“That monster you call a dick wouldn’t fit anyway.” 

“Thank you, I guess, for calling it a monster, Y/N, but I would have made it fit. Preparation is key.” 

“That’s what I keep saying. Foreplay is an important part of-”

“Alright, I clearly interrupted something here so I would just like to give you the heads up and Han and I are going home.” Charlotte interrupted you and leaned in to kiss you on the cheek, “He’s drunk and I was getting tired anyway.” 

“Sure. I’ll see you back home.” You said, wiping at your cheek before turning it towards Namjoon, “Do I have a stain?”

He shook his head before accepting a peck on his cheek from Charlotte, “Nope. Looking smooth as always.” 

“You make sure she gets home safely, Joonie.”

“You have nothing to worry about.”

“And not too late, okay?”

“Bye Charlotte! Love you!” You called as she wandered off, dragging a swaying Han with her towards the entrance.

Jimin sat at the table, Jisoo at his side. He had tuned most of her blabbering out, finding the topic ‘what shoes to wear to her friend’s wedding’ quite boring. Instead, his eyes were trained on the dance floor where not many people were dancing. 

More specifically you and Namjoon that was talking more than dancing and he saw you smile, laughing at how your dance partner seemed to trip over his own feet. 

He scoffed. 

“Are you listening to what I’m saying, baby?”

“Of course, Jisoo. The red pair of shoes sounds good.” 

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he fished it out, eyes narrowing at the number, he swiped his thumb across the screen.

“Yes?” He said. 

“Jimin, hey, it’s Seokjin.” 

“I could see on the caller-id.”

There was a brief pause and Jimin held up a hand to silence Jisoo when she yanked at his arm. Then there was a beeping sound and the sound of doors being banged open, “Jin, what’s going on?”

“Sorry about that… I don’t know how to say this but you need to come to the hospital.”

“Why?” 

“It’s your brother. Jimin, you need to come and quick.” 

His throat felt as dry as sandpaper as he stood up and hung up, eyes darting to your dancing and laughing form on the dancefloor. 

“Jimin, baby, where are you going?” Jisoo asked him as he took a step, her hands clinging onto his wrist. 

“S-Sorry, I have somewhere I need to be.” He answered, his voice shaky, “I’ll arrange for someone to take you home.” 

“Wait!” She called out as he ran towards you.

You were laughing so hard at how Namjoon had just tripped over his own two feet again when Jimin appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, grabbing your wrist, “What the fuck?” 

“Fun time is over.” Jimin said and tugged you with him as he headed towards the exit.

You yanked your wrist free, Namjoon appearing at your side, “Um no, it isn’t. What’s with you?” You asked him. 

Jimin looked at you and Namjoon, “Y/N.” You raised a brow at the tone of his voice… He sounded scared, “We have to go now.” 

“Did something happen?” You immediately grew worried because Jimin never sounded scared. 

“Seokjin just called me and… Something happened with Han and Charlotte.” 

You had never felt such fear. 

The ride to the hospital was tense and quiet. Jimin drove like a maniac through the streets of Seoul while Namjoon had tagged along as support. The two men sat in the front of the car, exchanging no words whatsoever, leaving you to your thoughts running rampant. 

Then you arrived at the hospital and everything happened so quickly.

A drunk driver collided with their limousine.

Their driver was killed on impact. 

Charlotte and Han were in critical condition.

You had no idea how much time had passed from when you had arrived to when you were sitting on the chair outside the ward, Jimin prancing back and forth like a caged animal.

Then the doctor appeared from the ward and Namjoon was quick to leave your side, going to talk to him.

You stood up, watching as they talked and you felt Jimin’s presence next to you.

Time seemed to slow down when your eyes locked with Namjoon’s, the sadness in his eyes conveying the message you had yet to receive but you knew. 

They were gone. 

You could feel someone wrap their arms around you as you tumbled to the floor, your own piercing wail deaf to your ears as you felt your chest implode on itself with heartbreak. 

Jimin struggled to keep you upright as you collapsed, your cries so very loud in his ears but it didn’t matter. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t need to hear why you had broken down. It was clear as day by the way Namjoon looked. 

His brother was gone. Your sister was gone. Both of them were gone. 

You cried out her name and Jimin tightened his hold on you when you tried to crawl away from him. 

