#I stopped doing it because i got a pack of singles that tasted terrible and never craved it again.

[sciderman]

What’s your favorite snack? Since you don’t have a sweet tooth

If I hear anything about tea and crumpets, I’m coming after you 😤

can’t stand the mouthfeel of a crumpet, and I’ve always been more of a coffee person, so it’s no wonder I’m seen as a traitor to my kind

ive been shamed for my snacking habits without remorse

mostly I graze on fruits and veggies, like a rabbit

i snack a lot (it’s a stress thing) but fervently avoid processed snack foods unless it’s a special occasion or other such dire circumstances. when im on vacation in a different country i am a bottomless pit of processed snacks. but at home im a saint.

my most favouritest thing is those frozen bags of berries you get for to make smoothies except I don’t make a smoothie. i just shovel the frozen fruit directly into my mouth and cut out the middle man . that’s my favourite . I love the icy crunch.

beyond that i eat a lot of cured meats and a LOT of yoghurt . and it’s no secret im a cheese fiend. and pickles are great, im always craving pickles. and olives. and a lot of avocados. like, daily.

[insomniasymphony]

Delico's Nursery And A Touch Of Forgiveness

Little one-shot because ... why not? You can give this story a read or a Kudos on AO3 as well!

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Rating: General Audience Pair: Dali Delico/Gerhard Fra No warnings needed.

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Screams filled the room. Lamentable, bitter wailing not meant for the ears of a man of his status. Crying of a child he usually shoved into the arms of the nanny before attending to the important matters of life. The really important ones.

The ones that had got him into all this in the first place.

Gerhard narrowed his eyes briefly before raising his voice. “Now shut up already! Don’t you realise you’re a nuisance?”

And as expected, the crying subsided for a breath before it tripled in volume and ripped through his marrow and bones. Ever since Raphael had taken away his toy, Angelico had been unable to calm down and whenever Gerhard raised his voice, his son’s wailing grew in volume and strength.

.

“What do I have to do to make you stop fussing?” Raising his arms, he stared down at Angelico’s blond mop of hair, but only heard the usual muddled sounds. It was unbelievable that this child was his and, above all, of noble birth.

Then again, he had never bothered with his son until now. After all, he had work to do and children were for the bloodline, not to spend the last of his mental resources. The others’ children were already packing up, ready to go home, and he was the only one still standing in the same spot, unable to get his son out of this terrible wailing.

With shaking fingers, Gerhard ran a hand over his face. If he could, he would rewind time and wipe Dali’s rejection of the mission away faster – long before he would drive them all into this hell of a mess. Better yet, he’d rewind to the day before and come up with a war plan against this idiot at breakfast.

“Daddy...”

Angelico’s drawn-out whimper snapped him out of his thoughts, so he opened his mouth again, ready to issue more orders as he looked into the red, watery eyes staring at him like he was the only help in this room. Just like back then. Just like the day he’d thought the only solution was to go solo against suspected TRUMP-members just to kill Dali’s wife.

He gently placed a hand on his son’s soft mop of hair. Angelico’s crying stopped immediately, bringing with it a silence that dragged Gerhard into the abyss.

He remembered what had happened as if it had occurred only yesterday. It was one of those endless dreams haunting him on some nights. In a matter of seconds, he relived it all. The moment he had broken into the house and seen this woman, beautiful as ever, ready to taste his blade without offering resistance. Somewhere in between, he thought he remembered fire. And bloodstained floors. And the numb feeling in his entire body, knowing he’d lose Dali for good that way.

Had he felt relief then? Had the knowledge he might no longer be working so closely with Delico made him happy?

He pressed his lips together. Back then, when he had turned to Dali, who had appeared and stormed over to his wife, he had only watched out of the corner of his eye – his posture upright and unwavering, hoping Dali would recognise him as an enemy. Just for a moment, so that the shallow feeling of affection would burst before it grew. But Dali hadn’t looked at him that day. His gaze had wandered to his children, then back to his wife, and before Gerhard knew it, the incident had ended and Dali hadn’t exchanged a single word with him.

In all that time, not a single thing had been said about the incident between them and yet he had brought it up today, out of heat from a stupid argument he had lost. Somehow. Dali’s rejection had been clear and yet his warm breath had sent tingles all over Gerhard’s body.

A sigh escaped him. “Let’s go, Angelico.”

“But... my toy...” Round cheeks puffed out, his son’s gaze pierced him unyieldingly. But looking for a child’s toy was anything but fitting for a nobleman. Or a man in general.

“I’ll buy you a new one on the way home.”

“But I want this one!”

“What difference does it make?” His voice rose. “It’s just a piece of wood.”

He should have seen it coming. He should have known better after all the other defeats between him and his son. But as the tears welled up again and Angelico drew in his breath, Gerhard felt a desperate twitching in his bones. Should he raise his hands and press them to his ears to at least muffle the screeching that was about to follow?

His body succumbed to indecision and just as he was thinking about offering Angelico something else, Dali appeared behind him. His shoulder pressed against Gerhard’s and the shudder running through his body made him swallow. Simultaneously, he heard Dali’s voice much too close to his ear. “Look what I’ve got!”

Before Angelico could burst into tears again, Dali brought a gleam to his eyes with his toy, which even Gerhard found strangely warming. Affection settled in his chest and didn’t disappear even when he looked into his friend’s endlessly dark eyes.

Part of Gerhard opened his mouth silently, unable to find words. The way Dali treated the children, the way he stopped them from screaming and how much warmth and amusement there was in his actions – was it wrong to want all that for himself? The rest of him knew better, feeling the hot pinpricks in his chest and flooding the inner torment with angry behaviour and a raised nose.

“I hope you’ll fulfil the mission properly!” Gerhard stubbornly tried to look down at him – to no avail. “We can’t afford to half-ass things!”

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem.” Elated, Dali took a step forward, handed Angelico his toy and took a quick look at the baby in his arms. “It’s just another challenge for me to master. I’m much more interested in whether you and the others are up to the task.” A grin formed on his thin lips. “Child raising is a fascinating field once you get the chance to get into it.”

Dali hated him. He certainly did. After everything that had happened, it seemed impossible to believe otherwise. It had been Gerhard who had put him in this position. It had been he who had deprived this family of a mother. The certainty turned his stomach.

“You loathe me, don’t you?” Clenching his hands into fists, Gerhard addressed the subject again. If they were going to work together on this mission, they needed to have a clear conversation. A few words that would bury any feelings of attraction in him so they could get on with their lives. So he could go on with his life.

“I already told you that you did me a favour. Now I get to take care of my kids-“

“Stop with that crap!” His voice grew louder as his gaze fixed on Dali. “You loathe me for what happened. For killing your wife. Go ahead and say it!”

“You seem to like dwelling on old things.”

“It was just a few months ago!”

The sudden tug on Gerhard’s trouser leg barely reached his awareness, but the whimper drew his gaze to Angelico. “Daddy ... don’t be angry...”

“Well said, Angelico!” Cheerfully, Dali gave the child a wink. “Your son already seems to be smarter than you.”

“Wha-“

“Be quiet.” In defence, Dali raised his free hand. “Sure, I could say I loathe you for what you did, but if I’m honest ... I’m over it. I know this day has been as hard on you as it has been on me, and instead of obsessing over my loss, it’s better to look at the positives of it all.”

“The ... positives?” The knot in Gerhard’s stomach tightened further. If Dali didn’t hate him, if he didn’t get a chance to carry this guilt heavily on his shoulders, he would succumb to this warmth in his chest. “What nonsensical talk.”

“Certainly, if you get hung up on ancient mannerisms and define your pride by your raised nose ... you’re undoubtedly right up there.” A confident nod came over Dali and Gerhard couldn’t deny the temptation of a hug was as strong as the desire to put his hands around this weirdo’s neck. “But I mean what I said. What happened ... it was hard ... for both of us. But it’s also given me something good. I get the chance here and now to experience my children completely differently than many other families do. I feel like I can be a real father, where I’m always there for them and don’t send them away just because their crying sometimes makes my head explode.”

“And you think I buy that?” Gerhard’s voice shook, wavering between anger and despair. Emotions he wasn’t allowed to indulge in. One of them would make Angelico cry. The other would make Dali laugh. Perhaps. Probably.

“You can do that, or you can not.” With a shrug, Dali let out a sigh. Then he smiled, almost mockingly, before grabbing a strand of Gerhard’s hair and bringing it to his lips. The shallow kiss he pressed on the blonde hair flashed through his whole body. “I’m sure you’ll realise that yourself one day, Goldilocks.”

Without further ado, Dali took two steps back as Gerhard’s hair ran through his fingers and the world stopped for a moment. Saliva pooled in the blond’s mouth, running dry down his throat as his heart pounded violently against his ribs. Heat built up in his body, but didn’t reach his face. His every fibre seemed stiff, clinging to an unimpressed expression, hoping his friend wouldn’t notice.

Not the gentle trembling of his hands, nor the convulsive posture, which no longer seemed aristocratic, but childish and awkward. Gerhard could imagine how he must have looked in Dali’s eyes in those breaths and yet, when his friend turned away from him – were they even friends? – he dared to raise a hand. Only briefly, before he lowered it again and glanced at Angelico, who was still hanging on to his trousers.

Maybe, for one day, this feeling was okay. If he believed Dali’s words just a little, just this once, then he would sleep better this night – lulled by the warmth in his heart. Surely, somewhere between here and his own home, he would realise that all this was nothing more than an illusion. A fragile concept that would fade when he looked into his wife’s face – as he did every day – and realised she wasn’t Dali.

And then, at the latest, he would come to his senses, get upset about this idiot, have dinner and go to bed, only to return the next day, believing he wouldn’t succumb to his heart again.

He knew how it would end.

The result was always the same.

[sumire-no-nikki]

A Day Out

I had to do groceries this afternoon so I thought I would treat myself with a day out while I'm at it! The weather has cooled down ever so slightly and by that I mean from 30C down to 28C with a little breeze. Not much, I know. But that 2C is the difference between actively sweating just by breathing, and being able to manage walking outside without wanting to plop on the concrete and throwing a tantrum because I fucking hate summer.

That said, it wasn't helpful that the train was packed. Oh it was awful. Not a single seat open and the corridors were filled with people standing. I would have decided to go back home and just drive to a shop nearby, but I've made it that far already so I thought I might as well stick with it. In the end I'm happy to say it paid off. I had a very lovely day out!

First thing on the agenda was to try new beans but I'm afraid that part of the trip was a bust. I intended to purchase some espresso beans from this Mexican-themed cafe that I always pass by but it seems they've just roasted their beans (and they need to rest for a couple of days before they're ready to brew!) So unfortunately I will have to try them another time.

From there I entered my usual manga and general nerdy stuff store. I found some new manga I'm keen on but I stopped myself from spending. I don't really have the time to get into a new series right now, but I've definitely added a lot of new titles to my "to-read-in-the-far-future" list lol. I did make some really cool discoveries while browsing the store though! There's a manga series adaptation of Victor Hugo's Les Miserables! I read a couple of pages of it and it looks so good! And there's also a Junji Ito adaptation of No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai which, as it is by Junji Ito, looks nothing short of spectacular. Oh, can you believe it!! All these new adaptations of modern classics! I hope there will be more! As bewildering as it was to see No Longer Human on "as seen on booktok" tables in bookstores (the very existence of which seems to trigger my fight-or-flight response lol) I'm ultimately just very happy people are reading these great works. These manga adaptations will get so many people into reading the classics, I think. And that can only be for the good.

From there I headed for my usual cafe. I ordered a slice of chocolate cake and a lovely pour over coffee from Kenya. The cup I had today tasted of bright orange with quite a full body. I enjoyed my treats while reading for about an hour or so outside. It was way too hot to stay inside, so as much as I hate inhaling second-hand smoke I chose a seat along the street.

You know, I didn't realise until after ordering that I was in fact speaking with the owner who happens to be a German Barista champion!! I was inspecting the trophies on display by the counter while waiting for my tray. When I sat down I looked up the name and only then did the face register lol. Knowing that the person who owns the place understands brewing and producing coffee directly and ethically (as opposed to being just a businessman who isn't familiar with the coffee industry) does explain the quality of the beans. And it's such a reassurance to know that they are roasted by someone who cares. I swear I've never had a terrible bag of beans from his cafe.

One last errand before the groceries: the record store! I brought the records I no longer want to keep in my collection and had them assessed. The owner of the store is a very jolly Greek man. I browsed the store while waiting for him to come up with an offer. I spotted some of the records I sold to him in the past (and that he is selling them for quite a mark up 👀) but I've also noticed that quite a handful of my old records were no longer there. The romantic in me is beaming at the thought of my records in a new home now, being played and enjoyed by a stranger with a completely different background yet identifying with the same music I once related to. Anyway, I got a surprisingly good offer for the records and I walked out of the store feeling very happy to get that task crossed off the to-do list.

The last thing was to go to the store, of course. I've run out of some staple Japanese ingredients so that was what I mainly bought. I finally found sake for cooking which has proven quite difficult to source so it's a relief to finally have it now. I stocked up on natto as well. I know it's an acquired taste (quite like marmite) but I like it for breakfast, especially with leftover rice.

When I got home I spent the evening putting everything away, and cleaning and prepping the fruits and vegetables I bought. It was a good day, I think. Quite productive. And it's always lovely spending time alone. I get to observe, swim in the lake of my own mind.

I leave you with a photo I took on my way home and a song I've been listening to a lot. The train ride home wasn't as hectic so I spent the entire time looking outside, feasting on how vibrant everything looks in the summer. I know I've overstated my hatred for this season but sunlight, the deep green fields meeting the blue sky on the horizon, the contrast--it's such a boost to one's mental health.

As for the song, this one is from a pretty old album actually, but I always seem to find new meaning to fixate on when I listen to it. This is the song that struck me this time around and I've been ruminating on all week. It's rare to find a song that describes who you are completely that it's rather frightening. This song does that for me:

Alright, that's it for now. I'm off to tidy up real quick--arrange the throw pillows on the couch, pick up all the cat toys and put it back in their toy box (a task I'm sure I will be repeating in the morning, lol), start the dishwasher, and turn off all the lights. I've had a good day but I am exhausted! My weekend has been a busy one so far. Tomorrow I have some long letters to write and emails to respond to. And then it's just about to get even more hectic with the new week, but it helps to know that the weather will continue to cool down in the coming days. Knowing it'll be rainy is such an uplifting thing to know (at least I hope it happens. I have a love-hate relationship with the somewhat-accurate weather app lol). I hope it isn't sweltering wherever you are.

Until next time!

[kiryll-antiqua]

Ring

Among Kiryll’s gifts was what appeared to be an Eorzea-styled ring of Eternal Bonding, attuned to an aetheryte installed in a closet in the Imperial Palace.

Only used once, or perhaps twice, although, if he remembered right, three times, or maybe a fourth? 

It was a way that was devised to give Kiryll a private audience with Lord Varis at his leisure. It came with a letter of apology after they had parted from their first time together. Since Varis had no way of using such a thing himself, and Kiryll could just teleport anywhere he wanted once he got access to a place, so it seemed discreet enough.

Kiryll had had another such ring once, which was exchanged as more of a way of helping a friend get a leg up on getting her start in adventuring than any kind of romantic encounter. He hoped she was well, wherever she was, for they had both moved on at least twice from each other's circles by now.

The idea of a marriage ceremony was a little skewed in his own mind. His own parents had been married all his life, but his mother's safety had depended upon his father keeping it a secret, so things like ceremonies mattered very little to him in terms of romance. He himself as an escort man found himself on the wrong side of marriage vows quite a lot, usually by accident, usually finding out during or after his services were being performed.

During his first few weeks with Varis, getting to talk about Lady Mia and how devastated he was at her loss, left him in a state of disinterest for marrying again, yet here this letter was, and there this ring was.

Their letters back and forth were always circular. 

I miss you, I love you, I need you, please stop what you’re doing and be with me, sent back and forth to each other, with more or less words added depending on the mood, with various levels of sorrow or contempt added on.

Kiryll couldn’t tell if his fixation was worse, or if Varis’s fixation was worse, but Kiryll figured that if Varis were truly off his rocker, he did have the means to do something intense, like have him kidnapped if he wanted, but it obviously wasn’t what he wanted. And that’s what kept Kiryll’s thoughts swirling back to him.

The first time he tried it, he didn’t even think it would work, but it actually did, and he immediately teleported back home. He had no idea if anyone even noticed he had tried.

The second time he tried it, it was the middle of the night, and he crept out into the room, trying to be as silent as he could. Varis had a habit of sleeping on his side, and usually clutched something close to his chest, usually a pillow or a blanket when a partner was not available. Kiryll placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to wake him, but he was completely out. This would have been the perfect time to perhaps murder him while his guards thought his room completely secure, but that was never what he wanted. Unsure how he would take to waking up next to him, Kiryll wrote him a note instead. “Will call again tomorrow a little earlier.”

The third time was a little more fun, and could have very well counted as the first or only time it was used to its intended effect.

The fourth time was when it fell out of its hiding place as Kiryll was moving out of Ul’dah, after he had helped defeat the Endsinger. He had no idea what he was thinking, but he tried it and found himself in a freefall in Babil Tower, which he supposed was better than finding the room in a state of desecration initiated by Zenos, but it was still upsetting, but not so upsetting that he couldn’t quickly chant Return before hitting some grated metal platform.

Ul’dah continued on, as bright as ever, not having a single clue what he was going through, and for the most part, it was good that it didn’t, and it would be pretty terrible if it acknowledged his grief, because then a lot of people would know about it, but it was too hot outside, and too bright, and too noisy for his tastes, so he just made for his apartment and continued to pack.

[sparkypantaloons]

A Storm

“I promise you.” Bruce had said. “If you come home, I will keep you safe. I will keep them safe. I will keep us whole. I promise.”

Tim is taken. Each of his family react differently.

There’s a rushing in Tim’s ears. Like a waterfall. It’s so loud he can’t see. Can that happen? Can noise affect sight? He doesn’t know.

There’s a hand on his back. Gentle, but firm. He thinks maybe someone is talking to him, but he can’t see. He can’t see anything over the rushing in his ears.

No, that’s not right. He needs to start again. Try again. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, covers his ears, takes a deep breath.

“Tim?” Is it Bruce? Someone’s hands are on Tim’s arms, pulling his hands from his head. The person in front of him is stooping slightly, so they can look him in the eye. “Can you hear me?”

“'m fine.” Tim says. But his eyes can’t focus, it’s too loud in here. “I just need, I… just need t’sleep.” He grimaces, the noise too bright for his eyes.

There’s more sound then. Voices he thinks, but he’s not sure. He can’t see who they belong to. Then there’s a hand around his ankle, gripping him roughly. He flinches in the hold, starts to struggle as his shoes are removed. Then his socks. What is going on?

His feet? What about his feet? He tries to speak, but it’s so loud in here, he can’t form the words. A forehead presses against his, green eyes bore into his own. Jason?

Hands hold his feet to the floor, press down. More talking. It could be shouting now.

The hands let go of his feet. Move to his face. “Your feet, Timmy. Concentrate on your feet.”

Tim opens his eyes. Jason is still there, his bright green eyes, searching and insistent. “'m home?” Tim mumbles.

“Concentrate on your feet, Timmy. What can you feel?”

Tim closes his eyes again. His feet. He can feel… wood. Wooden floor. Wooden floorboards and the thin gaps between them. The Manor floor. The Manor.

“Yeah, Timmy.” Jason says. His hands move from Tim’s face, pull the teenager into a bear hug. “You’re home. You’re home.”

~~

Leslie pushes her glasses back up her nose. Lets out a sigh. “It’s just going to take time, Bruce.” She says. She’s firm, as always. But there’s a softness in her eyes. A sadness. “Like all things.”

Bruce doesn’t speak. Just rubs his face with his hands. Hangs his head.

“Why is he so disorientated?” Dick asks. His right hand is still bandaged up, swollen, but it’s no longer bleeding through.

Jason sucks his teeth from where he’s leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. Leslie and Dick both ignore him.

“Sensory deprivation, especially for so long-- it can take a little while to recover.” Leslie is matter of fact. There’s no point mincing her words. “You have to take it slow.”

“Touch is best to start with.” Jason says, pushing himself off the wall. “It’s grounding.”

Dick, Leslie and Bruce look over at him. He shrugs. “It worked for me.”

A pained look crosses Dick’s face. Leslie interrupts before he can speak. “Let Tim lead, let him set the pace.” Her words hang in the air. “It’ll take time. But he’s strong.” She says. “He’ll pull through.”

~~

Dick wakes up in a sweat, breathless. His right hand is throbbing. He tries to flex his fingers, flinches as his broken knuckles protest. It’s not the worst injury he’s ever had. Not by far. But the way he got it…

He shakes his head, tries to dislodge the memory of a shattered eye-socket, a dislocated jaw, a cracked skull. Tries to shed the jarring realisation that he broke his hand on a man’s face. Tries to make himself at least feel a sense of responsibility for the damage done. He doesn’t.

