#I think they only had to look at each other to have a conversation

[xinganhao]

🥊 older brother!soonyoung vs. boyfriend!jihoon.

@choco-scoups -> "what do we think about brother's best friend jihoon, but your brother is soonyoung"

ⓘ cussing, good-natured sibling bickering, suggestive joke. headcanons under the cut.

🥊 jihoon's notes on surviving the kwon siblings .ᐟ

The Kwon siblings are sulky as hell. Jihoon had thought that Soonyoung was the king of brooding, but then he met you. If he weren't dating you, he might even be impressed. As it is, though, he can only focus on managing the two of you's moods. Sure, Jihoon is a little biased. He thinks you're cute when you get all pouty; it makes him want to pinch your cheeks and hold you until that frown is gone from your face. When it's Soonyoung, though, he's a lot more exasperated. "You're a grown man, Soon. Get over it," he might grouse— right before turning to a sullen you and asking if you want a kiss.

The Kwon siblings bicker. A lot. Jihoon doesn't have any brothers or sisters of his own, so he spent quite a bit of time worrying if the two of you were normal. He quickly learned that most siblings tend to butt heads, though you and Soonyoung tended to be a little more... over the top than the average pair. One too many times, Jihoon has been caught in between the two of you's screaming matches. His three-step plan to coming out unscathed is to 1) not take sides, 2) only step in if/when physical altercation occurs, and 3) try not to insult either of you. Even if he is inclined to believe that you're right, more often than not.

The Kwon siblings can be clingy. Before he was your boyfriend, Jihoon was Soonyoung's best friend. And so Jihoon had grown used to Soonyoung's insistences for meals out, Soonyoung's need to be responded to lest he thinks it's the end of the world. When it turned out that you were more or less similar, Jihoon could only shake his head and sigh to himself. He should have known what he was getting into. Really, Jihoon has the patience of a saint in balancing your overthinking and Soonyoung's peskiness. It's a whole love language, and Jihoon is fluent.

Soonyoung loves you. It's not something he says often. Call it the tendency of brothers to brush off emotion or downplay their own sentiments. But Soonyoung loves you in a ride-or-die kind of way, in an if-anything-happens-to-you-I-don't-know-what-I'd-do kind of way. Jihoon knows this. He knows it well. When you and Jihoon had started dating, Soonyoung had been fully supportive. He made a couple of 'jabs' here and there— "If you break their heart, I'll never forgive you!"— but Jihoon knew from the look in his best friend's eye, the set in Soonyoung's jaw, that it wasn't that much of a joke. Jihoon knows that Soonyoung trusting him with you is no small thing. He makes sure not to take it for granted.

You love Jihoon. You love Soonyoung. You would never— not in a million lifetimes— choose Jihoon over Soonyoung. Even though you've threatened bodily harm on Soonyoung more times than can be counted; even though Jihoon is everything that you could want and more. Blood runs thicker than water. Jihoon knows that, too. That's why he never makes you choose. He's content to share the spot of 'favorite person' with your brother, the same way that there's no one else in the world that he trusts more than you two.

+ When the three of you are able to get it together long enough to go somewhere without gauging each other's eyes out, it's those moments that Jihoon secretly adores the most. He sometimes falls quiet, letting you and Kwon fill the conversation at the table, and he thinks of the time you forced him to watch that one Disney movie. Looks like the princess was right; Jihoon is spoken for. Everyone he's ever loved is here, within these walls, at this table, and he couldn't be more happy about it.

✉︎ jayyy! i know you said i could "keep this for a while," but when the req features two people on my bias line.. well! (ᗒᗨᗕ)

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[manicmanuscription]

Unapologetically Selfish

Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Illusions to smut, fluff, gaslighting(?) not proofread bc author is lazy

Word Count: 10599

Summary: When both of your jobs have your time with each other limited, Azriel makes the decision to keep you all to himself. Content to let his family think he'd finally lost his mind but an accidental meeting has the IC realizing Azriel truly does have a secret mate.

─── ♡ ───

Cassian was…concerned, to say the least. 

He fully believed Azriel was loosing his god damned mind and with each passing day this assumption only worsened. 

It all started three years ago, Azriel becoming almost scarce from time to time. With no explanation other than vague answers. It didn’t happen a lot and Cassian respected his brother needed his space some time, it wasn’t unusual for the Spymaster to slink off in the shadows. But then after a year his disappearance’s become nearly constant. 

Cassian and Rhysand finally cornered their brother after they demanded he show up for a monthly family dinner, the whole inner circle was getting concerned and decided that the two Illyrians were the best equipped to deal with this. 

Azriel had blankly looked at his brothers a small furrow in his brow as he sat through their interrogation. He hadn’t even realized he had been gone that much to be frank. Just… after meeting you? He wanted to spend every second of the day by your side, the mating bond simply not enough for how deeply he felt for you. 

After realizing the worry he was causing his family he pursed his lips and quite reluctantly told his brothers that he had found his mate. 

The look on the High Lord and General of the Night Court was absolutely priceless, their mouths hanging open as a stunned expression took over their usually stoic faces. 

Not even five minutes later the whole family knew, everyone pestering him for information like when they would get to meet you, what your name was, what did you do, how did you meet, where have you been this entire time. 

“Wait!” Feyre said as Mor had opened another bottle of wine and started excitedly pouring everyone a glass. “Is that why you asked Rhysand for a few months off?” 

The whole Inner Circle froze at Azriel’s simple nod. They all knew the implications of what that meant and Cassian was the first to speak. “You had a mating ceremony and none of us knew?” His voice thick with emotion. 

Azriel struggled with his next words. His heart a lump in his throat. He was never a talkative male, especially not about his feelings. 

“I-“ 

The truth was he was an incredibly selfish bastard. Of course he wanted his family to meet you, you were the most radiant person he ever had the pleasure of breathing next to and that was precisely the problem. He wanted you all to himself. 

“I’m sorry.” He said clearing his throat. “Would you like to meet her?” The house erupted with enthusiastic yes’s as his words seemed to smooth over the transgression. 

Eight months after that conversation, and after 6 canceled dinners 2 rescheduled lunches and just a straight up no show for drinks, The Night Court decided Azriel was…delusional. 

Of course they came to this conclusion delicately and most definitely amongst themselves after long and heated conversations.

Once again Rhysand and Cassian were sent to talk with the elusive spymaster and why he would make up such a lie. 

Azriel just refused their nonsense once again. He had told them the truth and it was their fault they didn’t believe it. He had barely seen you these last couple months as you had been working on the Continent and he had other tasks assigned to him. He told his brothers this and they just gave each other a look, one he simply ignored. 

Soon…the teasing started. Once the Inner Circle realized Azriel was doubling down on his ‘delusions’ Cassian promptly started joking about the fake wife and mate Azriel had. A few offhand comments here and there that become more and more frequent, of course Nesta and the rest of their family told him to shut up, but for Cassian it came from a place of love. 

He had tried talking to his brother, tried helping him through this. Cassian’s mind spinning, he truly thought Azriel had finally cracked, that his dearest brother was so alone he had made up an imaginary mate just to prove something. 

So his teasing was his last ditch effort, the final playing card to hopefully get Azriel to just admit he lied, than Cassian would take him out for drinks and be his shoulder to cry on for whatever issue that was obviously going on. 

Except it didn’t work. Azriel just grew more and more distant, if he wasn’t working he was simply…elsewhere. The last time Azriel ever made an effort to be around his family was when he suddenly up and decided to move out of the House of Wind, throwing a small house party for a beautiful cottage he purchased along the coast. 

Rhysand had to force Azriel to come to family dinners, in which sometimes the Spymaster simply never showed up and when he did his mind seemed distant and detached. 

Everyone was getting increasingly worried, especially Cassian. Azriel was incredibly important to him and although Cassian would never admit this, he felt responsible for him. Sometimes his brother didn’t know how to take care of himself, especially emotionally and whenever that happened The General had always been there, happily helping him whenever he could, making sure his heart and mind were protected, fighting off Azriel’s demons when he couldn’t do it himself. 

And he had never seen his brother so…aloof, distant and he had never thought his mental health would have gotten so bad he had made up a mate. So finally, Cassian and Rhys decided it was time for an intervention. 

———

Azriel.. for the life of him could not wait for his brothers to get out of his house. 

He loved them dearly and he knew he had been acting stranger and stranger these last few years, he knew his family thought he was certifiably insane and that great Shadowsinger of the fearsome Night Court had finally snapped and of course he cared, he knew that his actions had his brothers spinning and Nesta’s newly revealed pregnancy didn’t help Cassian’s grey hairs, and he had tried countless times to explain to them that he wasn’t insane, that you were real and beautiful and had utterly and completely captured his heart. 

But without the proof, his brothers simply didn’t believe him. Azriel wanted you to meet his family, gods did he want you too. But his time with you was becoming more and more rare. 

If you weren’t on the Continent you were with Thesan and if you weren’t with Thesan you were with Helion, leading all sorts of medical discoveries he simply could not comprehend no matter how hard he tried, this new medical project you were taking on meant that he hadn’t seen you in months, his body and heart ached for you and he truly had never felt such longing in his life. His brother’s insisting that he was insane certainly wasn’t helping his heartache.  

“I…” Cassian swallowed. “I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore Az.” He whispered finally and Azriel truly felt the guilt he had been burying down hit him as if he had been struck at the look on his brother’s face. 

He opened his mouth to say something but ultimately couldn’t find the words as Cassian left his home office, his footsteps echoing the utter doom and gloom he felt not only at your disappearance but at the raging guilt he felt for putting everyone in this situation in the first place. 

“Please…Just talk to us Az-“ Rhys started but he put his hand up. “Just, Go..please, we can talk about this later.” Azriel pleaded and Rhysand must’ve seen the look on his face so he pursed his lips and followed the General out of his brother’s home. 

———

You couldn’t wait to get home not only to the house you’d built together but to your mate. Every fiber of your being ached for him, and it physically hurt to be away from him for so long. 

So finally you had announced to your team and your dearest friend Thesan you were taking a well deserved break and decided to surprise your mate. 

You desperately needed to see him, hold him, breathe him in. Your soul was raging for the distance to finally be closed and so you planned a surprise trip, so you shut off the bond to him, which had sent him into a wild panic but you soothed it temporarily saying you were busy and needed to focus. But really you knew you couldn’t hide the excitement at finally arriving home, your chest was alight with nerves as you opened the door to your house, your fingers nervously playing with your hair as you couldn’t stop the giddy smile from erupting across your face. 

This was space was yours. For the first time you had not just a house but a home, and a lot of your tension eased at finally stepping into the carefully curated space you and Azriel had created. You could smell him everywhere, and it insantly made your frayed nerves ease, your body already relazing at just finally being home.

It had been six long months without touching him, seeing him, with only fleeting reassurance and love sent down the bond and you needed him. Now. 

You were so excited you didn’t see the tall and bulky Illyrian warrior standing in your hallway staring at you as if he had seen a ghost. You crashed into a hard wall of muscle in your haste to get to your mate and immediately pulled back. 

“Your…not Azriel.” You stated, looking him up and down with a small frown etched on your face, something primal recoiling at the thought of another male in your house.

“Neither are you?” The male stated his voice with a slight edge, eyes wary as he looked you up and down, as if you were a threat. His fingers twitching and you immediately pulled away from him noticing his dangerous expression. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here? I think the question is what the hell are you doing in my house.” You asked stepping another few paces away from him but still crossing your arms over your chest as you looked him up and down. He wore red siphons on his hands and his long brown hair had a few greys all tied together in a low bun. Cassian, then you assumed.

“Wait..I’m sorry what?” The male sputtered, his vicious stance immediately softening into one of shock. You didn’t notice the High Lord standing behind him with an equal look of surprise as their brains finally processed the information. Their brother hadn’t cracked, he had been telling the truth about all of it. The traveling, the courtship, that he was in fact married and mated. 

Shadows twisted in the corner before scurrying off down the hall and in just a few seconds you were being tugged into a warm chest and spun around as scarred hands possessively held your waist. You giggled at the touch, the bond in your chest thrummed with light as peace finally settled in your bones. Home you were finally home. He set you down and you leaned up pulling his faist close to yours as you peppered him with kisses. Gods you had missed him so much. He smiled softly at your touch shadows almost completely engulfing you as they too missed you. 

“Hey, Hello? We’re still here.” Cassian snapped his fingers to get your attention and Azriel growled darkly at the intrusion. You had been gone for six months you were his not his family’s. It wasn’t just a want that made him grip you even tighter at the thought of his family taking away your time with their endless interrogation no, no it was a need that thrummed throughout the fiber of his being. He needed to mark you up and hold you close and worship every single inch of skin on your body. He needed to completely immerse himself into you. 

Rhysand must have seen the look on his face or heard something in his mind because he gently gripped Cassian’s shoulders. “If you neither of you show up to breakfast tomorrow we will hunt you down or simply show up here.” It was said in a playful tone but Azriel understood the threat behind it, he was going to have to finally introduce you whether he liked it or not and with a simple wave of agreement from Azriel the two males winnowed away and he pressed himself further against you. Breathing in your scent all his stress and worry melting away as he did. The bond had been pulled so taut with the distance it had ached with the worst pain possible. 

“I missed you.” You breathed out softly, he grunted in agreement. “Let me take you far away from here and show you how much I missed you.” He whispered as he pressed soft kisses down the side of your neck, you giggled and his heart beat faster at the noise. “You are not getting of that easy again Spymaster.” You spoke with another laugh. His hands tightened even further on your hips with frustration, one of them sliding up to tangle in your hair as he kissed you, his tongue sliding in your lips claiming your’s with a deep desire that settled in his bones. You’d leave again soon and now he’d have to share your limited time with someone else. He tugged at your bottom lip possessively at the thought and lifted you in his arms your legs straddling as his waist as he walked you to your bedroom to show you exactly how much you were his. 

————— 

The Inner Circle anxiously awaited The General and High Lord’s arrival, waiting on any news of Azriel’s mental health when they finally winnowed in. Shocked grins overtaking their expressions. There was a beat of silence before Cassian spoke up. “You’ll never guess what the actual fuck just happened.” 

[corrcdedcoffin]

teenage dirtbag, baby

jj maybank x reader

requested: yes

warnings: none. fluff, pining. one use of y/n. jj is a big ol’ softie and nervous boy here. poorly proof read. i’m not entirely happy with this but it is what it is i guess. 18+

gif not mine!

it was so typical to want what he can't have.

it went against basically every rule on kildare island. kooks and pogues aren't friends; avoid each other at all costs. date in your own social circle. but he couldn't help himself and the big, fat crush he had on you, ever since the day he'd saw you.

it was at the wreck. kiara was helping out one weekend, back when she went to the kook academy for a year. she was behind the counter while jj, john b and pope sat at it, listening to her qualms about her new school.

you were with your family having lunch, pope noticing how kiara kept looking over to you.

"is she one of the mean ones?" he asked, everyone else turning to look at you as you were wrapped up in a conversation, moving around animatedly.

"no," kiara breathed out, "she's pretty cool, actually. she's in my art class. i think she keeps more to herself."

"why don't you try being friends with her?" pope suggested.

she shrugged. "yeah, maybe."

the conversation moved on, but jj couldn't stop looking over at you. if he were in a cartoon, little heart bubbles would be floating all around him, and there'd be a tiny heart shaped arrow stuck in his chest.

he hadn't seen you around for a long time after that. not until the next year at school, when you were at the public school instead of the academy. you certainly looked like a pogue — maybe slightly more well groomed and fashionable, but nothing about you screamed kook.

by the time he'd worked up the courage to introduce himself to you, you were gone.

he saw you around a lot after that. every time he'd wander the halls when he was supposed to be in class, he'd peek in every window to see if you were behind the door. he didn't see you for a few days until he passed the art room at lunch.

there you were; headphones on, slightly swaying side to side as you painted, stopping every few moments for another bite of your lunch.

art never made much sense to jj, he didn't like having to think about what something meant, or being told what he was supposed to feel when looking at something. but he knew one thing for sure: you were insanely talented, and he’d happily sit in a room full of your paintings.

this is his chance, he thought, but you looked so focused and in the zone that he didn't want to disrupt you, so he left.

you invaded his dreams basically every night since.

it was probably for the better anyway, he thought to himself. jj was… well, jj. a dirt poor stoner who hardly ever went to class in favour of smoking and surfing. and you? you oozed intellect and creativity.

a while later he'd learned your name from kiara, impressed with himself how casually he brought it up. "i think i saw another girl from the kook academy here" he'd said.

"oh, yeah. that's y/n, the only other reasonable and cool person that went there."

"do you know why she left?"

"no idea" kiara shrugged. "maybe they bullied her out like they did with me."

and that was it. after he'd learned your name, he found you on social media and began to... observe.

it wasn't like you were secretive, but you weren't exactly an open book like some people were on socials. your instagram had a few selfies, photos of your art, your friends, and some landscapes. your twitter was all over the place, from memes to thoughts that were definitely while high. it only made his crush grow ten times bigger. maybe you were more alike than he thought?

he followed you on instagram first, and was incredibly pleased when he received a notification that you requested to follow him too a little while later.

the school year was going by fast. valentine's day was coming in hot, and small tables were set up to send a rose with a note to whomever you pleased. jj decided to do it.

he wrote your name on the little card, writing a small message about how talented he thought you were as an artist, and that one day he'd love to buy your work. he left a heart at the bottom with no name, and carried on with his day.

on valentine's day, he could see roses being handed to people left and right. this was the first time in a while he'd seen you in the cafeteria during lunch instead of the art room, but then again he was hardly ever there. you were sitting at a table with people from the chess club, reading a book as you ate.

god, you were so different from him.

a student approached you with a handful of roses, and handed you two. jj tried to push down the jealousy that bubbled up. did you have a boyfriend he didn’t know about?

one of them you rolled your eyes at, the other made you smile. he hoped it was his. you studied the flower for a while before looking around the room, eyes eventually locking onto his. he tried to stop his cheeks from going red, resorting to hiding his face and turning away from you.

why the hell did you make him so nervous? he was jj fucking maybank. talking to girls was an easy feat for him — it had never been a problem before. he felt different with you though, less like you were another to fool around with mindlessly, and more like you were someone he actually wanted to get to know.

when he had the courage to look back at you, you were gone.

the end of the year bonfire was a big tradition on Kildare island. all kooks and pogues would gather together at the boneyard for a night of partying and officially transition from school year, to summer.

it wasn't as big or fun as the end of summer bonfire when all the tourons would join in, but it was still a good time.

jj had shown up with pope, meeting kiara and john b there. to his surprise, they were talking to you.

none of his friends knew about the massive crush he harboured. he kept it quiet cause he didn't know how to actually deal with his feelings, so he swept them under the rug and accepted that you'd never acknowledge him, let alone like someone as damaged as he was.

but when kiara pointed out him and pope to you, you smiled.

she introduced you to them, pope shook your hand and jj offered a shy wave. he could feel the way john b was eyeing him down at his actions, the bastardly flush returning to his cheeks and ears. the boy smiled at his friend, asking kiara and pope to join him for a beer, purposely leaving jj alone with you.

you broke the silence first.

"kiara told me you're a really good surfer" you'd said.

he shrugged, "yeah, i guess. been doing it my whole life." he couldn't look at you. he wanted to, badly, but he was so unbelievably scared. instead, he dug his foot in the sand, kicking and twisting.

any other time he would have boasted about being the best surfer on the island, but he couldn’t right now. why the hell couldn’t he talk himself up to the girl he likes?

"i'm terrible at it. i tried last summer for the first time and i think i spent more time in the water trying to fight it than actually standing on the board" you joked, and he let out a small laugh.