He might not like you and you may not like him but he knew that you should not go through this pain alone. So when you clutched his shirt so tightly in your balled fists, your cries finally lowering to whimpering and you buried your head in his chest, Jimin held you tight.

The feeling of time was lost on you when you entered Han and Charlotte’s apartment. Your mind was empty and you were pretty sure your heart had stopped beating. 

Mrs. Shin appeared as you took off your shoes and placed your purse on a small table. She looked puzzled upon seeing you, and only you, return. 

“Where is…” She trailed off as you grabbed her hand. 

“They’re gone.” Was all you said and her shoulders sagged as she moved her free hand to cover her mouth, “Is she sleeping?”

“She is.” 

You nodded and walked past her, down the hall, towards Hyejin’s room. The door was slightly ajar and you slowly opened it, finding her room dark except for a small lamp in the corner. 

She hated the dark.

Like Charlotte. 

You felt tears stream down your cheeks at the thought of your sister but willed them away. You had to be strong now for Hyejin. 

Nothing else mattered.

Hyejin woke up when her mattress shifted and she turned her head, rubbing one eye, “Eomma?” 

“No, honey. It’s me.” 

She sat up, looking puzzled, “Where’s Eomma? She always comes to kiss me goodnight.” 

You opened your arms and closed them around her tiny frame, “I know.” You placed your head upon hers and took a deep breath, “Listen, sweetie…”

[snarkwrites]

round two of my ✨thot✨ spam

this was inspired by the “i would never let a man spit in my mouth” tiktok and while i whole heartedly agree with said sentiment, i would totally let ryan do that to me without question. if anyone else tried to do that, it would be hands on site. BUT ALSO the fact that he could call me a whore [ or any other variation ] and i’d thank him - ❤️

Ooooh, I love this one. One, I can totally see Ryan doing it. T O T A L L Y. Also, I wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment too. I LOVE THIS OMG, YEAH.. Lemme see what I can come up with here.

Just for reasons, I'm gonna go ahead and venture this might well... Get dirty.

Life edit: I kept it mostly clean.. Mostly. Sexual encounter is heavily hinted at.

Warning:

Absolutely no minors here. If you're not 18+ you clearly do not need to be reading this, whether it's full on sexual or not, because sexual themes will be implied. So, if you're one of the kiddos, please take this time to click away from the adult content.

If you continue to read beyond this point, here are a few things you need to be on the look out for: dirty talk / light name calling & heavy af on the teasing / public makeouts....

It didn't get sexual BUT... it's filled with innuendo. Oops?

Tagging:

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@twistnet

[ faq - tag list doc ]

( at me all you want. I'll stop using this gif when he stops being so damn pretty when he's a lil wounded.)

RYAN WOLFE & dirty little girl;

“You’re all depraved, holy shit.” I glanced around the table at my sister and her friends, taking a sip of my margarita. Grimacing because it tasted as if someone doubled up on the tequila and skimmed on the margarita mix.

“All I’m saying is sometimes it’s fun to be dirty. You’ve never just given in to the urge to let a man spit in your mouth?” Natalia asked, more in teasing than anything. Smirking at me when I pretended to gag because I have a strong feeling she can see straight through my bullshit.

“What the fuck? No! I would never let a man spit in my mouth. I don’t know why ya’ll keep saying spit in my mouth, spit in my mouth. It’s not hot, okay? It’s gross.”

“There has to be that one guy you’d let do it. Everybody has that one person.” my sister gave me a teasing grin as she said it. I shook my head firmly. “Nope. No and no. I have never looked at a man and just thought “Oh hey, I’d gladly let that man spit in my mouth and call me his dirty little slut…”

“That’s oddly specific for someone who says she’s never thought about it and thinks it’s gross.” my sister was at it again, teasing me. I tensed a little, because of course, she was right. I’d die a thousand painful deaths before owning up to it, but she was 1000 percent correct. There was a guy.

But it was a non issue. Because the guy in question?

Only had eyes for my sister Natalia.

Ryan Wolfe.

“I think you’re onto something, Nat.” Calleigh mused as she gave me a thoughtful look. I could feel myself tensing. Quick to shake my head no. Quick to laugh and joke, “Oh no, trust me, she’s not. Just face it, ladies. I have my limits. There are no exceptions.”

