#and tug at his topknot and shake him around by the shoulders

[meownotgood]

How would aki feel if you pinched his cheeks and called him cute in a baby voice and patted his head and pampered him as much as he deserves and-

he gets shy and a little pouty look forms on his face; when you squish and pinch him too hard he's half-heartedly pushing you away and telling you to knock it off. but he can't deny that he likes the attention... aki will gladly put up with whatever you wanna do to him as long as you tell him how much you love him in the end

[spiltscribbles]

The One With The Princess Leia Bikini

~Notes: This gets sorta smutty.... :S

.-

Send Me A Friends Episode/Storyline?  |  Rebogs Ar Love, Reblog Are Life!

.-

Sirius tosses a glare at an indignant James sitting across the counter from him, affronted on everything he has ever stood for.

“Brooklyn Nine Nine is way better than some stupid, ruddy drama about doctors.”

“Take that back you prick!”

“’S true!”

”Gray’s Anatomy paints the manic  highs and lows of their jobs with dignity and realism.” James argues with an imperious tilt of his head. “The storylines don’t even compare!”

“There was a bomb at their wedding!”

“There was a bomb lodged in someone’s arsehole!”

Sirius opens his mouth to retort, but stutters on his words when one of their ducks steps out of his room, spitting up something green before he  begins to peck at the sofa cushion.

“Good morning Pronsie,” James crows, walking over to cradle him into his arms and kisses the top of his head.

“Mate, you have to stop feeding him the peanut butter, ’s making them crazed,” Sirius tells him sagely  before taking a spoonful out of the jar for himself.

“They’re just demanding,” James sniffs, perking up once Lily walks into their apartment. “You agree, love, don’t you?”

“What?” She asks, single brow kinked as she grabs a bottle of water  from the fridge, still dressed in her athletic wear from her run. “That your ducks are demonic.”

“See!” Sirius shouts.

“They’re just a wee bit ill, poor things,” James says with a cluck of his tongue, gingerly petting Prongs’s feathers and wandering over to Lily for a quick peck to her sweaty forehead.

“Ill in the heads,” Sirius retorts lowly, grabbing for his discarded Guinness.

James casts him a heated glower, never halting his gentle caresses to Prongs’s feathered back. “Maybe I should call Mum, she’d know how to help.”

“Oi, right, because your veterinarian mother has nothing better to do.”

“She likes the marauders wanker!”

“Okay, did not come here to interrupt one of your lover’s quarrels,” Lily sighs, forever suffering, as she loosens and regathers  her  hair anxiously, tying the red main   into a messy topknot.

“Rude,” Sirius and James chorus with the same peeved inflection.

“I’m exhausted you berks! Dorcas has been staying at our place ever since Marlene went on that tour around the continent to find new athletes for the firm to sign.”

“Oof, is it nasty?” James asks, gently placing Prongs the duck to the ground and straightening back up.

“She’s in a real strop over it, yeah. Re’s with her now.”

“Lils, you underestimate Cas,,” Sirius snorts, bending down and giving into Prongs’s silent plea for a snack, holding out a chunk of peanut butter for him to nibble at. “She’s not gonna let something so temporary fuck her up. They’ve been going out for over a year now.” Sirius studiously ignores the little nagging voice in his own head— one that frighteningly sounds like Mrs Potter of all people— Tooting at him that he’d certainly not be this nonchalant if Remus had to go on some research sabbatical in Rome or Athens for half as long as Marlene’s three month stint.

“You are so full of it Black,” Lily sneers, and he really wouldn’t be surprised if she’s somehow secretly found out how to read minds on her downtime from the restaurant.

“Dorcas is a diamond,” James says cheerfully. “I’m sure she’ll be right as rain soon enough.” As if right on queue they hear a booming crash coming from across the hall in Lily and Remus’s apartment. “Or erm— Maybe she won’t?”

"Prats,” Lily mutters lowly before pivoting on her heels leading the way for the three sum to frantically  scramble and follow suit.

Sirius is all levels of confused once they walk in  only to findDorcas starfished flat on the ground with her curls still soaked from what must’ve been a shower and grasping tight to a pink hairbrush. Remus’s standing over her with his hands on his hips, and lips pinched ever so slightly, the face he gets when he’s trying to figure out how to solve a particularly difficult dilemma. And it might be smarmy of him, but Sirius can’t help feeling a little parched when he sees the way Remus’s drenched T-shirt clings to his perfect form— near see-through.

“Is everything okay?” Lily asks as she steps closer, frowning bewilderedly.

“We just had a bit of an incident when Dorcas saw a clunk of blonde hair in the brush  that Marlene shares with her.”Remus explains, excepting the kiss Sirius offers him in hello. “And well, ahem then she found a garment that Marlene had left behind…  And well things escalated.”

“I’m going to be alone for forever,” Dorcas moans, making his point for him.

“I love it when you’re the dramatic one, Cas,” Sirius crows, narrowly dodging the aforementioned brush that Dorcas launches at his head. “Nice aim!”

“Leave me so I can whither away!”

“Nonsense, love, you two will be fine.” James interjects good naturedly.

“Let’s get some frozen yogurt, yeah?  Get your mind off of everything,” Lily suggests lightly, helping pull her up by the hands with Remus, Sirius’s own never leaving Remus’s back pocket.

“Can we go to the place with the jellybean  toppings,” Dorcas asks with a pout, head resting on Lily’s shoulder— dark tresses falling into strawberry blonde.

“Course, sweetheart,” she assures with a glowing smile.

Breathing in deep, Dorcas nods slowly, stretching her neck just slightly so to kiss Remus’s cheek in thanks  before she lets Lily cart her off into her room to get changed.

“I better put the marauders into their crate if we’re going to be out long,” James announces, effectively leaving Remus and Sirius finally, blissfully, alone.

“Is this the part where I tell you that I thought you only get wet when I’m around?” Sirius asks cheekily, rounding on his boyfriend with a smirk already painted over his face.

“You can,” Remus relents with a one armed shrug. “But only if you want to not speak with me for the rest of the day.”

Sirius lets out an endeared huff, head shaking slightly before he dips down to greet him properly. “Morning gorgeous,” he beams,  cupping his hands around Remus’s face before kissing him nice and thorough.

“I missed you last  night,” Remus says, foreheads pressed up against each other as his hands wander up and down Sirius’s back muscles appreciatively, landing on his forearms with a small squeeze.

“I had to concentrate on that proposal for the new  tube stop that Moody wanted by today.” Sirius tips back his head, toes curling ever so slightly at the way Remus is mouthing along the column of his neck, nipping at the hinge of Sirius’s jaw with particular focus.  “And believe it or not Messr Lupin, but you prove a formidable distraction."

“Is that right?” Remus smiles against his skin, pressing him even closer.  “And did you finish all that paperwork, architect Black?”

“Hmm, you’re getting off on this shit, aren’t you?” Sirius can’t help but laugh, especially when Remus pulls back,  blinking up  owlishly at him. “Oh don’t give me the innocent act, gorgeous. I’ve been able to see through that since the first night we met.”

Remus’s face turns a fetching pink, snickering slightly as he presses back up against him. “Can’t. Help. It.” Remus says between another round of peppered kisses on the lobe of Sirius’s ear, the hallow of his cheek and corner of his mouth too. “You’re brilliant.”

“You’re touched in the head, just a ball of hornyness.” Sirius accuses, tugs him close once more and slants their lips together while one hand slings around Remus’s narrow waste and the other begins to knead into his ass muscle. “Shall we take this back to your room? Do this properly without any clothing?”

Remus flushes, fingers toying with the collar of Sirius’s shirt as he swallows down, hard.”Could you— Erm, could you maybe wear those glasses you use sometimes for when you’re reading those long contracts?”

Absolutely preening,, Sirius cards a hand through Remus’s caramel curls, scraping his nails gently against his scalp. “And the professorial kink makes another appearance in the bed ladies and gents.” He announces to the empty room, as if he’s  a twentieth century gameshow host.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a kink, per se.” Remus argues haughtily, cheeks infused red, and teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

“‘S okay gorgeous, I think your swottyness is rather cute.” Sirius goads, pecks Remus’s mouth lightly before dragging him off to his room to finally get at some bare skin. 

“It’s not because I’m a swot that I like seeing you like that,” Remus harrumphs, watching as Sirius sheds off his top before sitting leisurely on the bed, feeling bloody incandescent when Remus mounts his lap, nuzzling his nose against Sirius’s neck with his arms resting against his broad shoulders.

“I’d wager you have dirty librarian fantasies too,” Sirius laughs through the kisses, thrusting upwards so that Remus’s bum bounces slightly against his hardness, fucking miraculous.

“Hah— Hmm,” Remus breathes a bit more laboredly as he settles back down. “And what if I do,” he asks primly, unwittingly making it so a thrill runs down Sirius’s spine with the thought of his boyfriend— the bloke who is most certainly  the love of his god forsaken life— picturing the different ways he wants Sirius— above him and under him, all around him and deep inside of him. And Christ, what a beautiful thought.

“’S not a problem with me goldilocks,” Sirius tells him with a slight catch to his voice, not having expected that the idea would effect him so thoroughly. “Tell me do you like me stern? Maybe you turned in some late books and I had to teach you a lesson.”

“If I’m being honest, love, you don’t talk much in the fantasy,” Remus laughs when Sirius bolts upwards, flipping him so that he’s beneath Sirius and his hair is fanned on the pillow like a gilded halo.

“Fucking lies,” Sirius slips a hand through the hem of Remus’s sweats, unsurprised to find that he’s not wearing any boxer briefs, knowing full and well how Remus prefers to sleep in the nude.” “You love it when I’m waxing poetic about you, and when I’m harsh at you. When I tell you about how your mouth is meant to suck my cock, how I want to put you over my lap and spank that perfect little arse of yours.” Sirius wraps his hand around Remus’s length, twisting it slightly before  starting to pump, absolutely beaming at how he’s already begun to get Remus to get that oh so beautiful glazed look over his eyes, turning him undone with a few strategic touches and perfectly crafted, perfectly illicit mutterings. “When I call you gorgeous and a filthy little slag and when I fuck into you even after you’re already spent.”

Remus’s hips rock up, eyes squint shut when Sirius uses his free hand to thumb at one of his delightfully pink nipples and pinches it for good measure while he quickens the pace of his hand sliding up and down Remus’s shaft. “Tell me how much you crave that, love. How much you love being good for me, how much you love it when I show you how.”

“Sirius— Hold on,” Remus begs, voice coming out in an almost whine— haggard and breathy and high pitched— while both his hands knot into  Sirius’s dark hair, quaking so hard that Sirius knows he’s got him on the edge. 

Tenderly, he dips down his head, lips pressed against Remus’s ear and hot tendrils of breath skirting against his skin. Shh, ‘s fine, baby,” he promises him, stroking him through the climax. “’S okay, just let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Oh God! Fuck! Fuck— Sirius!” Remus chokes out, hips thrusting rapidly as he chases that relief and slumping back once his orgasm quite literally pulses out, coating Sirius’s hand and abs and some on Remus’s jumper too.

“You really are gorgeous,” Sirius tells him with a smile, gingerly kissing the lids of his still shut eyes before grappling for the little baggie of wet wipes they’ve begun keeping in Remus’s night stand drawer for moments like these.

“I hate how you could do that to me,” Remus tells him with heavy breaths as Sirius cleans up, taps his side lightly so Remus rises up his hips and Sirius tosses his pants to the corner, followed by Remus’s now spoiled jumper. He really couldn’t wait to get his hands off of him after a day apart.

“Oi! ‘S not my fault that the thought of me as some stodgy  librarian is what   gets you going, Moonbeam.” Sirius rebukes, pulls up the comforter so that it pools around their hips, while he lies back leisurely with Remus’s head propped up on his chest.

“We’re breaking up,” Remus tells him flatly, tracing small circles against Sirius’s tanned skin, interrupted by intermittent pecks.

“Cruel,” Sirius pouts, still carding a hair through Remus’s mussed curls, can’t imagine ever living without this, not after so many years of never ending yearning and countless almosts and taking one step forwards before being pushed two back so many times that it made them bloody barmy.

But they’re here now. Sirius has Remus in ways he never thought he’d ever want to claim a person— and lets himself be claimed in the same ways right back. Sirius knows Remus and all of Remus’s little quirks—  loves him all the more for it. He knows the way Remus likes his tea when he wakes up at three in the morning and can’t go back to bed, how it’s different from the tea he prefers to drink in the afternoons. Knows the way Remus licks the lip of the mug before every sip. Sirius knows Remus’s favorite book for each of his various moods, and knows that on those quiet days— the ones when Remus doesn’t like talking much at all— that Remus only needs time, needs to know that Sirius’ll be there when he wakes up the next morning with sunlit smiles and kisses that taste like violet skies and cinnamon scones and promises meant to be kept.