"have you ever thought about like, being an instructor or whatever for beginners?"

were you hinting at him?

"not really, but it does sound like a good idea. maybe i'll start, be a good summer gig" he shrugged, finally looking over to you.

he'd spent so much time admiring you from afar or through instagram posts, but he was still just as mesmerized. you were absolutely unreal up close. the sun was behind you, illuminating you as if you were an angel. you had incredibly smooth looking skin, and it looked liked you’d spent lots of time outside; a subtle tan accompanied by a tinge of pink across your nose and cheeks. there was a small scar on the middle of your nose.

he wondered where it came from.

"i can be test subject number one,” you suggested, “if you can't help me, then i'm afraid there's no hope for either of us."

conversation flowed easy after that. he learned that you left the academy simply because everyone was a massive dickhead, and you weren't about that. he learned about your childhood injuries (including the scar, that you got from pulling a cats tail) and dreams, your current dreams, and that you weren't as scary as he made you out to be.

actually, he felt rather calm talking to you once he got past his nerves. it was like catching up with an old friend he didn't know he was missing.

you talked all night long, neither of you realizing you'd completely ignored your friends until they came up to you saying they were heading home. looking up, you realized most people had already left. jj's friends looked at him expectantly, while he looked at you.

"you staying?"

you looked around for your friends, unable to spot them anywhere. "guess i should head home. my friends already left i think."

jj nodded and stood up, offering a hand to help you. you walked to the parking area with them, and said your goodbyes once they were at their van. "where's your car?"

"oh, i didn't drive, my friend did" you told him.

"and they just left you?!"

you shrugged, "i don't mind the walk."

jj pursed his lips in thought. the nice thing to do right now was offer you a ride, but he didn't want to be nice. he wanted to be a little selfish and have more time with you.

"i'll walk with you" he said before closing the van door and jogging over to you, not saying a word to his friends. the way you smiled at that made his heart jump with glee.

the entire way, you didn't stop talking. both of you were on a roll of asking questions and sharing stories, laughing and walking as slow as you could so you'd have more time. it was electric. for the first time in a long time, jj felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, and he was happy with it. he felt good, like this life wasn’t so bad after all.

your hands brushed together as you walked, legs moving in sync. occasionally your shoulders would bump into the other. by the time you got home, it was nearly 2am.

jj walked you right to the door. seeing your house was a reminder of how different you were, it slightly bruised his ego and confidence again, but then you looked at him and it all washed away.

it was obvious that neither of you wanted to say goodbye, but you were the one to make the move and ask for his number.

"sorry if i bored you to death tonight and kept you away from all the fun party stuff" you said as you put your phone back in your pocket.

jj shook his head. "i was so far from bored. i had a lot of fun with you. actually i—" he let out a big breath, "i wanted to talk to you all year, i was just nervous."

"what! really?"

he nodded. "yeah. kiara recognized you from the academy, and at first i tried to get her to go make friends with you, but she was scared cause of all the shit that happened there.

"and then every time i wanted to talk to you, you were so busy and focused on your art or reading, and i didn't want to interrupt. which, by the way, you're an incredible artist. if i ever get rich one day, ill be your number one buyer."

you smiled at him, your heart swelling at the realization that the anonymous rose you'd received on valentine's day, was from him.

"so it was you, then?" you asked, just to be sure. you spent so long wondering who it was from, the idea of finally knowing was extremely exciting.

he gave you a confused look, then started to blush. "yeah. it was me” he nodded.

you remembered seeing him that day after you read the note, you thought he was cute. you'd noticed him a lot after that, as he walked past the art room or any other class you were in, seeing him in the halls. you never thought he'd noticed you, though. you always thought he was too cool to pay attention to someone like you.

bouncing on the balls of your feet, you reached up and kissed his cheek. "goodnight, jj" you smiled before turning to your door.

"goodnight" he spoke quietly, giving a small wave and smile as you shut the door.

you watched from the window as he held his hand to where you kissed him and stared at the stars. if only you could see the shit eating grin on his face.

once you washed up for the night and got back to your room, you couldn't help the smile that came when you looked at the dried up rose on your dresser, note still attached.

maybe it was against some silly island rule of kooks vs. pogues that you had a crush on the boy, but you didn't care. there was something special about him. something that made you feel like you were on top of the world, in the safest place ever.

like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

like you were home.

don’t be shy, reblog!

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[wordsinhaled]

People call Charles Edwin’s guard dog and Edwin thinks it’s going to offend him, getting more up in arms about it than Charles ever does. But it doesn’t seem to bother Charles at all. And Edwin doesn’t understand, not at first, not until Charles tells him, “So what if they think I’ll bite if they lay a finger on you? Not exactly wrong, are they?”

Suddenly, it makes sense. Why Charles takes the comments in stride. Why he seems to take pride in the suggestion.

Charles feels like Edwin should have someone who is willing to do all that for him, go that far for him—and of course that someone’ll be Charles himself. Edwin reflects that he’d never had that sort of fervent devotion from anyone, certainly not when he was alive, and no one has come close since but Charles. He reflects on how good it feels to be fundamentally seen, valued in such a way.

Still, Edwin worries—does Charles know that Edwin is just as dedicated to keeping him safe, his heart and his spectral body and his soul? That Charles is the most precious gift Edwin never dreamt to be given, and—

Does Charles know that, every day? That he’s more than his teeth? That he’s more than everything Edwin could want? That he’s sweetness and light?

It’s Charles’ loving touch that Edwin yearns for and craves, when he’s laughing harder than he ever has, in the middle of the night when the rest of the world is asleep and it’s just him and Charles in the warmly-lit office, tipping against each other on the tiny sofa that never feels cramped when it’s keeping the two of them near. The actual joke goes forgotten in the self-replenishing haze of their giggles, their shoulders knocking together, Charles’ ankle hooked around Edwin’s.

Edwin’s hand lands on Charles’ jaw, barely-there fingertips turning Charles’ head, easy, so easy, to look at him. To catch Charles’ gaze, deep and shining and—they’re so close to each other, a bit heady with leftover mirth, and Edwin will never forget that it’s Charles who moves first to press his smiling lips to Edwin’s, simple as ever, like it’s the next line in their conversation.

It knocks the breath straight out of Edwin: the breath he hasn’t needed in three-odd decades. But it’s all right because Charles’ mouth is opening against his, so right and inviting, and Charles is gasping too like he’s in the same dizzy predicament, and Edwin never wants it to end.

“Charles,” he says, “Charles, my darling, are you…?”

Charles’ eyes are dark as ink when he pulls back, only far enough to nudge his nose against Edwin’s cheek.

“Yeah,” he says, smile flashing bright like a slice of the moon. He closes his eyes, a flutter of lashes Edwin can feel against his own cheekbone, followed by the soft drag of a kiss. Then another. “Should’ve seen it, really,” Charles goes on, in between still more kisses, words said into Edwin’s skin. “‘Cause you’re it for me, Edwin, aren’t you, love? I just didn’t see. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when you first—”

“Never mind,” Edwin says, “tell me now,” and then they’re kissing once more. The testing scrape of Charles’ teeth over Edwin’s lower lip, the nibble on his upper, is tentative, too tentative, and Edwin ought to have known, he ought to have suspected… but still he doesn’t, doesn’t expect the keening, tremulous moan that tumbles out of him at the promise of it all.

Charles chuckles, the sound settling in Edwin’s belly, making a home in his chest. “You like that?” he asks. Awed. Still hesitant. The laughter from earlier still layered in Charles’ voice, along with a new sort of hoarseness, a new sort of rasp Edwin could listen to forever. “Don’t wanna put you off, do I, love…”

“I will hardly be put off, Charles. In fact, I—” Edwin swallows, convulsive and wanting, sees Charles’ focus drop to his throat, find the soft underside of his jaw as he tips his chin up. “I would not have you hold back with me. Set your hands where you wish. Your mouth—where you wish. Your…” It is his turn to close his eyes.

“My teeth,” Charles finishes for him softly. “Wherever I…?”

“Yes,” Edwin says. “Yes.”

[pricegouge]

ugh i was at a hotel last night and something happened and all i could think of was ‘i HAVE to tell gouge!’

essentially i was in the hottub sipping a little cocktail by myself until i was joined by two older men. they kept their distance and kept to themselves (i assume to avoid scaring little afab me on my own) but ALL i could think of was Nik and Price finding cute little reader alone in a hotel hottub and doing the absolute opposite.

like each of them taking a place on either side and continuing their conversation as if reader isn’t there but squishing the poor lamb between them.

eventually they get handsy, maybe feed the sweetheart a few more drinks than they can handle. and of course they can’t leave the sweet little thing drunk and all on their own! the only responsible thing to do would to be take the little lamb back to their room with them😵‍💫

anyway i might be insane.

~💉

got yourself in hot soup :/

honestly, you should have known better, taking your third drink for a walk. you would have been fine - really- it's just, well, who are you to say no when a handsome man with a devastatingly hot accent offers you another?

he says his name's nik. he hadn't had his leg against yours at the time, borderline indecently cut shorts letting the fine threads of his copious leg hair grate against your thigh. you'd flinch away, but the man on your other side is almost worse. nik calls him john, but he introduces himself as price. where nik's soft, price is made of steel wool. denser. a little bit meaner, too.

not that either of them are rude, exactly. they're plenty charitable. in a sense; share their drinks with you when you run out. fix the straps of your top when they slump. it's just that you hadn't planned to drink with two strange men tonight, and they're a little bit too insistent, price's gruff bark just a bit too teasing whenever you try to pull yourself to your feet.

'nough already?

yeah, kinda.

you've had enough of their hands, at least, but weren't sure how to stop that, either - not now that you've let it go on so long, each touch more innocent than the one that followed until you're not even sure where it began. maybe when nik had first handed you that drink, blunt fingers lingering. maybe later, when he'd laid his arm across the back of the tub. ostensibly, it was an excuse to dig strong fingers into the tense belt of muscle that blanketed his mate's shoulder, but the crook of his elbow sat just a bit too snug against your neck to be an accident.

or maybe you were looking too far into it. there was no way two grown men who'd clearly come together were hitting on you, after all. not when their big hands kept churning the water, reaching across you to pet at one another. even if it kept you incidentally locked in their strong arms.

'just keepin' ya upright,' john winks, and you've half a mind to tell him off for thinking you need it, but next thing you know your tops come untied and you're clutching your chest, embarrassment boiling worse than the tub. sloppy. maybe you do need their help.

they're nice enough not to laugh, at least. nik tuts as he gathers your ties, big hands surprisingly gentle, matching his voice when he leans in close and asks if you think you're ready for bed yet. you don't trust yourself to speak so you just nod, hide your face in price's shoulder as he helps you to your feet with a warm hand spread across your back. you're so busy why your skin already feels familiar with his touch there that you barely notice as they corral you into an elevator, nik confidently selecting the top floor without asking for you input.

you're not sure why you apologize but you do, meek when you tell them you're actually staying on the fourth floor. nik says that's nice. john says it sounds like a good place to grab breakfast. neither of them select it.

"where are we going?" you try again, stomach falling out beneath you as the lift rockets up without it.

"our room, of course," john scoffs as if it should all be very obvious. his fingers toy with the strings of your top again. again?

nik's tone is final when he speaks again, a low rumble you can barely hear over the whirl of machinery. "said you were ready for bed, milaya," he reminds you, just as john gives one last tug to your strings.

nik is not as nice about helping you retie it this time. good thing they've got the whole top floor.

[mywhisperingwords]

never will be | fred g. weasley

summary: if one more person called fred your boyfriend, you were going to hex them—and then probably yourself for wishing it were true word count: 5.8k masterlist

“Seriously, though,” Angelina said, leaning against the Gryffindor common room sofa with a sly grin, “when are you two finally going to admit it?”

“Admit what?” Fred asked, looking up from the deck of Exploding Snap cards he was shuffling.

“That you’re dating,” George chimed in from across the room, tossing a chocolate frog wrapper into the fire.

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “For the hundredth time, we’re not dating.”

“Not yet, at least,” Angelina muttered, smirking at you.

Fred laughed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Don’t listen to them. They’re just bored and trying to start drama.”

George snorted. “Says the bloke who can’t go two hours without dragging her off to help with one of his pranks.”

“That’s because she’s got steady hands,” Fred argued, flashing you a grin that made your stomach flip. “Best partner-in-crime I could ask for.”

“Mm-hmm,” George said, exchanging a knowing look with Angelina.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks but forced a casual laugh. “Exactly. Partners-in-crime. Nothing more.”

Fred’s grin widened, oblivious to the way your voice faltered on the last words.

Later that evening, as you sat in your usual spot in the common room, Fred plopped down beside you, his long legs stretching out in front of him.

George and Angelina had finally left you alone, their laughter about your so-called “relationship” fading into the background.

Fred tossed a bright green bean into the air, catching it in his mouth. “Honestly, they’re relentless. Next thing you know, they’ll be planning our wedding.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, definitely. George would insist on fireworks during the vows.”

“And Angelina would probably hex the cake to explode in my face,” Fred added, grinning.

“Not that you wouldn’t deserve it,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

Fred gasped dramatically. “Me? Deserve it? Please, I’d be the perfect groom. You, on the other hand…”

You raised an eyebrow. “What about me?”

Fred smirked, leaning back in his chair. “You’d probably spend the entire ceremony arguing with me about the flowers or the seating arrangements.”

“Only because you’d insist on something ridiculous, like having a Quidditch match instead of a reception,” you shot back, laughing.

“See? Proves my point,” Fred said, throwing another bean into his mouth.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips. The conversation was silly, but it sent a pang through your chest all the same. For a moment, you wondered—what if it weren’t so ridiculous? What if you weren’t just friends?

“Guess it’s a good thing we’d never actually be a couple,” you said lightly, testing the waters.

Fred snorted, not catching the slight hesitation in your voice. “You’ve got that right. Can you imagine? We’d probably kill each other within a week.”

Your smile faltered for a split second, but you quickly recovered, laughing along with him. “True. It would be a disaster.”

“An entertaining one, though,” Fred added, grinning at you.

You laughed again, but the ache in your chest lingered as his words played over in your mind. A disaster.

Fred, oblivious, tossed the box of beans onto the table and stretched his arms over his head. “Anyway, who needs all that relationship nonsense? We’re better off just being us.”

“Right,” you said softly, your smile not quite reaching your eyes. “Just us.”

But as you watched Fred lean back, his expression carefree and content, you made a silent decision.

It was time to stop hoping for something that would never happen. It was time to move on.

A couple days later, Fred dropped into the seat next to you in the common room, his typical big grin directed at you. “Fancy sneaking out to the kitchens? I was thinking a snack, but maybe we could even go for a full-course meal if the house-elves are feeling generous.”

You didn’t look up from your book, keeping your voice steady. “Can’t. I’ve got plans tonight.”

Fred tilted his head, frowning. “Plans? With who?”

“Just plans,” you said vaguely, flipping a page.

Fred narrowed his eyes, studying you for a moment, but you didn’t elaborate. Eventually, he shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Your loss. More food for me.”

You hummed noncommittally, keeping your gaze fixed on the words in front of you.

Later that evening, Fred was sprawled on the sofa near the fire, George and Lee arguing over a card game beside him. Angelina sauntered in, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail.

“Oi, Ang,” Fred called, waving her over. “What’s she up to tonight?”

Angelina raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“You know who. She said she had plans.”

Angelina hesitated for half a second before smirking. “She’s got a date.”

Fred blinked, the words not registering immediately. “A date?”

“Yeah,” Angelina said, sitting on the arm of the sofa. “With that bloke from Ravenclaw—what’s his name? Aaron? Aiden?”

“Andrew,” George supplied helpfully, grinning.

“Right. Andrew,” Angelina said, crossing her arms. “Apparently, he’s been asking her out for ages, and she finally said yes.”

Fred frowned, a strange tightness forming in his chest. “Huh.”

George glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Something wrong, Fred?”

“No,” Fred said quickly, shaking his head. “Why would there be?”

George exchanged a look with Lee, who raised an amused eyebrow. But neither of them said anything, much to Fred’s relief.

Meanwhile you were trying your best to focus on Andrew as he told you about his latest Quidditch practice. He was charming, handsome, and undeniably kind. Exactly the type of person you should be going out with.

But as much as you tried to stay engaged, your mind kept wandering. His laugh wasn’t quite as infectious. His jokes weren’t quite as sharp. And when he leaned in slightly to brush his hand against yours, your chest didn’t flutter the way you wanted it to.

You forced a smile, reminding yourself why you were here. Andrew had always been good to you, and after Fred’s clear rejection, it was time to stop holding onto something that wasn’t going to happen.

“Are you alright?” Andrew asked, his voice soft as he studied your face.

“Yes,” you said quickly, sitting up straighter. “Sorry, just a bit distracted. It’s been a long week.”

Andrew smiled, his eyes warm. “I get it. I’m glad you said yes, though. I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

You felt a pang of guilt but managed another smile. “Me too.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. Andrew deserved a chance, and you were determined to give it to him.

Still, as the evening wore on, you couldn’t help but wonder what Fred was doing. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the thought that you wished he were sitting across from you instead.

You had done your best to steer clear of Fred over the past few days. You weren’t sure why, if someone dared to ask. Maybe you wanted to avoid telling him about your date or maybe talking to Fred would force you to acknowledge that moving on was harder than you thought.

It wasn’t easy, avoiding Fred, considering he had a knack for showing up everywhere you didn’t want him to be.

And, naturally, today was no exception.

“Oi!” Fred’s voice rang out from behind you as you made your way down the hallway after class. “Wait up!”

You considered pretending not to hear him, but the sound of his footsteps catching up told you there was no escaping this time.

“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside you. His usual grin was in place, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “Haven’t seen much of you lately. Been avoiding me or something?”

You gave a half-hearted laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. Just… busy.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Busy with what? Or should I say who?”

Your stomach twisted at the question, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Angelina mentioned you went on a date,” Fred said, his tone light and teasing, though his eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. “Figured you’d be too busy swooning over this Andrew bloke to hang out with your real friends.”

You rolled your eyes, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. “It was just a date, Fred. No swooning involved.”

Fred tilted his head, studying you. “Come on. Spill. What’s he like? Is he as funny as me? Doubt it.”

You hesitated, your heart hammering as you searched his face for any hint of jealousy, any sign that this conversation bothered him. But Fred’s grin was firmly in place, his tone casual and carefree.

“He’s nice,” you said finally, keeping your voice even. “Really nice.”

Fred’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments before returning. “Nice, huh? That’s a glowing review.”

You shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. “What else do you want me to say?”

“I dunno,” Fred said, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe that he’s secretly boring or has terrible taste in music. Something I can mock him for.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, but it quickly faded as the tension in your chest tightened.

Fred shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Well, if he’s so bloody great, maybe we should invite him to hang out with us sometime.”

Your head snapped toward him, your eyes narrowing. “Are you serious?”

Fred shrugged, his grin turning lopsided. “Why not? He could use a proper Weasley test. See if he can keep up.”

You shook your head, muttering under your breath. “You’re impossible.”

Fred watched you closely, his grin slipping just enough to reveal the confusion beneath it. He didn’t know why the thought of you with Andrew left a sour taste in his mouth, but he was determined to ignore it.

Maybe it was just because he didn’t know the guy. Or because he didn’t want to lose his favorite partner-in-crime to some bloke from Ravenclaw. That had to be it.

Definitely not because he cared more than he should.

&

The common room buzzed with its usual post-dinner chaos. Fred was in his element, loudly challenging George to an Exploding Snap rematch after a questionable loss earlier, when you walked in with Andrew.