Calleigh gave a soft laugh and shook her head. Taking a thoughtful sip from her mixed drink. I relaxed, thinking that maybe they’d both drop it.

And then Alexx spoke up.

“It’s Ryan.”

I shook my head, doing what I hoped was my best unaffected and unamused act. Sipping my drink and watching the guys in the back of the bar, gathered around the dartboard. It was Ryan’s turn to throw and naturally, my eyes were glued to him. Laughing to myself when he smirked and launched the dart and it just barely settled beneath the bullseye.

But I was curious enough to ask… “What makes you think that?” I asked Alexx. My intention was to figure out if maybe I wasn’t as good as hiding my feelings as I previously thought.

Alexx gave a soft laugh and shrugged, saying nothing.

My sister was watching me, a brow raised. Thinking long and hard about something as she sipped her drink.

“You’re not denying it.” she finally spoke up.

I shrugged. “Because I know the truth. Doesn’t matter that you guys don’t believe me.” I turned my attention back to the ongoing game of darts, slamming back a shot of tequila. Ryan’s turn came around again and when he landed a bullseye, we locked eyes. He flashed me that smirk and I bit my lip, pounding the bar as I held his gaze, smirking back. Ordering myself another round of tequila shots when the bartender came.

When my shots arrived, I slammed them all down, turning the shot glasses upside down, forming the first and second row of a pyramid. Wiping the back of my hand over my mouth as I found myself doing it again, staring at Ryan just a little too much.

“Maybe we’d believe you if you weren’t staring at him like you were on fire and he has the hose.” my sister teased, making me glance over at her and stick out my tongue. “I still wouldn’t let him spit in my mouth. I mean.. I don’t think I would…” I trailed off, going quiet. Well aware that I was dangerously close to letting everything come pouring out.

“Says the woman who openly admits to having more than a few kinks.” my sister teased, laughing. Pushing me when she heard what I said under my breath. “What was that? Was that doubt? If you’re not sure whether you’d let Ryan Wolfe spit in your mouth or not, that usually means you might be open to it.” my sister teased.

“My kinks are choking and bondage… Spanking on occasion. Not… That.” I scoffed, smiling at the looks on their faces when they all turned to look at me. I shrugged and slipped off the barstool.

“Where are you going?” Calleigh called out, an almost teasing gleam in her eye as she asked the question.

“I’m going to show those dorks how you play darts.” I answered, trying to maintain as much nonchalance as possible as I did so. Truth be told, I wanted to get away from the conversation before it got too deep.. Before they dragged the whole truth out of me.

“You mean you’re going to go get a closer look. It’s okay, go ahead.” my sister and Calleigh teased and I turned to walk backwards, flipping them both off as I went. “Ha freaking ha. I am not going to get a closer view of Ryan Wolfe. And if I were, what’s it to ya anyway? It’s a free country. And I can’t help it my eyes like lookin at him?”

As a parting jab, my sister called out, “Spit in my mouth.” and the three women dissolved into rowdy laughter as I poked out my tongue and rolled my eyes at them, calling out in response, “Okay, fine. Maybe I’d let him spit in my mouth and call me a dirty little slut. Maybe.”

My back smashed into someone just as soon as the words left my mouth. I gritted my teeth, swallowing hard as my ice cold beer spilled all over the front of my favorite white shirt. Soaking through immediately, revealing a fire engine red bra. I turned abruptly, prepared for it to be some drunk person, a stranger. Praying against everything that it was just that.

Naturally, it wasn’t. I wasn’t going to get that lucky.

Ryan stood there, staring at me thoughtfully. Almost a stunned look on his face. The look he was giving me faded and I swallowed hard, raising my free hand to tousle my hair.

“Shit.” I muttered softly. I could feel my stomach churning nervously.

Ryan chuckled, nodding at my shirt as he took off the button up he wore, leaving him in a white tank top. Holding out the shirt to me. “Looks like you need that more than me right now.”

All I could do was nod.

And for some odd reason, the entire “Spit in my mouth” debate I’d just been in with my sister and her friends replayed itself in my mind. And I wanted to disappear into the floor of the bar when I realized that he’d probably just heard every single thing I said… ,, maybe not. Maybe he didn’t.” the thought came, but when I saw the playful teasing gleam in his eyes, my stomach churned nervously because I knew he had to have heard it all. Every single word.