He makes his way to the kitchen, pads barefoot through the Manor. He pulls an ice-pack out of the freezer, holds it on his aching fist. The cold seeps into his joints, consumes the burn of displaced bone and absent guilt. He feels calmer.

Touch is grounding, Jason had said. Dick doesn’t want to think about how the younger man, his younger brother, knew that. Doesn’t want to know which one of a lifetime of traumatic experiences had taught him that little gem. But he can’t dispute it. The touch of the cold helps.

He makes his way back upstairs. Turns left, instead of right. To Tim’s room.

The door is pulled to. The most Alfred would allow. Bruce had been adamant about staying by Tim’s side, so had Jason, so had Dick. Alfred had refused all of them.

“Wayne Manor is the safest, most secure building on the eastern seaboard, if not the entire continent. None of you will do Master Timothy any good if you don’t get some sleep. He will be safe, in the meantime.”

Bruce had tried to protest, Jason had made threats, all but hissed at Alfred’s suggestion. The older man hadn’t budged. “I will stay with Master Timothy. In case he wakes.”

He wasn’t wrong. They needed rest, all of them. The search had been… long. Too long. Desperate, and increasingly frantic with each passing hour. And there had been so many hours.

He swallows down a memory. Of the howl that felt like it had been ripped out of his soul when they found Tim. Dick hadn’t even realised the noise had come from his own mouth, didn’t notice the tears of rage on his own face, as he took his hands to the men holding Tim captive. Broke his hands on the men who had taken his brilliant, darling brother. Locked him in the dark, alone, for too, too long.

Dick hovers outside Tim’s door. Holds his ear to the wood. He can’t hear anything over his own breathing, his own heartbeat.

“Just open it, Dickhead.” It’s Jason. He's dressed in a spare pair of Bruce’s pyjamas. Despite his size they're somehow still too big for him. It makes him look young. Too young. Dick stares at him for a moment before doing as he says.

The pair of them fill the doorway. Wait as their eyes adjust to the light in the room. Gloomy shadows fall in through the window; the blinds have been left open. Dick’s eyes scan the bed but his ears hear Jason’s breathing hitch. He feels the younger man go rigid beside him, knows his own body has responded the same. Because Tim is gone. Again.

Panic forces itself into what little space is between them, and Dick is only vaguely aware that Jason is gripping his wrist. Holding him too tightly, clinging onto him as though he’s scared one of them will disappear too.

A small cough brings them back to their senses. Alfred. The older man is sat in the corner of the room, by the window. A patient vigil in the dark. He nods to the far side of the bed.

Jason all but drags Dick with him as he marches into the room. They stop just past the bed. Tim is asleep on the floor. He’s curled into a ball, a single sheet held tight over his head. Dick only knows it’s him from the tuft of hair that’s sticking out.

He feels Jason let go of his wrist. The younger man stumbles backwards. He nods to Alfred then leaves the room, gone as quick as he entered.

Dick watches him go, a new worry blooming in his chest. He looks at Alfred, and the older man shakes his head sadly.

~~

Jason is in his old room. His old en-suite more accurately. His knees protest against the tile as he wretches into the toilet.

I am safe, I am warm, I am whole.

He repeats the words in his mind like a mantra. Tries to control his breathing. He fails. Another wave of nausea has him wretching again. Acid burning its way up his throat.

A hand presses to his back and he flinches. He hadn’t heard anyone come in. Bruce places a glass of water on the floor beside him, pushes his hair back from his face.

Jason wipes his mouth on his sleeve, takes a shaky sip of water. Bruce rubs circles on his back.“Don’t.” Jason croaks, and he hates himself when the warmth of the hand is removed. He looks up at Bruce. “You promised you’d keep them safe.” He says, and he can’t keep the hurt out of his voice. Can’t keep the tears from his eyes. “You promised.”

“I know.” Bruce says. He pulls the younger man into a hug, holds him tight against his chest. “I’m sorry.” His son’s tears soak through his shirt.

~~

Jason doesn’t know how long they sit there. Tangled limbs on the cold, hard tiles of the bathroom floor. Only knows that he needs Bruce to let go. He pulls himself out of his father’s arms, pushes himself to his feet. He needs to brush his teeth.

Bruce sits on the floor behind him, as Jason scrubs the bile and acid from his mouth. He presses too hard with the toothbrush, can taste the copper of blood against mint. But the dig of the bristles in the soft flesh of his gums is grounding. Reminds him he’s still alive.

I am safe, I am warm, I am whole.

Jason can remember sleeping on the floor. He’s slept on so many of them. The dingy corner of their apartment growing up, when all they could afford was a single mattress and Willis refused to let him share. The cardboard box by one of the subway vents behind the old Monarch Theatre. The floor of this very bedroom, the bed too soft for him to sleep in, threatening to drown him as soon as he fell asleep. Then the streets again, when he had wandered aimlessly after his death.

He can remember the dark too. Of being locked in a closet and forgotten for days at a time, when his infant crying became too much for Willis. Of his eyes swollen shut as the Joker beat the life out of him. Of his coffin, as he lay there screaming for Bruce to save him.

Jason’s life was a short but terrible history of hard floors and dark rooms and Tim’s was never meant to be like that.

They’d found him in all but a box, eight feet by eight feet by eight feet. There were no windows, the door had been soldered shut. He was being fed once a day. Some bread and water slid through a hatch in the wall, and a bucket too. Swapped out every 24 hours. Nobody ever spoke to him, nobody ever asked anything of him. No-one ever demanded anything from them either, neither The Bats, nor The Waynes.

He spits into the sink. Toothpaste pink with blood. He rinses his mouth. Splashes his face. Takes a deep breath.

They just took him and kept him. Because they could.

Jason had known people like that too, once. If he clings to it, it’s the only thought that makes him grateful Tim has been left alone for so long. Even as it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Coming home, coming back to his family had been as painful and awful as clawing himself out of his own grave. An endless fight against the pit and its madness, that drove him to hurt the people he loved. An ongoing battle against the deep, deep wound in his heart that The Joker still lived. And a terrifying, haunting fear that he would lose them again. That after all they had been through, after he finally got his family back, they would be taken from him and he would be alone once more.

“I promise you.” Bruce had said. “If you come home, I will keep you safe. I will keep them safe. I will keep us whole. I promise.”

Jason turns away from the sink. Walks back into his room. Leaves Bruce sat on the cold, tiled floor.

~~

Eventually Bruce pulls himself to his feet. Jason’s room is empty when he passes through. He doesn’t allow himself to wonder where he might have gone. Of all the broken promises he has made to Jason, he knows this one has hurt his son the most. That Jason’s single biggest fear is losing the family he has so desperately longed for, both of his lives. That Jason would rather never love at all, than love and lose it all over again. This time had been too close. For Jason. For all of them.

It had taken them too long to get a lead on where Tim was being held. Far too long. And even then, they couldn’t confirm an exact location. They’d had no choice but to split up. Cass, and Damian had joined the Titans on the West Coast. Dick and Jason had come with him on the East.

He pulls out his phone, checks on the location of Cass and Damian for the nineteenth time that night. They’re making steady progress. Will be in Gotham before sunrise. His arms ache with a desperate need to hold them, know that they are safe. To have the physical proof, that all his children are alive and breathing, in his hands.

It had taken him a long time to let go of Tim once they found him. To pass his sweet, brilliant boy over to Leslie, so she could check him over. Confirm he was okay.

Tim was older now than Jason had been when he… Tim was older, but he had still felt just as small and young and broken, when Bruce had lifted him out of that box they’d kept him in. Out of the darkness. His body weak and trembling.

It had been Tim who had been taken, but Bruce had looked at the body in his arms and seen Robin, limbs twisted and broken. Seen Nightwing, lips blue and heart stopped by a hand held to his face. Seen another Robin, sword run through him, splitting his battered body almost in two. Seen Red Robin, riddled with bullet holes, blood running out of every one. He had held Tim and seen everyone of his children dead in his arms. An endless cacophony of death.

He reaches Tim’s room. Stands in the doorway and hopes that Alfred can’t see him in the darkness. He tries to remember back to when he took Dick in. Tries to recall what, in the name of all the Gods, had possessed him to allow his child, his children, out into the night with him. Tries to remember how he reached the conclusion that he could risk their single precious lives for his own crusade. How he could risk their safety for a single second.

He steps into the room. Hears Alfred sigh from his seat by the window.

“Don’t ask me to leave.” Bruce croaks out. His throat is tight, trying to hold a tidal wave of emotion at bay. “Don’t.”

Alfred stands. “Of course not.” He says softly, and he gestures to where Tim is sleeping on the floor. “Did you get any sleep?” He asks.

Bruce doesn’t respond. Just stares down at Tim, eighteen but looking for all the world like the ten year old who had shown up on Bruce’s doorstep all those years ago. The sheet is twisted round his limbs, his face screwed into a frown.

“Why is he on the floor?” Bruce asks. Though he has a good idea already.

Alfred takes a steadying breath. “He’s been…” He pauses. “He’s been sleeping on the floor so long, it’s what he’s used to n—“ He cuts himself off abruptly, turns to the window away from Bruce.

Bruce feels a burn in his throat. Knows that Alfred is fighting down the same tears that he is. He places a hand on Alfred’s shoulder. “I’ll stay with him now. Get some rest.”

Alfred nods. Places a hand over Bruce’s but doesn’t look at him. “And you, Bruce.” He says and he leaves. Pulls the door closed gently behind him.

Bruce turns back to Tim. His darling boy. He kneels down, gently detangles the sheets from his son’s legs. Tim doesn’t stir. Bruce lies down next to him, lays the sheet over them both.

Touch is grounding. Jason had said. And it’s all Bruce can do not to pull Tim into his arms and never let go. But Leslie had said baby steps. So instead he settles for running his fingers through Tim’s hair and holding his face in his hands. Moves his head closer so he can feel the soft rise and fall of Tim’s breath.

This would have to do, for now.

[neonponders]

I’ve never written Murder Boyfriends before, but @cuepickle ‘s art is just so lovely and powerful.

Based on this and this 💗 💜 🖤 (impending smut ahoy)

• • • • • • •

I just want to help, he’d said.

I just want to make things right, he’d said.

Steve said a lot of things. But he moaned incoherent words and exclaimed sounds he didn’t want anyone else to hear when Billy Hargrove steamrolled into his life, his feelings, and his goddamn morals.

Billy Hargrove wasn’t...right. He was twelve different shades of wrong, punctuated by Caribbean blue eyes and decorated with bronzed waves and curls. Steve knew he had a superiority complex, but he hadn’t known it was this bad.

Thing is, if he’d known, Steve couldn’t guarantee whether he’d change anything. Because knowing Billy Hargrove is a murderer would also mean Steve knew what his lips tasted like, and their softness against his neck.

All Steve had known was that Sheriff Hopper was missing, and his parents, being the upstanding white people that they are, deferred nearly every inconvenience to the police. And the police answered, because fat wallets keep their lights on, like everyone else.

But the Sheriff’s phones kept ringing. And maybe Steve had his own complex after so much time with Nancy, because he parked out front and strolled right into the Sheriff’s office.

The secretary wasn’t there.

Neither were the two deputies.

Steve tucked himself between the desks to pry apart the window blinds. Their cars were still here -

Steve’s head rotated at a sound he knew. He knew it in the way a memory piqued but he couldn’t place where or why. He followed it into the chief’s office...where Billy Hargrove sat at the desk - Hopper’s own chair - and ate a crisp apple from the strange pile in the waste paper basket.

“Billy?”

“Hi, Steve,” he smiled. Ankles crossed on the desk. A perfect, violet crescent framed the side of his eye. An indigo shadow rested in the inner corner of the other one. Either way, Steve’s first red flag was that he ached with concern more than itched for the nailed bat in his trunk.

“What happened to you?”

Steve thought the guy might choke, the way he tipped his head back to laugh while chunks of apple sat in his mouth. Naturally, it took him some time to chew and swallow before he said, “I finally stopped being afraid. And I started being responsible. Not the way he planned, though.”

“Hopper?” Steve frowned.

Billy did not answer immediately. He licked the apple like it might drip juice and beckoned, “Why don’t you sit down? I want to see you.”

The only lights on were in the main room where Steve stood. Ghoulish, fluorescent bulbs while Billy sat in shadow and vague, evening light hatching through the Chief’s window blinds. There was some kind of irony there: Steve in the fake, green-tinged light, and Billy in the natural...honest darkness.

Steve peeked behind him, surveying the room but finding no warnings apart from the negative space where people should be.

He stepped into the office -

“I’ve always liked looking at you.”

Steve paused on the carpet. Billy had said it loud enough to hear, but with enough air in it that Steve couldn’t tell if he was drunk or hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Then he tried to sit in one of the chairs -

“Over here. Sit on the desk.”

“What?” Steve blinked at him, suddenly very aware that the light gave Billy full view of his face but Steve only got the glow in that dark blond hair.

A strong leg pushed Billy away from the desk. The apple tumbled onto its pile of brothers, discarded as he pat the desk. “Sit right here.”

Steve shook his head all at once, beginning to backpedal out of the room. “This is weird.”

“No shit. This whole town’s weird. I’ve been reading some personal files in this room. I guess the Chief thought he was being smart, but...I’ve been hiding my whole life. I know where people hide things. A lot of things make sense in this place, now. The rat pack Max hangs out with. And you. A lot of things makes sense about you, Steve.”

Steve shrugged and his hands clapped against his thighs. “Okay? You’re not special for seeing my report cards.”

Billy’s features froze, but only for a moment, and then laughter burst out of him. “Steve, please sit down. God, I wanna touch you.”

Steve Harrington is a simple person. He’d officially been single for far too long, struck out every time he faced a woman - and a couple guys who were too scared or oblivious to do anything - and he just...

He wanted.

He wanted to be touched and if Billy was offering - Hot Stuff Hargrove, Baby Doll Eyes Billy - then Steve couldn’t help but take. He’d been so patient with everyone. He waited for Nancy to be ready. He accepted defeat when everyone walked away from him with rolling eyes or obligatory smiles.

Billy...talked. He talked and talked. He’d always been a talker; on the basketball court, barking orders as a lifeguard. Always talking, or letting his radio talk for him.

But Steve sat on Hopper’s desk and felt the warmth of Billy’s palms seep through his jeans. He held onto Steve’s calves as he talked. Talked about terrible things. Broken plates and abandoned things. Being the abandoned thing. Being the broken thing. He talked for hours before finally fucking Steve on that desk.

He’d started slow. Just unbuttoning the jeans and then leaving them alone. It would be another half hour before he took off Steve’s shoes. Every time Steve looked behind him - as if asking for someone to come in, to interrupt, to break this dark dream Billy wove around him - Billy said, “Look at me.”

“I’ve been looking at you, Billy.”

A small smile twitched on his lips. “Good.”

It would be another hour before he said, “I think my dad killed my mom.”

Less than a minute before he added, “He had it coming. Feel bad for my step-mom, though. But she was a screamer. So was the tall deputy. Things can finally be quiet now.”

Steve sat very still as arms circled around his pelvis and Billy just...hugged him. Pressed his face against Steve’s soft belly and inhaled his scent. Warm laundry and Steve Steve Steve.

He couldn’t be sure how things evolved into sex. Steve was already trapped in Billy’s web, so all he had to do was decide, to give the web a pluck and Steve felt the vibrations.

He planted his hands on the desk, lifting his ass for Billy to wrench the jeans and underwear off in one go. They got stuck on Steve’s feet, bunched up so Steve had to figure it out himself as Billy pressed himself over top of him.

The green desk lamp fell with an ominous clank.

Steve finally got a leg free and wrapped it around Billy’s ass the same time teeth found his neck. The warning bells that had been ringing since he got here felt far away; church bells too high over the town to actually make a difference in the goings-on.

Billy marked him up like he had paperwork to sign. Steve’s deed was his, and Billy moaned and grunted with every sigh he wrung out of Steve. Every squeeze to his waist made him moan, and he outright whimpered when Billy licked up his neck. For how much Billy gripped, bit, and sucked, he moved surprisingly gently below the belt.

“Gonna get lube later,” he said in that way again, traveling down Steve’s body as his thoughts escaped into the air. “I’m going to have your ass every which way, Harrington.”

Steve could only gasp as his tongue shoved inside him with no preamble. “I-I-I didn’t shower - ”

A guttural, breathy hum ricocheted from Billy’s throat and into Steve’s chest, knocking Steve’s head back like a rock on the way there. Billy’s stubble and gross wetness made Steve feel filthy in the best way. His cock lay heavily on his abdomen, spurting precum every time Billy’s hands squeezed the backs of his thighs.

Steve came like he’d never been touched in his life. His breathing picked up and he rutted against Billy’s face twice before making a mess of his shirt.

Billy took his slowly fading erection into his mouth, jerking himself off almost violently in a matter of seconds.

When Steve stepped outside, the air smelled like the sunrise even though only the faintest bit of blue had begun to dilute the darkness. And as the sun rose, Steve had never felt worse. It was like seeing a demogorgon for the first time, but instead of minutes, it stretched into hours.

People were dead.

Presumably Chief Hopper too.

Billy, he...he...

He showed up to Steve’s house with a smile and freshly laundered clothes. Steve had showered but looked like he hadn’t slept in a month. Billy only tipped his head back toward his car. “I’ve got two bank accounts freshly inherited. Let me buy you lunch.”

Steve wondered if Dustin’s comic book villains drove Camaros.

Billy bought him lunch. Bought him a chocolate milkshake too. Steve didn’t want to think about his ability to swallow those down so easily. Or how he interacted with the waitress like he wasn’t covered in red and brown love bites delivered directly atop Chief Hopper’s desk. He didn’t want to think what having all of Billy Hargrove’s attention on him did to his squirming...pleased...insides.

He didn’t want to think as Billy fingered him in the backseat.

They didn’t even fit back there but Billy moved with what felt like the strength of three men. It was arousing, being manhandled like that; any fear Steve ought to have held in his gut tapped its disapproving toe outside of the vehicle. The way Billy sucked behind his ear, gripped his hips so he could slot himself right in between Steve’s legs and rut his dark pink erection against Steve’s...

The way he bought Steve more milkshakes.

And a fresh tire rotation because his car veered to the left.

And filled him up in the darkness of Steve’s bedroom, making Steve bounce on his cock as he licked the taste of him off his lubed up fingers - 

“You haven’t even kissed me yet.”

It just...came out.

The husky lust cleared from Billy’s eyes when Steve said that. Terror must have filled Steve’s eyes because Billy gently cradled the side of his head.

This is it. This is how I die. Wanting a freaking kiss from a psycho -

“I thought you’d be the one to do that.”

Steve blinked vacantly at him. He could feel Billy’s heartbeat inside his ass and the guy just smiled -

“King Steve. Never thought you were shy - mmph.”

Billy’s bravado melted against Steve’s mouth. He hummed as he felt Steve’s precum on his belly, soaking them both with what he did to him, did to Steve and all of his flawed moral systems.

Steve pushed Billy onto his back with his kiss, tongue desperately tasting and exploring his mouth as his fingers laced behind Billy’s neck.

Until Billy reached up and pulled Steve’s hands apart, just enough for the bases of his palms to sit on both pulse points.

Billy did it himself: made his cheeks go pink and his chest flush red. But Steve made his ass slap against Billy’s thighs. Made Billy’s jaw go slack and his orgasm slow. Made his eyes water and his chest heave when he could breathe again.

Maybe that was his chance. His chance to make things right.

But with an empty Sheriff’s office down the road, and still no one the wiser, Hawkins wasn’t living by any sort of right anymore. The only right that Steve knew, was Billy’s hands making him feel powerful and precious.

[hstyleshoney]

Luck On Tour

A/N: Soo, this is my little thing for @oh-honey-styles​ HSFICSLAM 2 challenge. I’ve been struggling to write something for a while now and this kind of just caught my attention because it seemed like fun. It’s nothing too serious or fancy. Just a little bit of fun. If one person enjoys it then I’m happy, bc I just had a good time writing again. 

Let me know your thoughts, it would mean a lot!!! xx 

WC: 2.7K // a cheesy story about good luck charms and love 

“You’re jealous aren’t you?”

“What?” 

You blinked and turned around to glance at Charlotte who was looking at you with a smug smile. She raised her eyebrows knowingly and nodded her head in the direction you had just been glaring.

“I told you this was gonna happen.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you told her, taking a deep breath, before forcing a strangled laugh from your chest. “Why would I be jealous?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Charlotte hummed and tapped her chin, pretending to be deep in thought before continuing. “Maybe because you two have been sleeping together for a couple of weeks now and you won’t admit it’s more than a ‘friends with benefits’ type of thing.”

You opened your mouth to tell her she was wrong, but Charlotte stopped you by putting her hand up and adding; “And now you’ve been glaring at poor Rosie for the last ten minutes for doing his hair - which, you know, is her job.”  

“I have not.”

“Sure,” she chuckled mockingly and pressed her lips together to stop herself from grinning. “If you say so.”