Fred’s laughter faltered for half a second, but he quickly covered it up with a grin. “Well, well, look who decided to join us. Ravenclaw royalty.”

“Hi, Fred,” you said, your voice neutral but carrying an edge of warning.

Andrew smiled politely, clearly unfazed. “Hey. I thought I’d take you up on your offer to hang out.”

“Brave of you,” Fred quipped, gesturing to the chaos around him. “We’re not exactly Ravenclaw standards of refined.”

Andrew chuckled. “I can handle it.”

George appeared beside Fred, grinning broadly. “Andrew, right? You’re the Quidditch guy. Chaser, yeah?”

“That’s me,” Andrew said, looking pleasantly surprised.

“Always nice to have another flyer in the group,” George said, clapping him on the back. “Ignore Fred if he gets too annoying.”

“Oi!” Fred protested, but George was already leading Andrew to the sofa, chatting about brooms and game strategies.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Play nice,” you muttered as you passed Fred, taking a seat near Angelina and Lee.

Fred watched as Andrew settled into the group, answering questions and laughing at everyone’s jokes with ease. His jaw tightened when Angelina leaned over to whisper, “He’s charming, isn’t he?”

“Sure,” Fred said, his voice flat.

An hour later, everyone seemed to be getting along swimmingly—except Fred.

He wasn’t outright rude to Andrew, but his usual teasing had a sharper edge tonight. Every time Andrew spoke, Fred had a quick quip or an exaggerated eye roll.

When Andrew mentioned his house winning the latest match, Fred chimed in with, “Ravenclaw’s strategy, isn’t it? Win the game, lose the fun.”

George elbowed Fred, but Andrew only laughed. “We take Quidditch seriously. Some of us, at least.”

Fred grinned tightly. “Right. Because fun has no place in sports.”

“Okay,” you interjected, cutting through the growing tension. “Who wants snacks? I’ll get some from the kitchens.”

“I’ll help,” Andrew offered, standing up.

You hesitated, glancing briefly at Fred before nodding. “Sure. Let’s go.”

After you and Andrew left the common room, Fred slumped back into his chair, muttering something under his breath.

“What’s your problem?” George asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Problem? I don’t have a problem,” Fred said quickly.

“Sure you don’t,” Angelina said, smirking as she leaned against the armrest. “You’re only acting like a jealous git.”

Fred scoffed. “Jealous? Please. I just think he’s boring.”

George chuckled. “Yeah, he’s awful. Friendly, charming, loves Quidditch—how dare he?”

Fred scowled but didn’t reply, his gaze fixed on the door you’d just walked through.

When you and Andrew returned, the evening had mostly calmed down. Fred kept to himself, though his eyes followed you whenever you weren’t looking.

As the group began to disband for the night, Andrew turned to you, his smile warm and easy. “I had a great time the other night. Do you think you’d want to do it again? Soon?”

Fred’s head snapped up at Andrew’s words, but he quickly looked away, pretending to fidget with his deck of cards.

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to Fred for just a moment. His usual grin was gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and averted eyes. Ignoring him and the little voice in the back of your mind, you turned back to Andrew.

“Sure,” you said with a smile. “I’d like that.”

Andrew’s grin widened. “Great. I’ll find you tomorrow to figure out the details.”

You nodded, and as Andrew left, you glanced back at Fred one last time. He was shuffling his cards with unnecessary force, avoiding your gaze entirely. Weird.

Over the next couple of weeks, your relationship with Andrew began to take shape. Slowly but surely, he worked his way into your life.

He wasn’t overly pushy or demanding, which you appreciated, and he had a way of making you laugh—though not quite as effortlessly as Fred could.

Still, it felt nice to have someone show genuine interest in you, even if the spark you were hoping for wasn’t quite there yet.

Of course, Andrew didn’t just win you over—he charmed everyone.

“Well, he’s bloody polite,” George said one evening after Andrew left the common room. “And he brought snacks. Can’t argue with that.”

Angelina nodded in agreement. “He’s sweet. You picked a good one.”

“Of course she did,” Fred muttered, slumping lower in his chair.

Lee gave Fred a side-eye. “You alright, mate? You’ve been acting off lately.”

“I’m fine,” Fred said quickly, grabbing a deck of cards and shuffling them with unnecessary vigor. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Lee raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further.

The thing was, Fred wasn’t fine.

He didn’t know what it was about Andrew that rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was how the bloke always seemed to be around now, sitting beside you in the common room or leaning in too close when you laughed at one of his jokes.

Fred told himself it was just the newness of it all. You’d always been his person—his partner-in-crime, his go-to for pranks, his late-night snack accomplice. And now Andrew was stealing you away.

It was irritating.

But Fred wasn’t jealous. Definitely not.

One afternoon, the group decided to head down to the lake to take advantage of the rare sunny weather.

Andrew and George carried the food, Angelina and Lee brought the blankets, and you walked ahead with Fred, your pace slowing as you chatted.

“So,” Fred said casually, kicking a stone along the path, “how’s Prince Charming?”

You gave him a look. “He has a name, you know.”

“Right. Andy.”

“Andrew,” you corrected, rolling your eyes.

“Same thing,” Fred said with a shrug.

You sighed. “He’s fine. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Fred said, though his tone was anything but casual. “Just wondering how long he plans to stick around.”

“Why? You planning to scare him off?” you asked, your voice teasing but laced with curiosity.

Fred grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Before you could respond, Andrew called your name from behind, jogging to catch up with you.

Fred fell silent, his jaw tightening as Andrew slipped into step beside you, his hand brushing yours as he walked.

By the time you reached the lake, Fred was thoroughly annoyed.

As everyone settled on the blankets, Andrew took the spot beside you, leaning close to whisper something that made you laugh. Fred sat across from you, stabbing at his sandwich with unnecessary force.

“You alright there, Fred?” Angelina asked, nudging him with her foot.

“Fine,” Fred said tightly, taking an aggressive bite.

George smirked. “You know, for someone who doesn’t care, you’re awfully bothered.”

Fred glared at his twin but said nothing.

As the sun began to set, Andrew offered to walk you back to the castle, and you accepted with a smile. Fred watched the two of you leave, his chest tightening as your laughter faded into the distance.

“Mate,” George said, clapping Fred on the shoulder. “You’ve got it bad.”

Fred scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” George said with a knowing grin.

If there was one thing Fred Weasley prided himself on, it was his ability to remain unshakable. Cool under pressure. Steady in the face of chaos.

Except, apparently, when Andrew was around.

“I’m just saying,” Fred declared loudly, leaning back in his chair with the kind of dramatic flair that immediately drew everyone’s attention, “no one is that nice. It’s suspicious.”

“Suspicious?” Angelina repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Absolutely,” Fred said, gesturing wildly as if this were common knowledge. “No one can laugh at every single joke. Even George’s bad ones.”

“Oi!” George protested, though he was grinning. “My jokes are masterpieces.”

Andrew, seated comfortably next to you, chuckled. “I don’t know, George. That one about the Blast-Ended Skrewts last week was a bit of a stretch.”

Fred’s eyes narrowed. “See? Right there. He’s even polite when he’s being critical. Who does that?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Fred, are you really mad because Andrew is nice?”

“I’m not mad!” Fred insisted, though his tone suggested otherwise. “I’m just… observant. He’s too nice. It’s unnatural.”

“Fred,” Lee said, struggling to keep a straight face, “I think you might be allergic to decent human behavior.”

The group erupted in laughter, and for a moment, even you couldn’t hide your amusement. But Fred wasn’t done yet.

“Mark my words,” Fred continued, pointing dramatically at Andrew, “this whole ‘charming and perfect’ act is going to crack one day. And when it does—”

Andrew held up his hands, laughing lightly. “Alright, you’ve got me. I’ll admit it: I burned toast once. Twice, actually. Sometimes I even leave the cap off the toothpaste.”

“Oh, the horror,” Lee said, clutching his chest mockingly. “Fred, are you sure we’re safe in his presence?”

Fred scowled, muttering something under his breath.

You shot him a look, your patience wearing thin. “Fred, if you’re so bothered by something, maybe you should do something about it.”

Fred blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in your tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrugged, standing to grab a glass of water. “Exactly what it sounds like.”

Fred watched you leave the room, the weight of your words settling uncomfortably in his chest.

“What’s her problem?” he muttered, glancing at the others.

Angelina snorted. “You’re joking, right?”

Fred frowned. “What?”

George exchanged a look with Lee, barely containing his laughter. “Oh, nothing,” George said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with you acting like a jealous prat every time Andrew breathes in her direction.”

“I’m not jealous!” Fred shot back, his voice a little too loud.

“Sure you’re not,” Lee said, patting him on the shoulder.

Angelina leaned forward, her smirk practically glowing. “Fred, has it ever occurred to you that you’re not mad at Andrew? You’re mad because he’s with her, and you’re not.”

Fred opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. He shut it again, glaring at the lot of them as they burst into laughter.

“Honestly,” George said, shaking his head. “I’ve seen Blast-Ended Skrewts with more self-awareness.”

Fred groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You’re all useless,” he muttered.

“Hey, we’re just here to point out the obvious,” Lee said with a grin. “The rest is up to you, lover boy.”

&

The Three Broomsticks was warm and bustling with chatter, the kind of lively atmosphere that could distract anyone from their troubles.

Fred leaned back in his chair, nursing a mug of butterbeer, and let the noise wash over him.

It had been weeks since he’d felt this at ease. For once, he wasn’t thinking about Andrew or the way he seemed to occupy every spare moment of your time.

Because, for the first time in a long while, it was just the group—George, Lee, Angelina, you, and him—laughing, joking, and bickering like always. And with you sitting across from him, grinning over the rim of your butterbeer as you teased George about his latest failed prank, Fred felt… content.

Comfortable. Like everything was back to normal.

But then the door to the pub opened, letting in a gust of cold air and a familiar figure.

Fred’s stomach twisted the moment he saw Andrew.

“Hey, everyone,” Andrew said, his smile easy and confident as he approached the table.

Fred tried to focus on his drink, on George cracking a joke, on literally anything else—but then Andrew leaned down, his hand brushing your shoulder, and kissed you.

It wasn’t long, just a brief, casual kiss on the lips, but it might as well have been a Bludger to Fred’s chest.

The laughter at the table carried on, the others welcoming Andrew like they always did, but Fred barely heard a word. His mind was spinning, his heart racing, and for the first time, he couldn’t keep up the denial.

It wasn’t just irritation. It wasn’t just protectiveness.

It was jealousy.

Pure, undeniable jealousy.

And it wasn’t just because Andrew had you—it was because Fred wanted you.

The realization hit him like a brick wall. Every time you laughed at Andrew’s jokes, every time you brushed his hand with yours, every time you smiled at him with that soft, affectionate look in your eyes—it burned.

Because Fred wanted to be the one making you laugh, holding your hand, earning your smiles.

But it wasn’t him. And now, sitting here, watching Andrew slide into the seat beside you, his arm draped casually over the back of your chair, Fred finally understood why it hurt so much.

&

Fred paced the length of the Gryffindor common room like a man possessed, his hands raking through his hair as George, Angelina, and Lee lounged on the sofa, watching with varying degrees of amusement.

“She kissed him,” Fred muttered for the fiftieth time, his voice tinged with both disbelief and frustration.

“Yes, Fred,” Angelina said patiently, not bothering to hide her smirk. “We were all there. You don’t need to recap.”

“But—” Fred turned on his heel, his expression wild. “How did I not see it before? How did none of you tell me?”

George snorted. “Mate, we’ve been dropping hints for years. You’re just thick.”

“Excuse me?” Fred stopped pacing long enough to glare at his twin.

Lee chimed in, grinning. “He’s right, you know. It’s been painfully obvious to everyone but you. Honestly, we were starting to think you’d never figure it out.”

Fred groaned, collapsing into a chair and burying his face in his hands. “What am I supposed to do now? She’s happy with Andrew. I can’t just…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You could do nothing,” Angelina suggested, crossing her arms. “Let her be happy. Maybe keep your mouth shut for once in your life.”

Fred glared at her. “Thanks for the support, Ang. Really helpful.”

“I’m just saying,” Angelina continued, shrugging. “If you care about her, maybe you don’t ruin things for her. It’s not about you, Fred.”

George tilted his head. “Or—and hear me out—you could tell her how you feel and let her decide.”

Lee grinned. “Or—and this is my favorite option—you stage an elaborate prank to scare off Andrew, then swoop in as the knight in shining armor.”

Fred groaned again, throwing his head back against the chair. “You’re all useless.”

“Hey, I’m giving you options,” Lee said defensively.

“Yeah,” George added. “And Angelina’s just saying what she’d do if she were you. Personally, I think you should grow a pair and tell her the truth.”

Fred shot him a look. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Angelina said, her tone softer now. “But you’ve got to figure it out, Fred. Otherwise, you’re just going to keep driving yourself—and the rest of us—mad.”

The sound of the portrait hole opening drew their attention, and there you were, stepping inside with your bag slung over one shoulder and a slight frown on your face.

Fred’s heart skipped a beat, and he immediately sat up straighter, trying to look normal—which, of course, only made him look even more suspicious.

“Everything okay?” you asked, glancing between the group and Fred’s suspiciously guilty expression.

“Fine!” Fred said quickly, his voice a little too loud.

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t push, instead walking over to your usual spot by the fire. You dropped your bag on the floor and pulled out a stack of parchment, rifling through it with a small, frustrated sigh.

Fred couldn’t take his eyes off you. It wasn’t anything special—just you being you—but the way your hair caught the firelight, the tiny furrow in your brow as you concentrated, the way you bit your lip when something didn’t go right…

In that moment, Fred knew.

Knew that no one else would ever make him feel the way you did. Knew that no one else would ever measure up to you. Knew that he couldn’t keep this to himself anymore.

Now he just had to figure out how to tell you.

“Merlin, he’s gone,” George muttered, nudging Angelina. “Look at him.”

Fred ignored them, his mind racing as he tried to think of something—anything—to say. But for once in his life, words failed him.

Fred had never been one to overthink things. Usually, he went with his gut, said whatever was on his mind, and dealt with the consequences later. But when it came to you, every plan he came up with seemed doomed from the start.

The first time he tried, it was on the way to Charms. He’d spotted you walking ahead, your bag slung over one shoulder and your hair bouncing as you moved. His heart did that stupid thing where it sped up, and before he could stop himself, he called your name.

“Hey,” you said, slowing to let him catch up.

“Hey,” he replied, suddenly feeling like his tongue had turned to lead.

You smiled at him, that warm, easy smile that made his chest ache. “What’s up?”

Fred opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, Andrew appeared from the other direction.

“There you are,” Andrew said, grinning as he slipped an arm around your waist.

Fred’s jaw clenched, but he forced a smile. “Right. See you in class,” he mumbled, walking off before either of you could reply.

The second attempt came during a group study session in the library.

Fred had been unusually quiet, his eyes darting to you every few seconds. You were sitting across from him, absently twirling your quill as you read over your notes.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, leaning forward.

You looked up, tilting your head. “Yeah?”

“I—”

“Shh!” Madam Pince hissed from across the room, glaring at Fred like he’d just set one of her precious books on fire.

Fred sighed, leaning back in his chair as George smirked beside him. “Smooth,” George muttered under his breath.

The third time wasn’t even his fault.

He’d waited until you were alone in the common room, curled up in your usual chair by the fire. It was late, and most of the others had gone to bed, leaving the room quiet and cozy.

Fred took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he approached. “Hey, can we talk?”

You looked up at him, your expression soft but curious. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Fred hesitated, the words hanging on the tip of his tongue. This was it. He just had to say it.

But before he could, Lee burst into the room, laughing loudly about something George had apparently done. The noise startled both of you, and whatever fragile moment had been building between you vanished in an instant.

Fred sighed, watching as you smiled politely at Lee’s antics before heading upstairs to your dorm.

Meanwhile, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Andrew was as kind and attentive as ever, but your heart wasn’t fully in it. You caught yourself zoning out during conversations, your mind drifting to memories of late-night laughs and pranks with Fred.

Andrew noticed.

“You’ve been a bit distant lately,” he said one evening as you sat together by the lake. His tone was calm but serious, his eyes searching yours.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, though you weren’t sure what you were apologizing for.

Andrew smiled faintly, shaking his head. “We should talk. Really talk.”

You nodded, your stomach twisting with unease and the underlying feeling of already knowing what was about to come.

&

The rain fell steadily, soaking through your cloak and chilling you to the bone, but you didn’t care. After your conversation with Andrew, you’d needed space to think, to feel, to breathe.

That was why you stayed in the same spot he left you in, even when it began to pour.

But tonight, the storm wasn’t just inside.

The sound of footsteps on the dock pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to see Fred, his red hair plastered to his forehead and water dripping from his clothes.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice carrying over the rain.

Fred shoved his hands into his pockets, looking equal parts frustrated and relieved. “I could ask you the same thing.”

You shrugged, turning your gaze back to the water. “Needed to think.”

Fred hesitated, then stepped closer, the wood creaking under his weight. “And you couldn’t think inside? Where it’s dry?”

You huffed a laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Guess not.”

An awkward silence stretched between you as the rain continued to fall. Fred shifted on his feet, clearly trying to work up the courage to say something.

He hadn’t planned this, hadn’t thought through what he wanted to say.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he blurted finally, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “You’re out here in the rain, and I’m the idiot who followed you, and… Merlin, I don’t even know where to start.”

You raised an eyebrow, your expression guarded. “Then don’t.”

Fred shook his head. “No, I have to. Because—because you drive me mad. You’re all I can think about, and it’s infuriating because I don’t even know when it started, but it’s just… there. All the time.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his voice.

“You know, Andrew is… perfect, really. Kind, understanding. Says all the right things. And he’s right. He’s everything I should want.”

Fred’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice steady. “If he’s so perfect, then why are you out here? With me?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and you blinked, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.

“Why, if Andrew’s so perfect, are you standing out here in the rain with me instead of him?” Fred pressed, his voice soft but insistent.

Your chest ached, and before you could stop yourself, the truth spilled out. “Because he’s not you, Fred! He never was.”

Fred stared at you, his breath hitching as your words sank in.

You laughed bitterly, swiping at your wet face. “Andrew is kind and caring and everything I should want. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s not you. And that’s why we ended things. He knows he’s not the one I want to be with.”

Fred didn’t move for a moment, as though your words had stunned him. His wide eyes searched yours, raindrops slipping down his face, mingling with the uncertainty you saw flicker there.

But then, something shifted. Determination sparked in his gaze, and in one swift motion, he stepped forward, closing the distance between you. His hands, rough yet gentle, cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your rain-damp cheeks.

The kiss came like a thunderclap—fierce, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. His lips claimed yours with a desperation that stole the breath from your lungs, as though this was the only way he could make you understand everything he couldn’t say.

The rain blurred everything around you—the trees, the lake, the world itself—but Fred’s warmth anchored you. His hands trembled slightly against your skin, betraying the vulnerability beneath his boldness.

A soft gasp escaped you as your fingers curled into the fabric of his soaked shirt, pulling him closer instinctively. The rain had drenched you both, but Fred’s heat seeped through the layers, making you feel like nothing else mattered.

His lips moved against yours, earnest and unrelenting, as though he feared you might slip away if he didn’t hold on tightly enough. And yet, there was no demand in his kiss, only a raw, aching need that left you dizzy.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, Fred rested his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. His hands stayed on your face, as if letting go would break the fragile moment between you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but firm, his thumb brushing away the rain—or was it a tear?—from your cheek. “Forgive me?”