I bit my lip and took a shaky breath. As much as I hated asking the question, it had to be asked.

“How much did you hear?” I asked in as innocent a way as possible. Fidgeting and shuffling my feet under his intent and thoughtful stare.

All Ryan did was smirk and shrug. “I heard enough.”

“How much is enough?” I asked, not sure why I wasn’t just leaving it alone.

Ryan stepped closer, towering over me. His hand settled on my hip and his eyes settled on my lips as he licked his own. Seconds that seemed to drag on like hours passed and he finally leaned down enough to whisper against my ear quietly, “Let’s put it this way… I heard you say you liked looking at me. Among other things...” before standing up straight again, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

I swayed slightly, the beginnings of a healthy buzz taking over. Giggling at the way he kept staring at me, raising a hand to my mouth to stop the giggling. He reached out, lowering my hand. Pulling me against him slightly as a crowd made their way past.

He tilted my face so that I had to look up at him. Biting his lip. That thoughtful look in his eyes that prompted me to ask quietly, “What? Do I have something on my face? Lipstick on my teeth?”

“Just thinking.” Ryan answered quietly.

“About?” I questioned, holding his gaze. Smirking to myself a little when he looked away first.

“ How much I like looking at you too.” Ryan finally replied. I swallowed hard when his eyes locked on me all over again. Hints of a teasing smirk turning the corners of his mouth upward as he closed the distance between us. His hands went straight to my hips settling. His fingers digging in as I melted against him.

“Oh you do, hm?” I purred, raising to tiptoe. Leaning into the buzz I had going for the necessary courage to just let go and roll with whatever was happening.

“Very much, actually.” his voice was this perfect mix of velvet and gravel and I could feel my thighs getting slick under the weight of his gaze. His eyes roamed over me slowly. I gulped and licked my lips, found myself staring at his.

“You didn’t… hear anything else I said..Right?”

Ryan chuckled. His mouth inched towards mine. Almost painfully slow.

“Which part? The part where you said you might let me spit in your mouth and call you my dirty little slut?” he muttered just as his lips barely brushed against mine. He pulled away, smirking. Teasing me and I knew it. The realization had me pouting and dropping my gaze.

Which wouldn’t do for him, apparently, because he gripped my chin, guiding my face so that I had no choice but to look at him.

“Ya know…” he muttered in a daze as his tongue slipped past my lips, dominating the kiss as it deepened, “ typically, I’d prefer to buy you a drink or somethin first.” the kiss breaking so we could breathe.

“Yeah?” I breathed out, pouting at the end of the kiss. He chuckled and nodded, whispering quietly, “But honestly, as bad as I want you right now…” his hand circled my wrist, guiding my hand down to the way he strained against the khaki trousers he was wearing, letting me palm at the bulge. “I don’t wanna waste any time.”

“Get me out of here.”

Ryan scooped me up in his arms, carrying me towards the door. Once we were outside and standing beside his car, he sat me on the hood, moving to step between my legs. Devouring my mouth with his hungrily. His lips strayed, latching onto my neck as my hand slipped down between us, palming at the front of his trousers all over again. Making him buck against the movement of my hand and growl into my mouth, “You gonna show me how dirty you can be tonight, princess? Are you gonna be my dirty little girl?” as the kiss deepened, getting sloppier. I rubbed against him, clinging to him frantically, gasping out “Yes.” as I felt myself getting even wetter. His hand slipped down, settling palm flat against my aching sex, rubbing. The friction building had me rocking against his hand, earning me a smirk from him.

“Good girl.”

[samstree]

You are too well tangled in my soul (5/5)

(Geraskier, 1.6k, time travel, hurt/comfort, soft geralt, now complete, cw: mentions of abuse)

Inspired by The Time Traveler’s Wife. 

Read on AO3

Yennefer comes in a whirlwind of buzzing magic, a portal opening up in the middle of the empty courtyard, blowing up the melting snow everywhere.

Of course she can come through the protective ward around the keep like it’s nothing.

She steps onto the ground of Kaer Morhen with her usual poise, all shiny raven curls and sparkling eyeshadows, breathtaking as ever. Only her proud demeanor shifts into something marginally softer when those enchanting violet eyes fall on Ciri.