Instead of replying you turned around to look at Harry again. He sat across the room from you, getting ready for the last and final show of his tour, with Rosie standing in front of him. Your eyes went to her hands as she ran her fingers through his brown hair and twirled his locks around her fingers to give him a little more definition.

And you had no reason to be jealous - but maybe you were? Just a little bit. Just the tiniest little bit jealous.

Because you now knew just how soft his hair was and that morning you had been the one to soothingly run your hands through it as he rested his head on your chest, cuddling up to you and holding you close.

Still, you really shouldn’t be jealous, because Rosie was only doing her job as his hairstylist and there was absolutely no reason for you to be jealous. None. Nada. Zero.

But then there was also that interviewer who, in your opinion, sat way too close to him and touched his arm a little too often. Laughing and flirting with him like no one else was around. It left a sour taste in your mouth, although you would never admit that outloud. Especially not to Charlotte.

It was only supposed to be a bit of fun. It was never supposed to get to this point. You were only supposed to be the tour photographer. Harry had liked the pictures you had taken of him during one of his Jingle Bell Ball performances a while back. And when his regular photographer wasn’t able to join him on the North American part of his tour, due to a conflict in her schedule, his team reached out and asked if you were available.

You were.

So a couple weeks later you were on a plane, traveling across the Atlantic, and ended up befriending one of the world's biggest pop stars.

How you ended up naked in his bed after the show in Chicago was still something you were trying to figure out.

It kind of just... happened.

One of the crew members had turned 40 and Harry had arranged a big birthday party for him after the show. You weren’t supposed to be working but you couldn’t stop yourself from pulling out your camera, the moment was there and you wanted to capture everyone's good spirits. Harry came up to you, a plate of cake in one hand and a drink in the other, forcing you to take it from him and telling you to put the camera away and have some fun.

One drink turned into another, and another turned into a third, and the third turned into a shot of tequila. It was all just downhill from there.

As the night went on you found yourself being drawn closer to Harry and when his fingers danced across the skin on your thigh you knew there was no going back. An hour later you stumbled into his hotel room, and his hands and lips were all over you as you ripped his shirt from his body before the door was even fully closed behind you.

The next morning you woke up with a raging headache and a belly full of regret because it was terribly unprofessional of you to sleep with the artist you were supposed to be working for. You were sure you were going to be told to pack your bags and go back home.

Of course that didn’t happen and Harry was nothing but sweet. He ordered both of you breakfast and let you sleep off your hangover in his bed while he got himself ready for the day.

Then it kind of just became a thing, because life on the road could be a little lonely and your pink vibrator wasn’t always enough.

It didn't bring you the same warmth Harry did.

And he didn’t seem to mind sharing a bed with you either, even if he sometimes complained about your cold toes rubbing against his legs.

So, really, who were you to say no?

But perhaps you should’ve because now the tour was coming to an end and you had no idea where the two of you stood and the uncertainty of it all was making you jealous of his hairstylist touching him - not ideal.

Which was why you decided to remove yourself from the situation and went to get your camera ready instead. You found yourself a quiet spot in a small corner next to the stage and tried to ignore the immature thoughts about Harry and Rosie running through your mind.

You shouldn't be jealous. It was stupid. Besides you and Harry weren’t anything exclusive. Sure, he made your heart beat twice as fast and made you feel things you had only ever read about in novels before, but you hadn’t told him any of that yet.

And you weren’t really sure how to tell him any of that. 

Should you even tell him?

Telling him would make it real and what if he didn’t feel the same... that would certainly be the end of whatever was going on between the two of you. 

But it was possible that the end of the tour also represented the end of the two of you, so, maybe you didn’t even have anything to lose by telling him?

You groaned to yourself and ran a hand over your face in frustration, eyes squeezed shut as you tried to drown out your thoughts with the sound from all the screaming fans in the already full-packed arena. The anticipation was high and usually it made your whole body itch with excitement as well, there was just so much love and adoration going around for one person. It was impossible to not be part of it, but tonight it only made your belly twist with anxiety.

You were going to miss it. The loud crowds. The anticipation. The joy radiating off of everyone in the arenas. The ringing in your ears as you got into bed hours later. The sparkle in Harry’s eyes as he looked through the pictures you’d taken and saw the happy faces of his fans.

You were going to miss him. Harry.

It was one of the reasons you hadn’t asked him how he felt about the two of you. If he turned around and said that your late night rendezvous was only a bit of fun while you were on the road... Well, it was something you weren’t ready to hear just yet.

Fuck.

It was also at that exact moment that Harry decided to show up, only a couple minutes before he was due to go out on stage.

“There you are,” he called out when he spotted you, your green trousers and matching striped blazer making you stand out from your little hideout in the dark corner. You watched as he said something to Jeff before making his way over to you. “Been lookin’ for ya for bloody ages - thought I’d have to go on stage without a goodluck from my little ladybug.”

You tried your best to ignore the way your whole body tingled from his little nickname for you; a nickname that started after he noticed the small little ladybug ring you always wore on your right index finger. You had had it since you were twelve and you just couldn’t get rid of it. Ever since you first saw it in the small thrift shop in your hometown it had been your good luck charm.

And once Harry asked about it and learned that you wore it every single day for good luck, he decided it was also the reason why the North American tour had been going so well and didn’t go on stage before you had wished him a good show.

“Well, here I am.”

Harry frowned and stopped in his tracks. You couldn’t look at him, the high waisted trousers and sparkling suit jacket he was wearing made your already racing heart beat even faster.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just getting ready,”  you muttered and nodded down to the camera in your hands. You didn’t mean to sound so bitter but the words fell from your lips before you could stop yourself. “Are you all set for the last show then? Maybe you should go find Rosie again to make sure the hair is good.”

You regretted it as soon as you said it, your cheeks turning hot as the last phrase slipped from your tongue.

That was stupid.

His eyes burned through your skin and you knew there was no way he was going to let your snide little remark go. Stupid stupid stupid.

For a moment you contemplated just making a run for it so you could hide in the lively crowd for the whole show and then simply just disappear into the night, so you wouldn’t ever have to look Harry Styles in the eyes ever again.

But something stopped you.

A low, almost inaudible, chuckle fell from the man in front of you and you glanced up at him just as his lips curled into a small smirk, his dimple appearing on his cheek, and you felt your face grow even hotter. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

Harry held his hands up innocently.

“I’m not looking at you in any way,” he said, still smirking, and let his tongue poke out to lick his pink lips.

“Yes, you are! I don’t like that-” you started and waved your finger at him, “Whatever it is you're doing with your face.”

“Are you jealous?” Harry asked, ignoring your frustrated little stomp, and took a step closer to you.

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous,” you said, taking a shaky breath and a step backwards away from him, making both of you disappear in the shadows of the dark corner where you had previously been hiding as he followed and continued to come closer.

“You are, aren’t you?”

“I’m not.”

“It’s fine if you are.”

“You really need to stop or I’ll only snap pictures of you from your worst angles tonight.”

Not that he really had any bad angles but that was beside the point. It was absolutely infuriating how he could see right through you so easily.

Harry laughed and took one final step forward, trapping you between his body and the wall. His familiar perfume washed over you and you wanted to bathe in it forever. He always smelled so damn good, and for a moment you forgot about your childish behavior from a couple seconds ago and let yourself get lost in the green of his eyes

“You know you have nothing to be jealous of, right?” Harry told you and reached out to push a strand of your hair away from your face. His fingers gently brushed across the apple of your cheek, making your heart flutter and head fuzzy. He was no longer smirking at you but his lips were still turned upwards. Instead of the smug smirk he was now looking down at you with a soft smile - the same smile you had gotten so used to seeing first thing in the morning, and you were sure you wouldn’t mind if you got to see it every morning for the rest of your life.

“Do I?” you breathed out nervously. 

“Well, when we’re back in London I'm gonna make sure to finally take you on a proper date and-”

“What?”

You didn’t mean to cut him off. It just took you completely off guard and the words fell from your lips before you could think twice about it. “You want to take me out on a date in London?”

That caught him a little off guard.

“Oh,” Harry faltered a little and scratched the back of his neck. For the first time there was a hint of nervousness across his otherwise confident features. “I kind of just assumed we would, eh, we don’t have to- I mean if you, um- if you don’t- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed you wanted to continue things back home.”

And you probably really should’ve said something then, but you were at a loss for words. It was the first time either of you had ever mentioned something about seeing each other after the tour was done. You finally had an answer to the question that had swirled around in your head for days and had created the uncertainty and jealousy in the first place. Just like that.

You had spent all day trying to decide whether you should tell him your feelings for him had changed and admit you wanted to see him more, and there he was -- already planning for your first official date.

You really needed to say something.

But someone else beat you to it.

“H!” It was Jeff. “You’ve got less than a minute until you have to get on stage, c’mon!”

Harry turned around and gave his friend a thumbs up, to let him know he had heard him, before he looked down at you again.

“Alright, duty calls I guess,” he said and gave you a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Again, I’m sorry.”

And you knew you had to say something because you couldn’t let him do his final show thinking you didn’t actually want to continue seeing him. Especially when it was the opposite of what you wanted.

“Wait,” you burst out and reached for his hand to stop him from leaving. “I do. I do want to see you.”

Harry’s dimple made another appearance and there was so much more you wanted to say to him. You wanted to tell him how thankful you were to have met him. How happy he made you. How safe you felt in his company. How you could always be yourself around him. How he actually had no right to complain about your cold feet because his own were even colder.

But Jeff beat you again.

“Harry!” He shouted. “Get your ass over here!”

“We probably shouldn’t talk about this right now,” Harry chuckled and pulled you a little closer, his hand still in yours.

“Probably not,” you mumbled and watched as Harry ran his fingers over your dainty little ladybug ring, before lifting your hand to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss to it. His warm lips lingered for a couple seconds on your skin and you could have melted into a puddle right there and then.

“Wish me luck then,” he smiled, his lips still brushing against the skin on top of your hand.  

“You don’t need it.”

“Shhh, don’t ruin it now,” he shushed and shook his head lightly. “S’the last show. I need my ladybug luck.”

“If you need your ladybug luck,” you began quietly and pulled your hand away from his. Harry pouted and reached for your hand to have the little ladybug on your ring between you again, but you were quicker and put your arm around his waist. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

A grin broke out across his face and he didn’t waste any time before pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss that filled your belly with butterflies. Warmth consumed your whole body as you leaned into the kiss and Harry smiled against your lips. You really could’ve stayed in that moment forever.

“Harry!”

Jeff called his name again.

Harry let out an excessive sigh as he broke your kiss and leaned his forehead against yours. His breath warm on your face and as he pressed his lips to yours again in a short peck you realised you were still smiling as well. 

Then he was off to do his final show. 

And despite the thousands of ear piercing screams that filled the arena as he entered the stage the sweet little “Good luck” you shouted after him was the loudest one. 

.

<3 

[nugnthopkns]

i wish i could disappear

word count: 3.6k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, feelings of anxiety due to social media harassment, invasion of privacy that border on stalking

recommended listening: brutal | olivia rodrigo

series masterpost: here

a/n: and we're off to the races!! i love this album and olivia so much. there's a shoutout to goon by tobias jesso jr. in here bc it's my favourite album to cry to lmao (highly recommend giving it a listen!). i'm on the fence about this one but am posting it anyways because i don't think i can make it any better

How the fuck do people find your social media?

All of your accounts are private and Kevin makes sure to never tag you on the rare occasion he posts a picture of the two of you together. The wives and girlfriends who have public accounts make sure to never post about you, and you’re careful not to comment on posts often. You’re a private person and though you understand that due to the nature of your relationship with Kevin you intrigue some fans, you don’t want to give them more than you have to.

Despite making no attempt to open up to the public or media, every day you wake up with hundreds of follow requests from complete strangers. At first it was a little exciting knowing that people were curious about your life but after years of the same routine it’s become draining. It takes you nearly twenty minutes each day to weed through them and accept only the people you know personally. Kevin doesn’t actually know how many people want to catch a glimpse of your daily life because you do your best to keep it from him. Knowing would only bring him stress, and you want him to be able to focus on winning games and loving you with his entire heart.

☼☼☼☼

The phone on your desk rings loudly, pulling your attention away from the computer screen that has way too many numbers on it for your liking. The finance department needed someone to proof their audit before sending it away and since you’re the only one in human relations that has a business degree the job landed on your shoulders. Eager to take a break, you pick it up and press the receiver against your ear.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other side laughs gently, but you immediately know it’s Kevin. “Hi sweetheart,” he says warmly, “How’s work?”

“Fine I guess. It’s work, Kev. Nothing terribly exciting happens here,” you explain but continue to fill him in on all the coffee pot gossip you got this morning. Kevin listens as you complain about forgetting your lunch on the counter and chuckles at how upset the situation makes you.

“What if I told you I’m outside your window with a burrito bowl?”

Excited at the possibility of seeing your boyfriend before dinnertime, you whip towards the window and spot Kevin on the sidewalk, waving like an idiot despite knowing your office is on the fifth floor. You hang up quickly after telling him you’ll be down in two minutes and let the receptionist know you’re stepping out for lunch. There’s a line for the elevator so you head to the stairwell, taking them two at a time in your haste. You’re crossing the street to the small park where Kevin has set up a picnic before your co-workers are even out the door.

You plop down on the blanket beside Kevin and lean into him. He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before passing you the food he brought. You take a bite, sighing at the taste. Kevin knows you better than you know yourself and knew exactly what to get that would satisfy your mounting hunger.

“Thanks babe,” you smile, holding up your fork and offering him a bite. He takes it graciously but makes a face. “What’s the matter?” you laugh as you take the utensil back.

“I fucking hate avocado.”

The two of you eat in relative silence, speaking only when you remember a detail from your morning. Kevin tells you about the drills he’s going to lead at practice in the afternoon and what he plans on cooking for dinner since he’ll be home before you. You insist you can whip something up when you get home but Kevin shakes his head. He reminds you that relationships are give and take, and that you’ve made dinner the past three nights because he had a string of games. You manage to reach a compromise that has you doing the dishes before you have to return to work.

Kevin insists on walking you back to your office even though you protest vehemently. Your relationship is far from secret, and has been the topic of workplace gossip more times than you can count, but after five years you’ve learned to ignore most of it. However, you don’t want your co-workers to think you flaunt your NHL player boyfriend to prove you’re better than them. They all love Kevin, and a couple of them congratulate him on last night’s goal as he follows you down the hall. A few of the newer hires stare in awe and shake his hand, completely blown away that one of Philadelphia’s biggest stars is asking how they like their jobs.

“Pretty soon they’re going to approach you to do PR for us,” you chuckle as you flip the light on and close the door of your office.

His laughter echoes off the walls as a pair of strong arms find a home around your waist. “It would be kind of fun to hear myself crush those radio commercials.”

“Since when do you listen to the radio?”

“Checkmate,” Kevin sighs, pulling you closer. He kisses you quickly, not wanting to give a show to anyone who could be walking past, but it still sends you reeling. You don’t want him to pull away and kiss him again.

You get your way for a few more moments and then Kevin’s leaving with a promise to not burn the house down and wishes for a good rest of the day. Focussed on giving the audit its final once-over you don’t bother pulling your phone from the drawer you had placed it in when you got to work that morning. You turn up the small radio at the corner of your desk and get to work scanning the document for errors. There’s a mistake halfway through that skews the rest of the data and fixing it takes a bit of time, but it isn’t a huge deal. You have nothing else to do except answer a few emails and organize meetings for after the weekend.

An hour or so later you’ve completed all your tasks and debate what to do. It’s too early to leave for the day, so you decide to kill time by checking your phone. You’re expecting a few notifications, perhaps two or three memes in the group chat you share with your friends, but not the hundreds that greet you.

The majority of them are instagram notifications, and assuming they’re just more fans requesting a follow you ignore them, instead heading to your text messages. There’s a picture from Kevin of a dog he found walking home and another from your mom asking why you haven’t called home in a few weeks. However the one from Claude’s wife is the one that piques your curiosity.

Just a heads up that someone posted a pic of you and Kev to one of those stupid wag pages. I filed a request for Instagram to take it down but it’s gotten a lot of traction. Sorry :((

Your heartbeat increases rapidly and a million thoughts fly through your head at a rapid speed. Fingers shaking, you respond with a thanks and open up the dreaded app. You don’t see it immediately, your feed being full of photos belonging to friends and family, but it’s in your messages almost two hundred times. Many of them have text attached and you know there will be a comment about your relationship regardless of which one you open.

Tapping on the most recent message you brace yourself for the worst. The new window opens a photo someone took of you and Kevin while eating lunch in the park across from your office not even three hours prior. It’s grainy and the camera angle is strange, but you’re eating and Kevin is looking somewhere out of frame. The accompanying caption reads Kev and his girlfriend out for lunch today! Follow @philllywagupdates for more :).

You let out a sigh of relief – it could have been a lot worse. Personal pictures of yourself have made it onto pages like that before and most of them they’re paired with mean-spirited captions about your appearance or other trivial matters. Assuming you’re in the clear, you head back to the page of the original message to thank the person for bringing the post to your attention. However, the message accompanying the post is anything but positive.

He can’t even fucking look at you. It’s only a matter of time before he leaves you

The blood in your veins runs cold. You know it’s not true – Kevin’s made it clear you’re the one and truthfully you’re just waiting for a ring – but it doesn’t stop the sting you feel. What could possess someone to say such horrible things? You decide not to respond despite, possibly opening another can of worms with the seen function, and close the app. Leaning back in your office chair you focus on anything but your phone, looking out the window at passersby while regaining your breath. It works for a while, but eventually not knowing what others said eats away at you. You go through every single message to see hundreds of similar comments to the first, with only a few saying they’re glad you’re happy or how posting the picture is a violation of your privacy.

By the time you’re finished your spirit has been crushed. However, it’s also an acceptable time to start the weekend – at least no one in the office will have to see you cry. Things are hastily packed into your bag and you wave a few quick goodbyes before once again taking the stairs. You curse yourself for deciding to walk to work that morning and set off in the direction of home wiping away tears. The last thing you need right now is for someone to recognize you, but you have to get home. Tobias Jesso Jr plays at much too loud a volume through your headphones and Kevin will most certainly remind you it’s bad for your hearing, but the melancholy piano riffs of Goon overpower the thoughts swirling around your head.

Do people really feel that way about me?

Are my friends just too nice to stop inviting me places?

Does Kevin really feel trapped?

Hundreds of similar sentiments and situations cross your mind as you stumble through the streets of downtown Philadelphia, but you force them as far back as possible before opening the door to the apartment you share with Kevin. Hoping to slip inside undetected, you take your shoes off slowly and throw your jacket on the end table instead of hanging it in the closet. Your plan fails somehow and Kevin hears you, greeting you in a goofy apron covered in flour.

“Hey sweetheart,” he smiles, but it drops once your eyes meet and he sees the hurt on your face. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, trying to step around him in pursuit of the bathroom.

Kevin doesn’t buy it and sees right through your feeble words. “It’s not nothing if you’re this upset. If you don’t want to talk now that’s fine, but I think you should get it off your chest.”

You know he’s right, but you also know you can’t tell him the true cause of your despair. “Just some work stuff,” you sigh. “The audit got all fucked up and I had to fix it even though it’s not my job.”

It’s not technically a lie, which makes you feel better, and Kevin buys it. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips in sympathy. “Go take a shower and the gnocchi should be ready by the time you’re done. We can spend the night cuddling on the couch.”

“And watching Selling Sunset?”

“We can watch whatever you want sweetheart,” he chuckles. You part from him with a final kiss and head to the bathroom. Hopefully the steam from the water will carry away the negativity brought on by that damn post.

☼☼☼☼

Time passes but the hateful comments on social media don’t stop. In fact, you’re pretty sure they get worse. It’s so bad that you’ve deleted every app except facebook because you need it for work. Kevin doesn’t notice your abstinence from social media, but he picks up on how you spend more time criticizing yourself or staring off into space. When he pushes you either brush him off or feed some bullshit excuse about how work is getting you down. You know he doesn’t believe you but trusts you enough to come to him when you’re ready to talk.

You aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to tell Kevin what’s been going on. There’s been scrutiny from social media before, when you first started dating, but it quieted down after the initial media frenzy. He helped you through that but it’s different this time around. Never before have you had strangers tell you your life is worthless or that your boyfriend should end your relationship. Some of the other wags notice your absence on instagram but chalk it up to you just taking a break. They reach out via the group chat and send wishes to see you at the next home game. It’s nice to know they care, but the voice in your head that has grown much larger in recent weeks tells you they don’t truly mean it. This leads you to decline the invite as politely as possible, citing extended work hours for your absence. In reality you’re too anxious to be anywhere that isn’t home or work, petrified someone is going to post something that will add fuel to the flames of those who interrogate you.