And of course Sirius will be there, of course he’d have Remus in any and all ways that he’d let him— He knows it in his bones that Remus feels that same crippling sort of devotion for him right back, knows that it’s a once in a life time sort of ordeal. He knows that he’s grateful for every breath they share with one another.

“”A man could take only so much smugness from his boyfriend,” Remus tells Sirius petulantly, the words belied by how he tenderly kisses his chest.

“No but Remus, darling, tel me. Who makes more of an appearance in the sexy thought time? Librarian me or the image of me in the rugby kit.” 

Remus moves to flip him the bird while he nips at the patch of skin he was just lapping at with quiet reverence.

“Ouch!”

“I hate that I told you that.” Remus fumes, actually embarrassed looking as he pulls away from him.

Sirius is frantic when he circles his arms around Remus’s torso and brings his body  back to lie over his own. “Nah, no, gorgeous,  I like it. Gets me going. The idea that you’re so lost on me that you picture me in those different outfits.” Sirius tells him, pressing a kiss of apology to the temple of his head.

“’S not weird Sirius!”

“Course it’s not baby,” Sirius soothes, hand caressing his side meaningfully.

“You’re bloody fit— you know that! ’s totally normal that I’d wanna wank off to my beautiful damn boyfriend.”

“Completely, no one’s arguing against you, baby.”

“Hmm,” Remus huffs before springing up suddenly, pinning Sirius with a suspicious glower. “So what, you don’t ever picture me like that? In your favorite sorts of fantasies.”

Sirius throws back his head, laughing at how distressed he looks. God he’s in love with such a bellend. “Cor! Remus, me calling you Prince Ponce all those years before we finally just shagged wasn’t simply  because you had a royal scepter  up your arse that I wanted to replace with my  prii—“ Remus shoves Sirius hard enough so he won’t finish that line, and honestly? Valid.

“So what? That’s all?” Remus fumes, settling away from him once more.  “You’ve only ever imagined me as some sorta golden boy you wanted to get your grubby hands on?”

“Course not, love, there’s like hundreds I think of.”

“Like what?” Remus needles, and Sirius feels his cheeks burn scarlet as he has to avert his gaze, knowing precisely what his top fantasy is and too nervous to actually say it out loud.

“Oh c’mon Sirius,” Remus sighs, obviously having read the doubt blotched all over his face. “I’ve seen you piss while eating an ice cream cone in a public beach, and that was before we began even dating.”

“’S not my fault that Marlene got stung by that bloody jellyfish!”

“We’ve crossed the possibility of being embarrassed in front of the other long ago,” Remus continues as if Sirius hadn’t interrupted. 

“Ugh fine,” Sirius grouses, tossing himself back on the mattress. “But you swear not to poke fun?”

“You have my word,” Remus says evenly, and gestures at him to continue.

“Okay— Well you don’t know this because we met so much later. But when Jem and I were younger— back in secondary school, maybe.” He coughs only slightly, gaze razor focussed on where he’s tugging on a stray strand of string hanging off the comforter, feeling suddenly very hot under Remus’s appraising gaze. “We, erm. Ahem. We were really bloody bored this one weekend so we watched the Star Wards prequels, you know. Just because everyone’s seen them and all.”

“Mmm, right. I don’t know where you’re going with this though.”

“I’m getting there tosser,” Sirius harrumphs, still doesn’t meet his hazel eyes, even if he’s a bit brassed off.

“All right, well don’t let me stop you.”

“Right, well— Hah.  You know the Empire Strikes Back,” Sirius asks tentatively.

“Course I do,” Remus nods, faltering just slightly once he pieces it together. “Oh.”

“’S just a thing I’ve thought about since I was like thirteen—“ Sirius explains lamely. 

“And you’d— You’d like to see me in that get up?” Remus asks, voice betraying his inhibition.

Sirius has a mild heart attack thinking of Remus— his Remus— in that golden bikini and doing it just  for Sirius and Jesus fuck he can’t even breathe. “Yeah— Yes, ahem, I would really like that.”

“All right,” Remus says with a nod and Sirius’s not really sure what he means by that. Whether it’s a thank you for sharing or a you have my permission to think of it or what, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to ask when there’s the sound of something else crashing in the background followed by  the muffled curse of a voice that is so painfully Peter that it hurts.

“Right, well let’s see if he’s broken anything, shall we?”

.-

A week goes by.

Sirius never really thinks of the conversation they had, supposes it was merely a passing fancy for Remus to be validated that Sirius has those same heated thoughts about him. (Which of fucking course he does. Remus’s the epitome of what it means to be beautiful. A God damn angel— Of bloody course Sirius is completely lost on him. But hey, it might’ve been just one of those insecurities of his, a hurtle  that needed to be past over for them to proceed in their relationship. So yeah,  whatever.) Sirius doesn’t think of it again.

Though the refrain from that is thrown out the God forsaken window on a typical Wednesday morning in the office, when Sirius gets the Snapchat notification that quite literally turns his brain into a stew of slush.

There’s a meeting with Benedict Carro who’s asked the firm to build his newest golf club in Devon, and Sirius is just collecting some of the charts and preliminary sketches from his desk for the impending meeting with the old git.  So he really doesn’t think much of it when he sees his phone light up with a message from Remus, is expecting it to be a picture of his adorably  scrunched up face or of a new addition to his ridiculous collection of candles, or maybe even of the ducks wandering across the hall like they’re occasionally want to do.

What Sirius most certainly does not expect to see is a fucking photograph of two distinct costumes lying on his bed, and the line “Look what came today,” written on the black bar.

“Mother of God,” Sirius thinks that he might be in the midst of an actual fucking seizure, feels his heart palpitating irregularly and his breaths catching and his insides fucking imploding all at once.

He can’t believe that this is a thing that is happening. That Remus went out and bought them just to surprise Sirius with and now he’s teasing him mercilessly because Sirius’s in love with a wicked fucking mastermind. And just, holy fuck.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

“Mr Black, Mr Carro and his associates are here,” Sirius’s newest assistant— Benjy Fenwick, says in a tone that makes it obvious that he’s been trying to get Sirius’s attention for quite a while now and is about fed up. Sirius is really tempted to flip his phone around and show him a photograph of how insanely sexy Remus is, then he’ll surely understand the reason why Sirius’s been dissolved into a puddle of pure longing for the day to be over. But he ultimately reasons that wouldn’t be exactly appropriate, technically being Benjy’s boss and all, even though they’re nearly the same age.

But yeah— not a good look.

So he hurriedly texts back that Remus is the absolute devil incarnate before shutting off his phone and following Benjy into one of the meeting rooms in the back— trying to muster an air of nonchalance even if the image of Remus in that God damn Princess Leia bikini, is permanently  scorched into his every thought.

.-

“Sirius spent the rest of that afternoon sending admittedly explicit texts to Remus about all the things he wants to do to him that night, and practically sores back to their building when he leaves work.

Thankfully Remus had taken care of getting the place to their selves that night, so all Sirius has to do now is jump around from foot to foot in his room, beyond jittery in anticipation of Remus finally coming out the closet dressed in Sirius’s greatest fantasy of all time.

“Is the music absolutely necessary?” Remus calls out through the closed door.

“Yes,” Sirius says in a tone that’s about two octaves higher than his usual speaking voice, so beyond flustered. “’S for the ambiance Lupin!”

“Oy, if I had known this was such a thing for you, I would’ve done it earlier,” Remus snorts, walking out in a white bathrobe that gives nothing away as he eyes Sirius in the Han Solo outfit he got— complete with a fake blaster pistol and its holster. “You look so cute.”

“You’re a God,” Sirius tells him in aw, reaching a gentle hand over to run through  his dark, tawny curls. 

Remus rolls his eyes, but Sirius catches the smirk he’s wrestling down on his lips. “I love you.”

“I know,” Sirius breathes, padding up closer to him and kissing Remus slow and thorough, a tender hand caressing his cheek.

“God save the queen, that reference  actually did something for me,” Remus chuckles, but Sirius can’t respond, has permanently lost all ability to function or piece together words once he spots how Remus loosens the knot on his robe and slinks it off to reveal miles and miles of bare skin, only slightly concealed by the golden bikini of his fantasies, even complete with purple little frills that dangle off the hips.

Sirius realizes that he must’ve been gaping by the way Remus waves a hand in front of his face, “Earth to Sirius? Is this not how you pictured it? Did I get the wrong model or—“ Sirius shuts him up with a heated and desperate kiss that leaves them both breathless by the time they separate.

“Remus, please, for the love of God, get on that bed and wait for me to decide what I want to do with you."

With a  small grin turning up the corner of his lips, Remus nods eagerly, perching up on the edge of Sirius’s bed and blinking up at him— practically imploring  for Sirius to finally just have his wicked way with him already.

Sirius mildly thinks that he doesn’t deserve such a gift, but gets distracted when Remus separates his legs a little further and he can spot the way his dick is poking out the metallic colored panties, throbbing with anticipation.

“Budge up, I want your back against the headboard,” Sirius demands lowly, and Remus is quick to comply.

On his knees, Sirius shuffles up close enough to clamp his hands on Remus’s inner thighs, pulls them further apart as he smacks a hard kiss to Remus’s mouth, slowly moving to  nose at the edge of his cheek and ear as he tells him in a very quiet, very deliberate tone to keep his hands above his head. “You’re a good boy, baby, so I won’t tie them, but you’re gonna keep them up there and you’re not gonna move them, okay?”

Remus, already completely flushed, nods vigorously. He prefers staying quiet when they get like this— Sirius would ordinarily prod at him a little to get some words out, but he’s far too distracted right now.

He kisses across Remus’s protruding collarbone, thinks of how swan like and gentle his features are. How Remus’s a work of art and how he wants Sirius more than breathing, how that’s splayed all over his face, especially now.  And God, how heady of a thrill.

Sirius kisses down the line of his chest and stomach muscles with slow precision, nuzzles against the material of the bikini before he nearly breaks the left strap trying to get at Remus’s left nipple, teeth grinding and playing with the ball— biting a little harder when Remus whimpers, trying to cant his hips upwards.

Sirius pulls back, pinching his side lightly. “Stay still,” he reproves, excepts it wen Remus quietly apologizes, ducking his head down to the other nipple now, his hands tenderly petting against Remus’s sides as he sucks on it with the same ferocity.

“Sir—Sirius, please,” Remus begs from above him, head tossed back to show off the long trail of his beautiful neck.

“You’ve been teasing me all day, baby,” Sirius tells him in a voice that’s barely above a whisper, beginning to mouth against the light feathering of pale hair that runs down Remus’s torso, leading to his dick.

“I’m sorry,” Remus tells him, bottom lip worried between his teeth.

“Shh, it’s ok, I got you,” Sirius kisses the point right beneath his naval, and he ducks down to what he was trying to get at in the first place 

“Turn around,” he tells him, words clipped. “ON all fours.”

Remus looks relieved to finally be able and do something as he tells him “Yes,” and flips over,  already rigid with anticipation.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” Sirius tells him, places a hand on the small of Remus’s back for leverage as he kisses the smattering of freckles that dance over  Remus’s thighs. God he has such amazing thighs, strong and elegant and Sirius’s favorite thing is when he gets to kiss them like this, to nip at them and hear the little, abrupt inhale that Remus sucks in at the touch. “Stay good for me, okay,” Sirius tells him as he takes his hands and he spreads open Remus’s asscheeks, revealing the little, dark hole Sirius has spent many a night moaning exaltations towards.

Softly, and with hot breaths Sirius pulls to the side the weak material of the thong, peppers kisses all around Remus’s ass before dipping down deeper and lapping a tongue against the tiny, fluttering ring of wrinkled skin.

“Sirius, please,” Remus moans pushing closer to the hot sensation.

“I got you, sweetheart,” Sirius tells him, lips pressed against him as Sirius kisses the entrance adoringly—tongue plunging  inside deeper, harder, slower. And he loves this, the sensation of it, of Remus coming undone in his very hands.

Sirius is about to wrap a hand around the length of him, to stroke in tandem with his worshiping with his mouth, but suddenly there little moment of bliss is cut by the sound of insistent and boisterous knocking.

“Ignore it,”

“It could be important,” Remus argues weakly, obviously all levels of regretful as he peers over his shoulder.

“Fuck it, who cares, ’s my flat and they can sod off!”

Remus presses his lips together, looking like he might agree, but then comes a new round of rapping, and Sirius sees the resolve in his face.

“Oh bloody hell! Fine!” Sirius fumes, scrambling up. “But if it’s someone trying to sell me shit, I’ve got the legal obligation to punch them in the face!”