The princess approaches the sorceress in tentative steps, before picking up the pace and running into her embrace. Yennefer is visibly taken aback by the sheer force of it but soon gives back a loose hug. The girl, being a head shorter than Yennefer, steps back and smiles brightly.

“I saw you in my dreams.”

Those violet eyes become more curious.

Beside Jaskier, Geralt’s voice rumbles deeply. “Yen, this is Ciri. My Child Surprise.”

The corner of her lips quicks up. “Nice to meet you, Ciri.”

*

In the main hall, Jaskier sits in front of the fire and watches the three of them talk quietly at the table.

A lost princess with immeasurable chaos in her body, a witcher who protects humanity with nothing but two swords on his back, and a sorceress so powerful she scorched an entire Nilfgaardian army all by herself.

They make a perfect family, beautiful, powerful, and well-matched.

Lost in thoughts and the wine in his cup, Jaskier never notices the young princess going off to sword lessons with Vesemir or even Geralt settling down on the thick carpet next to him.

The witcher adjusts the blanket draped on Jaskier’s knees absent-mindedly. “By the way, Yen, what did you think of our ward?”

“It’d be a good idea.” The sorceress looks down at Geralt, posture elegant from the vantage point of the chair. Her hand flattens the folded wrinkles on her embroidered dress. “Don’t worry, Geralt. I’ll enhance it for you so no mage can get through. You child will be safe in here.”

Geralt’s voice turns solemn. “Thank you, Yen. And thank you for coming.”

“I came for her.” Yennefer’s gaze studies Geralt up and down with a piercing curiosity, and softens ever so slightly. “Fatherhood looks good on you.”

Geralt hums without answering.

“Did you ever doubt destiny’s decision?” Jaskier challenges her, regrettably drawing attention to himself.

Yennefer finally looks at Jaskier for the first time since she arrived, amusement creeping into her expression. Geralt sighs long-sufferingly next to Jaskier, braced for the usual snarky jabs between these two.

“Bard.”

“Witch.”

Yennefer raises an eyebrow. “The gray hair suits you.”

“Not being tortured by Nilfgaard suits you.”

From his peripheral, Jaskier sees Geralt tense but keeps his eyes on the sorceress. Framed by the flickering candlelight, everything beautiful about her now is a sharp contrast to the last time Jaskier saw her – tied up, depleted of magic, and covered in blood.

Her lips curve dangerously. “Still saved your sorry ass, didn’t I?”

This time when Jaskier returns her smile, it’s genuine. “You are right about that one. I never got to show any gratitude.” Geralt’s questioning gaze is burning a hole on Jaskier, but he’ll have to wait. Jaskier continues the peace-offering. “So thank you, really. It’s good to see you again, Yen.”

“Don’t call me that.” She takes a jab at him but there’s no malice. “And destiny often makes shit decisions. You should know.”

Yennefer looks between the two of them and Jaskier’s breath hitches. Somehow the sorceress knows about their bond. Jaskier turns to look at an equally startled Geralt. “Did you tell her?”

“Oh, please,” She cuts in, “The temporal magic is all over you two. I felt it the day you first barged through my door.” She pulls a sealed letter out of nowhere and holds it before Jaskier’s face. “I only meant this.”

The Pankratz insignia carves into the scarlet wax seal.

The buzzing of the world drowns Jaskier’s heartbeat. It’s been years since he received news from home. Distantly, he knows Geralt is asking if he’s alright, the warmth from the witcher’s large hand seeps through the fabric on his back.

He reaches for the letter and tears through the seal in an instant, and pauses.

“You know what it says.”

“The news traveled faster than a letter.” Yennefer offers a tight smile. “My condolences, Jaskier.”

*

Jaskier is perched on their shared bed while Geralt paces around the room. He clutches the thin piece of paper, reading the words again even if he’s stared at them for so long they’ve begun to blur.

…Alfred Pankratz, Count de Lettenhove, passed away in his sleep three days ago.

Taking a deep breath, Jaskier rubs his eyes when they lose focus, and that’s when he notices how stiff his joints are for staying in the same place for too long.