It’s another Friday afternoon, and you’re leaving the office early once again. There’s a small craft exhibition taking place around the corner from work and today is the last day it’s open. You had been meaning to go all week, hoping to find something small to add to Kevin’s birthday gift. As you step out of the building there’s a small group of young women, who don’t look old enough to have graduated college, standing off to the side. It fills you with dread, worried that somehow someone found out where you work and the insults are going to start occurring verbally, but you force yourself to be rational. You work fairly close to one of the artsier districts in the city and it’s more than likely they just want to find a cute mural to take pictures in front of.

You pass by and swear you hear them snicker, but you remind yourself you’ve just been jumpy lately. When they peel from their place on the wall and follow behind at a distance you think the coincidences are running out. It seems a little too strange how their movements line up with yours, and you go down a few winding side streets in an attempt to lose them. Part of you feels ridiculous because what group of barely legal girls would track a full-blown adult around a city of nearly two million people, but your life is currently strange enough you can’t be sure. They don’t follow you, and by the time you reach the market your heart rate has returned to normal.

The first few stalls have little to catch your eye, but a few rows in you find a leatherworker who makes adorable wallets. Kevin’s is ridiculously old and falling apart at the seams – his mom bought it for him before the two of you got together. You think a new one will make a perfect addition to the concert tickets you already bought and browse the table for something simple and elegant. A deep brown one with tan braiding around the edges catches your eye and you know it’s the one for Kevin. Checking the price to make sure you have enough cash in your wallet, you approach the shop owner to purchase. The older man has a kind smile that reaches his eyes as he thanks you for purchasing from him.

“No, thank you for making something so beautiful!” you gush. “My boyfriend is going to love it.”

It’s then you hear it – snickering accompanied by the click of a camera. You look over your shoulder to see the same group of girls from before laughing as they huddle over a cell phone, no doubt already starting to broadcast the photo across the internet. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. Those girls don’t deserve to see their mission accomplished, but the longer they laugh at you the harder it is to swallow your feelings.

Head held high, you thank the owner one more time before holding your head high and walking past the group. The only way out is past them so you hold your breath and pray they don’t notice you. Unfortunately you aren’t that lucky, and one of them looks up just as you come into earshot.

“If Kevin doesn’t leave you after that sorry excuse for a gift I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” she sneers.

Another one chimes in, “You’re honestly so pathetic.” They all cackle in amusement, and you speed up. The tears flow freely now, and you call an uber even though it will be a ridiculous amount of money. You just want to get home.

The uber driver doesn’t say anything when you get in, though you know it’s strange to be bawling your eyes out at four in the afternoon. You can’t help it – weeks of keeping all the hate to yourself finally got to you and being followed with the sole intent of ridicule is the final straw. At one red light he silently passes you a box of tissues, which you accept gratefully.

Luckily the lobby of your apartment complex is empty and you manage to get to your floor without encountering a familiar face. There’s a few hours until Kevin gets home from his final roadtrip of the season, and if you play your cards right you can get all the tears out and be as normal as possible before he comes through the door. You don’t even bother to put anything away, just head straight to the bathroom to slump against the tub. Sobs rack your body and you lose all sense of time. All you can feel is the hurt you’ve been holding in releasing itself and soaking the material of your blouse.

Kevin finds you laying in the position hours later. He tripped over your shoes coming in the door and immediately knew something was wrong – you always place them neatly on the rack in the closet upon arriving home. Peering through the quiet house for a hint at where you are, he sees the bathroom light on and makes a beeline for the room. It breaks his heart to see you like this, and even more so because he doesn’t know what spurred it on.

“Sweetheart, hey,” he coos, maneuvering his body to sit beside you and pull you into his lap. “What’s the matter?”

You bury your head in his shoulder and clutch the material of his dress shirt as you cry harder at the sound of his voice. Kevin takes your reaction in stride, rubbing circles on your back and working on evening out your breath. He doesn’t pressure you to speak and provides the stability you desperately crave as the world around you spins. An unknown amount of time passes before your tears run out, but spend it all on the bathroom floor curled into Kevin.

“I guess I should have told you sooner,” you mumble, “But I didn’t want to bother you.”

Concern laces Kevin’s features and his eyebrows knit together. “Tell me what?”

“I, uh, have been the subject of some internet hate for the past little bit,” you say sheepishly. It feels stupid to not have told him now, but you can’t change that. “But you were really busy with the season and I wanted to make sure your head was completely focused on the game so I just dealt with it myself. I deleted the apps and tried my best to go about my life. And then today after work I was followed by some people and they said some really hurtful stuff and shit became a little too real.”

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

It’s your turn to be confused. “Why are you sorry Kev? You're Not the one sending me death threats.”

He tucks a loose strand of hair back into your ponytail. “Maybe not, but I still made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about what was going on. What kind of partner am I?”

“The best one,” you say confidently. “It’s okay, I’m okay. I just want to forget about it right now. Can we just disappear for a little bit?”

Kevin wraps his arms around you tighter, as if he can engulf you to protect from the cruel outside world. “We can do whatever you want. If you want to get out of the city for a bit if you want, or just spend the next few days here away from prying eyes.”

“I love you.”

You say it because you mean it, and if you could scream it from the rooftops you would. Kevin is incredibly easy to love, even when you make it difficult for him to love you back. You know another much longer conversation is coming about everything that has happened recently because communication is the only way to solve problems and Kevin deserves that, but you’re thankful he’s willing to put it to rest for a few more moments.

He cracks a smile for the first time since he’s been home and kisses the crown of your head. “I love you too sweetheart,” he whispers, “Always and forever.”

Things are far from over and though you still never want to show your face in public ever again, you know that Kevin is going to do whatever he can to make things better and that’s enough for you.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @ricohenrique @tortito @boqvistsbabe @iwantahockeyhimbo @himbos-on-ice @2manytabsopen if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

[forthechubbies]

What's Wrong With Secretary Park?!

Synopsis• If balancing work and a stubborn ex-husband isn't hard enough, Let's add the boss’s seven sons falling head over heels for her to mix.

Category's• Romcon, Comedy, Office Au.

Duos• BTS X Reader

A spin-off of the original series ‘ What's Wrong With Secretary Kim’ Bangtan Edition! Starring the Handsome, Seo-Joon Park as the Ex husband.

There will be more parts but I didn’t want the title to be to long.

EP. One Two

“ Mrs. Park, Good Morning!”

“Mrs. Park, What does my schedule look like today?”

“Mrs. Park, Your coffee keeps me alive.”

In case you haven’t noticed, Park Yn, I’m the secretary to Jeon Sung-ho, the CEO of Dnd Parmatech, 85 percent of the time, newly build hospitals or centers use our funds as kickstarts. Daily I make schedules, appointments, filing documents, answering calls, and blah blah blah.

Is it boring? Yes, I know. However, quite refreshing coming from my hectic marriage. Once upon a time, I was wedded to the marvelous actor Park Seo-Joon for three years. I sat in the limelight and even had the privilege to play the part of his wife in movies. Sigh. Although the attention and riches were grand, no amount of expensive counseling could save our marriage. We never saw eye to eye on anything, and his short temper wasn’t helping.

Knowing my worth, I packed up and left without a doubt in my head. However, The documentation of our separation wasn’t finalized due to a certain one refusing to sign off on the divorce agreement. So physically, I’m still Mrs. Park but ain’t no piece of paper telling who I belong too.

Whatever! I have too much to focus on already! Game on, Game on! First, I got to get these papers approved and signed by Mr. Jeon then-

Buzz Buzz Buzz!

Who’s calling-

Speak of the devil. I could have sworn I deleted his contact a long time ago! “ What Seo-Joon? I’m busy-“

“ When is this little temper tantrum going to end? Darling, I think you made your point.”

“My point?! Listen here, You slimy son of-” Now, Now Yn calm down calm down don’t let him get a rise out you that just what he wants. A quick exhale should do the trick. “ Seo-Joon, I believe we reached an agreed on no type of communication unless it revolves around the settlement for the divorce.”

How is it possible I can physically see his snarky face?

Seo-Joon stretched out his list of complaints.” It’s been over a year. I miss your kisses, soft skin, that cute birthmark on your-“

“ You will not talk about such embarrassing things over the phone!” Thank goodness, Nobody was around to hear me shot like that.

“Why is this divorce still an issue?!” There goes that temper again-How whinny can one man be? “ If you don’t stop this, I will take matters into my own hands.”

I laughed. “ Ha, Seo-jerk, I’m not scared of you! Do your worst because It doesn’t matter if you drag me back home; it doesn’t subside the problem being over our marriage.” I feel like a broken record at this point. “ If this isn’t about the papers, this conversation is over, Mr. Park; please refrain from calling me again, goodbye.”

He chuckled and mumbled something along the lines of, “ Your cute acting cheeky like this.” The rest he continued louder “ Those delicate hands of yours were made to indulge in the finest silk and satin I can obtain, not working nine to five at whatever job hired a housewife with zero work ethic. I just know I haven’t touched your side of the room since that night- I love you, Mrs.Park, I always will.”

He hung up. You know, after he finished insulting my new lifestyle and calling me a useless housewife, the ‘ I love you’ bit at the end sounds sincere, but he is an actor! Of course.

Hmph! Just because I’m working for myself for one doesn’t mean I’m miserable. I’m actually in love with my job, It pays well with benefits, and I sat on my butt all day. If that pompous little bedazzled turd thinks making me the butt of his jokes will get me back in his arms, he has another thing coming!

“Um, Mrs. Park?”

“ What!” I snapped. “ Oh, Hoseok, I’m sorry!” I bowed my head; the poor thing nearly jumped out of his shoes.

Hoseok beamed his warm heart-shaped smile at me. “ Oppa is having a family meeting today; I guess I’m the first to show.”

I wasn’t informed about a meeting today from Mr.Jeon, maybe because it’s a family affair.

“Tada!” He cutely squeaks. A tasteful package breakfast alongside a tall cup of what I presume is a coffee from..’ Thanks Nature’!

“Oh my- Hobi, this cafe is across town-”

“I overhead Oppa scolding you for skipping meals one day and I’m here to do the same, don’t skip meals or else We will be hurt if something happens to you.” Hoseok pointed at the pack. “ Eat every bit.”

Hoseok displayed a small heart using his index finger and thumb, hopping off to his father’s double doors.

Mr. Jeon has seven sons in all. The man is a true saint; men like him and his sons are why I still believe not all men are dogs. After losing his wife to heart cancer, He just about went bankrupt, donating all he had to have found cures to multiple diseases hoping nobody else had to suffer his same heartbreak.

Love found him again in an orphanage just north of here, ‘Seoul Children Home.’ His first son, Kim Seokjin, at the time Jin was already in his teenage years, making it difficult for him to find a family due to the high demand of couples wanting a single-digit child. His birth family mistreated him, but he was beaten everywhere except his face to keep his handsome appearance. The family decided to put his money-maker to fair use and attempted to sell him. Seokjin saw his opportunity and high-tailed, landing himself in the orphanage where he happily lends a helping hand every chance he got. He learned how to read, write, cook, clean, and even tend to the tots when the nuns were busy.

This is how he met his slightly younger brothers, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, and Kim Namjoon; when being chosen for adoption, Seokjin refused to live without his baby brothers by his side.

“ Hello, Noona!”

Oh, Look just in time, “ Hello, You’re father is in his office.”

Namjoon eyed my edible gift from Hobi and raised his eyebrow as well as a question. “ So this is why Hyung left so early in the morning for-and I hope you’re having a good morning, Noona.”

I’m not older than them. Why do they call me Noona? Do I look old!?

“ Yn, Good morning! How are you!” Jin greeted me with English this morning. He must have been practicing with Namjoon lately.

“ I’m Fine. Seokjin.”

“Chu.” He blew a kiss my way. “ You’re not fine. You’re amazeing.”

“Amazing.” Namjoon corrected for the sidelines.

“Same thing.”

“Pronunciation is everything, Hyung.”

They stopped halfway from their dad’s office. Jin grinned. Wait, I know that smile; oh no, here comes a dad joke.

“ Hey, Namjoon-You know the reason I took the elevator instead of the stairs?”

Namjoon sighed. “ No, why?”

"I don't trust stairs. They're always up to something." Jin burst out laughing and clapped his hands.

I giggled not from the joke, but Jin has a contagious laugh.

“See, Yn has good taste.”

A slow deep groan entered the office belonging to Yoongi, lagging. “ I heard that terrible joke from the elevator.” Yoongi waved and leaned against my desk. “ Good Morning.”

“Good Morning.”

There was an awkward pause before Yoongi tapped my desk and pointed to his dad’s office from walking that way.

“Yoon-Yoongi!?”

He turned back towards me.

“ I have something for you. I packed it up on the way here.” Getting off my butt, I walked up and gave him a bottle of his favorite black ice coffee. Ew. I don’t know how he drinks it with no cream or sugar.

Yoongi smiled his gummy smile. “ Thank you for thinking of me.”

“You’re welcome.” And off he goes into the office as well.

Yoongi isn’t the biggest fan of human interaction, but he put forth an endeavor towards me, whether it’s a light ‘ Hi or Hello” or the simplicity of a wave. I admire his gusto. Sidenote, He’s so adorable-I know I know I shouldn’t be gushing over my boss’s son, but his chubby cheeks and almond eyes melt my heart like butter on toast!

Ahem-I better get back to answering those emails and drink this beautiful cup of expensive mud before it gets lukewarm. Yummy, The delectable taste is a boost of serotonin! I really should get to work buuut Hobi did command me to get every last bit and technically he is my boss through some type of weird relative aspect. He is the boss.

Just in a moment of seconds, The breakfast and drink was trash. Something that good should be sinful. I feel terrible I should have saved some for the babies; they would have some, especially Jungkook.

The babies should be here any minute.

[wholesomemendes]

Omg congrats on 1k🥳🥳 concept- a blurb about love languages and like ur guys styles are diff lil angst pls heheheh

Author's Note: Hiiiiiii. How are you lovies? I know you probably all hate me cause I just disappeared but hopefully this will kinda make up for it for those of you who are actually still here. Fun fact never used the queue before so we'll see how that goes. Also I vaguely remember the read more thing not working that well with asks, but I don't remember what I used to do to fix that so hopefully this works. Love all of you and miss you *mwah* please interact with me so I get more motivation lol

The second the door shuts to the condo you share with your love, you can already hear his unmistakable voice call out for you, “Baby, come here! I have a surprise for you!” You roll your eyes, knowing that some insanely expensive gift was probably waiting for you around that corner. Shawn wasn’t the type to randomly spend a large portion of his money on things he didn’t need, but when it came to you, there was no limit to his spending. Anytime he saw something that reminded him of you or that he thought you’d look stunning in, he couldn’t stop himself from swiping his card. It wasn’t like you didn’t appreciate the copious amount of gifts he gave you; you knew he meant well and that one of his love languages was giving gifts. However, as someone who was raised to be independent and not accept “handouts” from anyone, you found it hard to be constantly given things you didn’t work for and you didn’t believe you deserved yet. You didn’t find it fair that you weren’t at that stage in your life where you could gift Shawn something as expensive as what he gives you, but you constantly get those things from him. It wouldn’t have phased you as much if it was just for holidays, but this was an almost every other day occurrence and no matter how many times you told him not to buy things for you, he never seemed to listen.

You sighed, putting your purse on the table and making your way towards the bedroom, desperately wishing you could just relax into a warm bath after your hard day at work instead of facing whatever your loving boyfriend had in store for you. Opening the door you were met with Shawn’s smiling face, a large box with the word Gucci written in bold lettering across it. You put on a fake smile as your heart sank. This couldn’t be what you thought it was could it? “Hey,” he put the box next to him in favor of pulling you onto his lap, “How was work today?” He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips and for a moment, you let yourself get pulled into the utter bliss that was Shawn Mendes.

“I won’t lie, not the greatest,” you sighed as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Why, what happened?” he asked, his arm tightening around you to pull you closer.

“It was just insane today and my boss was in a bad mood and...I don’t know it was just bad and I’m exhausted.”

“Well, I think I have something that might cheer you up!”

“Shawn…,” you said in a mix of a whine and a stern tone, “I told you no more.”

“I know, I know,” he rushed out, placing the box in your hands, “I just want to spoil my girl. I can afford to do so and there’s no one else that deserves it more than you do.” It hurt your heart to hear him talk like that when not a single part of you felt you deserved it. You were nowhere close to where you wanted to be in your life career wise and you certainly weren’t near Shawn’s level of success. “Just open it, please?” he gave you his softest puppy dog eyes that always made you cave.

“Ok…” Opening up the box your heart stopped. There lying in the delicate paper was one of the most beautiful handbags you had ever seen; the one you had secretly been saving up for for almost a year now. You thought you had hid it from him so well, always looking at it when he wasn’t there to make sure you could still get it, and even putting together a small envelope of extra money to use towards it. This was supposed to be your first big designer purchase in honor of your huge promotion at work a little under a year ago today, but of course Shawn had to go and ruin it all for you.

Meanwhile, Shawn was oblivious to the disappointment and resentment brewing inside of you. “Do you like it?” he asked with the biggest smile, “I noticed the tab open on your computer last week when I borrowed it for those pictures and thought you liked it!”

“Why would you do this?” you whispered, a crack forming in your voice.

“What?”

“Why would you do this?” you almost snapped at him, looking at him with tears that held mixed emotions.

“B- because I love you,” he stammered, not having prepared to have this reaction. In his head you were going to come home, see the gift, smother him in thank you kisses, and maybe, just maybe, you would make love to him for the rest of the night. Never in his wildest dreams did it end up like this.

“If you loved me you would have listened to me and not bought this, or anything for that matter!” you exclaimed as you stood up off his lap, “I’ve told you so many times I don’t want you buying anything for me but you never listen!”

“I- I’m sorry, I just thought…”

“No that’s the thing, you didn’t think! I just- god, Shawn, this was it, the one thing I was going to do for myself after all these years. I was only $100 away from my goal, I was right there! But you can’t just think with your head for one second and think about how your girlfriend who always tells you that you don’t need to buy things for her might be planning on finally achieving one of her goals of having enough money to spend it on something like this!”

If your eyes weren’t filled with tears and you weren’t so blinded by your emotions you might have been able to see Shawn’s heart visibly breaking on the bed, leaving him looking like a hurt puppy. “I’m so sorry, I’ll do anything to make it up to you. I’ll, I’ll return the bag or or you can pay me back for it so it’s like you bought it yourself!”

“You don’t understand because you’ve never had any problems with money. It’s not the same anymore, Shawn. No matter what, all I’ll be reminded of is that you bought it first and not me.”

“What can I do? I, I swear I’ll do anything,” his voice cracked as his own tears filled his eyes.

“I don’t, I don’t know. I need to go.” You knew you were being dramatic, but after 2 years of the same thing with Shawn over and over again you had reached your breaking point.

“No please, I’ll fix this I promise,” he pleaded, standing up to face you.

You successfully avoided him so you could grab a small bag with your things, “Shawn, I need space for at least one night.”

He reached out for you this time, his large hand grabbing your arm desperately to turn you around, “Please, don’t go. I won’t buy you anything else, I swear!”

“It’s not that I just, I don’t know. I’m upset and I’m tired and my head is all over the place and…” His large hands cupped your jaw and pressed his lips hard against yours, giving you no space to pull away. The slight taste of salt from both of your tears on your lips broke your heart more than it was before. It was hard to explain why you weren’t fighting him on this kiss; it was almost as if he was kissing you so that it was easier to let you go for the night.

His lips released yours reluctantly with a sigh, “I’ll pack my things for the night. You stay here.”

“Shawn…”

“No, I was the one who messed up so I should be the one who has to leave. I still have a backpack I never unpacked from when I got back from LA last week and I can stay with my parents for however long you want. I- ,” he looked down shamefully, his hands finally dropping from your face. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to make you happy, but I wasn’t even thinking of what would really make you happy. Just, just tell me when you’re ready for me to come back home.”

He made his way through the bedroom, grabbing his phone, wallet, backpack and guitar before making his way through the door. Your heart cried out to go after your love, but your feet stayed planted almost in shock of everything that just happened. You were still mad at him, upset with him, and if it was possible, even more upset and mad at yourself. So as much as you wanted to run after him, you let him walk away with half your heart in his hands.

____________________________

“Mom?” you sniffled as you sat on the edge of your bed, the infamous handbag discarded next to you as if it was taunting you.

“Oh honey, what’s wrong?” the soft voice of your mother filled the speaker.

“I messed up,” you confessed, “I really messed up and I don’t...I don’t…”

“Take a deep breath, dear, and tell me what happened. I’m sure it can be fixed.”

“I don’t know if it can. I’m a horrible person!”

“You are not a horrible person. Now tell me exactly what happened.”

She listed carefully as a mother does while you went through moment through moment of your lash out with Shawn, up until the point where he left. “I feel terrible, Mom. This was just the one thing I had planned to do for myself and he never took into account how I would feel about this even though I constantly tell him how I feel about gift giving.”