“Of course darling,” Remus smiles at him, and it’s the only thing that gives Sirius enough strength to swagger towards the front and open the door without already being in mid shout. Though, what he doesn’t expect to happen is to find his adoptive mother of all fucking people on the other side.

“Mum?”

“Sirius? Love?” Dr Potter greets, eyeing him worriedly with a tsk, bringing a small, brown hand to his forehead as if to take his temperature and making it so Sirius flinches back. “Why do you look all red, and honey it’s not October yet, what’s with the outfit?”

“Mum!, why are you here!” Sirius asks instead, avoiding the question all together, voice completely strangled.

“Oh, well James called me to check up on the ducks this Friday, but I was in town with an old girlfriend, so I reckoned I’d just pop over, see if you guys needed anything for me to bring you.” She explains blithely, still looking up at him with concern. “Your taking care of yourself, aren’t you dearest? You’re not working too hard?”

Sirius panics, tries to think of a perfectly plausible excuse besides the obvious— So but of course that’s right when Remus decides to shout from the bed. “Sirius who’s at the door?” And no! Jesus no!

“Remus? Lovey?” his mum calls back.

“Oh— Erm. Dr Potter.” Remus has stepped out of his room now, mercifully already back in his robe. “I didn’t know we were expecting you,” he says  with a pale color tinting his pillar, like he’s about to be sick.

Okay, yup, Sirius’s erection has died forever now after hearing Remus speaking to Sirius’s bloody mother dressed like that.

Fuck his life.

“Are you boys okay? Did I— Did I interrupt something?”

“Mum! James is just out to dinner with Lily! We’re fine, honest! And erm, we can’t wait to see you Friday night!”

“Oh dearest, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you  guys— ah dressed up—“ Dr Potter flushes, but there is definite amusement glittering in her eyes, and that’s right when Sirius slams his hand against his face and retreats back to the bedroom, barely hearing it when she bids farewell to Remus and tells Sirius to call her tomorrow.

“I reckon we won’t be continuing?” Remus asks, a total giggle to his words. Holy fucking shite! Everyone in his life are such pricks!

“I’m jumping off the balcony!” Sirius screams back in response, plunging his head into the pillows and contemplating everything that’s brought him to this point.

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist~

[dragonfiremage]

Under the Moonlight

Author’s Note:  Ok, I’m supposed to be working on Destiny, but this was just too fun to write. T_T I also have a Sokka x Reader all drafted. This is all sap btw so I hope you guys enjoy.

Summary: Ever since becoming the new Firelord, Zuko has been invited to banquet after banquet. Festival after festival. Good thing he has you by his side. (Zuko x Reader, Oneshot)

Ever since Zuko became the Firelord, it was banquet after banquet. Festival after festival. It was tiring, especially wearing all the Firelord garb he was forced to wear and he often would get headaches when his topknot was too tight. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling flustered under his tight collar. Zuko was itching to just retire the rest of the night and stay in the comforts of his own room.

Zuko bowed at the couple as a greeting, taking a quick glance over to you. You stood a bit off to the side, far away enough to give him space, but close enough that he can reach for you in case something goes wrong. The Fire Nation dress clung to your curves rather delicately, and he couldn’t help but feel the lump in his throat and his mouth go dry. It was much different than the normal Kyoshi attire you usually wear and the red dress accentuated your physique, your hair in a delicate half-topknot as some of waves of your hair tumbled down your shoulders.  

Yo've been as his personal guard as of late. Ever since the intruder from Yu Dao broke into his room, extra security was placed around the palace and you were assigned to stay with Zuko at all times, especially watching over him while he slept. He'd taken a liking to your presence very quickly.

Zuko wondered if it had something to do with how easy it was to talk to you. Or maybe it was the fact that every time you two were alone together, you would pull him into the shadows and had your way with him, kissing him and stealing his breath away until his advisors came looking for him. 

He remembered one time where he had a rather tense conversation with a general who insisted in staying at a Fire Nation colony even though Zuko had already refused. It led to a shouting match between him and the General, while you stood stoically by his side the whole time. After the General left, Zuko hung his head in his hands, cursing at no one but himself. You had slid your hand onto his shoulders and the instant he felt the pressure dig into his muscles, he became a moaning mess, the tension leaving him almost immediately. Your hand then traveled up to his hair where you pluck the headpiece out, his hair falling out of the topknot. He opened his mouth to scold you, but when your fingers delved into his scalp, he groaned and slumped forward. You massaged his scalp, knowing where all the pressure points to hit to make him relax, the tension in his shoulders slacking a bit. You then moved in front of him, bowing to his level before pulling him by the robes until your lips met feverishly.

A blush crept up Zuko's neck at the memory, feeling too hot under his robes. He sneakily glanced over at you again, but his blush deepened when you catch him staring. A coy smirk spreads on your face, the glint in your eyes making his stomach twist. But before he could respond with a look of his own, you were back to conversing with one of his advisors.

Zuko sighed and went back to greeting various Fire Nation citizens, wishing for the night to be over. As the night continued, he became more and more agitated as he continued to plaster a fake smile for the the attendees. When he passed by a balcony, someone tugged him outside, the balcony door closing quietly and the noise from the banquet immediately became muffled.

Zuko's back met the harsh texture of the palace wall as you walk forward and snake your arms around his shoulders and giving him a quick peck on the corner of his lips. His expression relaxing after he realized it was just you that pulled him into a secluded balcony. The cool air was chilly, but with you flushed against him, he didn’t mind it. He snakes his arms around your waist and brings you closer to him, paying no mind to the stone wall digging into his back. You leaned into him, placing your forehead against his.

You felt him rub circles on your back, making you sigh with pleasure as your eyes fluttered close. You’ve been looking for any opportunity tonight to whisk him away for yourself, just for a couple of minutes. Even from across the room, you could feel the tension creeping up on his shoulders  and the forced smile on his face didn’t faze you. Surprisingly, everyone thought Zuko was having a great time. But the look he sent your way told you everything you needed to know. And the way his face lightly flushed after you caught him staring only made you more excited. 

You grin at him, "You seem stressed, Zuko.” 

You liked to pretend that he didn't faze you, but really, every time Zuko was near, you could feel your heart quicken and your nerves start to shake.  All logic was thrown out the window every time his lips met yours, he never failed to set your nerves ablaze with excitement or your skin on fire. And now, you waited with bated breath for Zuko to kiss you.

Zuko rolls his eyes and leaned back, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as you trace his face.  From his royal robes to his topknot adored by the headpiece, Zuko never looked more regal. But under the moonlight, he seemed to glow with allure. The moonlight dancing across his skin and his golden eyes - oh, spirits - gleaming under the night sky. Your eyes trace his face little more, from his nose, to his scar that somehow only made him more handsome under the moonlight, to his soft lips. It was a good thing Zuko had his arms around your waist or else your knees would have buckled under his heated stare.

Zuko places one of his hands on the side of your neck, his thumb grazing your jaw delicately as his breath fans over your face. Zuko could feel himself treble under your gaze and when your fingers graze his neck lightly, making him shiver, the corner of your lips curling as you leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“You look so delectable, my lord.” 

Zuko could hear the smirk on your face and he shuddered when he felt your lips graze his skin as you peppered small kisses on the side of his throat, then to his jaw, and then at the corner of his mouth. Your eyes meet his for a second, and you note how they’ve darkened considerably, your stomach lurching with anticipation. There was a moment of tense stillness before Zuko pulls you in, his fingers lightly tugging at the hair at the nape of your neck making you gasp as he swallows it hungrily with a kiss.

Your toes curl into your shoes as Zuko’s lips moved fervently against your own, one arm around your waist and the other weaved into your hair. 

With on hand on the side of his neck and the other gripping his robes, you pulled him even closer, as his lips continued to devour yours. Zuko’s hands traveled to your waist where his fingers tighter as if you would disappear any second.

He must be really stressed.

Zuko pulled away from you for a second, committing the sight of your swollen lips, heaving chest, and the dark sparkle in your eyes. His heat surrounds you and you feel like you can melt into his arms, but the way he stares at you has your knees shaking as you slam your lips onto his. Your kiss is feverish, your hands going everywhere you could touch before settling on either side of his neck. He gasps when he feels your tongue slowly darts out to lick his lips before sucking it into your mouth for a nibble. A groan escapes him as you sigh into his mouth, before you start giving him feather light kisses to his throat. 

You find the spot behind his ear that you know makes him weak and when your teeth grazes his skin, you hear Zuko hiss harshly next your ear. Humming with delight, Zuko’s grip on your waist tightens as you continued your ministrations on his throat. He curses when you start biting and sucking the sensitive skin of his neck.

Zuko’s senses were getting overwhelmed. The way your lips felt against his throat and the occasional graze of your teeth, the scent of your perfume and of just you, the sound of your labored breathing - he couldn’t get enough. He pulled you away enough to duck his head and give you another breathless kiss, this time spinning you around so you were pinned against the wall.

He ducked lower, his lips on your throat and you keen breathlessly. Your grip on his robes tightened, a groan spilling pass your lips when Zuko lightly grazes the sensitive spot of where your neck met your shoulders. Zuko’s hands wander, one of them giving a slight squeeze your bottom and you squeal. You let out a giggle when you feel his laugh vibrate against your chest. 

You pull away with a lazy smile on your face, as you tried to catch your breath. Zuko also had a smile of his before leaning in, kissing your nose and pulling you in this chest, your head snuggling into the curve of his neck. Sighing, you wrap your arms around him, his heat making you drowsy. Zuko felt undeniably happy and more relaxed than he’s every been in past few days. 

When Zuko glances down at you with a smile of content on your face, he felt his chest tighten. The moonlight accentuated your features and making your eyes sparkle.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers into your hair. You let out a sigh of happiness that makes Zuko chuckle.

“We should probably go back inside, Firelord Zuko. They’ll be looking for you soon.” Zuko pouts and you had to force yourself not to immediately pull him back into another kiss.

“You’re right. Will…will you stay by my side?” Zuko asks as he untangles himself from you and straightening out his robes. You swat his hand away and you neatly tuck his robes back into place, making sure there were no wrinkles in sight. 

You nod in reply, “Of course.”

Zuko walks back into the party, the sound of laughter and singing and chatter becoming loud again. He offers his arm and you take it delicately, not sure how you felt about having dozens of eyes on you.

“Ah! Zuko! There you are!” Sokka waves his hands over to you and Zuko, where Katara, Toph, and Aang were standing. Zuko leads you two there and greets them warmly, slipping into a conversation with Aang.

Katana nudged your arm. “So…you guys were gone for a while.”

You scoff and shrug, “Zuko needed some fresh air. And as his assigned Kyoshi warrior, I have to be with him at all times.”

Toph rolls her eyes and sarcastically jabs, “Sure.” 

You and Katara share a knowing look before break into a giggle together.

Sokka was in the middle of chewing on a piece of meat when he saw red spot on Zuko’s neck and gasps,“Wait - Zuko, are you ok!? What’s that on your neck? Don’t tell me you have you the pentapox!” 

Aang’s eyes widened, pointing at the spot, “Oh no, Zuko!"

Sokka rushes over to Zuko for a closer look. Both Aang and Sokka now curious at the red mark on his neck. Zuko’s eyes widened, slapping a hand over the mark to cover it, his eyes meeting yours in a panic, stammering, “It’s nothing!"

Sokka is tugging on Zuko’s arm while Aang tried to keep the Firelord still. They manage to pry his fingers away and gasp, “What is that, huh?”

Zuko’s face flushed with embarrassment as he stammered an excuse, “Uhh it was an accident! Nothing to worry about!”

You stifle your laughter from behind your hands as Sokka and Aang continue to grill Zuko.

Zuko’s golden eyes meet yours in desperation, pleading for help. You just shook your head and laughed harder at his predicament, glad that you could finally ease some of the tension from Zuko. 

You smiled fondly over at him and he catches the sweet gaze, and his chest tightens. Banquets weren’t that bad, especially with you around. 

[yxlenas]

Zutara + “Good morning, sunshine.”

When Zuko wakes up he’s not sure where he is or how he got there, just that he doesn’t feel well. Someone is stroking through his hair gently, meaning his topknot has been taken down. Maybe he’s in bed? His chest hurts. His chest really hurts, low in his diaphragm where his injury is and higher up under his ribs. Zuko moans and forces his eyes open.

“Morning, sunshine,” Katara says flatly. Zuko rolls his eyes around to try and figure out where he is. The hallway in front of his office swims into focus.

“Did I pass out?” he rasps, lungs burning. He coughs miserably, suddenly, and then his mouth is full of mucus. Oh. That’s why his chest hurts. That’s why it’s been hurting, he remembers, because he’s been coughing and hasn’t told Katara yet.