He blinks and Geralt has come to sit next to him on the mattress, gently prying the letter away from Jaskier’s tense fingers. His knuckles are turning white for gripping it so tightly.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Shaking his head, Jaskier buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, who instinctively wraps an arm around him. “I don’t know.” He adds, “Not yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt murmurs.

“Why?” Jaskier nuzzles, seeking comfort. “You never had kind words for the man.”

The pain from childhood flares up again. Memories of sitting by the lake crying and nursing his hurt as a child almost make panic bubble up Jaskier’s throat. He has to calm down by focusing on Geralt’s solid touch and the rise and fall of his breathing.

It does the trick, as always.

“You still mourn him, despite everything.” Geralt answers, drawing circles on Jaskier’s back slowly.

Jaskier lets out a tight chuckle. “I should hate him, and maybe I did for many years. But…in the end, he was just my father.”

They sit in silence. Jaskier melts into Geralt’s continued soothing touches, letting reality sink in. A plan comes together in his head.

“I should go back.”

“To Lettenhove?” The movement on Jaskier’s back stops.

When Jaskier pulls back, there’s apprehension in Geralt’s eyes. His brows furrow in distress so Jaskier eases it away with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m still the heir. There are things that require seeing to. I don’t want his title, so I’ll have to be there to renounce it. The estate and all the fortune will go to my cousin – Ferrant is quite a natural leader. He will do well being the head of the family. As for my mother, she’ll want to see me. It’s been too long since I wrote her.”

Geralt frowns again at the idea but reluctantly agrees after a moment.

“I don’t like the idea of you being back there.”

“Oh don’t you worry, my love,” Jaskier says. “It just got me thinking. My father died and they didn’t even have a way of reaching me. If Yennefer hadn’t come across this funeral invite at some random court I would still be in the dark. Not that I’ll be back in time for the funeral of course. It takes too many days just to get down this mountain. Still, it could be nice to see my family again. I’ll be fine, really.”

“Hmm.” Geralt runs his fingers through the hair at Jaskier’s temple, where he knows a strand is peppered with silver as Yennefer so kindly pointed out. “Speaking of. Since when are you best friends with Yen?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jaskier teases him. “I’m sure you’ll have all the time in the world to get the story out of her, now that she’s around to give Ciri magic lessons. I’m sure she won’t paint me in a heroic light in our little Nilfgaardian prison adventure. Too bad I won’t be there to save my image.”

“Jask.” Geralt blinks, taking Jaskier’s wrist in a gentle hold. “You know I’m going with you, right? You are not going alone.”

“But Ciri’s training…”

“Yen is taking her to a safe house just outside of Novigrad. Triss will be there too. The chaos Ciri carries is raw power. It’s so complicated they’ll be lucky to figure it out within a couple of months.”

“Don’t you need to go as well? To stay with them and protect your daughter?”

Geralt smiles at the word daughter. No matter how many times everyone or even Ciri herself uses it, the word still brings him so much joy.

“I’ve had her all winter, taught her a lot about being a witcher. Now she needs to learn from real magic users. Besides, I think she’s getting tired of being cooped up with five men for this long. Staying with the ladies might do her good.”

Jaskier stares at the warmth flowing in those ember eyes, suddenly feeling lighter like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He doesn’t have to do this alone.

“You’ll come with me,” he muses the sentence.

“You’re hurting, Jask. I would never leave you like this.” Geralt’s tone is so casual it’s like he’s stating the weather. Gods, this ridiculous man has no right to make Jaskier’s heart swell three sizes like this.

He picks up Geralt’s hand and presses a kiss to his calloused palm. “We’ll go straight to Novigrad soon as business finishes at home. Even I’ll miss her too much.”

Jaskier gets pull into Geralt’s embrace again, breathing in the smell of the chamomile soap he insists on the witcher during baths. It feels like Geralt is marked by him somehow, covered in his signature scent.

“I love you, Jask.”

“Mm-hmm. Enough to face all the nobles for me.”

Geralt hums, perhaps surprised.

“You know there’s gonna be a lot of them, right? Many will be there to pay respect. I’m a noble, in case you forgot. If you can barely tolerate me, imagine the chaos when we get there.”

The laugh rumbles deep in Geralt’s chest, and soft lips press on Jaskier’s hairline at his temple.

“Only for you, Jaskier.”

*

(Feedbacks are much appreciated! Tell me what you think of it!)