“Sweetheart, I know you so badly want to be an independent woman and there’s nothing wrong with that. But you’re in a relationship now which means not everything you do can be independent. Think about it from his point of view: all of these things he gets you he gets out of love. He doesn’t do it because he wants you to rely on him for money, he knows you’re not with him for that and it’s probably one of the reasons he loves you so much; you treat him like a regular person. Not someone who is just a pretty face that can buy you whatever you want and get you fame. However, he is someone with money and that means he can afford these things for you. It’s not to belittle any of your accomplishments in your career or financially because we both know how supportive he is of you. It’s simply because he wants to show you he’s thinking about you and spoil you to make you happy. I know gifts aren’t one of your main love languages, but it’s definitely one of his. I bet if you had told him about this bag and how much it meant to you instead of hiding it from him, he would have never dreamed of taking it away from you. I understand your immediate frustration, but maybe think about if you’re truly upset with him about this or if you’re upset with yourself for not being able to reciprocate.”

“You’re right, Mom.”

“Of course I’m right, I’m your mother!” she let out a light hearted laugh, “But seriously, go apologize to that boy. He’s probably beating himself up over this.”

____________________________

“Are you and Dad home right now?”

“Yes, why is something wrong?”

“Can’t I just be coming over to say hello?”

“Of course you can, but I can tell by your voice that something is wrong.”

A sad smile formed on his face at the fact that even over a car speaker, his mom was still able to read him like a book. “Y/n and I got into a fight.”

“Oh no,” his mother gasped, never hearing many difficulties between the two, “What happened?”

“It’s my fault, Mom, I was being selfish,” he replied defeated, his guilty heart weighing down on him, “You know how I love to give gifts right? Well, Y/n isn’t always the biggest fan of it because she loves being independent. But I can’t help it! She’s the first person who hasn’t been overjoyed over every gift I give her and I never understand because I just want her to be happy and I know they’re things she would like so...I just don’t think! I don’t know why I can’t take a hint and just do what she wants me to do! I just want to make her happy, Mom, and feel loved and all I’ve done is annoy her and upset her!”

“Ok, before you keep going on this self-deprecated spiral, I need you to tell me what happened. And no more blaming yourself until I’ve heard everything.” So he did. And just like the conversation unfolding back at his home, his own mother listened to every word he had to say.

“From my understanding,” she began, “And I’m not saying this to try to defend you, but it sounds like she is battling some problems of her own.”

“No, you don’t understand, I wasn’t listening to her…”

“Oh will you hush! I wasn’t finished. Could you lay off the gifts and make them every once in a while? Of course. However, I believe her outburst today had something to do with some financial conflicts she is facing and maybe just an overall bad mood. You’re not perfect, obviously you need to tone down the gifts just a little bit, but you were definitely not in the full wrong here. There was no way she could have expected you to know about her intentions and plans so you can’t blame that on yourself. She definitely felt that she had to hide it from you in fear that you wouldn’t listen, which might be another issue if she believes that you aren’t willing to budge on your point of view. But you should not go beating yourself up over this! She’ll come around to her senses and you two will be fine.”

“Thank you, Mom. I hope so, I miss her already,” Shawn pouted, wishing so desperately that he was driving back home instead of away from it.

“Of course. Now I’ll make sure your room is all ready for whenever you get here and I’ll stay up to give you a big hug. How does that sound?”

“Amazing, I’ll be there in…” the sight of your name popping up on his center console broke him from his thoughts, “Wait, Mom, she’s calling me. I’ll call you back.”

“Good luck honey!”

With shaky hands, he hit answer on the phone, “Shawn?”

Even just hearing his name out of your mouth brought him comfort, “Yes? Are you ok? Did something happen?”

“No, I’m fine. I mean I’m not fine, but physically I’m fine. Anyways, I’m going to ramble so I’ll just try to say this quick before I stray too far away from what I was going to say and before I get myself even more worked up again because who knows how long…”

“Y/n,” he stopped you, knowing you would ramble on forever, “Why did you call me?”

“Please come home.” His heart nearly lept out of his chest at your words, not needing to hear anymore. “I’m so sorry, Shawn. I should never have lashed out at you and…”

“Don’t say anything else. I don’t want to do this over the phone. I love you, please don’t apologize and I’ll be home in half an hour.”

“But, Shawn…”

“I love you and I’ll see you soon.” With that he hung up the phone and sped his way back through the Toronto streets to the girl he loved most.

____________________________

The second you heard the door open you ran to launch your body into his arms, abandoning your previous post of walking holes in the floor. He gladly accepted you against him, holding you tight in his arms. “I’m so sorry,” you pleaded, new tears rimming at your eyes, “Please forgive me.”

“Shushh, we both can apologize in a second. I just want to hold you.” Shawn maneuvered the two of you back onto your bed with you in his lap, still clinging onto him for dear life. He felt your tears wetting his shirt and while it broke his heart to know you were

hurting, he hoped that being close to you for these few more moments would show that he wasn’t mad at you. After a couple minutes passed, he loosened his grasp on you, “Y/n look at me.” You did as told, revealing your tearful eyes to him. “I’m not mad at you,” he promised as he wiped your tears away, “I’m not upset with you in any way. I forgive you for whatever you feel you need to be forgiven for and I hope you can say the same with me.”

“No, you have nothing to apologize for!” you protested, “You did nothing but try to show me love and make me happy and I’m so sorry I couldn’t look past my own selfish issues. Talking with my mom made me realize that the reason I have always been so apprehensive to receiving your gifts is because I’m not at the point in my career that I thought I would be and I'm letting out my resentment at myself on you. I know how wrong that is of me and I am so sorry for it. There’s nothing wrong with you expressing your love through gifts and I can’t express how sorry I am for making you believe that you were the issue.”

“I forgive you. And I’m sorry, too. I should have talked with you about this and taken into account how you didn’t respond the same way as my friends and family when I give them things and should have taken a step back. I realize my gifts are excessive and I will work to tone them back so they are more special. I love you, Y/n. Even being away from you for an hour after a fight was too much for me to bear.”

“I love you, too. I hated being away from you more than anything.” He kissed your lips passionately, transferring every emotion he had for you into that kiss. Hands caressed your body as yours held him tighter in fear of him disappearing and neither of you wanted to relive this night ever again. “Shawn?” you whispered against his lips, receiving a hum in response, “Thank you for the bag. I can’t wait to tell everyone how my loving and thoughtful boyfriend got it for me.”

“You don’t have to, I can return it.”

“Return it? This is my dream bag and the fact that you wanted to get it for me because you could tell I wanted it means a lot even though I had the absolute worst way of showing it.”

“Stop,” he kissed you again, “I don’t want you to worry about it any longer. Let me just love on you how I had planned tonight.” And while it might not have been the way Shawn had planned the night to go, he was ending it exactly how he wanted to.

[victoriaholmeswriting]

Camping Trip

Danny Tanner x Reader One-Shot

Read it on AO3!

Rating: E

Words: 1891

Summary: Danny Tanner and his girlfriend go on a camping trip to enjoy finally have some time alone.

A/N: I've noticed a serious lack of Danny Tanner citric acid and needed to fix that because that man fucks and no one can change my mind!

“How did I let you talk me into this?” Danny questioned, scrutinizing everything around him.  “There’s dirt everywhere!”

Bunching up kindling for the firepit, (y/n) rolled her eyes at her neat-freak boyfriend.  “It’s called nature, my dear.  Dirt is a major portion of the package deal.”

He groaned, but didn’t argue as he pulled a small hand-broom and dust pan from his duffle bag and began sweeping trace amounts of debris from inside the tent they’d just set up.  Well, to be fair, she did most of the work because he was too busy trying not to get mud on his jeans -- that he had ironed...for some reason.

She paused, sticks in one hand and lighter in the other, staring at him in utter disbelief.  Obviously, she knew this weekend camping trip would be difficult for him.  But this was getting ridiculous.

“Tanner, what the hell are you doing?” she demanded, watching him empty the dustpan behind a tree at the edge of the campsite.

He shrugged.  “Just cleaning up,” he said like he was merely clearing the table after dinner.

Chuckling to herself, she finished building up the sticks in the pit before lighting the fire with enchanting ease.

Danny watched the flames dance and grow in her eyes as she expertly built up the fire.  When she sat back on her heels to examine her work, he immediately noticed the dirt on her hands and knees.  He didn’t know what he was more shocked by: the fact that she didn’t seem concerned that those jeans were almost certainly ruined...or that he was kind of turned on.

Was it really surprising, though? The whole point of coming out here was so that they could finally get some time alone.  His house was always so busy and her roommate worked from home and always had friends over, making it impossible to find any sort of privacy.  Hell, the only times they even got to make out without the threat of being barged in on or prying eyes was in their cars after dates.  And even then, they were both too tall for anything more.  Not that either of them wanted their first time having sex together to be in a car anyways.  They wanted it to be far more special.  (Quickies and throwing out roommates could come later.)

After more than eight months, the lack of intimacy was starting to take a toll on their relationship.  It was clear that they needed a weekend away, just the two of them.  Though, he still had absolutely no idea how he’d let her talk him into camping instead of the nice beach getaway he had all planned out.

As he pondered over this, she looked up, catching his eye and giving him that smile that’d first caught his attention at the Smash Club.  His heart jumped -- and so did his cock.  He shifted himself subtly, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

(Y/N) frowned at the discomfort on his face.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly.  His gaze moved to the rock next to his shoe.

He truly was a terrible liar.

“This was a bad idea,” she sighed, deflated.  “We should have just gone to the beach.”

His eyes returned to hers.

“No, no!” he reassured her.  The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her feelings.  “No, I’m just adjusting to the scenery.  That’s all!  I’m sorry for being a bit of a downer.”

She smiled at him again.  “You are not a downer, Danny Tanner.”

He smiled back as she stood up, dusted her hands off on her pants, and walked over to him.

The feeling of her arms slowly draping around his neck sent shockwaves through his body.  His hands instinctively found her waist as she pulled him into a passionate kiss.  He moaned as her fingers tangled in his hair and her tongue pushed its way into his mouth.  He couldn’t help it -- he loved it when she took control of him like this.

A grin dominated her features when she pulled back after several moments, panting.  She took in his flushed complexion, the sound of his lungs catching up, and the lust in his eyes.

He was right where she wanted him.

She pulled him in for a more demanding, passionate kiss.

Their tongues exploring each other once again, his hands moved to her ass.  He gripped it tightly, reveling in the feel of it and the quiet groan he elicited from her.  Their bodies melted together like they never had been able to before.  They fit together so perfectly.  And both of them knew it.

(Y/N) couldn’t control the returning grin when she felt his hard cock pressed against her.  She bit her lip as he trailed wet kisses down her neck.

“Danny,” she said between stifled moans, “maybe we should move this to the tent?”

He didn’t say a word, opting instead to grab her hand and lead her to the tent she’d practically stuffed with blankets and pillows.  Perfectly planned out to make sure they were as comfortable as possible all night long -- no matter what activity or position they found themselves in.

Plus, let’s be honest, Danny Tanner wasn’t exactly the “‘roughin’-it” type anyways.  She had to promise to make it as comfortable as possible to get him to come out here in the first place.  And, boy, did she use that to her advantage.

The layers of comfort cushioned their knees as they knelt down in the tent, facing each other.

Danny captured her lips for a brief moment before leaning over to zip up the tent behind them.  Or, he tried to at least.

The tall, lanky man struggled to keep his balance as he fumbled with the zipper.  He yanked at it repeatedly to no avail.  Frustrated, he growled, “Dammit!”

Shaking her head and laughing, she nudged his hands out of the way.

“Stop before you break my tent,” she said.  She pulled the zipper up a few inches, held the flaps tightly together at the bottom, and zipped it closed in one smooth motion. Smirking, she turned back to him, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, I was going to try that next,” he bluffed, earning another big laugh from her.

“Sure you were,” she retorted, a massive grin adorning her gorgeous face.

God, he loved that smile!  It was positively intoxicating to every single one of his senses.  He had to taste it.

Tentatively, he brushed her hair behind her ear and leaned back in to kiss her, feeling her body press against his again.  She melted in his embrace, kissing him back with a fiery passion.  Their tongues tangled together as (y/n) once again started to take control.

Danny reveled in her dominance, his cock hard and making its presence well known between them.  Taking hold of the hem of his shirt, she removed it -- slowly -- trailing her pinky fingers up his sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Pulling off her own shirt, she moved his hands to her breasts.  A deep blush spread across his whole torso as he squeezed them.  How did he not notice she wasn’t wearing a bra before?  Had he really been so preoccupied with the state of nature around their campsite?  So pointless.  All those months they’d been unable to properly enjoy each other and show each other affection -- and he’d wasted the first hour of their getaway fussing over dirt and leaves.

Well, he’d just have to make up for it.

His soft thumbs playing with her nipples, Danny slowly made his way across her cheek and down her neck to her right breast.  He took it in his mouth, moving his tongue in narrowing circles, culminating on her nipple.  The hummed moans he garnered spurred him on -- which, of course, he repeated with the left one.

(Y/N)’s underwear became uncomfortably wet.  She couldn’t stand it any longer.

She seized his face by the jaw, bringing it back to hers and thrusting her tongue into his mouth just before they connected.  Her hands quickly worked open his jeans and slid them down his thighs.  A shiver ran down his spine as his cock met the chilling dusk air.

Danny carefully laid her down, lips never separating.  Wasting no time, he removed his pants completely and hovered his hand over the waistband of her pants, waiting for permission.  She nodded and soon felt his warm skin on her inner thighs.

 (Y/N) ran her hand over his chest as they took each other in.

Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the one thing she’d forgotten to pack.

“Shit,” she swore, dropping her head back on the pillows in frustration.

“What?” he asked, concerned.  “What’s wrong?”

She growled.  “I forgot to pack condoms.”

“Oh,” he chucked, “I’ve got it covered.”  He reached into the front pocket of the backpack that was in the corner behind her head.

 She watched in astonishment as he pulled out three boxes of condoms.

“Fuck, Danny!” (y/n) exclaimed.  “We’re going to be out here for two nights.  How many of those do you expect to use?!”

The lust in his eyes blazed.  “It’s been eight months, (y/n).  I plan to run out.”

She laughed as he dipped back down to her neck, handing her one of the boxes, dropping the others beside them.  Her hands pulled open the box and wrapper.

(Y/N) grasped the back of his head with one hand, fingers carding his hair and locking him to her lips before moving both hands down to expertly roll it over his cock and began stroking him -- slowly.

Gasps and moans vibrated against her throat for a few moments before he couldn’t take it anymore.  He pulled her hand away, lacing their fingers together by her head.

Making his way back to her lips, he dipped his long fingers between her folds, assessing how prepared she was.  She was positively dripping.

Those soft fingers gently pushed into her, instantly finding that perfect spot.  Nails dug into his skin in response, pairing perfectly with unrestrained moans that made his cock weep with precum.

She dragged her nails down his back to his ass, grasping it tightly and pulling him closer so his groin met hers.

“Tanner,” (y/n) gasped.  “I need more!  Fuck.  Me.  NOW!”

A deep sound she’d never heard from him before emanated from somewhere deep in his chest at the command.  Before she could blink, he was fully inside her, giving her a couple seconds to adjust.  When he was sure she was ready, he started thrusting.  Slow at first, but picking up pace with each one.  His moans were almost as loud as hers.  Her nails clawed at his back, losing herself in every ounce of the ecstasy he was drilling into her.  She couldn’t hold on for much longer….

Their names mingled together in harmony until his thrusts lost their rhythm and spasm ran from her core out through her limbs.

When they came down from their highs, Danny laid beside her and pulled her to nuzzle into his chest.

“You know,” (y/n) said, still catching her breath, “I don’t think you brought enough.”