“Yes, you did. Luckily someone saw you on the carpet and came and found me. You’re feverish again, Zuko.” Katara says. She’s annoyed with him. She’s annoyed with him, and Zuko is exhausted and sick and miserable and Katara is annoyed with him-

“Hey, hey. Tell me why you’re crying.”

Katara’s voice is soft, and her fingers are cool against his wet cheeks and burning forehead. Zuko cries harder. He feels awful, and Katara is being too nice to him. He tries to pull away from her comforting hands and lift himself from her lap but his weak limbs won’t cooperate. He’s stuck in her lap, tears streaking his face, until he’s strong enough to move.

“You’re alright,” she whispers. Zuko chokes on a weak spluttering cough and it’s so shockingly painful that he stops crying.

“Sorry,” he slurs, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s alright.”

“You were mad at me,” he mumbles. He feels like his fever is going higher and higher and it’s starting to make his eyes itch.

“I’m just frustrated,” she murmurs, “not with you. Well, a little bit with you. You shouldn’t be working at all, and you’re still healing.”

“I have to,” he says, “help me up.”

“I will but we’re going straight to bed. You’re burning up and I am very worried about that cough.”

“Had it for a few days,” Zuko rambles tiredly, “Didn’t wanna tell you you’d sic Uncle on me.”

“Okay,” Katara says, “You’re going to bed, and I am talking to your uncle and your council, because if you keep working like this you’re going to fucking die.”

“Shit,” Zuko says absently while his vision greys out as Katara helps him to his feet,

“Yeah, shit,” Katara says. She helps him into his bed and tugs the blankets up over him, kissing him gently. He falls asleep to her opening his robe to get at his injuries, her hands cool and delicate against his heated skin.

When he wakes up, he’s not acting Firelord anymore.

“You WHAT?!” He cries hoarsely, trying to shoot up from his bed. He’s frustratingly weak and he can’t, so Katara’s arm across his shoulders is completely unnecessary. Toph cries in alarm when he does it, something about his heart rate, but Zuko is too focused on the fact that one of his lungs is trying to exit his body to care.

“You’re alright, you’re okay. Deep breaths,” Katara is murmuring in his ear. His chest HURTS, not just from coughing and his still painful burn but from something else. Cooling water is being massaged into his chest and the agony ends. He curls into Katara’s arms with a low moan of pain, pushing his face into her stomach.

“You passed out because you had a small heart attack, nothing serious but enough to do a little more damage than I’d like to see,” Katara says gently, “And you’ve got pneumonia again. You need to rest, and you can’t rest and run a country at the same time. We need to get you better, hmm?”

“I can rest when I manage to withdraw all the troops-” Katara’s hand covers his mouth to shut him up. Zuko licks her out of spite and Katara wipes it on his face.

“Your uncle has it under control,” she tells him, and Zuko pulls his face from the smooth linen of Katara’s shirt and looks around the room. Toph has her feet firmly on the floor, face white, eyes red rimmed. She won’t even turn her head toward him when he weakly calls her name. Hakoda is leaning against Zuko’s desk, and his uncle sits in a chair next to the bed. Zuko reaches for him, ashamed of his weakness but too exhausted to care, and Iroh squeezes his hand. Zuko realizes how badly he’s shaking.

“I don’t feel well,” he mumbles, turning his face back into Katara’s belly. Her hand settles on his back and rubs soothing circles. Zuko coughs, and coughs some more. When gunk comes up into his mouth Katara hands him a basin to spit it in. He swims in and out of consciousness, waking up when things hurt or when he’s thirsty.

At some point while he fades between awake and asleep, everyone but Katara leaves the room. When he feels like he’s strong enough to open his eyes, he realizes he’s sitting up against her chest, head on her shoulder. Katara is crying.

“Oh,” he slurs, “Don’t- don’t do that.”

“You’re an idiot,” she snaps, tears still streaming down her face, “A giant idiot.”

“Yeah.” he says stupidly, because he’s very feverish and very much unsure that this is real and not a dream.

“I can’t lose you,” she says quietly, sniffling, “I don’t give a shit about the Fire Nation needing you, I need you.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles on instinct before remembering what she’d said about a heart attack and another lung infection. Zuko shuts up.

“You’re basically on death’s door,” she yelps. Zuko is too confused to comfort her, but he presses his face into the crook of her neck.

“I need you to let your uncle run the country for a while and take better care of yourself,” she tells him, one hand coming up to cup the back of his neck. Zuko sighs into her soft skin and goes a little boneless, exhausted to the point of collapse yet again, “For me. I’m calling selfish girlfriend rights.”

“Mmmmkay,” he mumbles, “For you.”

“Get some more sleep,” Katara whispers. He’s out before he can even process it.

[zelzenik]

my latest installment of “family portraits” is here! no prompts this time, but please feel free to keep sending them in if you have any ideas!

to read this on ao3/sub there/drop kudos, please click here :))

The waves crest and fall, and Sokka is restless, nearly frantic, by the time the boat finally reaches the harbor. Not wasting a single moment, he doesn’t even bother to gather his belongings before stumbling off the gangway and onto the dock. “Ty Lee - Is there any news?” he sounds breathless, as though he’s gotten the wind knocked out of him.

Ty Lee, head of the Royal Family’s contingent of Kyoshi warriors, twists her lips into an unusually worried frown. “She’s been struggling, Sokka. We need to get you to the palace as soon as possible.” Without further discussion, she motions for his luggage to be carried behind them, taking off as his escort to the palace.

The air is unsufferably hot and sticky, and Sokka’s already taken off his parka, draping it over his free arm. “How’s Zuko handling it all?”

“He’s worried,” Ty Lee replies shortly, glancing back at the Water Tribe chieftain. Her gray eyes, typically alight with laughter and life, are heavy with unshed tears. “He’s asked about your father and gran-gran. Will they be journeying here as well?”

“No,” Sokka shakes his head quickly. “Gran-Gran’s been feeling weak, and Dad decided it’d be best if he remained with Pakku to take care of her and look after the tribe in my absence. We’ve all been very concerned since receiving Zuko’s last message via Hawky.” He strides quickly up the palace steps where he and Ty Lee will part ways.

Twisting her torso and lifting her arms up in an elastic stretch, Ty Lee replies, “Katara’s very strong, Sokka. She’s already survived two pregnancies, and she won’t go down during her third.” She then extends her arm in a sweeping gesture. “Katara and Zuko should be in their chambers.”

Clunky boots thudding against the clean floors of the palace hallways, Sokka isn’t going to see Katara and Zuko. Not yet, at least. He reaches Ursa’s gardens in a matter of minutes, servants jolting out of his way as he tears down the corridors with the ferocity of a madman.

Under the cover of arching trees, by the calm of the turtleduck pond, his little nieces play. Izumi, recently five, and Kya, a robust two. Another figure sits beside them, but Sokka barely has time to register their presence as Izumi and Kya launch themselves at him. He drops his parka to the grass as his arms shoot out to catch them.

“Uncle Sokka!” Izumi exclaims, throwing her tiny arms around his torso.

Kya, with her gummy grin, beams up at him, repeating after her older sister, “Uncle! Uncle!”

Sokka can’t help it. His heart melts at the sight, and he scoops them both up in his arms as they let out identical squeals of delight. “My Zumi and Kya,” he nuzzles both their cheeks in turn as Kya giggles, tugging at his warrior’s wolftail and pawing away at his stubble. “I’ve missed you both so much.” His attention is drawn back to the figure sitting by the pond, fiddling idly with breadcrumbs. His voice gets caught at the back of his throat. “…Azula?”

“Sokka.”

“Auntie Zula’s feeding the turtleducks with us!” Izumi explains with a bright grin, beginning to squirm in his arms. He sets her down, and she makes her way back to Azula, throwing her arms around her aunt with a look of pure adoration.

“What’re you doing here?” he can’t help the edge that creeps into his voice. He bites back a harsh retort, acutely aware of Kya and Izumi’s presences.

In all honesty, he’d forgotten that Azula still lived at the palace. He’s seen her a few times since the end of the war, back when he visited the palace more often to be with his family and a certain Kyoshi warrior. After breaking things off with Suki, though, he hasn’t been back much since then. Suki was needed back on Kyoshi Island, and he was needed at the South Pole. Shortly after, Suki relinquished her position at the palace to Ty Lee, and Sokka succeeded his father as Chief of the Southern Water Tribe.

He visits on occasion, of course - He was present for Izumi’s birth, calming his anxious brother in law as Zuko wore down the carpet beneath them with his constant pacing. He was there for Kya’s birth too, taking care of Izumi as Katara and Zuko adjusted to life with a second baby in the family. Azula wasn’t present for either of those. What is she doing here now?

Azula, ever sharp and straightforward, replies, “I’m playing with my nieces.” Her pert chin is lifted, and her golden eyes follow him appraisingly. She’s twenty four now, the same age as Katara. It’s been ten years since the end of the war.  A mere decade ago, she was a broken fourteen year old girl, breathing blue fire and lashing out at all who dared to get close to her, screaming in anger, ever haunted by ghosts that didn’t exist to anyone but her.

“I think you mean my nieces,” Sokka cuts in smoothly, tickling Kya who shrieks in laughter.

A slender brow arches. “They’re my nieces, Sokka.” Gaze never dropping Sokka’s, she breaks off little pieces of bread for Izumi to feed to the turtleducks. Her limbs are folded delicately, and her light red robe hangs from her lithe body gently. Unlike the topknot she wore when she was younger, her long dark hair hangs loose, framing her face. Izumi bears a startling resemblance to her, he realizes.

He’s just about to protest again when Kya’s arms fling out from him, her tiny hands reaching for Azula. Instead of handing the wiggling toddler off, Sokka reluctantly sits down beside his former enemy, shifting Kya in his arms. Izumi’s tossing bread into the pond with reckless abandon, accidentally hitting herself on the head with her enthusiasm.

“That’s definitely your side of the family showing,” Azula notes dryly. The corner of her lips turn up ever so slightly, though, and Sokka bears it silently, forgoing retaliation as Kya pats his cheeks happily.

Izumi pops in between them, throwing an arm around their necks and tugging them into a warm embrace. “I’ve never played with you both before!” she exclaims in excitement, and Kya claps her hands in agreement. “I can’t wait to show you my fire, Uncle Sokka! Daddy and Auntie Zula’ve been helping me, and Daddy wants to take me to see dragons one day!” She lights up a small flame in the palm of her hand, and Kya reaches for it with a giggle.

Jerking Kya back quickly, Sokka can’t help the jolt of fear that courses through him at his tiny niece wielding such bright fire.

Thankfully, Izumi doesn’t seem to register his scared reaction, but Azula places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re excited, Izumi, but we still have to be careful with your fire. Do you remember what we spoke about the other day?”

Izumi’s small face scrunches in thought before her golden eyes light up. “We protect people by protecting and being the boss of our flame. I remember, Auntie Zula. That’s what you and Daddy always tell me.”

“I’m proud of you for remembering,” Azula says, her voice cracking lightly. “My smart, kind Izumi.” Stiffly, she opens her arms to the little girl who returns her affection freely.

Sokka doesn’t quite know what to make of the situation. Ten years ago, he would’ve laughed if someone told him he’d be sharing such a tender family moment with the firebending prodigy who chased them around the world and constantly tried to kill them. Granted, he probably would’ve done the same if he were told that his little sister would one day be Fire Lady, bearing children of Fire Nation blood.

He opts, instead, for silence, threading his fingers through Kya’s dark curls. Together, they wait by the turtleduck pond for what seems like hours. He desperately wants to find his sister and make sure that she’s okay, but he knows that Katara needs him here more, looking after her children. Ty Lee was right - Katara has Zuko, countless physicians, and herself. She’s a master waterbender, more than capable of taking care of herself and her baby. If he went to visit her now, she’d likely grow tired of his fussing, knock him upside the head, and get Zuko to kick him out of the room. Or worse, she’d do it herself.

Shuddering at the thought, Sokka focuses his attention back toward his nieces. He’s still floored at the way Azula has mellowed over the years, patient and tender toward both Izumi and Kya. She never raises her voice, and she’s attentive and doting with them in a way that even Sokka isn’t.

As the sun slowly begins to creep its way beyond the horizon, they spend the afternoon feeding the turtleducks, reading picturebooks, and eating a meal that’s brought out to them by the servants. By dusk, there’s still no word from Zuko and Katara.

Just as an overly calm Azula’s suggesting to an overly anxious Sokka that they get the girls ready for bed, a servant comes bursting into the gardens. “Fire Lord Zuko and Fire Lady Katara have summoned you all to their chambers!”