The rain continued to fall, cold and relentless, but it didn’t matter. Fred’s eyes searched yours, unguarded and full of something that made your chest ache.

“Always,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute.

Fred’s lips curved into the faintest smile before he kissed you again, softer this time but no less consuming.

From a distance, George and Lee watched from the cover of a nearby tree, Angelina holding an umbrella over them with a triumphant smirk.

“Told you,” George said smugly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lee muttered, crossing his arms, but not before handing George the bag. “I still say it’s weird to bet on your brother’s love life.”

“Not when it’s this predictable,” Angelina chimed in, snatching a Galleon from the bag. “You’re welcome, by the way. I made this happen.”

“You did nothing,” George said, rolling his eyes. “They’re just idiots. Idiots in love.”

[hiraizyo]

sweetheart, i can feel you.

synopsis — megan who loves sitting on your lap, no matter the time or the place. but it wasn’t like you were complaining, anyways.

established relationship, fluff.

now playing: ride me darling, artemas

a/n: inspired by this dahmo photo, and because i love dark hair megan, and also because she just seems like the type of girlfriend to claim you as her seat.

when you first met megan, you didn’t think of her as the territorial type. and in all honesty, she didn’t expect it from you either.

things began to change soon after being nine months into the relationship and you both had to have everyone know that you belonged to each other.

it was the usual intimate things — hickeys, scratch marks, bite marks — that normally meant both of you were taken.

neither of you were complaining, though.

(megan still remembered the day she’d come home, her skin littered with your love bites.

“jesus christ,” manon muttered, seeing her neck. it wasn’t much, but it would take a little more effort to hide. “yn really needed to make her claim, didn’t she?”

lara peeked over at megan when she walked by, hearing the two converse and made her own teasing comment.

the dark haired girl blushed, but didn’t say anything. she was absolutely shameless, relishing in the fact that she was yours just as much as you were hers.

besides, she would be able to cover up a few hickeys here and there. you, on the other hand, wouldn’t fare well as much as her. your back was filled with long, red lines that megan was sure would sting for days.)

(she was a bit of a scratcher.)

the claims eventually gravitated to a more softer and innocent light.

for instance, megan always needing to hold your hand and run her thumb along the back of it. or you always having to have an arm around her, whether it be her waist or her shoulders. at some point, it was decided that you’d even wear one her bra straps on your wrist, almost as if it were a bracelet.

recently though, megan had built up a habit of sitting on your lap, which she claimed was her favorite place to be.

“is this seat taken?”

looking up, you see megan standing above you while you sat on a wooden bench outside. currently, you were at a house party that your mutual friend yunjin was throwing.

you chuckled, “which one?”

it wasn’t a serious question, knowing exactly what she meant. and even if there were plenty of other empty seats around you, megan only wanted one of them.

she didn’t respond, giving you a sly smile before she moved your hand out of the way and sat herself right on your lap. she wiggled, getting comfortable. immediately, your hands went around her torso, locking your right hand with her left one.

megan turned to give you a kiss, smiling gently, feeling as if she was at peace. her lips were soft and tasted of cherry.

“how long are you going to do this?” you asked, leaning your chin against her shoulder.

the conversation you’d been having previously was long forgotten, and although you felt a little guilty considering megan practically interrupted it, you knew you couldn’t focus on anything else with her around.

“oh this?” megan gestured downwards, “it’s sadly not a phase, i think i found my new favorite spot.”

the laugh that escaped you made megan’s chest warm, and the look in your eyes made her feel as she was the only person you were seeing right now.

“i’m not complaining, not at all.” you quickly said, hoping to convey that it wasn’t a problem. “in fact, i quite like it. having a pretty girl sitting on my lap is like a dream.”

“a pretty girl?” megan turned to face you completely.

her body was now turned to the side with her the side of shoulder against your chest instead of her back. the look on her face had you leaning in, ghosting your lips over hers. her eyebrow was raised, challenging you.

oh, how you loved to tease her.

“sorry, my pretty girl.”

your lips pressed together in a chaste kiss. you could feel megan smiling against your lips, her fingers fiddling with the bra strap on your wrist.

“ugh, here they go again.”

hearing the comment of daniela from around the room, megan pulled away and yelled an insult back, while you leaned into her and pressed a delicate kiss against her lower neck.

“are you comfortable?”

“very.”

you groaned at megan’s cheeky reply, but you brought her closer to you despite the circumstances.

“baby, you can’t even see the movie.”

megan was once again sitting on your lap, while you were on the couch in the living room of the katseye dorms. you’d be spending the night there, and while they were all in their own rooms, you and megan took the opportunity to watch movies in the lounge.

however, she seemed to have different plans.

as soon as you’d finally picked a movie, megan walked over to you with a bowl of popcorn. she set it down in front of you on a coffee table and maneuvered her way onto your lap.

her back was facing the tv, the movie now paused which barely even made it through the intro. you laughed quietly to yourself, pulling her even closer than before.

“the movie is the least of my concerns right now,” megan said, laying her cheek in your shoulder. “i just wanna cuddle.”

“we should’ve just stayed in your room then.” you replied, tracing shapes on her exposed skin.

“lara would tease us again.” she mumbled, and snuggled into you further.

a quiet and comforting atmosphere settled around you two as you continued tracing shapes, the feeling of it lulling megan into a drowsy state. her breathing evened out and you could tell she was close to falling asleep.

you realized then that the plans for a movie were a waste, breathing in her scent. she mumbled something under her breath so quiet that you barely heard her.

“mh?”

megan turned her head so that it was now tucked into your neck, “i asked how are you this comfortable?”

her breath tickled your skin, trying not to let it affect you too much. a lazy grin settled on your lips, and you shrugged lightly.

“i dunno, i guess i’m just built like that.” you whispered, to which she giggled at.

megan lifted up her head, now staring at you. her eyes were filled with such love and warmth that you couldn’t believe she was really with you.

“i’m using you as a pillow from now.” she stated, not leaving room for any argument.

a curt nod was given in response. accepting your fate, you knew then that megan would hold her word to it.

you were already late for the function, and it didn’t help that megan’s outfit had you undressing her with your eyes.

you were leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom, arms folded over your chest as you watched her movements. your gaze raked over her, admiring from afar. many thoughts swirled around in your head, but the main one was how could someone look so effortlessly beautiful?

“i can feel you staring.” she noted as she looked around the dresser for a specific necklace.

clicking your tongue, you tilted your head to the side. “well i can’t help it when my girlfriend is drop dead gorgeous.”

megan shook her head playfully, finally seeing the item she was searching for. she beckoned you over with her hand, holding the necklace up for you.

“help me put this on.”

she turned around, lifting her dark hair in order for you to place the necklace on her neck. making quick work of clasping the necklace together, you let it rest on the back of her neck, fingers trailing across her smooth skin.

peering at her figure the mirror, you let your thoughts consume your words.

“i don’t think i can make it through the night without tearing that dress off you.”

megan’s cheeks flushed a pink hue at your comment. she turned back to face you and tapped your chest twice.

“we’re already late.” she reminded you.

your hands snuck up to her waist, settling them on her hips and gripped softly. she looked over you once, thinking that you looked equally as beautiful as she did.

“we should take a photo.” megan moved to quickly grab her phone, opening up the camera app.

“you quite literally just said we’re already late.” you chuckled at her hypocrisy.

megan hushed you and made you sit on the square leather bench in front of the dresser. following her instructions obediently, you waited silently for her as she fixed herself one last time before taking a seat on your lap.

it was almost natural at this point, having her atop your legs.

your hands went to her thighs, feeling the dress material under your skin. she held up the camera in the mirror, capturing the moment of a kiss being pressed to her cheek.

“i am so making this my new background.” she smiled, and you finally left your apartment for the night ahead.

well, i’m back for another…

again, i apologize for any typos and hope reading this was enjoyable! i’m not sure if i like this much but i really wanted to write a megan imagine <3

[fanfoolishness]

messy

When Elgar'nan and Solas battle in Rook's mind, she gains a new sense of empathy for Lucanis' struggle with Spite -- and Lucanis finds a new fear. Lucanis x Rook, a little angst, a little whump, lots of cuddles and conversation. 2500 words, post-"Blood of Arlathan."

---

Lucanis followed Rook and Neve, his senses muted and muffled. This was not the real world, this trap of Elgar’nan’s. He knew that much even without Spite raging in the back of his mind. The world shimmered around them, gauzy and insubstantial, as they tried path after path only to be transported back to the beginning.

“We’re wasting time,” Rook lamented, her pale eyes wide with worry. Soot and blood smudged her cheeks, remnants of their earlier battles against Ventatori and darkspawn. “We have to find the clan!” She charged forward again into the fog, then stopped suddenly, looking confused.

“Did you two hear that?” she asked, gaze fixed on something Lucanis couldn’t see. 

“Hear what?” Neve asked, giving Rook a curious expression.

There is nothing here, Spite agreed. Trapped! We cannot get out!

“No,” Lucanis said, troubled.

Rook took a few more steps into the mist, then stopped, twisting her head to one side as she had when Elgar’nan had attempted to sway them all. She rubbed at her face, her eyes darting wildly. “I just heard Solas. Tell me you heard that.”

“No,” Lucanis said slowly as Neve shook her head. Rook winced, distress crossing her face.

“I don’t know how, but I can hear him. He says there isn’t much time, that he’s going to try to distract Elgar’nan somehow. Come on. I think it’s the only chance we’ve got.” She led them into the haze, and Lucanis matched her pace to stay by her side. 

He had long ago learned to control his fear, something all Crows faced young. One could not survive as an assassin by operating from a place of fear. Fear led to exploitation by enemies, to holding back when the killing blow was at hand. He had not been afraid for his own life for many, many years.

But seeing the way Rook stopped abruptly, tilting her head with one long ear pressed against her shoulder, her grey eyes vacant -- new fear roared up within him, and he did not know how to quell it. 

He waited for her to speak, praying that she came back to him.

“They’re fighting,” Rook said, each word looking like it took great effort. “It’s nasty. They loathe each other.” She gritted her teeth. “Come on.”

“Are you all right, Rook?” Neve asked, reaching out and touching her on the shoulder. Rook startled at the touch, her eyes wide and haunted. 

“I’m fine. We’ve just -- got to keep going.”

Not possessed! Something else, Spite said urgently, and Lucanis wanted to believe him. But Spite was a normal demon, if there was such a thing; he was not a god, and he did not have the powers of one. Who knew what Elgar’nan and Solas could do to Rook?

Mist billowed around them, then a sensation of shifting, the sense that they were back on solid ground. “You led us out!” Lucanis said proudly. 

Rook gave him a wan smile. “Thank Solas, not me, and hurry.We’ve still got time to save the clan.” She broke into a run over the stonework path, staff held tight in one hand, and Neve and Lucanis ran after her. 

“She’s got this, Lucanis,” Neve said under her breath. “I don’t think whatever’s happening is hurting her, exactly. We’ve just got to hope it helps.”

Can’t see it. Can’t hear it! Spite said. I would know a demon!

And a god? Lucanis thought. But then Venatori rounded the corner, rushing at them, and he and Spite flowed together, a blur of blades and blood. Neve was right. They had this, and they would find a way to stop the sacrifice and save the Dalish. 

He parried a Venatori’s blade, then drove his own deep between the man’s ribs, Spite cackling with glee. Around the battlefield magic flew, the iron stench of blood magic, Neve’s crisp clean ice spells, the musty-sweet scent of Rook’s necromancy. The tide was turning --

“Rook! On your left!” he shouted as a Venatori knight rushed her from the side, shield raised and sword at the ready. She should have sidestepped, skimming across the surface of the Fade to reappear safely on the other side. He had seen her do it a thousand times. 

But she didn’t turn, didn’t respond at all, and his heart leapt into his throat. “Rook!” He ran to help her, Spite urging him on faster. He was nearly there when a burst of ice magic shattered against the knight just as he reached Rook, battering her with a single blow of his shield as the chill took hold. She crumpled. Lucanis’ dagger tore through the man’s throat an instant later, and he shoved the body aside, turning his attention to Rook.

Lucanis dropped to the ground beside her. “No, no --” He turned her over, his heart pounding, Spite incoherent and frantic. Relief washed over him.

She was pale but alive, dazed but conscious. His hand scrabbled at his belt for a healing potion, and he forced himself to steady his hands as he tilted it to her lips. She swallowed, coughing, the color in her cheeks looking better instantly. “Thanks, Lucanis,” she gasped, taking his proffered hand as he hauled her to her feet. 

His heart slowed again, and Spite ceased his agitated chatter. Rook. Is all right!

Lucanis scanned the battlefield. There was only one more enemy left, and with a howling blizzard conjured up by Neve, the Venatori mage collapsed and breathed her last. He let out a long sigh and turned back to Rook. “What happened? I tried to warn you, but I couldn’t get there in time --”

“I couldn’t hear you,” she admitted, nearly in tears. “They’re deafening.” She winced as he reached out to touch a slash on her head. “Never mind. We have to --” She grimaced, twisting her head to the side, one ear down toward her shoulder. “Shut up already!” 

Neve reached them, her face tight with worry. “Rook. Come on. I know you have this,” she said. 

“Yeah,” Rook said, breathing heavily. “Let’s finish this.”

Rook hurts. Help Rook!

I don’t know how, he thought, and he shoved the fear down as deep as it could go.

---

It seemed like days since the battle and rescue at Arlathan Crater, but realistically it was a matter of hours. They’d found the elves at last and gotten to safety. Somehow they made it through what happened: the hike back to the Veil Jumpers’ eluvian, making sure the rescued elves were safe, tending to injuries and meeting with the team. 

So much in such little time. Lucanis felt the exhaustion deep in his bones. He knew there was still so much more to come -- slaying Elgar’nan’s archdemon and killing the gods, aiding Treviso, Minrathrous, their team. He hoped he could manage to sleep tonight after everything.

But he knew he’d never manage it if he still feared so for Rook. The way she’d gone so distant, face empty; he’d lost her even though she was right beside him. That loss, even for a moment, had been terrifying. And the thought that kept crawling back into his head, just as terrifying --

Is this how she feels when Spite takes over?

He shook the thought away as best he could. She was here now, safe from Elgar’nan, safe from Solas doing whatever he’d done. He had to believe it, for her sake as well as his own.

He took the stairs lightly, then made his way down the narrow hall to her room. He raised a hand and rapped at the door. “It’s me. May I —“

The door swung open before he could finish the sentence. Rook smiled tiredly at him, a welcome sight. She’d traded her armor for soft linens in Mourn Watch greens and violets, and she’d let her dark hair down for the evening, hiding some of the fresh scratches on her face. “Well, well, well. I’d been getting ready to come see you. Thanks for saving me the trip.”

His face creased into a smile. “You’re all right.”

“In a manner of speaking,” she said. She smiled back at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Anyway, do come in. I wanted to say… that is, there’s some things I wanted to…” She crossed her arms, heading back to the settee. He followed her and closed the door behind him, and they sat down together. “Eurgh. I’m a mess right now.”

“A beautiful one,” Lucanis pointed out.

She snorted, then laughed. “How are you somehow the most earnest man who ever lived?”

“It is easy to be earnest when speaking the truth,” he said, shrugging with a soft smile. He hoped to have put her at ease, but as her laughter faded, he could see something dark and shuttered behind her eyes. Not all right, then.

He reached out cautiously. Their first attempt at a kiss had been disastrous, but he was growing more comfortable with the language of touch, especially smaller touches like her hand in his, a close embrace, small, still-clumsy kisses. But those had been moments of stolen sweetness, not attempts to offer comfort after dark times. He rested his hand on her shoulder, hoping this was right. 

“How are you really?” 

She looked up at him, her smile gone, her face stricken. Then she closed the distance between them, scooting beneath his arm and resting her head against his chest. He froze for a moment in surprise, then softened, welcoming her closeness. 

“Sorry,” she said, her voice muffled as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “I just — wanted to feel you were here. That I was here.”

He let his arm relax around her shoulders and pulled her closer, sighing. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He took a deep breath. Her hair smelled freshly cleaned, with faint scents of lavender and woodsmoke —

Smells like fear. Confusion!

He frowned. “So… you are all right. Only in a manner of speaking.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

”For what?” he asked, bewildered. “You led our team safely through a den of vipers. We rescued the elves. What more could you have done?”

”It’s not that. It’s… I understand better now. What it must be like to have Spite in your head, all the time.” She lifted her head, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. “Solas has been in my head since this all started, but… it’s different. The connection between us is tenuous, and he’s only been able to make contact through the Veil when I meditate and drop all other thoughts. It’s been my choice to contact him. The prison he’s in in the Fade is powerful, and it keeps him bound.” She shivered. “Until Arlathan.”

”What did you hear?” Lucanis asked gently. “Neve and I never truly heard what you did. You said that Elgar’nan and Solas fought —“

”It wasn’t just words,” Rook said, releasing her arms from around him and leaning back against the settee. She reached up to where his arm circled her shoulders, and took his hand in hers, squeezing tightly. “It was all-encompassing. It was difficult to see, to fight, to walk, even to breathe. Their rage was so tremendous. Their power. I felt like an ant beneath them, and as for my own thoughts — when I could get them back — I kept thinking, And Lucanis struggles with Spite, all the time.”

We have a deal! Spite chimed. Not a struggle! Not now. Not so much.

“It is better between us,” Lucanis said. Not a struggle still wasn’t exactly true, but it was not like the early days, when he stayed awake for two or three days at a time, refusing to sleep and lose control. He shivered. “Not like a god. I think… I know how to bear him now.” He sighed. “But you, Rook… it was hard to see you like that.” He squeezed her hand, his heart aching.

“Why? What was it like?” Rook asked haltingly.

He thought for a moment. “You are fierce in a fight, you know. Your focus, your power, your magic -- you are brilliant.”

She gave him an awkward, surprised smile. It was terribly charming. “I’m sorry, was I asking why I’m so incredible?”

Lucanis chuckled. “You may as well have been.” His smile faded. “But seeing their voices in your mind, knowing I couldn’t help you -- it frightened me, Rook. And I am the sorry one.”

She reached up, laying her hand against his cheek. “What could you have to be sorry about?”

“If you -- feel as I do --” He ducked his head. “Then seeing Spite take control of me must be…” He exhaled heavily, and she looked at him, her eyes too bright. He closed his own, hesitating.

“Before, I did not wish you to see me that way for my own sake. But now I wonder if you felt this same fear as I did. Seeing the woman I--” Not that word, not yet. But… soon. “-- care about, struggling against what could not be controlled, knowing I could do nothing to save you --”

She gazed into his eyes, then rested her head on his shoulder again, drawing him close once more. “Lucanis, you never need to apologize for who you are. For what Spite is. If I worry for you, that’s mine to bear. What was it you said before? ‘I deserve better than you and your mess’? Well, it’s too late for that now. It’s our mess.”

She felt so right in his arms, solid and true, warm and close. He bowed his head over her. “Our mess. I think I can handle that.”

She laughed, warm huffs of breath against his neck. He shivered. Oh, but she felt good this way.

“Lucanis?”

“Yes, Rook?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“But of course.”

She sat up, the smile on her face fading. “Would you… stay the night tonight?”

For a moment his mind whited out, Spite curious and cackling in the background, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. Rook’s face flashed immediately with understanding, and she rested her hand on his vest. 

“Not for that. I’m exhausted, and I know you’re not ready,” Rook said gently. “I just meant, could we fall asleep together?”

He felt a smile slide over his face. To hold her in his arms for longer, to wake up beside her in the morning? That would be a fine thing indeed.

“I am yours, Rook.”