Danny chuckled, kissing the top of her head.  “I’ll keep that in mind for the next trip.”

~~~

Tag list: @lilythemadqueen @josiecarioca @klinenovakwinchester @once-again-i-am-dead​ 

Let me know if you would like to be added! <3

[wandsandwheezes]

Inconspicuous | G.W

T/W // Ouid content, kissing and suggestive content but no actual smut it doesn’t even really get too spicy

Summary // 2.5k // Reader is Ron’s best friend and George is absolutely 100% in love with her and has been crushing for a while, Ron attempts to be inconspicuous and get inside info from his best friend for his brother but we all know how Ron is.

A/N - big surprise i’ve simped again and i’ve written yet ANOTHER George fic. massive thank you to @witch-and-a-half​ for her ADORBS request bc she has inspired me not only to write ouid content but ron content so i luvvv her sm🧡🧡

taglist; @weasleysflowr​ @theweasleysredhair​ @whiz-bangs78​ @hufflepuffgirly​ @sarcasticallywitty15​ 

If there was one thing that Ron wasn't good at, it would have to be subtlety. It was painfully obvious how much he liked Hermione to everyone else before he'd even come to terms with it himself. This all ran through George's head as he toyed with the idea of trying to get his baby brother to set him up. 'This is a terrible idea' he thought, but the words had already started spilling before he could stop himself. 

George watched you teaching his twin and Ginny how to play a muggle card game, something that you were disturbingly good at, so good that George was convinced you were using a charmed deck whenever you would play with friends or whenever you showed a card trick. The aspect of teaching a wizard to do a magicians trick was what made you love cards so much. "She's great isn't she." George mused. 

"I'd say so, just don't let her convince you that she hasn't charmed the deck," Ron laughs as he works on polishing his and Harry's broomsticks ready for the return of quidditch season. George's eyes snapped back to his brother, out of his trance. "Yeah, I'm surprised someone as great as her is still single." He hoped Ron would catch his drift but the ever oblivious boy shoved off the comment. "I know why she's single, She's great, a catch even and she's my best friend but, bloody hell, the guys she dates are such pricks." 

"oh…" George's heart sank a little, He knew this was a long shot trying to get his brother to set him up, because you and Ron were the closest thing to twins, besides sharing a womb. He thought maybe he could just grow a pair and ask you out himself but that seemed like such a bad idea to the poor boy. "Well, hypothetically, If she were to date someone who you already knew, say quite well, I'm sure you'd be happy for her, no?" 

Ron laughed a little, "I see you, trying to be Fred's wingman, test the waters and see how I'd react." George punches his brother's arm, shaking his head before dropping his voice to a whisper. "No, you blind bat, I mean me. I like her."

"why didn't you lead with that?" Ron goes to walk over to her, but George stops him in his tracks, pulling him back so they're standing in front of each other. "No, wait, wait, stop. You can't make it obvious like that." Ron sighs, rolling his eyes, "what do you suppose I do then?" 

"I'm not asking you to set us up or anything, just, I don't know? See if she's interested." Ron looks over to you, catching your eye, you smile over to the boys, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before instructing fred on a good game move. "I think you'd be good for her, looking at it."

"what do you mean by that?" he was prying now, "Her last relationship was, well, not brilliant. Ravenclaw guy, really stuck up and super uptight about everything, I swear he was a lousy git and didn't take care of her, but she was infatuated with him, god knows why." 

"I see, you know, I've had a crush on her since I was like 14 right?" Ron's jaw dropped, looking at his brother quizzically, "wow, I wouldn't have known." God, he was blind, if not blind, just blissfully unaware if what's going on around him. "Well, leave it to me, big brother!" 

There's been things George would do over the last few years, that to you were just small acts of kindness from someone you'd known your whole life; Picking up things you'd dropped, reaching top shelves, helping with hard potions papers, him teaching you how to smoke - but to him he's been flirting with you non stop. He'd never seen anyone or anything compare to your beauty. 

Later on in the evening George passed by you in the kitchen, hand pressed to the small of your back, he looked down at you with a smile, his whole stomach felt like it was filled with butterflies. You both stayed there a moment longer than usual. George's scent was heavenly, and you'd never admit it but it was a smell you knew you could get drunk off of. 

Ron noticed the interaction between you two, watching as George exited the room, to head out to join his twin in the shed for the evening's activities "Hey, Y/N mind helping me with the snacks, that is if you're joining George, Fred and I tonight ." you giggled, walking around the long table to join him, "Of course, I wouldn't miss it for the world, Ronniekins. What do you need me to do?" 

He instructed you in what snacks needed grabbing, packing them into a bag, ready for the night, making sure to grab some water and the blankets from the airing cupboard. "So, uh… How's things with Marc was it? Or Marv?" you rolled your eyes, "Let's not, god we haven't spoken at all this summer. At this point I think you'd make a better boyfriend than he ever will." 

He laughed, swinging the bag over his shoulder picking up the bottles, "Well, I may be unavailable romantically-" he starts, before you cut him off "and Emotionally." Ron rolls his eyes, with a huff, "Riiiight, however, George and Percy are always available." His eyes were scanning your face for a reaction, "Oh, Percy, my favourite!" you giggle, the sarcasm evident in your tone, you're gathering the blankets into your arms before you ponder on it. "Well, Not that you'd like to know, because he is your brother - but my god George smells amazing, I definitely would if I had the chance." 

"Blimey, Really, Y/N? That's fantastic!" Ron slips up slightly, he's fucked it, it's so obvious now and he tries to cover it up, but you're just as oblivious as he is most of the time. "Fantastic?" you prod, Ron was your best friend after all and you sensed something was up. "Oh, well you know how I feel about your taste in Men, I think George would be good for you, like you said, he is my brother I could always strangle him if he's a dick." You head out towards the shed, the bitter cold from outside making you glad you'd brought the blankets. "Like George would ever want to date me, Ron!" you laugh, pulling the blankets close to your chest. Ron laughs along with you, nervously but glad he hadn't blown his Brother's cover. 

"Evening Boys!" you chirp, closing the door to the shed quickly to try and salvage some warmth. "We come bringing gifts." Ron adds, swinging the bag down off his shoulder and onto the floor, "Actually, damn, I left the good shit in our room, George." Ron widens his eyes, seizing the opportunity to give you and George a moment together, "I'll come with you Fred, I want to grab my hoodie." you speak up, grabbing Ron's wrist before he leaves, "Can I borrow one please?" you pout up at him, he laughs shaking his head, jokingly brushing you off with a "No…" smiling a fake smile. 

Ron looks over to George, mouthing a 'she likes you' behind your back praying that you don't notice, pointing at you and making a heart with his hands before pointing then at George, like some really piss poor attempt at charades. George however takes the hint, moving a couple of the pillows on the sofa he's sat on so that you can join him. 

It wasn't as if it was awkward between you and George but, now you were alone together, you felt the new tension. A part of you had to admit that you were attracted to him, after all he looked incredible, muscly biceps, veiny forearms and big hands, his hair was still long, with an effortless wave to it. You already craved his scent, but did you crave him too? 

His eyes were on you, he couldn't help but fall a little harder every time he saw you in blue, it was his favourite on you. "You look beautiful," He spoke up, smiling at you "Blue really suits you." He tried to act casual but awkwardness seemed to be taking over, he was hardly able to express himself. "You know, you're not too bad looking yourself, George. What I would do for a man like you." you sigh, reminding yourself that you're returning to hogwarts single after yet another failed relationship. 

"Why want someone like me when you could always have the real deal." He joked, you scooted a little closer to him looking into his eyes, his hand rested on your knee as you moved in closer to him, his eyes were flicking between your lips and your eyes and for a moment you felt it. The Spark. He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a quick kiss. 

It was enough for you to realise why Ron had been acting so weird and suddenly you'd realised just how hard you'd been crushing on the twin in front if you. He was truly phenomenal, you were about to lean in for a second kiss when the door swung open again. Ron and Fred return, the former, tosses a hoodie at you, "I couldn't find another one so Fred grabbed this off George's bed." 

"You don't mind, do you, Georgie?" you spoke innocently, looking into his eyes. The use of the nickname as it rolled off your lips, was enough for his stomach to be in knots, "Of course not, angel." He smiled softly, of course it had to be the navy one, he was growing frustrated but nevertheless he was playing into the innocence. Ron had told Fred about the plan to get you two together tonight, to which the older twin was elated, ready to see his brother shut up about being so lonely. 

You'd started the night early, meaning that by 11:30 you were all absolutely stoned, you'd ended up with your legs tangled with George's, and his thumb rubbing circles onto your thigh. You'd been pouting, asking him to help you with the bong. He was already whipped. The higher you both got, the less you both seemed to care that you weren't alone, George finally presses another a kiss to your lips. The small, gentle kisses, had turned into delicate touches, Ron notices just how close you both were to each other, oddly recognising that same feeling when he saw Dean kissing Ginny, but he wasn't sure if it was you or George he was meant to be protective of. 

You'd dozed off on George's chest, his fingers playing delicately with the ends of your hair, "I think we'll leave you two here then. I'm baked and ready for bed, what about you, Fred?" Ron looks over to his older brother who is taking a final hit, inhaling and exhaling deeply. "Mmm, yeah I could do with some alone time to work on some products." he adds, the two boys gathering their things and heading swiftly out of the room, not before Fred winks at is twin, causing George to flip him off with a small laugh. 

You looked like an angel, asleep on his chest, he truly was In love with you, even if you weren't with him. He started to overthink, about what a life with you would be like, how beautiful you'd look underneath him, how you would take his breath away as you walked down the isle. He was more than head over heels, his full body was falling deeply in love with you, and yet a life with you was so close, he could taste it.

Only in your dreams did you ever imagine falling asleep on George's chest. Your fantasies of him being a gentle caring boyfriend, overwhelmed you. You hadn't really ever thought about how much you craved the smell, the touch and now the taste of a boy you'd known your whole life. You'd been searching for something perfect but it was always there for you at home, waiting for a moment with you. 

When you found yourself awake again, you'd noticed the other two boys had left, leaving you and George cuddled on the sofa, you didn't want to leave. He had you, hook, like and sinker and all he'd done is kiss you. "hello, sleepyhead," he joked, his hand rubbing small circles on your lower back. You smiled wide "Hi, Georgie," you murmured, still waking yourself up, you realise you're still quite high and looking into his bloodshot eyes you knew he was too. 

He drew you in for another kiss, but this time, he didn't hold back, his hand was pressed against your jaw, inticing you in more. Small pecks turned to longer kisses, causing you to swing your leg over his thighs so that you were straddling his hips. One of his hands were now on the small of your back, while the other had tangled in your hair, this move had meant that the kisses had now turned to a full make out session. The way you'd kissed each other was full of passion, and Merlin was George good with his lips, it was the best kisses you'd ever had. 

When things started to heat up, he stopped himself, he didn't want to treat you like a fling, something that happened when you were both high. "Wait, Y/N, I don't want this to be a one night thing. I want all of you, for well, as long as you want me."

Your heart sank when he'd pulled away and you thought that maybe he'd regretted doing this with you, you went to apologise before his words actually set in, did he actually want you? "You want to be with me?" you ask softly, your forehead pressed against his, hands still running through the hair at the back of his head. "More than you'll ever know," he admitted. "finding someone like you makes me the luckiest man alive."

You giggle, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. "Who would've known you were such a sappy man?" his arms wrap around your waist, flipping you over so that he was hovering over you, causing a laugh to rip through your vocal chords. "I can do less sappy and a bit rougher if you'd prefer" he murmurs suggestively, pressing kisses along your jaw, his hands traveling up your arms until your hands are pressed against each others, fingers lacing together.

This morning when you woke up, kissing George was the last thing on your mind, now it's the only thing you can think of doing. He said he was the lucky one but truly you felt luckier, you had someone who would do anything for you, and to think it was all Ron's (very capable) doing. 

On your wedding day, six or so years later, Ron thought it would be a good idea for his Man of Honour speech, to tell everyone the story of how he set up his best friend with his brother. The speech ended with you both in tears at how now his best friend was his Sister In law and that he was glad you finally found a decent taste in men.

[wilteddaisies]

Yours - Chapter Three

Azriel x Female!Reader (acotar)

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: You are Feysand’s daughter and you’ve just come home from your studies in the Day Court. Azriel needs someone with extensive training in magic in order to complete a mission for the Night Court. You happen to be just what he needs.

Fic Warnings: age gap?, probably cursing, eventual smut, wing kink ;)

Chapter Warnings: the there’s only one bed trope, angst, cursing, wing kink, oral sex (female receiving), slight overstimulation

Note: I am so happy be sharing this chapter, it was an absolute delight to write! I love writing soft happy Az because we didn’t see nearly enough of that in the books lol. Enjoy!

CHAPTER THREE

You left the next day. After healing Azriel’s wings completely, in terribly awkward silence, you packed lightly and were off. You expected to be away from home for only a few nights. But, your pack seemed to weigh a ton after hours of flying. You and Azriel decided that it would be best to conserve as much magic as possible to bypass the wyvern and whatever other enchantments there might be to keep people out. 

You finally touched down right as the sun was setting, at the edge of a town near the castle. You quickly used your magic to cloak your wings and then Azriel’s before walking down the cobblestone road into town. The town was decorated with all sorts of banners and streamers, there must be some sort of festival or celebration going on.

The walk to the inn was quiet, unbearably so, just as the flight was with neither of you wanting to talk about your encounter two nights ago. You stride into the inn to the front desk.

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat to get the attention of the bored looking boy behind the desk. He leisurely kept flipping through his leaflet, taking his time before turning his eyes up. And then immediately blanching at Azriel’s glowering figure behind you. 

“How-,” he squeaked and then cleared his throat, shoving the leaflet under the desk then straightening himself on his tool, “How can I help you?”

“Two rooms, please,” you told the boy. 

“I’m sorry we only have one room available. The town is flooded with visitors for the Summer Festival this week, you see.” He visibly swallowed and tried to avoid Azriel’s merciless stare. 

“Oh. . .” you started, “I suppose we could go somewhere else-”

“That will do, we’ll take it.” Azriel replied curtly. 

“Are you sure?” you murmured to him, he probably wanted to keep avoiding and ignoring you, “We can try to find-”

“There likely won’t be an inn with more availability any time soon. It’s fine.” He looked at the worker boy and held out his hand for the key. The boy tried not to shake as he handed them over to Az and his eyes grew to the size of saucers once Az threw a few gold coins over his shoulder onto the desk, far more than a single room at the semi-decent inn was worth. 

Fuck. Az unlocked the room and lo and behold, there was only one bed, it was probably sufficient for two humans but would be a tight fit for two Illyrians, especially ones who wanted to stay three feet apart at all times. Gods, it was like one of Aunt Nesta’s trashy romance novels. 

You both looked pitifully at the bed. 

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” you both say at the same time. Weird.

“No, you’re not,” again. Weirder. The silence that followed was so thick you could cut it with a knife. 

“Stop,” you say, “we are both adults. We can share the bed.”

“Fine.”

“Good.” You took your bag into the connected washroom, changing into something more suitable for the mortal realm than your flying leathers before striding out of the washroom and out of the room altogether. 

“Where are you going?” Az asked, annoyed.

“To find that adventure you were talking about,” you threw over your shoulder.

“Your father told me not to let you out of my sight!” he called down the hallway. You kept walking but turned your head to shout back once more.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to come with me!” You turned back around to hide your smirk. You were not going to let some grumpy Illyrian male ruin your first adventure outside of Prythian. 

The light had faded almost completely, twilight was nearing its end. But, the night had only just begun. People started to hang lit paper lanterns on strings that criss crossed above the city streets. Children ran around freely, clutching lanterns of their own, and someone somewhere started to play a fiddle. A small crowd had begun to form around the fiddler, who had since been joined by a tambourine and lute player. The music was different from the floating melodies of Velaris, it was more rambunctious, more untamed. Soon, people were dancing to the merry jig, grabbing partners and swinging each other about. No choreographed moves or set steps yet, just dancing, free and wild. And soon, you were swept into the fray, too.

The song after did have a dance that went with it, and though you didn’t know it, the locals were happy to teach you. You formed a ring and joined hands, your feet stumbling over steps you hadn’t quite memorized but you didn’t care. Laughter rang through the air just as the music did, and wine and ale flowed freely. 

The song ended and another began, this one for pairs. You were asked to dance by a young boy of maybe twelve, to which you graciously accepted his hand and whirled into the fray, switching partners constantly. As the song crescendoed into its last note, you found yourself faced with a familiar chest, this time clothed in mortal attire rather than Illyrian flying leathers. You looked up to meet a pair of familiar hazel eyes. He was flushed, and breathing heavily but smiling widely, bigger than you had seen him smile in a long time. It seemed he had been enjoying the festivities, too. 

You smiled back at him before ducking out of his grip as the next song started. And you both were content with that, occasionally winding up dancing next to or with one another. Azriel laughed freely, something you didn’t see the shadowsinger do nearly as often enough, and danced without restraint. 

It was nearly three in the morning when you stumbled back to your room still humming the melodies of the night, feeling utterly content after the hours of dancing and drinking and eating from the various vendors across the festival. You released the magic cloaking both of your wings and got ready for bed, taking turns with Az for the washroom, but talking and laughing about your night the whole time even through the closed door. You tried not to stare as he walked back into the bedroom in only a pair of loose sleeping trousers with a few droplets of water still clinging to his gloriously muscled chest.

“How was I supposed to know it was spicy?” you scoff.

“It was red as. . . well, as red as your face was after eating it!” he laughed and you lightheartedly punched him in the arm. 

“And then when you almost knocked over that old woman during that one song!” 

“In my defense,” he started, holding his hands up, “that dance was a difficult one and she was a very short lady. How was I supposed to see her? Oh, how did the steps go again?” 

“Here,” you said, stepping towards him to take both of his hands, “mirror my movements.” And you started with a series of steps and kicks that Azriel absolutely butchered but you walk him through it again, until he’s halfway decent. But, then he stepped on your foot for what had to be the sixth time and you both bursted out laughing, absolutely hollering while clutching each other like mad men. 

As you settled down, Az realises that he is still holding your hands. He sobered up at the sight of his marred flesh against your own, and pulled his hands away. 

“Why, Az?” you can’t seem to stop the words from escaping your mouth. Maybe it’s the booze or the unhinged nature of tonight but, you just can’t hide the hurt in your voice or your eyes. “Why do you always pull away from me, right as we seem to be connecting? Am I really that repulsive to you?”

He took a seat at the edge of the bed, but you followed, standing right before him. “No, gods no. It’s just that-,” he paused, trying to find the words. “It’s just that. . .,” he finally huffed a sigh, keeping his eyes downward, “If I don’t pull away then, I might never be able to.”

You froze at his confession. The words replayed over and over in your mind. If I don’t pull away then, I might never be able to. 

You knelt down in front of him, placed a hand over his own, and tried to meet his eyes from beneath your lashes. “Then don’t,” you breathed. “Don’t pull away from me, you never have to pull away from me.” Your breathing suddenly became labored.

His eyes snapped to yours, they were so full of deep intensity you thought you might melt. And slowly, carefully, as if he might frighten you if he moved too quickly, Azriel lifted a hand to caress your cheek. You breathed out a sigh and closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. Then, you turned your head, and pressed a soft kiss to his palm. 

That was his undoing. Quicker than you could react, he lifted you onto the bed, his strong body hovering over yours. You couldn’t help that your breathing stuttered for a moment. He was on top of you, his thickly muscled arms braced on either side of your head, his weight comfortably settled between your thighs and his lips, those gods damned lips, hovered a mere hairsbreadth away from yours. You were the one that broke this time. You placed your hands behind his neck and drew him towards you, finally closing the terrible distance between your mouths. Your lips moved in sync, kissing, licking, nipping. His tongue swiped your lip, asking for permission before caressing your own, you groaned at the taste of him. Then, you hissed softly as he took your bottom lip between your teeth, gently pulling before releasing it and attacking your mouth once more.

His hands roamed down your sides, skimming your breasts over your thin nightgown. Your nipples hardened delightfully so at the attention. But when he reached out to caress your wings, gods.

You cried out, back arching as you experienced a very different bolt of pleasure straight to your core. Your eyes widened as you looked at him, you had never been with a male who knew how to touch your wings and being with him made you realise exactly what you had been missing. Again, he dragged his finger down the inner curve of your right wing. Another cry escaped your lips, you were just so sensitive. Just that little touch had you writhing beneath him on the bed. He shifted his weight on his arms to work on your other wing. You let out a whimper as he gently traced his fingers along the sections. Your hips involuntarily bucked upwards, grinding deliciously against him when he pressed down on a particularly pleasurable spot. He grunted at the friction and halted his actions. His pupils dilated and his mouth fell open slightly as he scented exactly how excited you were. Smiling wickedly, he trailed a line of kisses from your lips, down your neck, in the valley of your breasts, to your navel, and lifted the flimsy nightgown to your waist. 

He took the edge of your panties with his teeth and tugged them down. Fuck. That was definitely a sight to behold. You couldn’t help but feel self conscious as he stared at your dripping core, you tried to close your legs but he held them open firmly. He leaned down so close you could feel his breath on your throbbing core, and looked up at you in silent question, genuinely wanting your command to proceed. 

“Please.” It was barely a breath but it was enough for him to press a kiss to your hooded clit with such tenderness you could cry. But, then he started to use his tongue, and gods did he know how to use it. The rough velvet of his tongue felt so delicious against your clit and folds. His soft kitten licks turned rougher, hungrier. Your hand found itself tangled in his hair, he hissed at a particularly hard tug but it only spurred him on. He used his mouth on you like a man starved. Licking and nipping and sucking, sucking with those gods damned lips, and playing with your folds. 

It was when your legs started trembling that he knew you were close. And his eagerness doubled, if not tripled. His mouth felt like utter heaven on your sopping core, the lewd noises that came from his ministrations only driving you further into bliss, or insanity. Perhaps it was insanity. Perhaps you had gone mad, mad with the desire to have him, to claim him. Because right then, you weren’t sure you could ever get enough of him. 

You felt a coil tighten in your lower stomach, the familiar pleasant ache intensifying until you could hardly bear it. And his lips and tongue never stopped. Right as you were on the edge, his lips closed over your clit and sucked, hard. 

You had never experienced an orgasm like the one Azriel had given you. Pure bliss washed over you, but instead of a wave, it was like a firework went off in your core, with bolts of mind shattering pleasure shooting out from your center to the rest of your body. You’re not sure what you screamed but it sounded a lot like his name. 

He kept up his movements as you came down, drawing out your high for longer than you thought possible, only stopping when your hips were squirming to get away from his eager mouth. 

He came back up to wrap you in his arms, holding you to his chest before also wrapping his wings around you. You were still basking in the high of your amazing orgasm but you reached down towards his achingly hard member. But, he took your hand and held it over his heart instead.

“But what about you?” you ask, breathless. 

“It’s alright. I’ve waited so long for this, let me just take care of you.” He sweetly pressed a kiss to your forehead before also pressing one to your lips. And you, too blissed out to object, snuggled deeper into his chest and wings, content to just live in the moment, safe in his arms. You closed your eyes and drifted off into a deep sleep, dreaming of leathery wings and hazel eyes.

Author’s Note: Aw yeah we love the smexy times. If you liked this, please show your support by liking, commenting, and reblogging and all that good stuff. If you wanna to be added to the taglist for this fic, you can leave comment below :)

I do not consent for my work to be reposted or translated on tumblr or any other site, but reblogs are always welcome!

Taglist:  @moonchild-cf @pansexual-booknerd @huffypuffyme @tinkymae​  @peneflop ��@myfuckingacademia @sugarcoated44 @kexrtiz​ @gagaange @itsbebeyyy​

[brutal-nemesis]

Forest Day 2021: Un-cursing a Forest Tutorial (Gone Wrong)

Come into the woods with me, won’t you? I promise everything will be super normal and it’s totally not a little over 5k words hahahahahaha

Castys Masterlist

Ingredients: cannibalism mention, plant/animal/body horror (there is a lot of this and it is weird and kind of gross at times so this is your warning), acid burns, i use the word “pustules” multiple times, eye whump, gore, suicide for convenience

Castys woke up to darkness.

His head was pounding, so it was sort of nice, but much less nice when he tried to move and discovered his arms were tied behind his back. Upon further investigation, he realized he was gagged and blindfolded as well. 

Great.

He sat up and was just starting to try and get his gag out using his shoulder when a pair of hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. He tried to jerk out of their grasp, but a second person grabbed his other arm, and then it was all he could do to keep up as they hauled him to wherever. The ground changed from something solid feeling to something dirt-sounding, and then solid again after the creak of a door opening. 

“He’s awake, Chief.”

“Thank you. Just leave him and wait outside.” One of the men kicked the back of Castys’s legs, forcing him to his knees. He was tempted to get up once he felt their hands leave him, but he figured it would be best to just wait and see what the hell was going on for now. Once the blindfold was removed, he tried to look around, but a rough hand grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up at his captor, a strong looking woman with her dark hair in a complicated braid. She examined him with concern. “I didn’t think you would look this young.” Her free hand untied the gag, and she gently pulled it out of his mouth. “You are him, and not just some child, right?”

“Nope, just a child. A nineteen year old boy. Not immortal, so I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I never said I was looking for an immortal.”

Castys opened and closed his mouth a few times, blinking. “I-okay that one’s on me. Hooray, you caught me.” He glared up at her. “Now what do you want?”

She let go of him, stepping back and crossing her arms. “I am Citlali, the chief of Nauhiliv’s Hollow. For centuries, my people have-”

“I’m not really in the mood for a history lesson, so just get to the-”

“Either shut up and let me talk or I will gag you again.” Castys rolled his eyes. “I promise it’s relevant, alright?”

“Fine.”

Citlali took a deep breath and began again. “For centuries, the people of Nauhiliv’s Hollow have lived as one with the forest, taking only what we need from its bounty, hunting and gathering from the lands around us. But now,” she looked away, “now the forest is...twisted. What was once a familiar place has become dark and horrifying, and they are now far too dangerous to hunt in. Everyone we have sent in to find the source of the curse has not yet returned.” She took a shuddering breath before looking back at Castys. “You, however, can’t die. So would you-”

“How much will you pay me?”

“Just...this.” She held up a small leather pouch, one that looked kind of like...Castys hurriedly looked down, feeling his stomach twist when he didn’t see the familiar string around his neck.

“You took my-give it back! How did you even find out about that?!” Castys fought to keep his voice even, his fists clenched behind him. That pouch was important to him, it had his rock that allowed him to kill himself easily and painlessly, and it also had...he just needed it, dammit.

“You’re apparently, ah, quite chatty when you’re drunk.” She twirled the pouch on her finger lazily. “So, if you lift the forest’s curse, you’ll get it back. And until then, my other half is going to keep it safe in a pocket dimension, where even a notorious thief like you can’t get to it.”

Castys’s face darkened. “That’s-if you wanted me to help you why didn’t you just, I don’t know, ask instead of fucking kidnapping me and stealing my shit?”

“Because I’ve heard tell that you’re a selfish asshole who definitely wouldn’t help us unless we paid you a ton of money or forced you to. And since we’re not exactly drowning in cash…”

Castys mulled it over for a moment, wiggling his hands against the ropes. “Yeah okay that’s fair. I still hate you, but that’s fair.”

Citlali rolled her eyes. “Are you going to do it, then? Because if not,” she stalked over and grabbed Castys’s chin tightly, forcing him to look up at her, “I could think of a different way you could help my people, immortal.”

“I promise you, I taste terrible.” Citlali flinched back, letting go of Castys’s face.

“What-no that isn’t-I meant I was going to sell you, idiot! That’s so-we’re nowhere near desperate enough to eat…” she shook her head. 

“Okay, sorry, I figured if you were desperate enough to kidnap me you were also desperate enough to want to eat me and my infinite flesh.”

“Those two are absolutely not the same level of-look, are you going to do it or not? Because if not I will sell you and keep your precious-” 

“I’ll go kill your stupid forest curse thing,” Castys sighed. “Being sold is super annoying, and escaping will be way harder without my rock.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Can you untie me now?” 

“Do you promise not to try to run off? You won’t be able to get your pouch back by force, and this village is surrounded by these cursed woods except for a single, well guarded road, so there really won’t be any point in trying, anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Castys got to his feet after she freed him, rubbing his chafed wrists as he looked down at his very empty belt. “You’re going to give me my sword back for this, right? I know I can’t die but fuck if I’m going in there without a weapon.”

“You can have your sword, and the small amount of supplies we can spare, once the sun rises and you set out. Until then,” she gestured to the door, “let Tlaloc and Meztli show you where you can sleep.” 