Sokka’s so relieved that tears begin to course down his cheeks as he hoists a wide-eyed Kya onto his shoulders. Izumi, who typically tires by the time the sun sets, is bouncing on her heels excitedly. Even Azula appears more at ease as she holds Izumi’s hand, the heavy crease on her brow finally gone. They make quite the little caravan, Sokka decides, as they make their way through the palace to Zuko and Katara’s chambers.

Standing at the entrance, Zuko is haggard, sweat beading at his brow, fingers pressed to his temples. At the sight of his children, though, he breaks into a relieved smile, sweeping them into his arms and kissing the tops of both of their heads. “Sokka,” he greets, extending his arm and meeting Sokka in a strong Water Tribe grip. “Azula, thank you both for watching them.” He folds his little sister in a tight hug before turning his attention back to his children, “Are you ready to meet your baby brother now?” Grinning at their exuberant reactions, he leads them into the room. “I’ll be back out in just a second,” he promises, lightly closing the door behind them.

Sokka’s left standing in the hallway with Azula. “A nephew,” he can’t help but grin. He adores his nieces, and they can easily bend him to their every whim, but he can’t help the thrill he feels at the prospect of having a nephew too.

Hugging herself tightly, Azula repeats in a whisper, “A nephew.”

Finally, after what seems like an eternity later, Zuko returns, poking his head out of the door. “Hey. I believe you both have a nephew to meet.”

Unable to contain his excitement, Sokka quickly strides forward to follow his brother in law, pausing when Azula reluctantly peels herself from where she’s leaned against the wall. There’s such an uncertainty in her eyes that, after a beat, Sokka extends a hand out to her, and she hesitantly slips her soft one into his rough one.

They follow Zuko into his chambers where Katara smiles tiredly, propped up against a mountain of pillows, a tiny bundle in her arms. Izumi and Kya are at either side, curiously peering over her to look at their baby brother. “Sokka. Azula. Come.”

Zuko gathers his little girls into his arms, falling into a plush armchair and pulling them both to sit on his lap. He tousles their curly hair and hugs them both to his chest, watching over his wife proudly from the bedside.

Azula’s feet seem to be rooted to the floor, and Sokka tugs her forward gently, fighting the instinctual urge to rush to his sister’s side. “Katara,” he grins at his little sister, kissing the top of her head lightly. “I’ve missed you.”

Wrinkling her nose, Katara shoots back easily, “I haven’t missed you.” She then gives a small laugh, glancing back down at the little bundle in her arms. “Here,” she offers it up to him. “His name is Iroh.” Her blue eyes are heavy, and there are dark circles beneath them. This pregnancy was very difficult for her, he knows.

“Uncle will be pleased,” Azula says, the words sounding choked and strangled in comparison to her normally elegant speech.

With his girls tucked in his arms, Zuko watches them softly, love shining in his eyes. “He will. He’s to arrive within the next week or so from Ba Sing Se.” At that, both his girls twist up to look at him, wearing mirrored expressions of delight.

“Grandpa’s coming?” the question bursts from Izumi’s lips, and Zuko hushes her gently, nodding his head. She climbs out of his lap, crawling back up to nestle into her mother’s side, and Kya remains in Zuko’s arms.

Peering down at the little face, Sokka cradles the bundle against his chest, noting the shock of black hair atop the baby’s head and the tiny curled fists. He leans down slightly so that Azula can peek too, and his blue eyes drift toward hers before he can stop them.

Tears have been freely trailing down Sokka’s cheeks this entire time; he’d been overwhelmed both with fear for his sister’s life and sheer joy at the thought of her baby son. Now he can see that Azula’s had a similar response, albeit a more subdued one.

Hesitantly, she lifts a finger, catching Katara’s gaze from where she lies on the bed. At Katara’s nod of encouragement, Azula strokes a gentle finger along baby Iroh’s face, from his forehead, down to his nose, and across his soft cheeks. Unconsciously, she grips Sokka’s arm, gazing at the baby with such an unbridled love that he’s almost content to watch her instead of little Iroh. Almost.

“He’s our little nephew,” Sokka finally says, his voice heavy with emotion.

Azula looks up at him, the sharp angles of her face softening. “Our little nephew.”

His lips curve up into a smile. Their little nephew.

[chaptersinprogress]

to get rid of temptation (yield to it)

“The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful.”

Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Rating: T

Warnings: swearing

Pairings: Feng Xin/Mu Qing

Mu Qing snarled wordlessly as he stomped through the temple, torches flaring alight with every stride along the darkened corridors. For fuck’s sake, he had far better things to do than to clear Jun Wu’s rediscovered temples of any traps or unwelcome guests so that the literature gods could catalogue their contents and strip them of anything useful for the Heavens.

His robes skimmed the floor, sending clouds of dust swirling in the air. Seemed like no one had stepped foot in the place for decades; most of the temple having already fallen apart to ruins. It was a rather small one all things considered. There had been hardly any protective measures in place so he fully expected to be in and out within minutes.

Just as he was about to write off the temple as cleared, silver glinted out of the corner of his eye and Mu Qing immediately spun around, sabre in hand.

But there was nothing to be seen - only the empty stretch of hallway that he’d walked through, shadows from the torches dancing on the walls. Remaining on guard, Mu Qing slowly backtracked the way he’d come, ears straining for the slightest whisper of sound that would give away the enemy’s position.

That was when he caught sight of the silver gleam again, coming from a shallow indent in the wall.

Mu Qing approached cautiously. As he drew closer, it became clear that the reflection was from a thin plate of silver resembling a latch of some kind, with a faint array scratched into the stone around it. Deciphering it, Mu Qing scoffed.

Blood as an entry fee. How barbaric.

It was a wonder that the former Heavenly Emperor managed to hide his Devastation status for so long if his temples had these kinds of wards as protection for its contents.

Drawing a finger lightly across the edge of his blade, Mu Qing smeared the drop of blood that welled up onto the silver, then sealed the minor cut with spiritual energy.

A rumbling groan echoed through the enclosed space as a section of stone slid backwards then to the side, revealing a hidden chamber. Mu Qing sent a brief stream of spiritual energy through the doorway to check for any dormant arrays or hostile presence.

Nothing. He’d have to go inside to check the place more thoroughly.

Entering the chamber, Mu Qing couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. The room was startlingly bare - the sole item in the empty space being a bronze full-length mirror taking centrestage.

There was no fucking way that thing was an ordinary mirror.

He circled the thing from a distance, careful not to look directly at the shining surface. But despite studying it from every other angle possible, the mirror gave absolutely no hint of being anything other than what it looked.

Mu Qing rolled his eyes and sighed exasperatedly. Fucking Jun Wu and his stupid fucking shit. He was going to have to look straight at it, wasn’t he? Well if that stupid mirror made any signs that it might kill him (the permanent kind), he was going to descend and spend the rest of eternity haunting the fucking bastard.

If Crimson Rain could ascend as a ghost, surely he could do the opposite?

Shelving the thought, Mu Qing strode confidently to stand in front of the bronzed surface. His reflection glared right back at him, a perfect mirror of his own stance - from the casual drape of his robes over his arms to the unforgiving set of his mouth, even the slight arch of his raised eyebrow. A minute passed, but there was not even the most infinitesimal change in his reflection’s posture.

Well… that was surprisingly anti-climatic.

Having had enough, Mu Qing made to turn and exit the chamber. But before he could move, a splash of white bloomed beside his reflection, as if someone had poured a trickle of ink into a pool of water.

A strangled sound escaped Mu Qing.

Because somehow Xie Lian was beaming brightly at him - no, the reflection of him - from the mirror.

“Dianxia?” he exclaimed flabbergasted, head snapping to the side - for some reason expecting to see the martial god by his side even though he knew fully well that no one could’ve entered the room without him noticing.

He refused to acknowledge the way his stomach dropped slightly when he was met with empty air.

Turning back to the mirror, Mu Qing startled backwards violently. Another painfully familiar god had joined the figures in the bronze surface, filling the empty space to the left of his reflection.

A vambrace-covered forearm rested on Mu Qing’s shoulder as the male leaned in to speak lowly into his ear. Mu Qing’s reflection rolled his eyes, but a small smile played on his lips, clearly amused by what was being said.

Feng Xin - because it was Feng Xin standing next to him in the mirror - laughed, a genuine one that crinkled his eyes and softened his features. Mu Qing’s chest tightened. When was the last time Feng Xin had ever laughed in his presence? So genuinely and with him, not at him.

Xie Lian leaned forward slightly to say something to the archer, to which Mu Qing’s reflection shot a reply. Whatever he’d said earned him a playful shove from Feng Xin - Xie Lian bracing him with a fond smile so that he didn’t topple over - before he was once again crowded by the martial god of the southeast.

A surge of longing washed over Mu Qing like a tidal wave, knocking the very breath out of him. It was everything he’d ever dreamed of. The three of them standing side-by-side as equals. Without the spectres of the past misunderstandings, hurts and animosity that haunted them.

As friends.

The figures in the mirror turned around and began to walk away, still caught up in their conversation. And like a moth drawn to a flame, Mu Qing stumbled forward blindly, reaching out to keep hold of them for just a little bit longer.

He realised his mistake far too late.

The bronze surface rippled and parted at his touch, then dragged him inside.

And spat him back out into the private gardens of his palace.

WHAT. THE. FUCK?

The riot of colour around him was jarring, near-blinding in fact, after the drab tones of the temple and the burnished copper tinge of the images in the mirror. Shielding his eyes from the light, Mu Qing cursed under his breath.

Ahead of him, the trio made their way to the shelter of a large flowering tree near the walls of the garden as if nothing had occurred, utterly unfazed by the sudden change in location.

Xie Lian, or whatever it was pretending to be him, sat down on the ground beneath the tree, patting the space beside him in invitation. The other versions of Mu Qing and Feng Xin casually folded themselves down next to him, uncaring of the possibility that they might dirty their robes, and Mu Qing felt a sour taste coat his mouth.

He watched himself mutter something to Feng Xin, who reared back with an offended look on his face. 

“You take that back!” the archer shouted, before leaping onto the other Mu Qing and knocking them both to the ground.

In that split second Mu Qing’s heart dropped.

Of fucking course their fragile peace wouldn’t last long. It was just like him to fuck up every single good thing he had. He took a few steps forward, having half the mind to go grab that version of himself and shake the stupidity out of him.

Xie Lian’s bright laugh brought that train of thought to a screeching halt. “Nice punch, Feng Xin! Mu Qing, pin his legs!”

Mu Qing’s jaw dropped. Was… was dianxia yelling encouragement? Did the idiot hit his head?!

He took a second look at the scuffling pair. They were rolling around in the dirt, hair and fists flying everywhere. But conspicuously absent was the massive property damage that came along with their centuries-long rivalry.

And he would know. He’s had to entirely rebuild this exact garden five times because of it. Mu Qing’s lip curled. The pair’s roughhousing resembled that of the younger disciples of the temple in Xian Le. For fuck’s sake, he’d seen literal children do more damage to each other that the two figures on the ground. Martial gods his ass.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Xie Lian called out.

The two gods of the south paused. Feng Xin had pinned the other Mu Qing to the ground, knees bracketing the other’s hips. With a huff, he rolled off the god to lie on the ground beside him. Xie Lian shuffled over to them and smiled.

“You two never change,” he commented softly, gently tugging the other Mu Qing’s hair from beneath him to spread it out, then picking out the few leaves and blades of grass that had tangled in the strands.

Mu Qing had to suppress the instinctive urge to swat the hand away at the sight.

(A prince shouldn’t be helping to neaten his servant’s hair)

Once Xie Lian had gotten all the bits out, he patted Mu Qing’s shoulder, and the other god sat up with a sigh.

Looking over at Feng Xin, the other Mu Qing snorted. “Come here, idiot. You look stupid like that; your hair’s a fucking mess.”

Feng Xin must’ve heard the affection veiled by the insult because he merely huffed and sat himself up, turning his back to that Mu Qing as the other got to his knees for a better angle.

Mu Qing fisted his robes as he watched himself carefully pull out the knocked-askew crown and undo the thoroughly messed-up topknot. Long fingers gently carded through waves of chestnut hair, straightening out the dishevelled locks and removing tangles.

Beside them, Xie Lian rested his back against Feng Xin’s shoulder and pulled out a small pouch from his sleeve. Tipping the ruby-red contents out onto his palm, he wordlessly offered them to the archer.

Quietly thanking him, Feng Xin took a few of the sweet fruits. Then held one of them up for the other Mu Qing. Mu Qing choked as the latter bent down to eat it right out of Feng Xin’s fingers in a single smooth motion, as if it had been done a hundred times before.

The sheer intimacy of it all had heat suffusing Mu Qing’s cheeks and he tore his gaze away.