---

They did not sleep at first; there was still much talking to do of the elves, of the gods, of Treviso and the Antaam. Her determination and her clever plans were just as intriguing to him as her smile and her laugh. But when at last Rook’s eyes fluttered closed and her breathing grew deep and heavy, Lucanis leaned back against the settee, finding a way for them to fit together. Her elbows nudged his ribs, and her chin was somehow dagger-sharp, digging into his breastbone. But she was warm and soft and safe within his arms, and he fell asleep beneath the Fadelight, his fears at last forgotten.

[cressidagrey]

The moment I could see it - Part 4

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ariel Cane (Original Character)

Summary: 5 Times that Gianpiero Lambiase thinks that Ariel Cane and Max Verstappen are weirdly similar…and 1 time he is just happy that the two of them are no longer pining after each other. 

Warnings: 

GP's POV, mention of cancer, mention of parent's death

Author Notes: I am back to my old tricks...which means I write from the most random of POV's just because. (I once wrote a chapter from a dog's POV so like, GP doesn't even really count.

Quite frankly… GP had expected fireworks. 

He had expected Max and Ariel to have explosive disagreements. He had expected her to give up 6 months in. He had expected them to clash at every turn. A battle of wills.

What he hadn't expected however...was the fact that the two of them needed less than 2 months to be completely and utterly besotted with each other.

Or Best Friends as they had titled themselves.

They got along creepily well. They didn't have disagreements. Or if they had, then they didn’t have them anywhere GP or any other staff member was privy too. 

Max and Ariel had an almost...terrifying dynamic. It was like they were on the same wave length, like they thought the same things at exactly the same time.

And the way Max would look at her sometimes...

It was like he was mesmerized.

But more than that...Max also actually... listened to her. 

She could say something to him and he would actually stop and think about it. She had a way to say things to him that made the cogs in his brain spin and Max actually reconsidered. It was almost unbelievable.

Max Verstappen: renowned wild child, and international racing car river… Was hanging on the words of a young, attractive girl. Not only hanging on her words, but taking them into account and adjusting his behavior according to them.

GP sometimes wished he could bottle some of that when Max was being unreasonable to him. 

But it seemed to be something that was just…utterly Ariel. 

Ariel who turned the mighty Dutch Lion off the race track into a domesticated kitten that looked at her adoringly and who GP had found more than once in his driver’s room napping with his head in her lap, while Ariel drew her fingernails over his scalp and answered her emails one-handed. 

Max clearly wasn’t the only one who was besotted. 

That was the part that was most concerning to GP. The fact that Ariel seemed to be just as head over heels for Max as Max was for her.

It was a mind-boggling turn of events. Gianpiero still had a bit of trouble wrapping his head around it, and it had been almost one and a half years since these two started working together.

It was crazy. It was insane. It almost felt surreal.

But there was no denying it. Max Verstappen was actually paying attention to Ariel's opinions and advice.

GP still couldn't decide if he was impressed, confused, scared or all of the above.

The rest of the team spent much of the 2020 season not worried about a global pandemic but wondering when the two of them would figure things out. GP had to admit, he and the other members of the team had more pressing things to worry about than the relationship between Max and Ariel. Between dealing with the restrictions and disruptions caused by the global pandemic, as well as Max Verstappen's actual races, there was plenty to worry about.

However, the ongoing...whatever was going on between the two of them was a frequent topic of conversation.

"Do you think they're dating?" one of the mechanics would ask.

"Nah, they're just friends," another one would reply.

"No way, there's something going on there," yet another person would chime in.

The constant chatter and speculation about Max and Ariel's relationship went on for months.

"I bet they're dating in secret," one of the engineers would say.

"Not a chance, they're just friends," a press officer would counter.

"I don't know, they seem pretty cozy together," a member of the marketing team would chime in.

It was like a never-ending game of “guess the relationship status”.

And then... Silverstone 2021 happened.

Gianpiero still winced when he thought about that day. 

It was one of the most intense and stressful races of the season. The mood around the Red Bull team was tense as the race unfolded. Everyone was on edge as they watched Max battle it out with Lewis. And then Max and Lewis Hamilton had come into contact. 

GP watched as the two cars came together at Copse corner, a sickening feeling of dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

The Mercedes was fine. The Red Bull careened into the wall.

GP would never forget those moments after the crash. The seconds that ticked by as they waited for confirmation that Max was alive and conscious. The silence, as everyone in the team held their breath, waiting for news.

He didn’t know how Ariel had reacted to it. He ha been so focused on the radio an the life stream to the accient sight, that Ariel hadn’t been on his mind. 

He did later hear that Ariel had been waiting in the medical tent by the time Max had been brought in there… that she had been in the hospital with him, when they had scanned his brain and sent him back to the hotel with a concussion and bruises but thankfully, gloriously alive…

The next morning he showed up at Max’s hotel room with definitely nutritionist unapproved cinnamon rolls and coffe, because the guy had nearly died, so the least he deserved was a sugar rush. 

Ariel was the one who answered the door.

There, standing in the doorway to Max's hotel room, was Ariel. She wore a simple t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and her hair was tousled, indicating that she had just woken up.

GP blinked, momentarily taken aback by her presence. "Ariel," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Is...Max still asleep?" 

He was also quite sure that she was wearing Max‘s shirt because it was too big for her, hanging loosely off her slender frame.

“I would be, but somebody insisted on waking me every hour,” came the grumbling voice of Max from inside the room. 

GP quirked an eyebrow at Ariel, who just rolled her eyes. He couldn't help but notice the look of fondness on Ariel's face even as she rolled her eyes in response.

“Good Morning, GP, I hope you slept well,” she greeted him drily, opening the door for him to enter the room. 

“And just for the record, it was Doctor’s orders because of his concussion,” Ariel explained. 

It made sense, but still...GP couldn’t help but find it slightly amusing that Ariel was the one who was apparently tasked with waking Max up every half-hour.

Max sat on the bed, still looking a bit groggy. He gave GP a sleepy nod in greeting, while Ariel closed the door behind him. 

GP couldn’t help but notice the domesticity of the scene. The two of them just woken up, in Max’s hotel room, and Ariel...wearing Max’s shirt. He returned Max's sleepy nod and turned his gaze towards Ariel, who leaned against the closed door with a fond yet slightly weary expression.

As he observed the domestic scene in front of him, GP couldn’t help but notice how...natural and effortless they seemed together. Max, still weary and in his pajamas, and Ariel, wearing his shirt, standing by his side.

"How are you feeling?" GP inquired, addressing Max. His eyes flicked between the two young people in front of him, trying to gauge the situation.

Max shrugged, running a hand through his messy hair. "Like Lewis Hamilton shunted me into a wall," he replied his voice quiet.

GP gave a sympathetic wince at that. "That bad, huh?"

Max nodded, a grim expression on his face. "Yeah, that bad," he said gruffly. "My head feels like it's been used as a boxing bag, and my back is killing me."

GP grimaced again. "Well, that's to be expected. You took a pretty hard hit."

He paused, studying Max's face for a moment before adding, "I know the doctors said you'll be okay, but you scared us all there for a bit."

Max grunted in acknowledgment, "Yeah, I guess I did." He looked a bit sheepish for a moment before returning his gaze to GP. "Sorry for worrying everyone," he muttered, but there was a hint of humor in his eyes, like he was secretly pleased with the attention.

Gianpiero gave a dry chuckle. "No need to apologize. You didn't plan on getting shunted into a wall, after all."

He glanced around the room, taking in the mess of clothes, blankets, and various medical supplies scattered around the bed.

"Looks like you have a good nurse keeping you company, though," he noted, shooting a look at Ariel.

She was still standing by the door, her head propped up against it lazily, watching the two men with a small, fond smile.

Max's mouth curled into a smirk. "The best nurse there is," he said with a shrug. “Even when she has a horrible bedside manner,” Max added drily. 

"Yeah, and you told me to fuck off," Ariel shot back.

A smirk tugged at the corner of GP’s mouth as he watched the exchange between the two.

Max reached out and patted the bed beside him, signaling for Ariel to sit down. She pushed off the door and padded over, sitting down beside Max and letting him wrap an arm around her.

GP found himself raising an eyebrow at the sight, taking notice of how comfortable and natural the gesture seemed to be for these two.

GP couldn’t deny it; the sight of Max’s arm wrapped around her like it was the most natural thing in the world, didn’t surprise him as much as it should’ve. There was something about their dynamic that was strangely magnetic…and a little disconcerting.

Max grumbled a bit, but there was no heat in his voice. "You deserved it," he muttered. "Who the fuck wakes someone up every hour after a concussion?"

Ariel rolled her eyes, a hint of amused irritation in her tone. "Someone who doesn't want your brain to leak out your ears," she shot back. "And I don't have a horrible bedside manner, you're just a pain in the ass when you're concussed."

Max huffed in mock affront, feigning offense. "I'll have you know, I'm a model patient when I'm concussed," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. GP let out a snort, silently disagreeing with Max's statement.

"Yeah, right," Ariel said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Because a model patient throws a pillow at the person trying to wake them up every hour."

Max shrugged, looking entirely unapologetic. "You shouldn't have said I was being cranky," he said with a sly grin.

Ariel rolled her eyes again, a hint of fond irritation in her expression. "I was only being honest," she said dryly. "You were being grumpy and moody and impossible to deal with."

Max feigned offense once more. "Grumpy and moody?" he repeated, sounding offended. "I wasn't being grumpy and moody! I was just...in pain. And tired."

Ariel shot him a disbelieving glance. "That's just a nice way of saying grumpy and moody," she pointed out. Gianpiero quietly chuckled, finding their banter quite entertaining.

Max pouted, his lower lip sticking out in a pouty expression that would have look silly on most people. On him, it looked...well, adorable. "I was being justifiably grumpy," he protested, and yet there was a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Quite frankly, GP had expected Max to be...well, furious about the crash. About the fact that he had had pole position and would have probably stoo on the podium if not actually won....

GP would’ve been furious if he were in Max’s shoes...but Max wasn’t angry. He seemed more resigned than anything, and strangely...comfortable. GP had to wonder if it was because of Ariel’s presence by his side.

There was something about Max when he was around her, like a transformation from his usual hotheaded, fiery self, to a calmer, gentler version of himself

"You seem surprisingly calm for someone who was on track to win the race before you were shunted off the track," GP noted, fixing Max with a curious glance. "I thought you would be angrier," he said carefully.

GP studied Max curiously, noting the slight wince of pain on his face as he shifted on the bed. Max's response was a nonchalant shrug, coupled with a grimace. "Oh, I am angry," he replied gruffly, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "But somebody really smart has to me, that being pissed off won't change anything. It's not going to un-crash the car or heal my head."

GP couldn’t help but let out a dry chuckle at that. Max’s grumbling response combined with the way he looked so disgruntled and resigned was rather amusing. "Somebody really smart, huh?" he repeated, looking pointedly at Ariel.

Max’s mouth curled into a half-smile, and he shot a sideways glance at Ariel. "Yeah, somebody really smart," he said with a hint of emphasis. Gianpiero noticed the way Max looked at her, a mixture of affection and something else in his eyes.

"And she also reminded me that nothing would hurt Mercedes more than to lose the championship," Max continued. “Looking back won’t help me win either.” 

GP’s eyebrows rose. "So...you're going to win the championship out of spite?" GP inquired, half-joking.

Max shrugged, a wicked grin on his lips. "Why not?" he said, his voice almost nonchalant. "If it'll really piss Mercedes off, I'm all for it. Plus, I get a championship. Win-win situation, right?"

"Powered by spite and Red Bull," Ariel said with some amusement.

Gianpiero chuckled at that, watching as Max nodded in agreement. "Nothing like a little spite and Red Bull to fuel a championship win," he agreed with a grin.

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

Right Where You Belong

A little semi-festive one shot, because it is almost Christmas, after all.

*~*

You’ve been to the Howard’s home before with Melissa, but this is the first time you’ve stayed over.  It was, however, an annual event in the Howard household.  Each year between school breaking up and Christmas Melissa would have dinner and stay overnight with her best friend.  It was their little chance to celebrate out of school and for Melissa to catch up with her God daughters and enjoy more than a five minute conversation with Gerald, who she otherwise only often seen while he was dropping off or collecting this wife.

This year, there was one big difference to the annual event; you were invited.  You and Melissa had been dating for just shy of two years, but even so, it was something you never expected.  Her friendship with Barb was something you were always very respectful of.  You had always been careful not to step on any toes and not encroach on the pair’s time together or interrupt the traditions they had built up over the years they had known each other. 

The invitation had been issued so casually you weren’t quite sure how to react.  You had been out Christmas shopping with the red head when she had motioned at a dress in a store window. 

“You’d look knock out in that,” she’d smiled.  “You wanna try it?  You could wear it to dinner next week?”

“Dinner? You’d frowned. 

“Yeah,” nodded Melissa.  “At Barb’s.”

Your frown had only deepened.  “I hardly need a new dress to drop you off.”

“What d’ya mean drop me off?  You’re coming.”

And just like that you had a new dress and an apparent invite to the Howard’s.

*

You’d been nervous, though as Melissa had assured you, you had no need to be.  Barb had been delightfully Barb, Gerald had been as warm and welcoming as you’d always found him to be and the girls had taken their God mother’s warning, complete with raised eyebrow, that to mess with you was to mess with her.  Her words had been met with a variety of reactions around the table.  Your own had been to blush profusely and try to hide behind your drink. 

*

“I wish you’d told me Barb’s house is like an oven,” you say as you shake out the pyjamas you’d brought.  They’re fluffy and perfect for winter but not for sleeping in a sauna.  It’s not that you’re complaining that the woman keeps the house warm.  You’re all for that given your tendency to run cold, but the spare room seems to be even warmer than the rest of the house.

“It’s not usually this hot,” replies the red head.  “I think she turned the heat up because she knows how cold you get.”

You can’t help but smile at the thoughtfulness.  Still, that thoughtfulness doesn’t help the fact that you’re now going to melt n your fluffy pj’s. 

“Just don’t sleep in them,” says Melissa, like it’s obvious.

Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead at the suggestion.  “I’m not sleeping naked in Barb’s house!”

Melissa just laughs.  “Why not?  She’s hardly going to come in and do a bedtime inspection.”

“That’s not the point!” you hiss.  Sleeping naked at Melissa’s house is one thing, but at Barb’s with her whole family here?  Not a chance. 

“Here,” says the red head, holding out her oversized sleep shirt.  “Wear mine.”

“Then what will you wear?”

You watch as she gestures to her practically naked self, where only her panties keep her from being fully nude.  “Pretty sure you’ve seen this outfit before.  You might even have said you liked it,” she smirks.  “Besides, Barb’s known me long enough it’s nothin’ she ain’t seen before, Ger’s too much of a gent to come in without knocking and the girls are past the age where they’re likely to sneak in for a sleepover in the middle of the night. 

“Why has Barb seen you naked?”  The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. 

Your question earns a raised eyebrow and an amused quirk of lips.  “We’ve shared enough hotel rooms and I’ve had enough wardrobe disasters she’s seen it all at some point.”  She pauses.  “Why, jealous?”

You catch the sleep shirt she tosses in your direction.  “That she got to see you in all your naked glory before I did?  Yeah, maybe a little.”  You pull the shirt over your head, hearing her chuckle in response to your words.  When you pop your head through the neck hole she’s in front of you, leaning in to kiss you.

“Just FYI, I’m not having sex in Barb’s house either, no matter how jealous I am,” you tell her as you free your hair from the shirt before pressing a further, chaste kiss to her lips before grabbing your wash bag and heading for the bathroom to brush your teeth.

Melissa smiles and makes to follow you, pausing only to stick her head around the doorframe and making sure the coast was clear before dashing across the hall to join you in the bathroom.  She wraps her arms around your waist as you go about your quick nighttime routine, just enjoying the closeness and the way you instinctively lean back into her.  She stays that way until you’re done, smiling as you turn in her arms to kiss her, your breath minty fresh. 

“Want me to keep watch and make sure the coast is clear for you coming back?” you ask.

“Trying to keep all this to yourself?” she asks with a smirk.

“Damn right I am,” you grin.  “Not that I don’t think your body should be appreciated on a grand scale, but what can I say, I guess I’m a little more possessive than I first thought?”  You lean in to kiss her again, this one oh so soft and lingering.  “And when we’re not in a room where we might scar your best friend and her children, I might show you just how much.”

“Is that a promise?” she asks, her voice a low.

“One I’m looking forward to keeping,” you tell her, giving her a final peck on the lips before heading back across the hall.  If you stay you’ll only get distracted.

Melissa finds herself grinning as you close the bathroom door, leaving her alone in the small room.  She busies herself with her own little routine, catching the red flush to her cheeks in the mirror as she thinks about just what you might do to make good on your promise.  As she brushes her teeth she turns this way and that, taking a moment to take in her reflection.  There are still a lot of things about her body she struggles to like, but you’ve definitely helped.  There’s not an inch of her you haven’t kissed and you’re not shy in your compliments either.  Finishing up, she gives herself one final appraisal in the mirror.  Make-up free and dressed only in a smile and her knickers, she shakes her head.  If you’d told her when you first turned up at Abbott this is how things would turn out, she’d have laughed in your face.  Now, she wouldn’t want it any other way.  Turning off the light to the bathroom, she pokes her head out into the hallway once more before making the dash across the hall.  Familiar enough with the room she’s stayed in many times before, she flicks off the bedroom light too as she enters, slipping into bed and automatically settling in behind you.  She slips an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your clothed shoulder. 

You smile in the darkness at the familiar feel of Melissa’s body close to your own, covering the arm around your waist with your own and keeping it in place.  “Thank you, for bringing me tonight.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she replies, her voice quiet in the darkness.  “Course I brought you.  Why wouldn’t I?”

“No, I know this is a work wives thing,” you say.  “So I want to say thank you for sharing it with me.”

Melissa pauses before replying.  “It’s not a work wives thing, it’s a family thing.”

“I know, it’s your night with the whole Howard clan.”  You feel her pull you more tightly to her, able to feel the motion of her shaking her head behind you.

“Like I said, hon, it’s a family thing.  So you’re right where you belong.”

[jessiexflem]

– the black dog | jessie fleming x reader

Part 2 to So Long, London!

warnings: angst, happy-ish ending?

As you push open the heavy wooden door to your favorite North London pub, the smell of malt beer and greasy chips infiltrates your nose. Leah waves you over, her and Emily having already found a four-top near the bar. Ignoring their choice of specific table, you hug your teammates in greeting. Emily slides a pint toward you, and you smile at her in appreciation. Bringing the glass to your lips, you nod toward the empty seat next to you as you take a sip of your drink. You lick the layer of foam off of your top lip, savoring the sweet, carmelly taste of your favorite beer.

“Beth’s running a few minutes late,” Leah glances at her watch, “but she should be here soon. You settled back home okay?”

You nod, taking another swig of your beer, the cold liquid a stark contrast to the August heat. It was by no means sweltering in London, but the humidity after this morning’s rain and lack of air conditioning in the pub made your legs stick to your barstool. You had a few days off between the end of the Olympics and Arsenal’s preseason tour in the States, so some of the girls wanted to have a casual night out prior to your long travel day this weekend. Despite having only gotten home from Paris the other day and a nagging gut feeling that you should stay in, you missed your club teammates and wanted to catch up with them off the pitch.

Leah fills you in on her prior conversation with Emily, which had been an update of what the two of you had missed while you were at the Olympics. You laugh as the Englishwoman narrowly misses a passerby as she’s flailing her arms while recalling her and Keira’s trip to Ibiza. 

“Keira almost fell off of a wha–?” Emily, who’s clutching her stomach laughing, gets cut off by a frantic Beth scurrying toward the table.