~~~

Castys took a deep breath as he looked up at the trees towering over him, gripping his pack tightly. They looked like normal trees to him, and he was sort of disappointed that they didn’t look...creepier? He expected this horrible cursed forest to look more horrible and cursed, especially with all the trouble that bitch went through to make him do this. He glanced back, but Citlali and the guards were still behind him, and she waved her hand at him to get going. Sighing, he started walking into the forest, hoping this whole “curse” thing was just some asshole wizard kids playing a trick. 

Soon enough, he spaced out listening to the forest sounds. The rustling of the wind in the branches, the chirping of birds, the faint screaming...wait what. No, yeah that was screaming or something. He looked around frantically for the source of it, just now noticing that the trees were...different, somehow. They sort of...shimmered, moving in a strange way. Cautiously, he approached the nearest trunk and studied it. It was...it was moving, the whole surface shifting and crawling, like it was covered completely in bugs. O-kay then. 

Moving on.

Castys wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to look for. That chief lady had really just sent him in here with the very helpful instruction of “fix it”, like he had ever un-cursed a forest before. He didn’t know where he was supposed to go, or...where he even was. He’d been trying to walk in a straight line, but the way behind him looked unfamiliar, as if the trees and plants had decided to move around while he wasn’t looking. Well, it appeared that wandering aimlessly was his only option now. Delightful.

Maybe he should do something as he walked along to help pass the time. Not that he didn’t mind walking around in nature, this place was just...he pulled out his rekara, twirling it between his fingers for a moment before putting it to his lips and blowing, tapping his fingers on the slender instrument’s holes to play a stupid little tune. It covered up the faint screaming sound quite nicely, and it eventually attracted a little bird, which fluttered down on a nearby branch. It was a very normal-looking one, with plain brown feathers and cute lil’ eyes.

When it opened its mouth to chirp at him, though, another scream rang out through the forest, so loud it sounded like it was coming from right next to Castys. Startled, he jumped a bit, stumbling back and tripping over a tree root or something, falling right on his ass. Frantically, he looked around for the source of the scream, but there was no one around him, as far as he could tell. “Anyone screaming out there?!” he called as he stood up, but he was met with silence. Well, not silence silence but just...nothing un-ambient. Maybe the trees were screaming. It could be a tree thing. 

The bird was still sitting there staring at him, and oh my fuck it’s the bird isn’t it-again, the bird opened its beak, and again, a horrible scream echoed around him. Well wasn’t that nice. A bird that screamed like a person. Castys slowly backed away, hoping the little thing’s only weird quality was the noise it made. Once he felt like he’d gotten far enough away, he turned and ran, and he was only running to cover more ground quickly, not because he was scared, no, a little unsettled, maybe, but not scared. 

He stopped to catch his breath after a few minutes, and as he stood there panting, he realized the forest around him had grown even more...strange. The trees actively waved in the air now, though there was no wind, and many of their branches hung limp, like they were made of cloth or something and not solid wood. Their bark still glistened and crawled, swirling into strange, mesmerizing patterns. The leaves of all the plants were different now, too, having taken on a sickly pink color, almost like...light-colored skin. Tasty.

Okay, yeah, something was obviously very wrong and cursed here, but he still had no clue what the fuck to do about it. He’s been hoping he could find...he didn’t know, something that looked like the source of it, like a very giant tree with a hole in it or perhaps a big magic crystal or an evil bear. But all around him were just normal sized haunted trees and no crystals and weird greenish mold and all the plants with their gross fleshy leaves-wait that mold or whatever was new. He crouched down and pulled out his knife so he could poke at it.

Upon closer inspection, it was like...little green pustules clustered together on the surface of the shifting tree bark. He used the tip of his knife to prod one of them, but it burst far more easily than he had been expecting, splattering greenish goop all over his hand, and it burned. Crying out, he dropped his knife and looked frantically around for water or something he could use to get this awful stuff off because dying wouldn’t make it go away so until he got rid of it somehow he was just stuck feeling it burn away his fucking flesh but there wasn’t anything here besides plants and more plants so it looks like that was all he was going to get-

With shaking hands, he grabbed a nearby leaf, shuddering at the fleshlike texture, the warmth, and wiped it desperately over his wounds, trying to scrape away the acidic sludge. It sort of worked, getting the larger clumps off, but he could still feel it eating his damn flesh, if only he had-wait he was a fucking idiot-he pulled out the waterskin Citlali had lent him, sloppily splashing water over his hand, gasping in relief as the pain lessened slightly. Obviously nothing was going to heal the wounds besides dying, but now he could actually do that without the acid continuing to burn him. He reached down into his shirt, feeling for the pouch containing his death rock, but...no, that’s right, he didn’t have it, he’d have to slit his throat like old times. Sighing, he wiped the acid goop off of his knife before turning it on himself.

Castys woke up very pleased to find that his hand no longer had holes in it, but when he saw the leaves he had wiped it on, his stomach twisted. The acid had burned right through them, and the holes were rimmed with red, dripping...it was blood, blood leaking from those fleshlike leaves. Quickly, Castys wiped off his knife and sheathed it, getting to his feet, ready to run the fuck away from those gross acid pustules. But...maybe it was a good sign that things were getting weirder, maybe he was getting closer to whatever the hell the source of all this was. So maybe he should…follow that stuff. It was the only sort of idea on where to go he had gotten this whole time, so it really was his only option, huh? He’d just have to be careful not to touch it. 

The streaks of green on the swirling tree trunks, which had darkened to a shiny black at some point, led him, allegedly, deeper into the forest. Wait, how was the green stuff staying in one spot while the trunk beneath it was shifting? That didn’t make any sense, not like anything did here, but still…physics. He studied the nearest tree for a moment, watching its surface move as the clump of acid bubble things stayed still. Though...he could see something between the cracks in the crawling trunk, something long and off-white, like...yup. Trees with bones. Lovely. Shaking his head, Castys resumed walking, deciding to just not question anything ever again. 

Things certainly got stranger as he continued. There was a pond where his reflection didn’t have a face, dragonflies with wings that looked like overgrown fingernails, and a herd of deer with skin and muscle so clear that all he could see were their organs and bones okay but what would clear deer meat taste like, so he felt like he was probably going the right way. When he heard a strange thumping sound, like something large walking around, he cautiously moved towards the source of it, poking his head out from behind a tree to see what it was. 

It was the ugliest, most disgusting horrible abomination creature thing he had ever seen. It’s main body was the same light fleshy color as the leaves, dotted with clumps of acid pustules, with a mishmash of vaguely humanoid limbs with all sorts of skin tones jutting out of its misshapen body every which way. And it had so many eyes all over, some frantically darting around, some focused horrifyingly on him. But the worst part were all the flowers sprouting it from it, not because they were flowers, but because these flowers had little white teeth in their centers, probably serving as the mouths for this thing since he didn’t see one anywhere else on it. Honestly, he wouldn’t mind cutting this thing to bits in the slightest, it was freaky. He stepped out and drew his sword, watching the monster warily as it shambled towards him. If this thing wasn’t the source of the curse, he didn’t know what would be.

Once it was within range, Castys slashed at it, wincing as a high pitched shriek rang out from one of the flower-mouths. He danced back as it swung at him with two of its arms, their hands reaching out to grab him. This kept on for a bit, him slashing at the monster and dodging its blows, though he’d occasionally make the mistake of slicing a clump of acid pustules, spraying himself with the corrosive substance. When he stopped for a moment to catch his breath, he noticed something...unfortunate. All the gashes he’d cut in the monster were slowly closing, healing that thing up like his attacks hadn’t even happened. He, on the other hand, was covered in acid burns and not sure how much longer he’d actually be faster than this thing. His healing was useless in a fight, since dying left him completely defenseless for a good minute or so.

He had to figure something else out some other-shit, he couldn’t stand still for very long, this monster just wouldn’t quit attacking him. He might have been safe in a tree, but all the ones in the area were pretty much completely covered in that acid stuff, so that was out of the question. Seeing an opening, he lunged, trying to stab one of those fucked up mouths, and he couldn’t help but feel a spark of relief as his blade sank in, knocking out some of its teeth. But his elation turned to fear as he felt something grab his ankle the same moment the mouth clamped shut around his sword. He tried his best to keep his grip on his sword as it yanked him up, but it slipped through his fingers, leaving him defenseless as the monster slammed him down onto the ground, his whole body lighting up in pain. 

Over and over, it smashed his body against the ground with inhuman strength. All Castys could do was scream as he felt his bones break, their sharp edges piercing him from the inside. To finish, it threw him against one of the trees, the impact of his body bursting a myriad of acid pustules open, drenching him in the stuff. Castys fell to the ground in a heap, sucking in pained breaths beneath his shattered ribs, and all he could do was helplessly watch through his one good eye, the other reduced to goop by the acid, as the monster raised a foot above him. His mind was screaming at him to go, to run, but he could hardly move, he should just let himself die so he could heal, but he didn’t want to, he didn’t want to just lie still and let this thing step on him, slowly building up the pressure on his already ruined ribcage, forcing ragged screams out of his acid-burned throat, he was going to be crushed but he didn’t want to be, g-get off please it hurts so much why do I have to do this it’s not fair I didn’t even do anything wrong this time please-

Castys came back to pain, sparking, burning agony soaking deep into his flesh. He was still covered in acid, and even with his bones intact now he could barely bring himself to move. But he had to, he had to get up, he had to kill this thing, had to get out of this awful place himself, because there was no other way out, because no one was going to come save him, not now, not ever. Just as he was psyching himself up to try and stand, the monster’s hands grabbed him all over, dragging him off the ground. He tried to squirm out of its grasp, and while it had too many damn hands and he had too many damn acid burns for this to actually be effective, he struggled anyway. As it lowered him towards one of its flower mouths, he tried to at least scream expletives at it, but of course he’d still had acid in his throat when he died so he couldn’t even relish the simple joy of yelling “fuck”.

What would happen to him if this gross monster ate him whole, he didn’t want to find out, but it seemed like he was going to if he didn’t break free. Castys shuddered as the mouth opened wide, wider, impossibly wide, showing off an unnecessary amount of wicked sharp teeth, and oh fuck they were a lot closer to him than he’d thought because his damn left eye was a corroded mess again and all of a sudden there were teeth tearing through his flesh and he was falling, falling into that horrible mouth surrounded by bright purple petals, pointed teeth digging into him, but he felt something, he felt something, hard and rough, and maybe it was his sword, and he could still kill this thing, so he wrapped his burned hand around it, fingers screaming in protest, and pulled, and as much as it hurt, as much as his sword was stuck, he wasn’t going to lose here.

His sword finally broke free with a disgusting squelch, though it felt a lot lighter than he remembered, and just as he pulled it out, the monster collapsed to the ground. Castys somehow managed to worm his tattered body out of the creature’s mouth, and once he was free, he held up his sword so he could stab himself with it, but discovered the object he was holding was very much not his sword. It was a strange wooden carving of a twisted tree, like ones surrounding him, a small bone fitted so snugly inside that it was almost as if the wood had grown around it. Was this...the source of everything? It was the most curse-causing looking thing he’d seen so far, and given that it seemed to be the core of that monster...oh, it was starting to grow flesh. Oh absolutely not.

Castys looked around frantically for his sword, his dagger, anything to break this talisman thing with. The first thing that caught his eye within reach was an unfamiliar axe, but he lunged for it, wishing he had time to kill himself and reset his body’s condition, but there was no telling how much this thing would grow while he was out. If he wanted a chance at ending this for good, he had to do it now. He rasped in pain as he dragged himself upright, grabbing the axe with blood-slicked fingers before he set the cursed object down and swung, crying out brokenly in pain and frustration. After a few clumsy whacks, the talisman broke in two, and the flesh bubbling out of it ceased moving. Was...was it over? It had to be. It had to be. It had to-

Head spinning, Castys fell sideways, the vision in his functional eye starting to blur. He knew he needed...to die...but he just...didn’t have...the...strength…

It was warm...comfortable...but it hurt, and...everything was...itchy. But still, so warm, and that was pleasant, and he found himself leaning into it. It was almost like...

Castys jolted awake, his eye snapping open. He was inside some building, the wooden ceiling above him lit by rippling firelight, in what felt like a bed, his whole body throbbing fiercely, and there was...a hand on his forehead. A hand attached to the village chief, Citlali, who was looking at him with concern. Her face broke into a relieved smile when she saw he was conscious, despite him flinching away from her touch. “So, our hero is finally awake.”

“I-” Castys tried to speak, but his throat was still severely fucked up, in fact, his whole body was. He hadn’t fucking died since he’d passed out, and these idiots didn’t know how his immortality worked, so they’d actually bandaged him up. The feeling of them was totally foreign, if not a little nostalgic. God, he must have looked fucking awful when they found him. He hoped it would make them think twice about kidnapping people to do their dirty work in the future. 

“Don’t try to speak; your throat is quite badly damaged. Do you want something to write on?” Castys nodded, and she fetched him a wooden tablet and a stick of charcoal. He considered writing something on the angrier side, but seeing as he still didn’t have his pouch back, and that she had tried to help him...he should probably play nice. He was too tired for any more fighting, anyway.

“If you’d just kill me so I can heal that would be great.” Pausing, he decided he should probably explain that a bit better. “Every time I die I come back to life fully healed. And the most convenient way for me to die is to touch my rock, which I believe I’ve earned back. Unless the forest is still wonky.”

“No, you did break the curse, and I want to thank you for that, because obviously it wasn’t easy. I-” she cut herself off. “First things first, let’s get you healed for good.” She furrowed her brow. “Will healing with these bandages on...mess it up somehow? Some of them might be a little...stuck to your wounds. Should I take them off of you first?” Castys considered it for a moment. He’d never tried to heal with bandages on, but if things went wrong...it might be more painful to have to cut them out of his flesh or whatever. He nodded, holding out an arm.

Citlali was gentle as she unwound the bandages with practiced skill, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt like hell. It felt like she was ripping his damn skin off, and every time his idiot body tried to scream in pain, it tore up his throat even further, making the whole affair even more damnably unpleasant. He could hardly stand to look at the wounds underneath, all pink and red and oozing what he assumed was pus. The worst part, however, was when she removed the bandage from around the remains of his left eye and it pulled a little string of bloody flesh off with it. He screamed at that, really screamed, and he realized he was crying, and he didn’t understand how mortals did this all the time. Citlali didn’t so much as flinch at the gore, the smell, or his pain, and he almost felt embarrassed about how poorly he was handling this.

When she was done, she retrieved his pouch from a nearby table, giving it to him wordlessly. With shaking hands, Castys managed to pull it open and stick a finger inside, sighing in relief as the familiar blackness took him. When he woke up, he was happy to find that there wasn’t any more acid on him, so he was actually fully healed this time. “Thanks,” he muttered, flexing his hands.

“Thank you, you really saved us. I...I know you were forced to, and I know that I shouldn’t have done it that way, but I felt like we didn’t have any other option, and-”

“It’s fine,” Castys sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “That shit was pretty fucked up so I’m not really surprised all the mortals you sent in died. And it’s not like I’m known for my benevolence.” He put the pouch around his neck, where it thumped against his bare chest. “So, did my clothes-”

Citlali shook her head. “They were full of holes and covered in acid, so we asked around and got you a spare set.” She handed him a folded shirt that was similar in style to the pants he’d been wearing when he woke up, and he pulled it on. She handed him the rest of his belongings before picking up the pieces of the wooden carving that he’d destroyed. “Where...where did you find this?” 

“Inside the freaky monster with all the limbs and shit.”

“The what.”

“Was its giant corpse not near where you found me?”

“There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary there besides this and some of the weapons and equipment from our lost expedition parties.” She put it down, standing and crossing her arms. “We all felt the shift in the forest when the curse was lifted, and when we went out to investigate, everything seemed just like it had before all of this started. We found you collapsed in a clearing not too far from here.”

“Not too-I feel like I wandered around for hours! Stupid cursed forest.”

Citlali huffed. “Regardless, we found the talisman next to you, but no monster. But if this was what caused everything…” She picked up one of the pieces, gripping it tightly. “I think I understand what happened.”

“That’s great for you, don’t let it happen again.” Castys stood, shouldering his pack. “I...I can leave now, right?”

She looked up abruptly. “Oh, uh, yes, though you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, and we were thinking of holding a feast once we-” she stopped, clearing her throat. “We’d like to make it up to you in any way you can, but I understand if you’d like to leave. I’ll walk you out.”

Part of Castys wanted to stay and get a bunch of free food out of these people, or at least actual compensation for the ordeal he just went through, but he didn’t know if he could stand to be surrounded by these woods for much longer, despite the fact that they were allegedly no longer cursed. He couldn’t fight the nervous feeling in his stomach as walked away, his steps quickening once he and Citlali parted ways. He didn’t really relax until he had left the forest far behind him. 

Once he was safe, Castys opened his pouch and reached inside, worming his finger into the secret side pocket that was separated from the rock. He gently pulled out the piece of paper, unfolding it and sighing in relief upon seeing the drawing on it still intact. Not that he’d expected anything to happen to it, but…The memory of the first day of his life, at least that he was aware of, was far more precious than anything else.

Because if he lost it, if he lost that spark of happiness, that piece of who he was that day, he felt like he would collapse under the weight of every awful thing he’d endured ever since.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ @hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump​ @starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words​ @misspelledwitch

[qqueenofhades]

Fake dating AU for the idiot Heartrender Husbands! I beg of you!

As ever, I am preposterously easy to enable, and since they will eventually make an appearance in A Phantom in Enchanting Light, I decided to write their backstory for that verse. Also, “fake dating but it’s only fake because they’re both idiots” is an Aesthetic. I love them.

Moscow, 2010

The guy is most definitely late. Fedyor got here early – probably too early, since they’re supposed to meet at eleven and he arrived by quarter past ten – but it’s now 11:08 and still no sign of him. Fedyor has claimed a corner table in the coffee shop just off Red Square with its splendid old tsarist-era décor, surrounded by the murmur of conversation and clicking laptop keys as his fellow Muscovites get on with their daily lives. The rule is fifteen minutes, yes? If Ivan Sakharov doesn’t show up in another seven, Fedyor is free to bail. But it’s been so long, and Nadia, the mutual friend responsible for this set-up, has begged Fedyor to give him a chance. And since it is understandably difficult to date as a gay man in Russia, Fedyor’s patience must be tested longer than usual. He sips his flat white and glances at the door again. Still no Ivan.