What the fuck was going on?! It had to be something the mirror came up with! There was no way they’d- he’d- ! He’d never! His fingers twitched by his side as a dark emotion dug its claws heavily into his chest.

(Liar)

His traitorous eyes wandered back to the pair. The other Mu Qing was gathering all of Feng Xin’s hair together, easily twisting it into the familiar bun and pinning the crown back in place. A part of him couldn't help but snidely question just why the action looked so practised. With the hair ornament securely attached, Feng Xin tipped his head backwards to look at the god.

And the breathtaking smile that he gave the other was the final straw that broke the chains on the ugly emotion curled around his heart.

Why?! Mu Qing’s blood roared loudly in his ears. Why was this version of him the one who had it all?!

He wanted he WaNteD HE WANTED -

“Mu Qing!”

He snapped his head to the side so fast he couldn’t believe he didn’t end up breaking his neck. Then stared hard, looked at the pair in front of him, then back again.

Wait.

Wait a fucking second. TWO Feng Xins?

He gaped at the newest version of the god. Why the fuck was there TWO of them now? Alright that confirmed it; he’d lost his fucking mind.

But if the mirror’s depiction of Feng Xin was like the sun at its zenith, this one was the pale imitation of that light from a waning moon. Weariness weighed on him as heavily as the armour he wore, the leather and metal scuffed and worn from days of constant use instead of the polished gleam Feng Xin usually took meticulous care to ensure.

Strands of hair had fallen free from the topknot to hang limply around his face. But unlike the bird’s nest from the other Feng Xin’s earlier scuffle, this one looked like it had been caused by fingers running roughly through the tresses from frustration.

“Mu Qing,” his name was exhaled with no small amount of relief as the new Feng Xin hastily strode over.

He watched as the god lifted his hand to touch him then hesitated, fingers just hovering above the skin of his wrist - so close, yet so far.

“Mu Qing...” A thin undercurrent of pleading buoyed the words.

(But whatever could he be asking for? Feng Xin would never beg. Not to him)

Mu Qing lifted his gaze to meet red-rimmed eyes.

“Let’s go back, ok? Dianxia and everyone... we’re- we’re all waiting for you. So let’s go back.”

What was he saying? There was no way this Feng Xin was talking about Mu Qing. He must be referring to the other one from the mirror. The one who stood beside the other two gods like he belonged there, was wanted there-

But this Feng Xin had eyes only for him. It was as if the perfect group of three in the garden didn't even register.

“Don’t-” Feng Xin’s voice cracked. “Don’t leave me again. Please.”

Fuck... Mu Qing was a weak, weak man.

(Then again, he’d always been ready to give the other the world. All he’d ever had to do was ask)

So what did it matter if it was yet another illusion conjured by the damned mirror to destroy him?

Feng Xin had asked.

He took in a shallow, shuddering breath, letting his eyes fall down to that miniscule gap that separated their hands. And why not? Everything he’d wanted was already within his grasp.

Taking that terrible leap of faith, Mu Qing reached out to link their fingers, and held tight.

“Gege, he’s waking up.”

Mu Qing groaned and cracked his eyes open just in time to see a flare of crimson pass by him. His head ached fiercely like he’d attempted to break a stone wall with his skull alone (been there done that; 0/10, would not recommend) and his ears felt like they’d been stuffed with cloth. Blinking, he looked up to see Xie Lian’s face hovering over him.

“Oh good!” said Xie Lian brightly, but remaining mindful of keeping his voice down. “You’re awake!”

As Mu Qing became more coherent, he was slowly made aware of the almost-crushing pressure that was being exerted on his left hand. Angling his head downwards, he caught a glimpse of gold armour, dark red and brown robes, and long hair tied up in a messy but unmistakable knot.

Xie Lian followed his gaze and smiled. “Feng Xin was the one who finally found you,” he said in a hushed whisper. “He ran himself ragged for days. It was pure luck that on the third time all of us searched the area that he managed to locate the entrance to the temple.”

“And just in time too,” Xie Lian continued, Mu Qing finally noticing the worn-out look the other had been trying to conceal.

“The mirror had been draining your spiritual energy for nearly a week by the time Feng Xin managed to break through the array around the chamber. Even if you had managed to escape the mirror, the array would’ve sealed you in, having fed off your energy.”

“A week?” Mu Qing repeated dumbly, aghast.

Xie Lian nodded. The weight across his legs shifted, and Feng Xin slowly sat up in his chair.

“Dianxia?” he asked blearily. Then shifted to look at Mu Qing who was watching him, face carefully blank. “Mu Qing! You’re awake!” he said loudly, devastating relief crossing his features and dripping from his words like too-sweet honey.

It sent a pang through Mu Qing, reminding him of the Feng Xin in the mirror who had so casually touched him, laughed with him, and looked at him like… like…. He ruthlessly squashed that train of thought before it could lead somewhere dangerous. He couldn’t afford to mix the mirror’s illusions with reality. Not again.

To cover his moment of weakness, Mu Qing rolled his eyes and fell back into old (safe) patterns. “Thanks for stating the obvious, idiot. You look like shit.”

Feng Xin let out a wet half-snort, half-giggle. “Now who’s stating the obvious, idiot.”

“Oh look at the time,” said Xie Lian, unsubtly trying to give the pair some privacy. “I’ve received a few prayers I need to attend to. Get better soon Mu Qing!”

Before Mu Qing could even open his mouth to protest, Xie Lian had fled the room, leaving the two remaining gods in awkward silence. Feng Xin seemed content to just stare at him, the weight of his gaze pressing unerringly onto the tender wounds that had been split open by the mirror’s illusions.

Mu Qing desperately searched for anything that might serve as a distraction.

His eyes landed on the archer’s mop of hair and he let out an amused snort as the words dropped unthinkingly from his lips. “Come here, idiot. You look stupid like that; your hair’s a fucking mess.”

Then froze, the perfect echo of his reflection’s words ringing in his ears.

Feng Xin blessedly decided not to comment on his strange actions, and his even stranger reaction, sliding himself off the chair to sit on the floor beside Mu Qing's bed.

Puzzled by the easy acquiescence but thankful that he hadn’t been outright rejected, Mu Qing gingerly sat up, scooting over to the edge of the mattress. He settled his feet on either side of Feng Xin’s waist, pressing his ankles to the other’s hips in wordless encouragement for him to lean back.

The archer obliged, letting his head rest in Mu Qing’s lap. Taking a deep breath, Mu Qing moved to remove the crown and topknot.

And promptly found out that it was much harder than the other him made it look.

With a lot of cursing, tugging, and obligatory teasing from Feng Xin, Mu Qing finally managed to divest the other of the various hair implements that secured the hairstyle. Aiming one final jab into Feng Xin’s side with his toes to shut him up, Mu Qing allowed himself to lightly run his fingers through the strands.

In all honesty, it wasn’t the most pleasant experience. The unwashed hair was grimy from the accumulated dirt and oil that had built up and carried a faint scent of stale sweat. It also fought against his attempts to straighten it out, stubbornly clinging to the kinks formed from remaining pinned up as it was for so long. The battle to get the hair into a style with some semblance of neatness was a long and arduous one.

But he wouldn’t give the opportunity up for the world.

Finishing, Mu Qing leaned back to study his handiwork. The knot was a bit lopsided, with a few strands sticking up rebelliously, and the crown was always just slightly off-centre no matter how many times he’d tried to adjust it. It was incomparable to Feng Xin’s usual hairstyle - the other having centuries of practise in doing it the way he liked it - or even the other him’s effortless work.

(It was fucking perfect)

“How do I look?” Feng Xin asked.

“Why’re you asking me?” Mu Qing deflected, embarrassment at his uncharacteristic actions seeping in. He pushed the other off his legs and turned his face away. “Go see for yourself.”

A hand caught hold of his and Mu Qing looked back to find Feng Xin standing in front of him, eyes fixed on their joint hands.

“I think… I’ve had enough of mirrors for a while,” he murmured.

Oh.

Mu Qing let his gaze drop to join Feng Xin’s. “Me too,” he said quietly.

“I- I saw a bit of what the mirror showed you,” Feng Xin began, and Mu Qing’s blood ran cold.

He jerked backwards, mouth opening to say something - anything - but Feng Xin’s grip on his hand tightened painfully, unequivocally thwarting any escape attempt.

“I couldn’t believe it at first,” the words spilled out of Feng Xin’s mouth almost desperately as he got louder and louder. “It seemed so crazy; that- that the three of us could spend time together so peacefully, without immediately breaking into a fight.”

“But I want that!” he was almost yelling, as if he could simply drown out anything Mu Qing might’ve said to pretend the whole thing never happened.

“I want us to be like what the mirror showed we could be! I want the three of us to laugh together, to sit together without breaking into a fight. I don’t want us to be enemies anymore! I want to spend time with you, to be close to you, to- to be something more.”

Feng Xin took in a deep breath, and the sudden lack of sound in the room was almost deafening.

“Do- do you think you might want to?” he asked quietly. “Be something more with me?” 

Fuck.

Fuck, all Feng Xin ever had to do was ask.

Mu Qing grasped Feng Xin’s hand equally tightly. “Yes,” he exhaled, trying to conceal the tremor in his voice. “I want to- I want to try. L-let’s try. To be something more.”

The answering smile he received was far brighter than anything that mirror could’ve shown him.

[mae-gi-writes]

OMG HI i didn’t know your requests were open, would u be down to do a resolved haknyeon angst? 🥺

A/N: hi anon! So sorry for the late response but here is the Hak angst you asked for. I wasn't sure what you wanted but I hope this is good enough for you :)

------

For Now - Haknyeon

Haknyeon’s heart was bleeding.

“I don’t understand,” you kept blubbering through a film of tears, his scowl going unnoticed as you wiped your eyes in an attempt to stabilize your breaths. But then, like all other times before, your heart would quake and you would find yourself breaking down in soft sobs that caused his heartstrings to tug in sympathy, “I don’t know why he’s acting like this, Hak. He’s never been this way, not with me. I feel like he’s shutting me out and I don’t know what to do anymore.” 

He knew what had to be done. He also knew that it would break your heart. 

But he couldn’t go on like this. Every single second that passed with your oblivious naivety and with the guilt weaving knots through his stomach made him sick. Enough was clearly enough. 

But he was more than surprised when the words rose up from the back of his throat to choke out, “he’s cheating on you.” 

The silence that followed was deafening. He didn’t meet your eyes, knowing exactly the amount of shock and mixed feelings of confusion brewing through your mind at such a dramatic revelation. First would come the denial, then the excuses. And finally if he was lucky, you’d come to terms with the fact that your boyfriend was indeed, a cheater and didn’t deserve you. 

So it took everything in him not to break apart the moment your lips parted so that a soft, broken murmur made itself known from your lips, “what?” 

He cleared his throat. Pressed his lips together, “I saw him. With a girl.” 

You were shaking your head then, denial flitting over your features like a dusty cloud, “no,” you murmured, your soprano rising louder and louder with each syllable, “no, no, no. You’re—You’re lying! He wouldn’t—He wouldn’t—“

Your hands, flailing as if to bat his words away, were caged in his own as he grabbed them gently and placed them into his lap. His eyes swam with the apprehension of all the pain that you’d receive like a blow to your gut. But he knew he’d done the right thing. It had been the right thing to do. The secret had been a bursting seam inside his chest and there was no way he’d be able to continue on seeing you getting hurt over and over again for that pathetic excuse of a man. 

“Y/N,” He spoke slowly, gently, so as to calm you down. You didn’t want to hear it though, didn’t want him to tell you the things that could make your world crack out of that beautiful crystalline paradise you’d built for so long inside your head, “Y/N, please. Please believe me. He’s—He’s a sick bastard. He doesn’t deserve you—“

“Stop,” you wrenched your arms out of his grip, eyes blazing with rapid fire and your nostrils flared in sudden anger, “stop it. Who are you to tell me this? Who do you think you are?!” 

“I care about you, Y/N. Do you think I like seeing you cry every day because of him?” Haknyeon’s own anger started simmering at the base of his stomach, “do you know how much it hurts me to see you that way? He’s playing you like a fool and you’re still latching on to him! He doesn’t care about you, he never did—“ 

“Shut up. Just shut up!” you shook your head, palms coming up to cover your ears, “I don’t want to hear any of it.” 

“Y/N—“

“No. I really mean it,” you looked at him defiantly, “I don’t want to know—“

“Fine then!” Haknyeon’s temper finally came to the surface. All the calm and the facade he wore suddenly ripped apart to give way to the frustration that had been clawing at him ever since he knew your boyfriend was an asshole. Here he was, trying to keep you safe from your boyfriend’s sickening tendency to bed more than one girl and yet you were screaming at his face and refusing to cooperate with the truth. 