“9-1-1, 9-9-9, red alert, red alert!” Beth blurts out with a panicked look on her face. Your eyes follow hers as she nervously scans the crowd behind her. She turns back toward the three of you, looking like she had seen a ghost.

“Red alert? Beth, what’s wrong?” you ask, noticing Emily’s posture straightening and Leah’s face hardening out of the corner of your eye.

“Y/N,” a familiar voice calls your name from behind you. A too familiar voice. A voice you hadn’t heard in months. Your eyes shut closed as heat rises in your chest. You take a deep breath and mentally count to three, fog already threatening to cloud your head. Exhaling, you turn toward the voice and open your eyes to confirm your fears.

“Jessie,” your voice wavers as you take in the sight of her. Though she fundamentally looked the same as she did that night in January, you noticed how her cheeks were dotted with a greater amount of freckles, and how her curls were more defined from her growing her hair out. Her eyes were soft, unsure of how you would react to her showing up unannounced.

Every feeling you had pushed into a corner in the back of your mind came crashing back at you full force. You hadn’t seen Jessie since you left her apartment in a haste – the second half of last season was spent nursing a nagging hamstring injury, so you were left off of the national team roster for the Gold Cup and SheBelieves. The United States and Canada had avoided each other on the Olympic bracket, so you didn’t cross paths in France either. Contact was limited between you, mostly short messages wishing each other “Happy Birthday” or Jessie texting you to congratulate you and the team on winning the Conti Cup.

You open your mouth again to speak, but nothing comes out. For months, you had practiced what you wanted to say to Jessie when this inevitable reunion occurred, but it was no use; you were at a loss for words.

“Hey,” Jessie chews at the corner of her thumb, a nervous tick you’ve seen her do since you’ve known her, “Could we, do you think we could talk? Outside, I mean?”

“Actually, I think you should leave,” Leah snaps, shooting the Canadian an icy glare.

“It’s okay, Lee,” you look at her in reassurement, before turning back toward Jessie, “Um, sure.”

Before you can stop yourself, your brain goes into autopilot, and you hop off of the barstool to follow Jessie outside. She leads the two of you to a bench a few meters away from the door, gesturing for you to sit. She sits down on the other side, making sure to leave a bit of space between the two of you. A beat of silence passes, neither of you knowing how to broach the subject. You sigh, deciding to break the ice.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to be in town.”

Jessie looks at you apologetically, “I didn’t think you wanted to know. Uh, I was hoping I would run into you though, then I saw you sitting at our usual table.”

Not knowing how to respond, you stare down at your feet, kicking away the gravel under your feet. Your mind races, everything you’ve wanted to say to Jessie flooding into your head, but no coherent thoughts sticking long enough to form a full sentence. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Jessie frowns, her voice pulling you back into reality. She always knew when there was something bothering you, saying she could see it in your face whenever you were thinking too hard. 

“What did you bring me out here for, Jess?” you sigh, cutting straight to the point.

Jessie’s heart tugged at hearing you call her by her nickname. You rarely ever called her Jessie, always joking that it felt too formal. Even though her other friends and teammates used the same nickname, it felt different coming from you. More personal, more intimate. Warm. A warmth she had been missing since January, all from something she could have prevented in the first place.

“I miss you.”

You toss your head back and let out a wry laugh, much to Jessie’s chagrin. “I don’t know what you want me to say to that,” you shake your head, ignoring the twinge in your chest. You, of course, missed your best friend more than anything, but you couldn’t help but keep your guard up.

“Y/N,” Jessie turns her body to face you, “I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am. I should’ve told you about my transfer as soon as I found out.”

“Why didn’t you? I understand that it’s your career, and I wanted to support you in everything, Jess, but you really hurt me,” you admit, tears stinging the back of your eyes. Logically, you knew Jessie owed you nothing when it came to her decision to leave, but finding out through a letter on her counter after spending the night together felt like a stab in the chest. She was your best friend, and you thought you meant more to her than that. You loved her, and you trusted her with a part of you that you couldn’t take back.

“I–, I fucked up, Y/N,” she shakes her head, “I know it’s not an excuse, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“With words would have been nice,” you bite, Jessie wincing at your tone. You immediately shoot her an apologetic glance, you didn’t want to make things worse than they already were. “I guess I just assumed you would tell me something as big as moving countries,” you shrug, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“I know, and I wish I could go back and fix everything,” Jessie sighs, “I don’t know why I did it, I was scared, I guess.”

“Scared of what? Jess, you know you could tell me anything, right?”

Jessie squeezes her eyes shut, running a hand through her curls. “I–, I guess telling you meant that the move was real, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready to leave yet.”

“Niamh said you requested the transfer.”

“I did. I knew I wanted to leave Chelsea, but I–,” Jessie stammers, “I wasn’t sure if I was ready to leave you.” 

You give Jessie a confused look, furrowing your brows together. You knew she had considered you one of her closest friends, but you couldn’t figure out what she meant by that. You watch the girl take a deep breath before reaching out for your hand resting on the metal bench.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” Jessie starts, glancing up at the sky as she tried to formulate what she wanted to say, before looking back into your eyes, “because I love you, I–I’m in love with you, and I knew leaving meant that I couldn’t be with you.”

Your breath catches in your throat as your brain short circuits. She was joking, right? Or, she was saying I love you in the way you had always said I love you to each other, the same way you said I love you to Leah, or Beth, or Emily. She couldn’t possibly be confessing romantic feelings for you, right? But she said in love?

“You’re thinking out loud again,” Jessie gives your hand a squeeze, “Y/N, I’m so, so sorry for how I handled things back then, and I’m sorry that it took me this long to sit down and apologize. I also should probably apologize for using this to tell you how I feel about you because that’s not fair to you, because I really hurt you, and here I am, hoping that you forgive me, but not just because I told you I love you, which I do, but I don’t want to use that as a bargaining chip for your forgivene–”

“Jess,” you cut her off, knowing she would ramble for hours if you let her, “Do you think we could just, uh? Start fresh?”

A hopeful look falls onto Jessie’s face. “Start fresh?”

“Yeah,” you bite your lip, “I don’t want to say start over because what happened isn’t just something I can forget, but if you are open to it, I would like a fresh start, um, to everything.”

“I would like that too,” you watch the weight lift off Jessie’s shoulders as she gives you a small smile, “Pals, again?”

“Maybe a bit more than just pals if you play your apology cards right, Fleming,” you grin. You still had a ways to go before things would be back to how they were, but you were just happy that you had your Jess back, here with you.

[tori111777]

FRIGHT AND FURY 8

Part 8, Part 9

Summary: A dagger lays before you (ifykyk)

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Spoilers, all that

Parings: Caracalla x wife!reader

“You did this!” You ran right up to the Emperor Geta and yelled in his face. It was a bold move of you considering the circumstances of the moment.

It was far past when the sun had set over Rome and the mob outside of the palace was growing more anxious every second as their beloved hero, the general was killed.

Around him, the guards stiffened, hands tightening around their weapons, but Geta made no move to signal them. He merely regarded you with a detached amusement, as if your fury was an amusing distraction from the chaos outside.

“There was nothing else to do. He and his bitch were plotting to kill us. If I’d let him live-“ He was cut off by his brother. “Don’t you hear them? They’re calling for our heads!”

Macrinus tried to poor some wine and offered it to Geta. But you weren’t having any of it tonight. “Go.” You snapped at him as, feeling like your father in that moment, he nodded and left. “Who brought this on us? Who?!” Your husband was begging for answers that you knew he had the answer to.

“Calm yourself, brother. The Praetorians will put down this crowd like they have every other-“ No one was able to get their words in this conversation as Dondus started to squeal restlessly on Caracallas shoulder. “Keep the ape still!” Geta yelled, angrier than ever.

Caracalla flinched, “Beware how you speak of Dondus!” The two brothers were arguing once more, it was nothing new and you have seen it a million times before. It also wasn’t helping that your husband sickness was getting worse. “Come.” You grabbed his hand and let him get up from the couch. “Let your brother calm down.”

You led your husband away from the tense confrontation, your grip firm on his hand as you guided him to a quieter corner of the room. His face was flushed with anger and exhaustion, the sickness that had plagued him worsening with each passing day. "I understand your anger, but fighting with Geta... it only makes things worse."

Caracalla’s eyes flickered with a mixture of fury and helplessness. "You think I don’t know that?" His voice was hoarse. "But he’s always undermining me. You saw how he spoke to me just now. He thinks I'm weak. The people think I’m weak. And the Praetorians—"

"They are loyal to the throne, not to just your brother," you interrupted gently, cutting off the spiral of doubt before it could take hold. "People have always seen Geta as the better brother," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper now. "The people love him. They always have."

“You are the emperor.” You reminded him.

Dondus was restless on his shoulder. “Nothing was ever mine. Everything was ‘ours’ always. Even in the womb, he gripped the umbilicus in his tiny fist to try to deprive me of air.” He spoke. You gave him a confused look, “and you remembered that?”

“Certainly, one cannot forget.” He said. The childhood rivalry that had shaped their relationship was no secret to you, but hearing it from Caracalla’s lips… “Do you think he still wants to take everything from you?” you asked softly, your thumb gently tracing the back of his hand, as if to anchor him to the present.

“He already has.” Caracalla replied. The bitterness in Caracalla’s voice hung heavy in the air, a silent accusation that was both painful and true. You knew the weight of his words, the torment that had been building up in him for years.

You felt the heat of his anger radiating off him, but also the helplessness that always followed such intensity. It’s almost as his feelings transferred to you. Angry and helplessness. “Caracalla,” you murmured softly, your thumb still tracing the back of his hand in an attempt to soothe him, "you are the emperor. You are the one who holds Rome’s future in your hands. Geta cannot take that from you."

“We had a future but you had to ruin it!” You can always see when the sickness increases within his mind. His eyes started to get somewhat cloudy and you tried your best to not take it to heart but you did, you always did. Dondus had now leaped away from his shoulder and onto the table carefully, avoiding the vases and dagger to pick at more nuts.

You move your hand from his and held his face. “We can always try again.” You tried the best you could to keep it together. He leaned into your hands, seeking something that felt like comfort amidst the chaos in his mind. "I’m not like Geta," he muttered after a long pause, a deep sadness creeping into his voice. "He’s... he’s everything the people want. Everything I’m not."

You shook your head slowly, your fingers brushing through his hair as you gently coaxed him to face you again. Your eyes shifted over to the table Dondus was at now that she started to make a fuss, she could also sense the shift in the air. You felt the cold wind on your hands as Caracalla pulled away and picked up the monkey.

“I never asked for this,” he whispered, almost to himself, but you heard it nonetheless. The vulnerability in his voice struck a chord within you. Together, you stood in the silence, the room filled with nothing but the sound of Dondus softly chattering, and the quiet assurance that, for the moment, the storm inside Caracalla had calmed, even if just a little.

He left without saying a word, leaving you standing there alone in the night. Your eyes lingered on his figured until he was out of sight. The noise from the mob outside, eventually stopped and everything was so very still.

You started to think and wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling a chill. Thinking of your wedding day, a couple months ago, even Lucilla’s words, and Geta.

He always seemed to be the problem. Every time you had to deal with Caracalla’s sickness the main point was always Geta. Your eyes flickered to the dagger on the table.

You looked back at the floor,

and back to the table.

“Is this dagger which I see before me…” You mumbled to yourself and trailed off into your thoughts. The dagger on the table gleamed in the dim light. It seemed to glow with the light of Rome itself. The Roman dream.

You walked slowly, your heart beating a little faster as your hand hovered over it.

Pulling back as you heard a bell go off, back to reality. Looking around the room, you were the only one there. Slowly looking back to the dagger as you turned your head. “Will this bring me to Olympus itself?”

Quick to grab the glistening metal. “Or Tartarus?” Whispering in the moonlight.

You moved back hastily ingot the other room before, where you saw Geta staring out the window behind the curtains. Geta turned at the sound of your footsteps, his gaze flicking quickly from the window to you. You had the dagger close to your side but it was dark enough and you knew he could not see it.

Geta’s eyes were fixed on you, but his expression was unreadable—cold, calculating, as always. “Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice smooth but laced with suspicion. He knew you far too well, even in the dim light, and there was no hiding your unease. He could sense it.

Nor did you think about what would happen next. Within a second your hand was about to come down on his face when Geta caught your hand. “You’ve gone too far!” He cried out. "How many times do I have to watch him suffer... while you sit back and wait for him to fail?" Not caring for what he was saying.

“Are you mad?” Geta’s eyes were wide with fear. Nothing could touch you in this moment though. “You’ve both been lost for so long. Can’t you see that? You are just like him and you hate it! Cursed twins flames. You are the wander of this place!”

You acted on the force and drove the dagger up instead of down, it cut him right over his face and he clutched his face. His words were laced with both fury and desperation. “You bitch!” He yelled and stumbled back. He was bleeding all over, going down his clothes and onto the floor. The room seemed to freeze around you, your breath quick and shallow, heart pounding in your chest.

You didn’t think twice and bent down to plunged the knife into his throat, his blood spraying all over you. The anger that had built up in you over the weeks, the months of watching this family torn apart by rivalry, by sickness, by betrayal, it drowned out everything else.

You had always known it would come to this and then it was done.

You sat there for a second. You thought you might start crying or feel some remorse but yet you didn’t. The cold marble floor felt warm as the blood soaked around you as well.

Standing up and looking at the mess you made. You blinked and turned away. For it did not bother to care you, after all you are just like your father.

You stepped away from Geta’s body, moving past the bloodstained floor and into the adjoining room. The cold air that greeted you was a stark contrast to the heat that still simmered beneath your skin. You closed the door behind you, the soft click of the lock the only sound breaking the stillness.

You thought for a minute to go to Lucilla’s room like how you always did. But you couldn’t do that now, could you? She is not your friend and certainly not your mother. Instead you headed to bed like a lost wander in the night.

Not even the god and goddess of Mars and Venus, intertwined could save you now.

[spidercat2099]

goodnight 'n go pt. 2

tw: smut, mutual masturbation, semi-public sex

You came into Jujustu tech with one thing in mind. That was Nanami. Was this really gonna be a one time hook up thing? Would he pretend it never happened?

After the long day of errands you had, you found Nanami reading in the break room. Straight faced as ever. You gather up the courage to go on. Man this was much harder without the alcohol.

You passed by him to the coffee machine, hoping for some kind of reaction. But as far as you could see, there was none. And that ticked you off for some reason.

On the other hand, Nanami was fully immersed in the book he was reading, that was until he smelled that familiar perfume. The one that drove him crazy last night. Luckily, he didn't move a muscle, except for his eyes that slightly widened. You passed by him, maybe you wanted to pretend nothing happened, he thought. He'd tend to your wishes, after all, you were both tipsy and been deprived for a while. He hadn't noticed how he zoned out and began to think of his hands on your soft and warm skin. A comfort he hadn't been used to.

"Is the book that interesting?" Your voice broke the silence as you leaned over his shoulder with your coffee cup in hand. "It's..." he came back from his thoughts. "...alright." He said simply.

You weren't satisfied with that answer. You were trying to strike up a conversation, but he didn't bite. You set your coffee down on the table next to him and rested your head on the back of the couch over your crossed arms. "Are we going to talk about last night?" You said bluntly, but you didn't know how else to put it.

"What about last night, Miss y/n?" he asked, with no hint to his emotions in his voice or expression as he continued to read, or at least look like he did.

"You left." you stated.

"I had to catch a train back home." he flipped a page. That was all he was going to say?

"You could've stayed over..." You muttered, now picking as the sofa.

"If I stayed over, we would've gotten into something deeper. You and I know that in this profession, it's not good to get attached." he stated bluntly. That wasn't the answer you wanted.

"So what? It was just a hook up?" you asked, a bit of frustration seeping into your tone.

"Hook up?" His eyebrows furrowed in irritation and offense as he closed the book and turned to you. "I don't do hook ups, miss y/n."

You lifted yourself off the back of the couch and leaned closer to him. "You don't do hook ups, but you don't do relationships either. So what do you do?"

"I..." he was at a loss for words for once.

"Look. We're friends, right?" Your hand rested on his shoulder. "We're just two adults who need to destress sometimes. We can help each other in that sense, no?" You walk around the couch to be right in front of him, trapping him with your hands on either side of the armrests.

"What are you suggesting?" He raised an eyebrow at your forwardness, but he didn't stop it. He didn't want to.

"I'm suggesting... we continue this little thing. No attachments, just... sex." you said bluntly. Your hand gently grazes his thigh with just your fingertips. He could feel his cock twitch with just that.

That wasn't him. He's not the type of man to give into this arrangement. He didn't need to have sex. He was perfectly fine without that. And you... you deserved much more than that from him. But with you it was different, you were fogging up his brain with even the slightest touch and proximity. How could he say no to you?

"What do you think?" Your lips practically ghosted his as a gentle tease. Then suddenly, his hand reached for your face and drew you into a deep kiss. That was definitely your answer. He couldn't understand why he was so hungry for you.

You felt him pull you into his lap and your eyes widened. But that only lasted a second until you went back into the kiss. Your own hand came to rest on his face while the other rested on his shoulder. "Fuck... we gotta stop..." You whispered into his mouth.

"Mhm.... someone could walk in..." He replied, but neither side made any effort to stop. Instead, you moved your head to the other side for the kiss. Your hand ran down his shoulder and torso until you made contact with his belt, undoing it in one swift motion and dipping your hand in. You began to palm him through his boxers.

"You're driving me crazy..." He whispered. He takes off his glasses, putting them on the table beside you, before placing a hand on your lower back and kissing you even deeper. His other hand came to rest on your thigh, slowly inching upward, under your dress. He roamed your ass until his hand crawled under your panties, feeling your wettening lips. Do you really just get wet from kissing? He asked himself.

His fingers went up and down those lips, and then he plunged a finger into you easily. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, trying to keep up by palming him. He took that opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, tasting as much as he could.

His cock grew harder at your touch and you followed the growing tent. Man, if anyone walked in right now, you'd never hear the end of it, especially from Gojo's loud mouth. That thought only made you speed up. You decided to put your hand in his boxers, now running up and down his length. He tensed at the raw contact, leaning forward into you.

His own finger began to move in and out of you quickly as well, to match your pace, as if you two were fucking right then and there. He added another finger, plunging deeper. You couldn't help but move your hips against him, he was reaching the spots you could never reach on your own. It began to get so intense, you forgot to even kiss him. It was just soft, quiet pants so as to not draw suspicion.

His hips began to buck into your arm, signaling he was close. Suddenly, you felt him lunge forward, his cock throbbing with each spurt of cum that came out. You looked down at the mess created in his boxers as you pulled your hand out. Your eyes slowly came back up to meet his. He looked at you, his face flushed and his mouth hanging open as he tried to catch his breath. God he looked beautiful. You'd never get tired of it.

[ollypopwrites]

The Privilege of Worship

Emmerich Volkarin x Cis!Fem Rook [note: references to the fact Rook is Curvy but there’s little to no description of her appearance.] Summary: He had pieced together everything she hadn’t actually said out loud. Rook had been a bit smitten since he had first moved into the Lighthouse, and she hadn’t been very subtle about it either. It was a very clear conclusion: he didn’t believe that she would put herself first and he was going to have to do it for her. Rating: M (18+ MDNI) CW: canon dialogue divergence, height difference, self-doubt, enthusiastic consent, check ins, communication, breast play, fingering, semi-public sex, body worship, squirting, masturbation reference, after care, very slight d/s negotiation if you squint, Emmrich is almost too gentlemanly for his own good, Rook talks too much when she’s nervous, scaring the hoes (each other), grown ups being grown up about relationships. Word count: 6.7k Notes: I just wanted to have Rook fingerbanged in a graveyard and then feelings happened ok. EDITED: Thank you to @flightlessangelwings for the moral support and assistance with this fic I'm so happy to be yelling about porn with you once more.