Fedyor opens his phone and checks the photo that Nadia sent him, trying to decide if this man is attractive enough to compensate for his tardiness. It’s hard to tell. It is 11:14, and he is absolutely about to pack up and leave by no later than 11:25, when a tall, grim-faced man in a red windbreaker strides in. He stops short, glances around, spots Fedyor, and powers over with such single-minded determination that Fedyor fears he’s about to be arrested. “Hello,” he says curtly. “I am Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov. I believe you are waiting for me?”

“Ah – ? I am Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky, yes,” he manages, offering a hand, which Ivan crushes in a Terminator grip. “It’s – nice to meet you?”

Ivan snorts, pulls out the other chair, and drapes his jacket over it, then orders a small plain coffee (black like his soul, evidently). Then he returns, sits down, and claps his hands as if he is calling a misbehaving class to attention. “Where are you from?” he barks. “How long have you lived in Moscow?!”

Fedyor continues to gape. He’s genuinely not sure if this is Ivan attempting to get to know him on speed-run, or if he’s being interrogated by a FSB agent who can’t even act for two seconds like he’s not. It’s ominously possible. Dmitry Medvedev is the president and there are hopes that there might be a social liberalization, but the Orthodox patriarchs and the far right have been increasingly agitating against Russia’s embattled LGBTQ community, and things could just as easily get worse. Is this a setup or a setup? Nadia would never knowingly put him in a dangerous situation, of course, but maybe she was likewise fooled. You’d think that if this was a sting, they could have found a guy who was actually capable of pretending to be on a date, but maybe that’s the point? What the hell is going on here?

Fedyor opens his mouth, then shuts it. As a matter of fact, he is originally from Nizhny Novgorod, but moved to Moscow for university and has lived here for seven years, but if Ivan is with the FSB, he probably already knows that. Is this a trick? Is Ivan trying to match him to some police intelligence file or see if he’s a liar? Fedyor is seriously about to get up and walk out (or maybe sprint out) when Ivan, perhaps realizing that he’s blowing this to a heretofore unprecedented degree, says, “Sorry. I am from Krasnoyarsk. I enjoy rugby.”

Of course he likes rugby if he’s from Krasnoyarsk. This is a disaster. “Uh, what side?”

“Krasny Yar,” says Ivan, in the tone of a man about to stand up and belt out the fight song. “I also enjoy football. Yenisey Krasnoyarsk. Though I have begun supporting Lokomotiv since I came to Moscow. That was five years ago.”

So, he’s definitely a hooligan. Fedyor does his best to keep smiling. In the flesh, Ivan is definitely not unattractive. His hair is crisp and brown, there are glints of hazel in his eyes, and he has that hard, chiseled handsomeness that Fedyor always ends up getting suckered into. Except for the fact that he is lively, extroverted, and outgoing, likes clubbing and mingling and making friends, and this man does not appear to have ever heard of a single one of those things. What was Nadia thinking? It’s not like her to whiff this badly. Or did she have to be so circumspect in asking Ivan if he would like to meet Fedyor that, even if he’s not an undercover cop, he is in fact clueless about the true nature of this social engagement? Thinks it’s guys being pals?

“Did you have somewhere you were coming from earlier?” Fedyor asks, after another excruciating silence. “Is that why you were – ?”

“My apologies. The bus was late. I am normally very punctual.” Ivan scowls ferociously, as if the bus ever dares to do such a thing again, he will personally murder it. “What hobbies do you enjoy, Fedyor Mikhailovich?”

“I think you can call me Fedyor, yes?” They are clearly nowhere near “Fedya” and “Vanya” just yet, but “Fedyor Mikhailovich” always makes Fedyor look around warily for his grumpiest professor at MSU. He tries to think of subtle conversational gambits to find out what Ivan knows, without being obvious. Oh God, he really should just cut his losses, but something – perhaps the pathetic conviction that even a terrible date is better than no date at all – keeps him in his seat. Presuming that he does get out of here alive, he will call up Nadia straightaway and ask her many, many questions, mostly consisting of Why??! “Well,” Fedyor says at last. “I like having fun?”

“I also enjoy fun,” Ivan says, stone-faced. “I am very funny.”

Russian humor is normally extremely deadpan, to the point that Fedyor does wonder if Ivan is in fact a diabolical troll genius, but somehow he doesn’t think so. The rest of the conversation proceeds in this fashion, but by the end of an hour, Fedyor still has no idea if he has just been on a date or a trip to the gulag. Ivan gets up, administers another bone-crushing handshake, thanks him for his time, and marches out. Fedyor can practically hear the Red Army Choir thundering some patriotic anthem in his wake.

When he gets home that afternoon, Fedyor is resolved to write off the whole thing, except it was weirdly kind of not as bad as he first thought, maybe, somehow. If nothing else, he’s fascinated by this, like watching a slow-motion train crash. He takes out his phone with the intention of calling Nadia, only to see a text message from an unfamiliar number. When he opens it, it reads, Hello. Your company was agreeable today. Thank you. Perhaps we could meet again next week. Please reply yes or no. The message uses the formal styles of address, and some of the spellings are slightly old-fashioned. He has also signed it – Иван Сахаров – in case there might be some confusion with another Ivan the Terrible at Dating of Fedyor’s recent acquaintance. It is a bit like getting a text from the undertaker.

Fedyor stares at it, insanely tempted to burst out laughing, and finally, just because now he’s too curious to refuse, texts back his gracious acceptance. Still chuckling, he makes dinner, and then, as his phone pings with Ivan’s response, wonders in horror what on earth he is getting himself into.

This is how things continue for the next six weeks. Ivan and Fedyor meet up for the second time, stroll sedately around one of Moscow’s many city parks together, then part ways, and this time it’s Fedyor’s turn to ask if he would like to do it again. He isn’t sure exactly why, except that Ivan is unexpectedly easy to spend time with, and he nods in stoic approval of whatever Fedyor says. Of course, they follow the usual rules of dating which are especially important in Russia: don’t talk about politics, don’t talk about religion, don’t talk about America, don’t talk about Ukraine, don’t talk about Chechnya. From what Fedyor can glean, Ivan’s views tend to the doctrinaire, but he is surprisingly undogmatic, and willing to at least act as if he has an open mind. If he was an FSB agent, it feels like he would have busted Fedyor by now, but maybe he is waiting for him to do something unmistakably gay. That’s not it. Right?

Nadia calls, wanting to know how it’s going, and Fedyor grills her for forty minutes over whether Ivan is a law enforcement plant, a lonely guy looking for a friend, the world’s most method practical joker, or just extremely stupid. Nadia insists that he is actually very nice once you get to know him (HA, thinks Fedyor) and has no particular affection for either the ruling classes or the oligarchs. He can certainly be an acquired taste, but he is not evil.

Forced to accept it, still chickening out of asking Ivan whether he knows they’re dating, wondering if they are dating, if Ivan knows that Fedyor knows they’re dating, if Fedyor only thinks he knows that they are dating while they are not actually dating, or if Ivan thinks he knows that they’re dating while they’re… whatever the fresh-fried fuck is truly happening here, Fedyor trudges off for what has become his almost-weekly rendezvous with Ivan the-Maybe-Not-Quite-So-Terrible. They manage to have a few conversations verging on meaningful, and Fedyor has found himself telling Ivan about his family and Nizhny Novgorod and other such things. Fedyor likes to talk and Ivan likes to listen, though he breaks in now and again with a bone-dry quip. He’s still never what you would call loquacious, or easily forthcoming, but Fedyor likes that. Ivan is tough, complex, enigmatic, guarded, occasionally willing to let down his walls but only if the other person is worth it, and Fedyor finds, to his surprise, that he wants to be worth it. If this is a long-con mind game, he almost doesn’t care. (Almost.)

The problem, however, is that they’ve been seeing each other regularly for a month and a half and they haven’t gotten any closer than walking through a park, outdoors, in full view of their fellow comrades. Even the first time Fedyor takes the plunge and invites Ivan to his apartment, they sit three feet apart on the couch, watching a badly-Russian-subtitled version of Die Hard and providing critical commentary. Fedyor’s English is a lot more fluent than Ivan’s, and his middle-class family, while not exactly wealthy, is definitely better off than Ivan’s hardscrabble clan of miners and loggers in Siberia. That upbringing certainly does explain, to some degree, why Ivan is the way he is, and Fedyor wonders anxiously if Ivan views him as an insufferably posh city boy. Ivan barely finished high school and went straight to working in a Krasnoyarsk aluminum factory. He definitely did not faff around Moscow State University and attend global development seminars in Paris.

Nonetheless, despite their obvious differences, they do get along, and Fedyor is unable to deny the fact that he would, if it’s all right with everyone, like it to be more than that. Of course, finding out if Ivan knows, etc. etc., has been the paramount challenge, and there is no way to find out other than to go for it. Fedyor is 75% sure that they’ve been going steady for two months, but if it’s actually the other 25%, this is going to get awkward in a hurry. Is this essentially a fake relationship, or is it only fake because they’re both idiots?

After having duly commended his soul to God, Fedyor invites Ivan over on Saturday night. He rents a tiny flat by himself since he’s been burned on rooming with strangers, but Ivan is used to it by now, and it doesn’t feel too small with the two of them. Fedyor strains his limited culinary skills to cook supper, probably making his babushka cluck her tongue and sigh in a judgmental fashion back in Nizhny Novgorod, and they sit down and eat in silence for five minutes. Then Fedyor says, “Vanya?”

The consistent use of the diminutive has started sometime in the last few weeks, neither of them remember quite when. Ivan doesn’t correct him. “Yes?”

Fedyor clears his throat. “Do you…” He winces. “Do you… like me?”

“Yes?” Ivan says again, looking confused. “I would not have spent so much time with you if I did not, don’t you think? We are friends.”

“Yes, I know that we’re friends, but…” Fedyor looks at the ceiling. It doesn’t help, so he looks back at Ivan. “Are we… special friends?”

Ivan continues to look blank. “Are we?”

Fedyor resists the urge to tug at his collar, thinking that it’s a damn good thing that he didn’t go with his other idea of just leaning across the table and passionately kissing him. With absolutely no change of tone or expression, Ivan says, “Please explain. Special friends how?”

“Friends who want to…” Fedyor takes a deep breath. “Be… more than friends?”

“How?” Ivan orders again, ruthlessly. “Be clear, Fedya.”

“Are we maybe… boyfriends?” Fedyor’s voice squeaks on the word. “As in… we have feelings for each other that aren’t just… friendly? Like… feelings which are… romantic?”

Ivan continues to stare at him like a statue for several more seconds, and Fedyor contemplates the feasibility of tunneling directly through the floor of his apartment and running all the way to Latvia. Then at last, Ivan throws his head back and – startling Fedyor deeply – breaks into real, genuine, belly laughter, the kind that he has never heard from Ivan before. “Oh my,” he chortles, slapping the table. “Your face. You were sweating bullets.”

“WAIT, WHAT!?!” Fedyor pushes his chair back and stands up with a clatter, incandescently outraged. “Are you – were you messing with me?!!”

“Maybe a little,” Ivan says, wiping his eyes. “You know, all this time, I have not been sure if you are shy or a terrible prude. Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“God’s Mother in Heaven – ” Fedyor feels another prick of disloyalty to his babushka for swearing on the Bogomater, but some people deserve it. All inhibitions forgotten, he charges at Ivan like a runaway train, as Ivan springs out of his own chair in readiness, and starts pounding on his chest in transports of fury. “You are the worst! You are the worst person ever! For two months, what have we been doing?! I have been afraid this whole time that maybe you don’t know what’s really going on, and now – ?! You are the worst!”

Ivan catches Fedyor’s flailing arms, holds them away from him, and picks him up bodily, swinging him around and pushing him against the wall. “Maybe I am just a dumb country boy from Siberia,” he remarks, “but even I am not that stupid, Fedyor Mikhailovich.”

“I hate you,” Fedyor pants, their faces and their mouths an inch away from each other. “Get out of my apartment.”

“Mmm?” Ivan cocks an eyebrow. Then he plants both hands on either side of Fedyor’s head, leans in, and deeply, savagely captures Fedyor’s mouth with his own.

Every remaining vestige of barely rational thought in Fedyor’s head evaporates in screaming shock. He still wants to shove Ivan away, knee him in the balls, or break a chair over his head, but if he did that, he would have to stop kissing him, and he can’t do that either. He moans, Ivan’s tongue takes the opportunity to slip into his mouth, their hands clutch and claw and their legs melt out from under them, they turn away or break contact only to gulp a breath before diving back in again, and the next time Fedyor is aware of anything, they have collapsed on his kitchen floor in a wrung-out, entangled, gasping heap. Ivan says in his ear, “Do you still want me to leave, Fedya?”

“No,” Fedyor manages. “Because now, I am really going to make you suffer.”

Ivan’s smile is dark and full of promise. He pulls back, gets to his feet, and holds out a hand. “Then I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

(Ivan doesn’t leave Fedyor’s apartment that night. He doesn’t leave it the next night either. At the end of the week, Fedyor calls up Nadia and informs her that he hates her so much, and when they do next see each other, he’ll shake her by both shoulders and then thank her for introducing him to the no-good, truly awful, very bad love of his life.)

[jaskiersvalley]

Feral jaskier and himbo geralt are always lovely!!! “So many questions and not enough brain cells” was absolutely MAGNIFICENT

Nonnie, I am so happy you liked that line. It gave me a chuckle to write it too. Feral Jaskier and himbo Geralt are such a delight, I now feel the need to write a little more for you. Movie stars, stunt doubles and idiots ahoy!

Incidentally, this also seems to fit my @sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo square ‘sharing a brain cell’.

Prompt: Sharing a brain cell Relationships (romantic/platonic/etc): Geralt/Jaskier, Lambert/Eskel/Cahir/Aiden Rating: T Content Warnings: None Summary: Geralt is the star of a TV series with Jaskier as his on screen arch nemesis. Thankfully that rivalry doesn’t carry into real life.  

The set was like a second home by that point. Geralt spent a good nine months of the year there, the crew feeling like family. It was their fifth season of filming, Geralt couldn’t quite get tired of the monster of the week format though. He loved it, loved how cheesy it was and the fact that it was a production that didn’t bait or bury their characters. The natural chemistry he’d had with Jaskier made it so much easier too. They had kissed on screen enough times that he was intimately familiar with the shape of Jaskier’s lips and the taste of the lip balm he wore. That had started three seasons ago and Geralt had been quietly wishing they could kiss away from the cameras too. So he had been planning, even seeking out the advice of those he trusted - namely Eskel and Lambert.

That had been a surprise friendship that Geralt had discovered. Eskel was brought in as he stunt double for more tricky shots. Usually, Geralt liked to do his own stunts but falling off a horse at a gallop was a little beyond him. As was surviving Jaskier’s rather flamboyant fighting style. Just for a laugh Geralt had sat in on a few of Jaskier’s training session and he was so very torn between laughing his arse off and feeling sorry for Cahir who was doing his best to help them train for their fight scenes. For all his patience and expertise, Jaskier seemed determined to add his own flair. The number of times Jaskier accidentally smacked Geralt, Eskel and Cahir during training and on takes was truly staggering. It could have been a blooper reel all on its own.

Thankfully it was a short day, something about a number of the crew requesting the evening off. As it was towards the end of filming, they were within the time budget, it had been declared that they could all have the evening off.

“Just make him a home cooked meal,” Eskel advised. “Guys love that, trust me.”

“It work for you?” Geralt was a little sullen and sceptic. He didn’t think a home cooked meal was what Jaskier would want. On screen they were enemies with a terrible habit of falling into bed. The reality probably wasn’t so far off either. Though, at least, they had become friends after a rocky start.

“Would I be celebrating my fifth anniversary this evening if it didn’t?” There was no small amount of entertainment in Eskel’s face. “It’s not like my looks are what draw anyone in.”

That had been an unfortunate accident from before Geralt’s time. Some pyrotechnic stunt had gone horribly wrong and left Eskel with the scars. If it hadn’t been for those and the different coloured hair, Geralt was sure they could have been mistaken for brothers, if not twins. Still, now Eskel only worked on sets where Lambert was the one in charge of anything fire related. Which was just as well because Geralt liked Lambert, enjoyed trading barbs with him whenever their paths crossed. As Geralt’s fame climbed, he got to ask for more and more things in contracts and, as he was fond of Eskel, he asked for him as a stunt double whenever he could and then asked for Lambert if the set called for it. It was nice to have so much power and be able to work with those he liked. Interestingly, Cahir was fast becoming another person who Geralt got on with quite well. That wasn’t to say Geralt wasn’t scared shitless of him at the start. Nobody should know so much about fighting with so many weapons without having a very colourful past - one that Cahir refused to talk about. Still, the guy was good at his job and Geralt could talk to him, so his advice was sought out too.

“Just tell him. Bring him something you know he will like. Show an interest in him and his life outside of set.”

For the first time ever, Geralt felt that Cahir was in a rush. He wasn’t quite as patient and measured as usual.

“Excited for the evening off?” he asked, trying to be friendly. And maybe he was practicing Cahir’s advice on him so he could be sure it worked when he talked to Jaskier.

A soft, shy smile crossed Cahir’s face, making him look younger and much less severe. “That obvious? It’s my anniversary today. I want to make it special.”

“Maybe bring them a gift that they’ll like?” Geralt offered with an amused smile. “I have it on good authority that it works.”

Laughing, Cahir clapped Geralt on the shoulder. “Best of luck. Now go get your man.”

Finding Jaskier wasn’t an issue, Geralt just had to follow the sound of laughter and singing. Unsurprisingly, Jaskier was sat with a gigantic sparkler while Lambert was packing away. Those two were a dangerous combination at the best of times and Geralt knew Jaskier had, on more than one occasion, dropped by the writers’ room to posit new ideas that centred around more pyrotechnics. The ideas had obviously come from Lambert but they were mostly good so got used surprisingly frequently.

“Aha! My companion for the evening has arrived!” Jaskier hopped off the box he had been swinging his legs off and approached Geralt. “What say you? Dinner. You and me. We enjoy this rare evening off with some good company and good food.”

“Sounds good,” Geralt agreed readily, it saved him having to ask Jaskier.

Turning back, Jaskier waved at Lambert. “Enjoy your anniversary this evening! Make sure you can walk properly tomorrow though!”

Another anniversary. While Geralt had been feeling quite confident about asking Jaskier out, the news that it was yet another person’s anniversary somewhat ruined the idea. Geralt knew Jaskier liked to be unique, adored being different to everyone else. To ask him out now and share an anniversary with three people they knew, it felt a little less special. Mood taking a bit of a dive, Geralt slouched next to Jaskier as they walked towards the cars.

“Why the glum face?” Typically, nothing went over Jaskier’s head. “Would you prefer a night of solitude?”

Shaking his head, Geralt resigned himself to the knowledge that Jaskier would wheedle until he got the truth out of him. So he saved them both a lot of time and agony. “It’s stupid.”

“Nothing’s ever stupid, just needs to be valued correctly.”

“I wanted to ask you something. But make it special. It’s not special though, not today. Maybe I’ll try tomorrow.”

That made not a lick of sense to Jaskier and he frowned, bumping his shoulder against Geralt’s. “Just ask.”

“But it won’t be special. Three other couples we know have an anniversary today.”

A soft laugh from Jaskier pulled him from his grumblings. “So many people have their anniversaries every day. It’s not like one single day can be declared as only one couple’s.”

For someone so smart, Jaskier sure wasn’t putting the pieces together to solve just what Geralt was trying to say.

“But would you really want an anniversary when Lambert, Eskel and Cahir each have theirs too?” It was actually a little odd, now that Geralt thought of it. Three good friends all sharing an anniversary.

There was a moment of silence before Jaskier was rounding on Geralt, hands on his shoulders to stop him mid-walk.

“Dear heart, please tell me I’m hearing this wrong. Firstly, if I was so lucky as to have an anniversary, I wouldn’t care who I shared it with. I would love to simply have one, especially if you’re offering to have one with me. Secondly, please tell me you know why those three all have their anniversary date today.”

Mind whirring, Geralt tried to process everything Jaskier had just said. He picked the easier bit to reply to first. “They were on a night out together and met their partners at the same time? Bit like how people date within the same friendship groups or even date siblings?”

Face falling, Jaskier cursed under his breath. “And I thought I wasn’t being obvious enough. Oh dear. Geralt, those three, it’s their anniversary together. As in they’re all dating each other. And Aiden is at home, waiting for them. He got the day off today too.”

Geralt’s jaw fell slack. He couldn’t quite believe it. “They-they’re together?!”

“And they’ve not been subtle at all about it!” Jaskier was laughing. “I love you but you are so dumb, I swear.”

That forced Geralt back into the moment and he smiled. “I love you too.”

He didn’t expect an enthusiastic kiss out in the open but he really didn’t mind it at all. With a huff of a laugh Geralt returned it, arms wrapping around Jaskier’s waist.

“Come on then,” Jaskier finally said as he broke away. I believe we have our zero-th anniversary to have and make a solid start on new traditions. I think we should order takeaway as a treat for our anniversaries from now on.”

Laughing, Geralt linked their hands. He liked the idea of anniversary traditions. Jaskier most definitely had the best ideas.