He was done. He was done with trying to be the gentleman, the ear that he lent you whenever you wanted to get things off your chest, he was done trying to make you see that what you needed was right here in front of you, and most of all, he was sick of trying to show how much he loved you and appreciated you for who you are, something that your boyfriend took for granted. 

“You can keep on believing your boyfriend. Keep on crying for him for all I care, I’m done. That asshole has been playing you for months and you’re stupid enough to believe that there’s nothing more to his distance other than the fact that he’s busy. That’s fine! Believe whatever you want Y/N!” Haknyeon yelled out. It felt like something had snapped in him, unleashing every single emotion that he’d been hiding, “you know why it hurts so much? You know why I keep telling you to walk away? I care about you, Y/N. I care about you so goddamn much that every time you cry it takes everything in me not to walk up to that ass and punch him to death,” his fists tightened at his sides, "If that’s not clear enough, I don’t know what can.” 

He took a deep, shaky breath and released it through his nose. Closing his eyes for a brief moment before meeting yours once more, his murmur was more than a choked string of words cracking with restrained emotion, “just don’t come running to me when everything falls apart.” 

He didn’t turn around when you cried out his name, didn’t turn around when your sobs increased by tenfold. He kept his feet going even though every muscle in his body was screaming at him to turn around and envelope your soft form in his arms and give you the comfort that you sought as your soft cries echoed through the night, haunting Haknyeon’s ears all the way back to his flat even though his entire body was still reeling with the aftermath of your reaction. 

There was no use helping someone who didn’t want to be helped, he thought to himself in an attempt to seal the hole that had unfurled where his heart should be. 

———

It was well past three in the morning when the doorbell rang, rousing Haknyeon from his slumber. He blinked away the drowsiness from his eyes, spotting the empty beer cans littering the sides of his bed, before the knocking was brought to his attention. He stumbled over to the door without any second thought while tugging down his sweater, and almost did a double take when he came face to face with none other than you. 

Decked in a too-large sweater and some pyjama pants, with your hair piled up in a messy topknot and your socked feet stuck into some slippers, you looked like you’d literally just crawled out of bed and he would have laughed if not for the fact that his entire chest swelled at the sight of your red-rimmed eyes, memories of your earlier argument resurfacing like a fresh wound. 

He made a move to close the door in your face, but your arm shot out to slam into the said surface, “wait,” you said with a squeak, flinching slightly when his dark orbs swivelled up to your face. 

“What?” Haknyeon mumbled, hand coming up to rub at his eyes, “what do you want?”

He watched as you bit down onto your lower lip, nervousness flashing across your face as your eyes glanced away and back like an uncertain child.

“I—“ you started, hesitating slightly while shoving your hands into your hoodie pockets and averting your gaze towards the floor, “look, about what I said—I’m sorry.” 

Haknyeon’s eyes searched your face for a few beats of silence. From the way you weren’t looking at him head on, he deduced that you had in fact confronted your boyfriend about his recent whereabouts. 

“Sorry for what?” Haknyeon finally asked out loud when you didn’t say anything else.

You swallowed, “for everything,” your voice was small, "I didn't want to see. I--I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. And then--"

At this point, your entire bottom was trembling as a film of tears brimmed through your dark pools of naked remorse, "and then--you--you were...right."

He closed his eyes. Opened them. Swallowed. 

"I'm sorry," you repeated in a hushed mumble, "I'm so sorry--"

His arms shot out to grab your shoulders, crushing you to his chest and interrupting your broken ramble as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. He felt you stiffen, arms hanging at your sides for a few terse seconds. And then, as though your arms were held by magnetic strings pulling you to him, you lifted them to wrap around his middle, tightening it ever so slightly once you heard his shaky inhale. 

"It's okay," he mumbled into your ear, a soothing caress, "it's okay, Y/N."

"But--I hurt you--I hurt you so much--I don't--I never wanted--" he shushed your blubbering with a comforting whisper while hugging you even tighter still, "It's okay, I forgive you. It's alright."

Slowly, he brought you down from your symphony of sobs so that you were now only sniffling softly, nose buried in his chest and allowing yourself to take comfort in the safety that his presence brings you. 

"Thank you," you murmured after a while, "thank you."

Before Hak knew what he was doing, his lips bent down to press against your forehead against the endless protest in his mind. And when you looked up at him in curious surprise, he merely averted his gaze to conceal the embarrassment dusting his cheeks. 

And he would tell you. He'd tell you how much you meant to him in time, when you were ready.

But for now, it was good enough that you had walked away from the man that was breaking your heart. It was good enough for him. For now.

[unicyclehippo]

beaujester + “You’re trembling.”

the salt-spray is powerful at the bow. it stings at scrapes jester hadn’t realised she had, stings at her eyes, fills her nose until it’s the only thing she can smell. she clutches at the salt-crusted rail, feels the crystals grind beneath her skin, and wonders, in a very focused way that bars any other thoughts from creeping in, whether orly could make a tattoo using salt in place of gem dust. or whether that’s, just, y’know. a normal tattoo.

so focused is she on this that she doesn’t notice when, precisely, beau came to join her. the other girl is leaning scraped-red elbows and forearms on the railing, not seeming to feel or mind the sting. the wind whips in beau’s hair, tugs at it until more and more of the long strands come free of her topknot. it’s harder to escape the goggles, the leather keeping her hair mostly pinned, and after a short while, the wind dies down.

that’s normal, obviously, but it makes jester smile to think of it sulking. maybe the wind is a prankster too.

‘beau! when did you get here?’

‘little bit ago. would’ve said something but, i dunno, you looked like you were thinking hard. figured i could wait.’ beau drags her hands through her hair with a small noise of complaint. she stands, pulls her goggles down to hang around her neck, and continues to talk as she tries to fix her hair. ‘you alright? anything you wanna run past us?’

jester can’t help but look askance at her friend. ‘us?’

‘you know. the group.’

‘i don’t see the group here. just you.’

‘i can go get someone...?’ beau lets the offer trail off when jester scoffs. ‘what?’

jester shakes her head.

‘no, seriously, what is it? is everything okay?’

‘i don’t know.’ jester digs her nails into the wood, watches the splinters curl and the salt whiten and crack away. ‘is it?’ out of the corner of her eye, she can see the way beau’s hands slow as she works her hair into a tight braided coil. she turns the tiniest bit more, wanting to see something that explains anything, but beau’s expression is as stoic as ever—unruffled, vaguely thoughtful. her frown isn’t cranky, just protects her eyes from the wind that has started up again, long lashes dipped low. ‘did you want something, beau?’

the other girl starts. finished with her braid, she lets her hands fall slowly back to the railing. pulls herself back into her nonchalant lean, though it loses some of its carelessness with the way she turns toward jester, the way she—seemingly without intent, without effort—focuses on jester, eyes boring into her, through her.

sometimes, jester wishes beau were simpler. easier to understand. less of a liar. she pretends so much that she doesn’t care, doesn’t care, doesn’t care—but then she’s the one who has all the questions, the one who looks and stares and examines and learns and questions everything. jester thinks, maybe, beau cares the most out of all of them, about everything; she pretends she doesn’t, that these things don’t matter, but the attention betrays her. jester wishes beau were easier to understand. wishes she knew whether beau cares about everything equally, or whether the weight of her attention means something special.

‘you’re trembling,’ beau says softly. the words have barely reached jester when the wind—that asshole prankster—whips them away.

jester sniffs. tosses back her hair with a jaunty shake of her head. ‘i’m fine. did you want something or not?’

beau is quiet for a bit. then, ‘yeah,’ she admits, voice gruff. ‘but—if this is a bad time,’

jester musters a smile. gives it to beau, who stares at it and the way it sits on her and seems to see how it is misaligned. how it doesn’t quite reach jester’s eyes. ‘it’s not! i’m happy to help!’

beau drops her eyes. dips her head over her hands, over the rail, and stares down toward the sea below them. her shoulder blades press together as she stretches. sunlight glints off jade.

‘i was hoping,’ she says, and the words come out haltingly like she doesn’t want to say them, or like she is still debating whether this is the right time, ‘you could - send a message to my dad.’

jester jerks. ‘oh.’

‘it’s cool if you don’t want to, or if you don’t have that prepared, i don’t know what you have prepared, but i just figured it’s probably time to be like oh hey i’m still alive. or. whatever.’

beau turns toward her with a grimace, one that crinkles up her face, and jester is struck with sudden affection for her friend. she looks young and uncomfortable and vaguely grumpy at the notion of having to send him a message. she looks alive, and jester loves her for not leaving. for still being here. loves her desperately and sharply, a stinging pain beneath her heart, for being here when jester thinks she might want to leave still.

‘i—‘ jester clears her throat. tries again, trying to pull strength into her words. ‘um. i can do that.’ she smiles brightly, glances teasingly over at beau, who looks abruptly worried and charmed by jester’s shifted expression. ‘what i’m hearing is that you’re giving me permission? to message your dad?’

beau snorts. ‘yeah.’

‘he’ll know it’s me now so i can’t pretend to be the witch,’

‘probably for the best.’

jester doesn’t necessarily agree with that. she thinks beau could make something with him—thinks he really does love her, even past the fear and misery—but it doesn’t mean jester shouldn’t be able to torment him a little bit.

‘what do you want me to say?’ she asks, summoning the playful wind back to her, compressing it into something that can carry this message. she curls her fingers, feels it nudge and buffet at her, eager to race halfway across the world for her.

beau mutters under her breath, fingers moving as she counts. ‘uh. okay. we are alive. met the witch, got what we wanted. your deal still stands.’ beau’s voice quavers the tiniest bit but she pushes on. ‘beau is fine. anything happen there?’

‘five more words.’

beau shrugs, dismissive. then, ‘say hi to the kid.’

jester smiles sweetly. nods. she brings the held wind to her lips and whispers the message into it, watches faint green and pink wash through it. as soon as she opens her hand, it is gone. just as quickly, it returns.

‘ah. good. i’m—glad to know she’s okay. i was worried—we were worried—when no one returned. everything is as it was here. do—‘

jester rolls her eyes. ‘some people just don’t understand the concept of a word limit,’ she tells beau grouchily. beau smiles, hides it quickly, and jester narrows her eyes. ‘what?’

‘nothing, nothing. did he say anything?’

‘just that he had been worried. it sounded like he was going to ask something. do you want me to send another message?’

beau sighs. ‘no. yes? no. if everything was burning or whatever he would’ve said that first up.’ she cracks her head to the side, neck popping. ‘did he—say anything about me?’ she grimaces immediately.

‘he said he’s happy you’re okay.’

‘hmm.’

‘that’s good, right? that he cares?’

beau shrugs. ‘maybe,’ she says, very softly. ‘thanks. for sending that for me. and—for sticking by me in there. i didn’t say it then but—thanks.’

they’ve been standing side by side for the entire conversation but jester feels it powerfully like she is crossing a line, stepping over it, when she reaches those meagre centimetres to put her hand over beau’s. squeeze.

‘of course, beau.’

‘it’s not an of course, though. you know that, right?’ beau peers at her. flips her hand so she’s holding it, loose enough that jester could slip away. fingertips pressed firmly where they sit, like she can read jester from the pulse beneath her skin. ‘no one else did that. they were all there but you—you stood next to me and i really - i really appreciate it. i was gonna lose my shit and you helped me. not everyone does that.’

‘well. i’m not everyone,’ jester tells her, all exaggeration and coy smile.

beau slides her thumb across the back of her hand. over the waves of her knuckles, the sea-blue skin. ‘you’re not,’ she agrees, voice low. careful, cautious almost, in the way one would be careful with something precious. ‘you’re not like anyone i’ve ever met. i kinda think you’re a god, you know.’ she shakes her head when jester giggles. ‘i’m serious. you—you’re amazing and powerful and it’s who you are. i’m—fuck, i’m sorry you’re having a rough time with it,’

‘i’m not!’

beau ignores her lie. no—she hears it, nods, steps over it. ‘i can’t say for sure i trust this dude, but i just want you to know that i trust you and what you do and who you are and i’ll do anything to protect that. and i didn’t come here to ask you to send a message for me, i wanted to make sure you were okay, because you’re—you’re not alone,’ she says, with the same fervour she had thanked jester for standing with her. ‘you’re not alone in any of this, and maybe we can’t do it for you but we’ll be right there alongside you—‘

‘will you?’

beau blinks. ‘what?’

‘will you be there?’