Read on A03

“So, Emmrich I wanted to tell you something,” Rook started. “I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing with…all of this. I’ve never been with anyone. Romantically, I mean.”

Rook began to panick at the look on Emmrich’s face. She probably should have worded it better, but she had just said the first thing that came to her mind before she lost the nerve to say it. The night had been going so well, and she thought she was watching it fall apart right before her eyes. 

“Not the first everything! I’m not a virgin,” she quickly went to correct herself. The blunt way she said it didn’t seem to soothe the shocked expression he wore. “I’ve had one or two flings over the years.”

“One or two?” Emmrich repeated slowly, as if trying to process it. 

“What I mean is,” Rook kept on, “it’s all just a bit… new.”

The pause in conversation was enough to make her wince, as she awaited his response. What Rook had considered more than the difference in years between them was the difference in experience in this particular area. Weeks living with the team had meant stories had been told, and with every polite mention of a past suitor or relationship Rook had felt her stomach tie into a knot.

It had hit her in the middle of the same night that the only thing more terrifying than saying it out loud to him was for him to figure it out while they were in the middle of being intimate.  

“We can move slowly.” he assured her with a smile, the same one that always seemed to put her at ease. 

“Hopefully not too slow.” Rook couldn’t help herself. 

Emmrich chuckled, “as you wish, my dear.” Then he added, “I’m… glad you chose me.”

“It’s been good so far,” she breathed, shifting in her seat a little. 

“Oh!” He seemed so pleased with himself. “Excellent.”

“Anyway…” She looked around. “Should we enjoy the garden?”

“Certainly.”

The heat of embarrassment had long left her face, she was still warm, but it had dulled to a low simmer of excitement and contentment. With her arm tucked in his, they walked the gardens without any purpose. No rites or gathered flowers, just enjoying the general splendor as wisps danced to and fro, and meandering spirits appeared and disappeared in the periphery. 

When Rook saw the looming Love in Life and Death monument she gently pulled him toward it. Her thoughts lingered on that first kiss, the gentility and sweetness of it, much as the rest after had been. The slightest hint of becoming more had been either interrupted back at the Lighthouse or by some wandering Mourn Watcher there in the gardens. 

It was not that Rook was rushing it, but it was hard to ignore the press of impatience. 

“I think this is my favorite spot in the gardens,” Rook said as they neared it. 

“And why is that dearest?” 

He knew why, she was certain by the slight glint of mischief in his eye. It made her stomach flutter, and she pushed past the nerves of feeling put on the spot. 

“Just the general atmosphere,” she shrugged, but she was grinning like an idiot, she knew.

Emmrich hummed a response, taking her hand and unlooping her arm from his. She let him spin her so her back was to the monument, a recreation of the very evening that brought them to this moment. Rook felt the stone at her back as he led her, and immediately lifted herself onto her toes, looking up and ready to accept a kiss she was sure was coming.

Emmrich held her in suspense for a few moments. His hand gently cupped the curve of her jaw, the coolness of his rings against her warmed cheeks an intoxicating contrast. He tilted her head back further, eyes roving over her face and settling on her lips. The other hand very gently landed at her waist, not overbearing by any means, and Rook carelessly curled her fists around his pressed shirt as the anticipation began to become too much. Finally, he looked her in the eyes. 

“This is where I ought to say something devastatingly debonair,” he said gently. 

Rook laughed a little, “I am on the edge of my seat.”

“I sorely hate to disappoint, my dear,” his thumb gently rubbed the skin over her cheek bone, “but I find myself too enchanted with the idea of putting my lips to other uses to come up with anything.”

Rook’s breath hitched, she felt her smile falter in pure shock at the intense zap of desire that shot through her. “That — that’s you not knowing what to say?” She replied. “Maker, Emmrich.”

He laughed a little, unguarded and like he was a bit surprised himself. “May I?”

“Please.”

Emmrich kissed her. Similar to most of their previous kisses, it was sweet, a bit chaste except for the way he lingered in each one. The stone at her back kept her steady as his hand flexed its grip on her waist, the other sliding down her face to dip just below the collar of her shirt at the juncture where her shoulder met her neck. His long fingers splayed and tilted her head, his thumb just over the pulse point of her throat. He had to feel her heart hammering. 

But he kept a reasonable distance between their bodies, just close enough that they were touching without him pressing into her at all. Each pass of their lips over each other was a test of her patience, as she surged and retreated, trying not to push the heat of them too far when he met her with the same controlled gentility. Her fingers loosened in the grip she had of his shirt, trying her best to follow his lead despite the urge in her to pull him tight against her and nip at his lower lip until he gave her an opening to slip her tongue in. 

“You don’t have to hold back on my account,” he murmured against her lips. 

“You’re the one holding back,” she teased. 

He kissed her a little firmer then, but just as quickly as the flame had spiked he pulled himself back again. Frustration started to rear its head in her, her impatience reaching its boiling point. She could push through, she could barrel headfirst and approach this the way she had with her previous partners. 

Faking it until she made it, acting confident and assertive and figuring it out as she went was not just her leadership style. It was how she had approached anything she felt uncertain about. But this was different, he was different. 

So she pulled away and asked, “is it because of what I told you earlier?”

Her voice was a bit smaller than she would have liked, the self-consciousness so plainly obvious she felt that heat of embarrassment start to take over again. The slight tang of panic overtaking the excitement she felt before. 

Emmrich pulled back a little to look at her. The desire in his eyes was somewhat clouded by a flicker of doubt. He was considering what to say; how to say it kindly, how to make sure it couldn’t be misunderstood. Rook almost didn’t want him to say anything at all. Maybe she should just grab him by that impossibly stiff collar and kiss him breathless so he couldn’t think about how much she hadn’t experienced in comparison to him. 

“There is a bit of concern, I will admit,” he finally said. “The last thing I want is you to feel as if anything intimate is expected of you, Rook.” His expression tightened, “your eagerness is infectious, and I am enjoying it thoroughly.” His smile was tilted to one side, still tense in his self-deprecation, “almost too thoroughly, if I am being honest. But your comfort must come before all else.”

Oh, he was too good to be true. Rook had to blink a couple times, take a moment to process what she was hearing. What it felt like to be cared for. It was just a little foreign, and for a split moment she wished she was in her armor, not the soft and thin casual clothes that left her unprotected. The vulnerability was stark and a bit scary; like he had pieced together everything she hadn’t actually said out loud. Rook had been a bit smitten since he had first moved into the Lighthouse, and she hadn’t been very subtle about it either. It was a very clear conclusion: he didn’t believe that she would put herself first and he was going to have to do it for her. 

And he was probably right. 

It was a crossroads moment, one that was so obvious it couldn’t have been more clear if it was narrated by some unseen omniscient presence. Rook could choose in that moment to fall back into old ways, to make their connection a fleeting and desperate grab for intimacy in the face of the apocalypse. To let it be something that she would inevitably feel the need to run from when things got too uncomfortable. 

Her past entanglements hadn’t been bad, but they had not been anything more than frisky fun. They were shallow and lasted no longer than a few months: both parties knowing they weren’t staying in the long run so they took and took from each other until there was nothing else either person was willing to give. 

Rook could easily let this be the same. She could act crass and brave; all she had to do was pull Emmrich’s mouth back down to her own and whisper something filthy enough to make him believe she wasn’t afraid. 

Or she could accept this offer of care and hand it back in kind. She could embrace the vulnerability of the fact that he wanted very much to be good to her. He had been so careful, ensuring that without a doubt she was interested in him before he even considered acting on his attraction. He had made every step very deliberately, so that even in this stage of exploration of what this  could maybe become his intentions were always clear. 

“I trust you, Emmrich. Do you trust me?” Rook asked. 

“Of course,” he didn’t hesitate.

Rook touched his cheek, the scratch of five o’clock shadow beginning to sprout there was a tangible and grounding sensation against her palm. She didn’t miss the way he leaned ever so slightly into the touch either, bolstering her and making her certain of her decision. 

 “I promise I will let you know if I need things to slow down,” she assured him, “if you promise to believe me when I say I’m alright.”

“And you will tell me?” 

There it was, that sliver of doubt. 

“Yes. I will.”

Emmrich grabbed her hand from his face, a soft squeeze and the smallest of circles traced on the back of it as he smiled at her. With a gentle tug he placed her hand over her shoulder and leaned in again, lips pressing close and his body crowding her back against the stone. Another chaste kiss, but this time his hands sprawled over curves, grabbing through thin cloth and she lifted herself on her toes to meet him. 

With each press of their lips, he seemed to let go of another bit of reservation. Rook felt herself matching each one, the tension building up again, her prior discomfort from the vulnerability dissolving the moment he groaned so quietly against her lips. He shifted slightly, turning his head and trailing his kiss to the corner of her lips. He was pulling away and suddenly nothing seemed like a worse idea. 

Rook felt a noise slip past her throat, something between desperate and frustrated. Her hand tangled into his hair and pulled him back to her lips properly, giving the tiniest nip over his bottom lip before her tongue pressed in her teeth’s wake. Emmrich’s mouth opened in a gasp, before he teased his tongue against hers. 

Like most things she was finding with Emmrich, even making out in the gardens flowed and ebbed in a well-balanced way that kept her on her toes. Were their prior conversations not so serious, she may have teased the good professor for snogging in the Memorial Gardens like some hormonal apprentice. The difference in height between them kept him from pressing his hips to hers, even as she lifted herself and he leant down to meet her. But her heart leapt at the idea of him grinding against her while they kissed and kissed and kissed. 

Very slowly his hands slid over the curve of her waist past the swell of her hips and onto her backside. With a whine she kissed him harder if possible, and then he squeezed. The gasp she let out had her faltering in their kiss, and then with ease she was not quite expecting him to display he lifted her. 

It was only the short distance to place her in a sitting position on the lowest stone tier of the monument behind her. The second supported her back as her feet dangled and she immediately opened her legs to allow him closer. At this height it was a bit more comfortable, he slotted directly against her, just about the same height as him standing and leaning over her.

Suddenly his fingers were undoing the buttons of her blouse, all the while he ducked his head to kiss at her pulse point. Rook tilted her head back, giving him all the access he could ever need, each press of his lips, teeth and tongue giving her full body goosebumps and pulling a moan from her throat. 

Her shirt was open just wide enough for him to pull it down over one shoulder, his mouth painting the curve of it. A swell of cleavage had been revealed, a nimble hand spanned one of her breasts. He kneaded softly, pressing just enough to create the slightest friction of his palm against a hardened nipple and make her gasp suddenly. 

Rook felt the point of no return creeping up. The sudden recognition that they were in the middle of the garden making her open her eyes to scan around them. There was an atmospheric fog that seemed to settle around the gravestones at all times, but it wasn’t enough to offer real cover. 

“Emmrich,” She whispered, it sounded less like she was trying to get his attention and more like a plead given that his thumb began to circle her nipple through the cloth of her smallclothes. 

For a moment she had forgotten she was trying to get his attention, the lull of the sparks it ignited in her was such a delicious temptation. He offered her a reprieve by simply squeezing her breast, allowing a logical thought to pierce the haze of arousal. 

“What would your fellow Mourn Watchers say — ah,” she faltered as his teeth dug gently into the skin of her neck and he sucked, “—if they found Professor Volkarin necking in the gardens?”

“They’d say I was the most fortunate man alive or dead, certainly,” he murmured, lips not quite losing contact with the skin of her throat. “But only if they were somehow not rendered speechless by the sight of you, my dear.”

Focus, Rook.

Beating a pair of blighted Gods seemed an easier task, but she managed to find her mind. 

“Emmrich,” she insisted. 

Instantly, his hands and mouth stilled. But there was a moment of tense silence as he stayed where he was, his breaths coming in small pants, fingers still twitching to touch and grab. Surprisingly, he said nothing, just gathered himself for a moment. She didn’t want him to fall back into propriety, but she had to ask. 

“What if someone sees us?”

“Would you like to stop?” He tilted his head, still angled so he was below and looking up at her. 

“That’s not what I asked,” she challenged. “As much as I want you to ravish me right here, we don’t need to be on the Mourn Watch’s bad side for desecrating the Memorial Gardens.” 

There was the slightest change in his eyes, a momentary narrowing before he came back to himself. Something going on in his mind she couldn’t quite figure out. 

“I assure you,” he lifted himself to kiss her lips, “no one will be coming to disturb us.”

“How do you know?” 

“I am a senior necromancer,” Emmrich told her with the slightest lilt of haughtiness, “there are privileges that come along with the position.”

“I see what you’re getting at,” she smiled. “Reanimated royal cooks and a private night in the garden,” she moved to undo the chain on his collar, the first step to undressing him, “you really are trying to impress.”

“My dear, this is only the beginning,” he delicately grabbed her hand so she had to stop fussing with his chain, and kissed each knuckle. “But if you truly are uncomfortable continuing on —“

“No,” she insisted. “No, I’m fine,” she nodded her head, “not the first time I’ve been a bit risky, and if you say no one will stumble upon us...” she leaned in to kiss him again.  

Emmrich arched a brow at her. “One of your two dalliances? In public, really?”

She couldn’t tell if he was being jealous or judgemental. The only response she could find was, “come on, with the life I lead? You think no one’s ever fucked me behind a bar before?” 

The unmoving look he gave her was full of as much patience as the unknown other emotion she couldn’t place. She was doing it again. Another attempt at making herself feel less self-conscious,

leaning on bravado that was her only saving grace in moments of uncertainty. 

“I see.”

“I was more worried about your delicate sensibilities.”

Emmrich gave a short laugh. 

“I feel like I keep saying wrong things,” she admitted, “can we get back to the kissing bit?”

He acquiesced, but this time the kisses didn’t start slow and gentle. Emmrich picked up exactly where he left off, overwhelming her with heavy draws of his tongue into her mouth. She was glad for it, reaching back for that fire that was stoking in her, and determined not to let anything douse it again. 

Despite the fervor in his kisses, his hands were more soft. Teasing touches over her breasts again through fabric, still keeping some distance between them even as he was slotted between her thighs. Impatiently she grabbed for him, pulling him close so she could kiss above his collar. He smelled of some kind of cologne or maybe aftershave, lavender and sage and myrrh, she took a deep breath at the pleasantness of it before she nipped at the skin. 

He let out a sigh, thumb grazing over her nipple through fabric again, and she was spurred on. She felt exposed with her top half open, while he was perfectly well kempt except for where she had wrinkled his shirt with grabbing hands. Boldness crested in her as she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him flush against her. 

There was the telltale hardness of him, blocked by all the layers of his clothing and hers, but unmistakable. He grunted, a deep low sound that gave her chills, and immediately she felt the firm grind of him against her. There was far too much clothing between them for her to truly get off from it, but his mouth had dropped to the swell of her cleavage, hot tongue running across the skin and in combination it was enough to make her moan. 

Emmrich stopped moving immediately, and she threw her head back with a disappointed noise. His fingers toyed with the edge of her underclothes, just barely reaching under, grazing the bare underside of her breasts. Rook sucked a sharp breath in, eyes flying open to find his lingering there where his fingers were. They flicked back to hers, and she nodded her head, running her hand up over his cheek and through his hair. 

He kissed her first, sweetly this time, a soft and heart wrenching sincerity to it that she didn’t have time to process before his hand slipped completely underneath her bandeau. He sighed into her lips, squeezing the flesh in his hand. When his thumb traced over her nipple without the fabric as a barrier she moaned, louder than before and her fingers tightened in his hair. 

He did it again, seeming to feed off the reaction. “You make the loveliest sounds, dearest.”

She chuckled a little, not really having the mind to find something to say back. He groped and kissed, and she rocked her hips into his seeking any kind of friction she could get. Emmrich pressed harder into her, and she heard him choke back a groan as she rolled her hips, and he shifted just slightly to pull his hips away. 

A truly petulant groan left her as she grabbed at him again. “You're still holding back, Emmrich.”

“I am,” he admitted plainly.

“Don’t,” she urged. “I’m fine.”

“Trust me, my dear, I know,” he simply said, pulling his hands carefully from underneath her bandeau. “My plans for this evening are going just as I had hoped.”

Rook felt her stomach drop, “but —“

“Give me your hand, please,” he held his out and she didn’t hesitate to press her palm to his. 

She expected him to be a gentleman and help her down from the ledge he had put her on. She preemptively felt the disappointment of desire unsatisfied, her stomach turning at the idea of finishing a walk around the garden so unsated with her underclothes sticking wetly to her cunt, a constant reminder of what almost was. Emmrich took her hand and she felt the slide of metal against her skin, he placed three of his gold bands on her ring finger and one on the middle finger. All six bracelets he normally wore on his right wrist were also slipped onto hers. 

Rook inspected them with a tilted head, not a perfect fit but not too tight or loose enough she worried about them slipping off. The gold bangles jingled against each other as she examined the unfamiliar weight of them. She was confused, and his arm looked so bare without them, it felt incredibly intimate. 

“What are you doing?” She asked him. 

His hands rested on her thighs, sliding up to the belts around her waist, “if you’ll allow it, I’d like to remove these,” he ran his ringer over one of those buckles. 

“Of course I’ll allow it,” Rook frowned. 

“Wonderful,” he started unbuckling. 

She just watched him, before her unadorned hand reached for the fabric tied at his waist. “Can I?��

“No, you may not,” he smiled, with a shake of his head still tilted down to where he was undoing her trousers. His eyes lifted to hers, amused, at the huff of annoyance she gave when she let go of the fabric. 

“How are you planning on fucking me with out undressing at all?”

Emmrich had gotten the buckles undone, untucking her shirt from the trousers and began unlacing. He was quick with it, not faltering over any knots or clasps. “It seems your previous partners have made some egregious errors in their courting of you,” he told her gently, “forgive my language, but I am not going to ‘fuck you’ at all.”

The curse sounded so out of place on his tongue she almost had no idea what to say besides an inarticulate grunt of, “what?”

He untied his own sash around his waist, unfolding it and draping it across her lap. He reached underneath it, grabbing at the trousers that hung open on her and started to tug them down. Rook lifted her hips to let him, watched in confusion as he undid her boots, set them aside and sliding both underclothes and pants all the way off of her so her bare bum sat against the stone. 

As he folded her trousers very neatly to set them aside, she finally found her wits again, “Emmrich? You’re sending a lot of mixed messages right now.”

He kissed her lips, stepping back between her legs. “I’m not going to take you carelessly,” he told her. 

“Maybe I haven’t been clear,” she smiled, “I’d very much like it if you had your way with me, threw me over a gravestone or something.”

“The idea is incredibly tempting, my dear,” he assured her. “Do not mistake me, having you at my mercy is quite often on my mind.”

“Well you can’t say it like that and not follow through,” Rook reached for his shirt again. 

“Rook,” he breathed a laugh, grabbing her hands to place them on the edge of the stone. “That privilege is something that must be earned. I will not even allow myself to look upon you in all your naked glory before I have done so.”

Rook tilted her head, “but you have -“

“Please, humor me, darling,” he kissed her. “Let me do this the right way.”

This was a dance she had no idea the steps to, but she nodded her head, ready to let him show her. It was strange, to be treated like something precious. It left her feeling off kilter, unsure how to show the same care back — but if he minded he hadn’t said so. She was so full of want for him, she hadn’t been secretive about it, but maybe he liked that. It certainly seemed like he did, given the strain in his trousers. 

As Emmrich kissed her his hand slipped to the outside of her covered thighs, roaming down until he finally made contact with the skin of her calf, all the way down to her ankles, across the top of her foot. He followed a trail back up the same way, this time his hand sliding under the cummerbund draped over her lap. 

In her wildest fantasies she had taken care to imagine the drag of metal across her skin from his grave gold, but she felt the weight of it on her own hand. It was somehow even more intimate to be wearing them herself, while his hand was bare as he squeezed the generous flesh of her thigh. 

He began massaging lightly, the press of his fingers never moving into painful, and she groaned a little at the soothing feeling. His head tilted down for her neck again, and she was finding his favorite spot to kiss was right were he could feel her pulse beating. The tickle of his moustache painting a complex mix of sensations while he so gently sucked on the skin there. 

“I fear your skin may become an insurmountable vice of mine,” he said gently. 

His right hand slid down to her knee and back up the inside of her thigh. His other was tracing the curve of her torso, over her side before resting with his hand just underneath her bandeau not quite touching her breast pressing enough to feel her ribs. The anticipation was going to kill her, she was alight, nerves on fire as she wanted more — of this almost touching where she wanted him and for him to just touch her — she wasn’t sure what she would have preferred. 

His right hand had avoided the apex between her thighs, coming up to trial a line over the curve of her stomach. From her belly button and down to where the thatch of hair began, his fingers scratched gently through them before detouring to her thigh again. When he finally traced his fingers over the slick inside of her thigh, her arousal smeared there, he gasped slightly. 

“Maker, preserve me,” his voice was light as he spoke more to himself than her. 

Rook whined, biting her tongue against a string of desperate begging. 

Gentle fingers traced over her outer lips, rubbing and making her choke on the breath in her lungs. A tortuous slow exploration of her, Emmrich’s breath coming a little faster as he seemed to keep forgetting he was showering her neck with kisses — stopping with every dip into a new depth even before he reached where she was wettest for him. A gentle circle of her clit had her head thrown back with a moan that was so loud, she was almost embarrassed as he rubbed against the seam of her. 

When his fingers trailed down to her entrance, he hesitated where he found how wet she was, and then groaned. “Forgive me, I —“

He dipped a single finger slowly inside of her and then pulled his hand from her. Any protest she had died when he lifted the finger to his mouth, sucking on the bare digit, and moaning at the taste of her. 

“Emmrich,” Rook gasped. 

But he just kissed her. The hint of her own arousal on his mouth making her feel more lewd than she had ever before, and the heat of his kiss taking any logical thought away from her. His hand slipped under the fabric again, his hand angled so he could slip a finger in her a grind his palm against her clit gently. Even when Rook gasped, unable to kiss back, his mouth was on hers, tongue flicking and teeth grabbing. 

Another finger slipped into her, her arousal making the stretch easy but no less exhilarating. His bracelets around her wrist jangled against each other as she gripped at his shoulder, trying to find something to ground her, trying to touch any part of him she could. The stone at her back held her upright, and she threw her head back at a shock of pleasure when his hand finally took hold of her breast beneath her smallclothes, mouth dipping to skirt the edge of the cloth and take another pert nipple through it. 

An orgasm was approaching almost embarrassingly quickly. She spoke his name again, a desperate plea that he responded to with only a moan of his own. Her cunt clenched around his fingers, hips jolting forward, and her fingers nearly aching with the grip she had on him.

“Yes,” he murmured, pulling away to watch her. “There you are, I have you.”

Rook crumbled, panting and moaning, each roll of her hips gracefully matched by his hand. He pinched her nipple, and her legs drifted further open, back sliding down the stone a bit so she was at an almost uncomfortable angle. His hand never stopped, palm grinding against her clit, fingers pumping at just the right angle with the slightest crook of them upwards dragging against something truly sinful within her. It curled her toes and made her back arch against her will, all the while she kept fluttering her eyes open to watch him watch her. 

His mouth was parted, just slightly smiling, he may have looked cocky, too pleased with himself, except for the raw focus in his eyes. It was like the world had fallen away entirely, and she was the only one who existed to him. Hungry, pleading and slightly awestruck. He was beautiful. 

The waves of pleasure in her died down, and she opened her mouth to say something to him — but the train of thought flew away when he slipped his fingers out of her and used them to start rubbing a slow pattern over her clit. Testing the sensitivity, and watching for every micro expression. 

Need flared brightly in her again. So soon after, she felt insatiable, like she had to keep that feeling of release going forever. And he was happy to oblige her. 

“Again?” He asked.

“Yeah — yeah, again,” Rook gasped. “Please!”

Emmrich faltered at the begging, something flashing over his face that spelled out nights of wrung out pleasure and his firm hand correcting her when she slipped up. His pace quickened, his body pressing as close as he could to her without impeding his task. 

“This is what you deserve, Rook,” he told her between kisses. “To be undone, at the hands of someone who knows how to piece you back after.” He pressed his forehead to hers, “I can hardly believe you chose me.” When she tangled her fingers into his now completely ruffled hair and tugged slightly, he groaned, “I am beyond fortunate you did.”

It was hard to fully process what he was saying. “Wanted you — from the beginning,” was all she could manage. 

Emmrich stuttered a laugh, rewarding her with a pinch of her nipple again. “Insatiable minx.”

Her second orgasm came with a similar speed, but this time carried on so long she could hardly form words. Perhaps pleasure made time roll on slower than she could tell, his unrelenting pace making her eyes roll back into her head and all words cease. An internal chant of begging for more rang in her own ears but she couldn’t quite make her lips form the words. 

It was entirely overwhelming, the feeling of wanting to be splayed out for him. To let him have her whatever way he wanted. She wanted to beg him to never ever stop until she was crying and mindless.

“Good. Give me another,” Emmrich said, more a demand than a question as his other hand slipped out of her bandeau and beneath the cummerbund lain over her legs. All while one hand still played with different pressures and ministrations on her clit, the other pressed two fingers to her again. 

He caught himself, “is that alright?”

All Rook knew was that she wanted more, had to have more. She was all desire, all greedy lust, ready to do whatever he asked as long as he didn’t stop. It was terrifying, it was liberating, but it felt safe. 

“Yes,” she gasped. Finding a shred of her mind through the haze to laugh, “if you think you can manage it.”

His fingers plunged into her at the challenge, wrenching a gasp from her. “Challenging me in this area is not your best idea, Rook.”

“Are you sure?” Rook grinned, drunk on pleasure, “I’m getting exactly what I want out of it.”

“You’re much too capable of speech, darling,” Emmrich grinned back. “I shall have to rectify that.”

He was still fully clothed, and no intimate part of her was exposed to him, but it was perhaps the filthiest thing she had ever done. He had said it was just the beginning, and she believed him wholeheartedly. Even with the slick sounds of his fingers pumping in her, the way she had abandoned any kind of self-preservation to moan, and his mouth latched onto her nipple through the fabric. There was so much more on the horizon, and she was already on the verge of begging him to abandon his vow to ‘properly’ court her. 

Something was happening that she was unsure of, a stirring in her cunt that was not entirely unfamiliar. A brand new pressure, something that had teased itself in her before but never was allowed to fully bloom. In a slight panic, Rook opened her eyes, shock and awe written in the way her lips opened to pant through the sensation. 

He cooed at her, gentle encouragement and praises that made her want to please him so badly it was concerning. “Lovely, my dear,” she caught him saying, “you fall apart so beautifully for me.”

“Emmrich, I —“

 A sigh, “my name on your lips is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s — I’m going to —“ she felt like she had to warn him. 

“Yes, please,” he murmured, sounding just as desperate as her, “you’re so good to me.”

Rook fell apart again. Emmrich pulled his fingers from her as he felt her tighten around him, and to her own shock, she felt a dam break in her, a burst of wetness painting his fingers and the stone beneath her. 

Emmrich let out a whine that made her ravenous, it was needy and raw . Urgently, he kept rubbing over her clit, and it happened again. The sound wet and messy and altogether filthy. She felt tears stinging her eyes, her legs shaking and wave after wave of pleasure rolling through her body. Everything felt more vibrant, colors, sounds, every physical sensation magnified. 

 “Magnificent, Rook,” his voice lowered again. “Absolutely perfect.”

The praise hit her hard and she sobbed when he repeated the same ministrations once more. When he went to do it again she gasped, feeling like she might actually die. She was too sensitive, the stone at her back was beginning to bite and she was honestly a little scared at how her body wanted to have more still. 

“Wait,” she gasped. “Wait — it’s too much — I —“

Emmrich immediately stopped, pulling his hands away to rest on her thighs. “It seems I got carried away.”

“No, no,” Rook shook her head frantically, trying to put words together in a rush to console him. “No, it was perfect.”

“Breathe,” he reminded her, rubbing soothingly on the skin. 

Rook took in a heavy breath. He was watching her closely, but he leaned in to kiss her brow. While she caught her breath, leaning boneless against the stone, he started to clean her up, using the fabric still draped over her. Gently he wiped the mess away between her legs, and on his fingers.  

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, still getting her breath back. “I made a mess I didn’t even know I could make.”

Emmrich faltered for a moment, swallowing audibly. “The last thing you need to do is apologize, Rook, I’m glad I could enlighten you.”

He was being strange. For a moment he didn’t touch her at all, his hands firmly on the stone on either side of her, hips leaned back and taking deep breaths.

“Are you alright?” Concern made her sit up straighter, his bangles clacking against each other on her wrist when she reached out to touch his face. 

Emmrich’s eyes were glued to the jewelry on her skin for a moment. “I’m fine, dearest.” 

He flicked his eyes to hers, another wry smile on his lips that didn’t fit the bliss she was feeling at the moment. The pupils of his eyes were blown out so wide the green of his eyes were barely visible. Still he patiently watched while she caught her breath, leaning boneless against the stone. He was still straining against his trousers. Each breath he took was measured, and intentional. 

“Let me get use of my legs back,” she said suddenly, “and I’ll take care of you.”

“No need, darling,” he assured her. 

“But you just  —“

“Pardon me, Rook, but I know perfectly well what I did,” he cut her off. “It was what I intended to do, I just seemed to have… miscalculated my ability to keep my composure.”

“You don’t have to keep your composure with me,” she insisted. 

“I truly appreciate that,” he said with eyes closed as he straightened up, tall and proud, despite sporting quite an obvious erection. “But tonight was about you.”

“It can be about us.”

“It is,” he said gently, then continuing to clean up. “But you said you’d let me do this properly. You deserve to be courted selflessly.”

Rook leveled him with a look, half exasperated at this surprising new stubbornness and increasingly fond of his commitment to making her feel special. He laughed a little. 

“Put that look away, Rook,” he said, “it’s an erection, it’s hardly going to kill me.”

“But I want to make you feel good.”

Emmrich gathered up his cummerbund in his hands, licked his lips slightly and looked at her. “You’ve given me a great gift,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “the evidence of your pleasure will be more than enough to satisfy me.”

Rook was spent, or should have been anyway, but the flare in her body was instantaneous. He helped redress her while she imagined him alone in the laboratory back at the Lighthouse, holding the fabric to his nose while he stroked himself. Would he wrap it around himself, stroke himself through it? And what had she been missing out on her entire life when his special brand of seduction and devotion was already driving her quickly towards madness? 

“Emmrich,” she said, looking down at him where he was on one knee as he started putting her boots back on her feet. “Thank you.”

“It’s quite literally my pleasure, darling.”

She believed him. 

Thank you for reading!

[brownsugaboba]

title: “Chapter 2: Back in The Day: Simpler Times.”

december 19th, 2024.

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bruce wayne x reader.

- black reader. (anyone can read but emphasis on black.)

- 19+. (this chapter is NOT 19+, however future chapters will be.)

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the wayne manor library was quiet, except for the soft ticking of an antique clock on the wall. the stretch of leather-bound book casted long shadows across the room, but neither bruce nor yourself paid much mind to the dark night. you both, after all, had spent countless hours there as children, so the familiar surroundings felt comforting, nostalgic even.

bruce sat in his usual armchair, a glass of scotch resting on the side table beside him, while you were sat on the edge of the window seat. your posture was relaxed, though your eyes held the same quiet look they always had. you two had been talking for hours, reliving memories from a time when the world seemed simpler, before tragedy reshaped both of your lives.

"remember the time we tried to build that treehouse in the oak behind the manor?" you asked, a small smile tugging at your two tones lips as you recalled the memory.

"we thought we could build it all by ourselves, even though we barely knew the difference between a hammer and a nail."

bruce couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound rare and warm. "i think we still managed to get it up, though. it was only after a week when alfred found it that we realized we had left half of it unfinished."

"that’s because you kept insisting we needed more space for all our 'secret' things," she teased. "i think you were just trying to escape your parents."

bruce’s smile faltered for a brief moment, but it didn’t go unnoticed. you saw it and immediately reached out to place a hand on his.

the unspoken bond you had shared since childhood had always been something that transcended words, even now. you both had known loss too young, your parents taken from you in different ways but with the same devastating finality.

"i never thanked you enough for being there for me back then," bruce said quietly. "for always knowing when i needed someone."

your voice was equally as soft. "you don’t have to thank me, bruce. you were my best friend, too. we were always there for each other."

you two went into a slight silence, the weight of unspoken grief settling between you both. the passing of your parents was still something neither one of you had truly come to terms with, but it had shaped you both in ways you couldn’t fully explain.

"i miss them," bruce said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

"i miss him." the words for his father, thomas wayne, hung in the air.

"i miss her too," you said. "my dad... he was always so proud of you, bruce. he admired you, even when you were just a little kid who'd sneak into the hospital to watch him work."

bruce’s lips twisted into a faint yet gentle grin, but the sadness was still there. "he never knew when to stop talking about his work. your father… he used to give me tips on how to stay focused during surgeries, even though i wasn’t sure if I’d ever need them."

"and you did. in your own way," you replied. you squeezed his hand before letting go.

"you turned out more like him than you think."

bruce met your gaze, his eyes betraying a sense of emotion he rarely showed. he stopped himself from reaching for your hand again, wanting to hold it for comfort.

"and you turned out like your dad in the best ways. i’m sorry we both had to go through that loss together."

"i think we’re both sorry for that," she said softly.

the conversation shifted after a moment, the past lingering like a shadow, but they had moved on. the reason you were there became clearer. you were still family, and today was no exception.

"selina’s wedding," bruce said, finally having the courage to say it. "that is why you came all this way, no?"

you sighed, crossing your arms. "i’m not here for the wedding itself, bruce. i’m here because i know how much it’s going to hurt you to see her walking down that aisle."

bruce closed his eyes for a moment, the pain evident. "she deserves happiness. i knew that the moment she let me go. but it doesn’t make it any easier."

you nodded. "i know. but you’ve always been too good at hiding how much things affect you. and you can’t hide that from me when i do the same thing. it’s not healthy."

before bruce could respond, a quiet voice interrupted him from the hallway.

"do you think it’s gonna bother selina seeing bruce with someone else?" damian’s voice was low but sharp, his curiosity peeking around the corner of the library door.

he was followed by his brother, dick, who smirked. "i mean, we all know she’s been a little—" he hesitated, glancing at damian. "possessive?"

damian gave him a pointed look.

"i was going to say 'protective,' but sure, go ahead." tim remarks.

bruce’s eyes narrowed at the sound of his children’s voices. his instincts were immediate, but his gaze softened when he caught your amused expression.

just as he was about to call them out, cassandra stepped into the hallway. she had only overheard the conversation but hadn’t understood the full context, since she wasn’t there for the building of the plan.

she crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.

"selina's getting married," she said bluntly, looking between the brothers. "and you’re all acting like idiots. it’s not like she hasn’t moved on. she’s been with someone else for a while now."

damian and jason blinked in unison, looking a little stunned with how long selina has been with her partner, considering she had ever so recently left their dad. "wait, what?" jason asked, his confusion growing. "she—"

"she moved on, guys," cassandra said, shaking her head.

"she’s already marrying someone else. you know how she is. if she sees bruce with someone else, she’s probably gonna think it's funny more than anything."

dick spoke. "you dont know that."

tim frowned. "you really think so?"

"yeah, because she knows what she wants. and she’s not holding onto stuff she can’t control," cassandra replied coolly.

"i want the best for bruce too, but you can’t just sit here and overthink it."

jason scowled. "that’s because bruce is—"

"just go talk to him yourselves," cassandra cuts in, dismissing them. "stop standing around like it’s a tragedy and act like adults."

her bluntness caused the brothers to retreat, but their expressions remained conflicted. as they all walked away, you and bruce shared a quiet, knowing glance.

bruce sighed. "i never thought i’d have to explain myself to them this way."

you smirked, your tone light and sweet as your dimples showed. "you’ve been a little distracted lately. it’s okay."

"maybe," bruce said, staring at your dimples and remembering the first time he had ever seen them.

"but things don’t seem simple anymore."

"maybe they never were," you replied.

“or maybe simple is too simple for us.”

fin.

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next chapter will be updated soon…

[completeoveranalysis]

[1]

Almost missed this cover entirely but luckily this blog saved me.

Chapitre 220 - 'The Strongest Magic' or 'The Ultimate Magic'

Splash text: Turn weakness to strength, despair to hope, carve out the proof that you have lived!

And OH THIS IS GORGEOUS!

MATCHING FAMILY BATTLE OUTFITS?!

THE SYAORANS WEARING THE EXACT SAME ARMOUR WITH IDENTICAL SWORDS??

And one of them looking like he has his hand on the other’s shoulder?!

I love it. Even if it’s actually just hovering above the shoulder or something the visual effect is enough for me. 

From the eye colour I think I would guess this is Daddyaoran and Lava Lamp? But I suppose it could just as equally being Lava Lamp and Syaoran. It’s fun either way - either it’s married couple Kurogane and Fai taking their two sons on a battle trip or it’s Lava Lamp and his three dads on an adventure. We win either way!

I really enjoy that Kurogane and Fai have their signature colour schemes (Red and Black/Blue and White) on opposing sides of the page, while the Syaorans have their own unique cape colours that swirl out between them on either side. (or not quite capes. Whatever those are) It makes this so much more dynamic than it would be without the splashes of colour and brings so much energy and action to what is essentially a still pose. And it’s fitting that the (capes?) are red and blue, as it helps the Syaorans be distinct from each other but lets them match the character that they share the physical space with on each page (Fai on the left page, Kurogane on the right). 

But! No matter which page you were looking at individually, you would still see a small splash of the opposing colour. I think I even have an example, here we go:

If you were only looking at the left page, which is predominantly blue and white, you still get some red at the bottom. And on the right page with its blacks and reds you still have a flash of blue in the middle. Which matches the yin-yang symbol that is Syaoran’s soul - where even if you are strongly on one side of the symbol there is still always some of the opposite side inescapably in there. And the melding together of the two colour schemes creates the family that they’ve built together in everything that they’ve been through. AND, the bridge connecting the two pages, the moment of contact between them, is Syaoran’s hand on the other Syaoran’s shoulder. Which is SO FITTING I COULD SCREAM. 

So with that in mind this is probably Lava Lamp and Syaoran right? With Syaoran on the right, with his strong connection with Kurogane (think the time they trained together in Outo), and Lava Lamp on the left, who trends closer to Fai (I think, like in the conversation they had when Lava Lamp shared his backstory with them in the Clow ruins). 

Now the only mystery I have is this bit. 

Which I’m sure is not supposed to be a mystery but I just don’t know what that bit sticking up is. I know it’s NOT Kurogane’s leg but that’s what my eye sees every time, which makes it look like Kurogane is doing a fancy little Bayonetta kick off to the side.  

Which I would be in full support of, for the record.