‘i mean—i was saying we, it’s kinda implied,’

‘will you be there?’ jester asks again.

beau glances down at their joined hands. jester sees her shoulders shift as she drags in a deep breath. ‘yes. as—as long as you want me there.’

and there’s the problem, jester realises, the same stinging pain taking up residence beneath her heart. because she thinks, with sudden clarity like the purity of the unmitigated burn of sunlight, like salt reminding her of her wound, that to have beau leave at all would wreck her.

‘forever, then,’ jester says, voice a little wobbly, a little unsure.

beau’s hold on her hand tightens and then loosens once more. ‘okay,’ she says. ‘okay.’

[beauregardlionett]

Queens of Queens - Ch.1

AO3 Link

Putting the barbell back onto the holders with a quiet huff of exertion, Fjord ducked backwards out from under the weight and shook out his wrists. His left one still ached from working at the docks the afternoon before. Beau had wrapped it tight and firm for him before they started working out today, telling him to go easy with it for a few days. She was a damn hypocrite, and they both knew it. Regardless, Fjord had decreased the amount of plates he usually had on the barbell in an attempt to set a good example.

It ended up being a fruitless gesture. Halfway through their session, Fjord spotting Beau as she squatted twenty pounds over her max from two weeks ago, she had realized she was late for work. Fjord didn’t mind working out alone, it was just more entertaining and passed the time a little faster when she was there, too.

Sighing as he rolled out his wrist a few more times for good measure, Fjord decided to just call it a day.

As he was packing up his bag, he spotted the familiar blue hoodie that Beau always wore sitting tossed against the mirrors and forgotten. Scooping it up and tossing it overtop his bag, Fjord tugged his phone out of his pocket and sent her a quick text. 

Fjord: hey you left your hoodie here

Fjord: want me to drop it off?

Tucking his phone away again, Fjord moved to the locker rooms and dropped all his things in a locker before heading to the showers. He wasn’t in desperate need for a shower considering they hadn’t done that vigorous of a workout today, but it was routine at this point. He only remembered to check his phone for a response once he was dressed and toweling the dampness from his hair.

Beau: shit I knew I forgot something

Beau: yeah could you stop at the bar and drop it off?

Beau: drinks on me if you do just don’t let the peacock know

Snorting quietly at the last text, Fjord texted back an affirmative and got an address for the bar in response. Tucking all of his things and Beau’s hoodie into his bag, Fjord hefted it over his shoulder and made his way out of the locker room and onto the bustling streets of Queens, New York. A colorful mix of civilians walked past Fjord, and he felt a little more at ease here every time he noticed another like him among the population.

He was nowhere near old enough to remember magic, but the stories in their history books in school had been enough for a young half-Orc like himself to imagine a better world. He had once dreamt of a time when magic and gods and less sideways looks were real and present fixtures in everyday life. Fjord knew now that it was a folly dream of a child, but New York was one of the closest places on Earth to that feeling. Dense with Tieflings, Halflings, Elves, Firbolgs, Kenku, and countless other once magical races, a half-Orc like Fjord was just another passing face instead of a sore thumb.

A human woman passed by Fjord with her child, tugging the toddler closer by the hand. She shot him a dirty look as he headed for the subway entrance.

Okay, so he was a passing face to most people.

The bar Beau worked at was a five-minute subway trip and a quick walk from the gym, tucked into the homey bustle of Jackson Heights on the main boulevard. Among the throng of restaurants, gas stations, schools and homes, there perched an unassuming wooden door with an ancient deity’s symbol carved into the wood. The front window was floor to ceiling and shrouded from inside by heavy violet drapes. A tall, muscular woman sat on a stool outside the door. She had black and white hair with several intricate braids set throughout, and a leather jacket with dark fur lapels and collar to match tucked snug across her shoulders. She glanced up at Fjord’s approach, mismatched eyes giving him a quick sweep up and down as he stopped a good foot away from her. He glanced at the door she seemed to guard and then back to her piercing gaze.

“Is the bar open? I’m just here to drop something off with Beau.” Not the full truth, as he was planning on taking her up on that free drink. But dropping something off was more concise of an explanation.

The woman held out one hand, expression not changing at all. In the softest voice Fjord had ever heard, she said, “ID.”

Blinking once, Fjord’s hand moved to grab his wallet from his bag and only fumbled a little in tugging his license free. The woman gave it a cursory glance, tilted it this way and that in the dim light and then handed it back over. Fjord gave her a quiet nod of thanks as she gestured behind her for him to enter. Moving past her, the door gave a quiet squeak on the hinges; the sound lost beneath the music thrumming from the speakers and into the veins of every patron inside.

It wasn’t obscenely packed, considering it was just before nine on a Thursday night, but it was still an impressive crowd. There was a decent balance of ostentatious and raunchy fashion dispersed across the tables and bar stools, and Fjord had to admit, he was a little impressed. It took a bit of effort to force his eyes to sweep for Beau, continuously distracted by various articles of clothing that caught his attention.

After a few attempts, he found her behind the bar, a grey waistcoat immaculately fastened over a navy button up, the sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her hair pulled back into that signature topknot, Beau flashed her familiar sharp grin at the patrons currently fawning over her bartender flare. Making his way over to the sticky countertop, Fjord slid into a relatively empty slot, the stools on either side occupied, and waited for his friend to finish up her flexing for the swooning girls.

It took a couple minutes, but Beau noticed Fjord down the bar as she was cleaning out the shaker she had been using, eyes lighting with recognition. Waving graciously to the girls and collecting tips, Beau casually slid her way down to Fjord and reached over to give his shoulder a light punch in greeting.

“Hey, man!” she called over the music and the chatter. “Thanks for coming by. What can I get you for the trouble?”

Handing the hoodie over to her across the bar top, taking care to avoid letting the sleeves drag across the tacky surface, Fjord gave her a shrug. He hadn’t seen a menu of sorts anywhere, so he assumed the usual was available.

“What’s your specialty?”

Eyes sparking with delight as she tucked the hoodie away beneath the bar, Beau cracked her knuckles and reached for a clean shaker and a bottle of expensive looking vodka. Fjord already had regrets, but he didn’t stop her.

“I didn’t know you could sling drinks,” he offered instead. Fjord watched her with a hint of skepticism as she started mixing in something that looked like soda and lime and…was that a jalapeño? Her hands were deft, like with everything Fjord had ever seen her do. He had a suspicion, based on plenty of exposure, that Beau’s default setting was of a fluttering nature.

“Yeah,” Beau said easily, something in the curve of her lips when she said it looking a touch bitter. “Been doing it for a few years. The Peacock’s just hired a new bartender to replace Orna since she had to move for family reasons. Usually I only step in back here to cover shifts once a week, since I’m mostly out front with Yasha.”

“The lady in the leather jacket with the death glare?”

Beau laughed once, barking and loud as she started to rapidly shake the drink she was mixing. Her eyes shone with mirth as she gave a slight shake of her head.

“Yeah, that’s her. She’s really not that bad, just awkward as far as I can tell. She and I only bounce together on Friday nights when the crowd’s the worst, and I swear Fjord, she’s a challenge to talk to.” Beau looked a little pained and a lot wistful now, pouring out the drink into a glass with ice in it. “She’s got an amazing body and those eyes…mh!”

Fjord watched her clutch a hand to her chest dramatically with only a little judgment coloring his expression. Beau seemed to either not notice or not care, because she carried on as she put the finishing touches on his drink.

“I’ve been bouncing Fridays with her for almost a year now and all I’ve got out of her is that she’s best friends and roommates with the Peacock, her favorite color is black, and that she’s strong enough to pick up three drunk dudes at once.”

Sliding the drink across the counter to Fjord, Beau tossed the shaker into the sink behind the bar and wiped her hands on a dishtowel. Raising an eyebrow at her, Fjord picked up the drink with caution and gave it a quick, curious sniff. He had to try very hard to not recoil at the near overpowering scent of liquor that all but punched him in the face.

“Sounds rough,” Fjord sympathized in a monotonous tone as he stalled, swirling the drink around a little in the glass, the ice clinking against the sides.

“It is,” Beau said around a long-suffering sigh. She gestured to the drink and quickly moved on. “Try it, you wimp. It’s not that strong, just smells like it. It’s the lime that kicks up the scent.”

Giving her a look, Fjord hesitated only another heartbeat before taking a breath and daring to take a sip of whatever Beau had created for him. The liquor hit his tongue first, followed by the sweet zing of carbonation and a hint of the lime and jalapeño she had thrown in. Overall, it wasn’t bad, but Fjord wasn’t much of a drinker. Still, he lowered the glass and gave Beau an impressed look to meet the smugness she was watching him with.

“Not bad,” he granted, setting the glass down as he slid onto the barstool beside him that had been vacated.

“Thanks, man,” she grinned, sharp and proud. She gestured to the crowded floor behind him and spoke over the music with a glint to her eye. “Stick around a while longer and there’ll be some entertainment, too.”

Suspicious, but knowing that she knew he had nowhere else to be, Fjord could only give her a shrug that was basically acceptance. Beau flashed him a dangerous grin and then she was off to serve a rowdy looking trio of half-Elves. Left to his own devices, Fjord continued to slowly work away at his drink, eyes scanning over the various people crowded around the tables throughout the cozy restaurant. Admittedly, Fjord would never have pegged this place as being popular from the outside, but the inside was unique in decoration from what he could tell through the dim lighting.

“Here by yourself, handsome?”

Glancing to the side at the voice by his shoulder, Fjord blinked with surprise as he found himself face to face with a purple Tiefling. Their grin was full of sharp teeth and solid red eyes glimmered with mischief and interest alike. They wore a loose white shirt with a plunging neckline, and Fjord could have sworn there was something about the Tiefling’s chest that gave him pause. But realizing both that the flashing lights weren’t helping, and that he was all but staring at their chest without responding, Fjord was quick to look back at their face.

“Uhm, yeah.”

Stupid.

The Tiefling raised an eyebrow at him but chuckled with mirth, clearly not put off by Fjord’s awkward honesty.

“You’ve never been here before.”

It wasn’t a question, and they said it with far too much conviction that Fjord knew he couldn’t pretend it was, even if he wanted to. So instead, he offered a shrug and took another sip of his drink. He could feel the heat on his cheeks, but he hoped that the dim light and colorful flashes were enough to hide it.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” the Tiefling said, waving a hand dismissively between them. “We’re a close knit community in here, so it’s easy to spot an unfamiliar face. Just wondering if you’ve wandered in or if you actually know what you’re in for.”

“What I’m—?” Fjord started to ask, before the sound of a microphone giving a burst of static over the speakers among the music cut him off.

“Hello everyone!” a cheerful, pitchy tone drawled over the microphone, drawing Fjord’s eyes away from the Tiefling and towards the makeshift stage at the back of the bar. There stood a figure with pale green skin, balancing a wig of obnoxious size on their head and sporting eye make-up so bold, Fjord had no trouble discerning it even from across the bar. He was so preoccupied by taking in the glittering jewels and loud accessories, that the only other words he caught over the music and cheering were drag and performance.

Sliding a look to the Tiefling beside him, Fjord raised an eyebrow their way and asked over the din, “drag performance?”

The Tiefling gave him a look, grin dipping a little as they asked, “you do know you’re in a gay bar, right love?”

Fjord felt like a damn fool.

“I do now.”

The Tiefling laughed, loud and amused, as Fjord caught Beau’s shit-eating grin from down the bar. He spared her enough attention to flip her off before focusing back on the Tiefling who was speaking again.

“I’m Mollymauk, by the way. Mollymauk Tealeaf, but everyone here just calls me Molly. If you don’t mind my asking, how’d you end up in a gay bar without knowing it?”

Fjord reached out and took the hand extended his way, giving it a firm shake before saying, “I’m Fjord. And your bartender Beau over there is my gym buddy. I dropped by to give her something and she somehow roped me into sticking around a while without giving me any details.”

“Yeah, that sounds like her.” Molly’s grin was sharp and dangerous, but their words were laced with the begrudging fondness one often could associate with having a sibling. “She’s good at picking reliable company, but she’s also a little shit.”

“You know her well, then?”

“More than I care to admit most days,” Molly chuckled. “I’m her boss, as well as begrudging friend.”

Fjord had to stop himself from saying ‘you’re the Peacock?’ out loud. Instead he cleared his throat in an attempt to not laugh and averted his gaze.

“If you aren’t comfortable with this kind of atmosphere, you can always come back during our lunch hours,” Molly offered, watching Fjord carefully. They had likely mistaken his surprise with discomfort. “Much more of a chill vibe then, when we aren’t packed in with a bunch of drunks.”

Not bothering to correct Molly, he said, “Is that an invitation or a suggestion?”

“Maybe it’s both,” Molly said, wiggling their brows with a suggestive grin. Fjord felt a little flushed and quietly blamed it on the fact that he was halfway through his drink.

“But in all seriousness, Fjord,” Molly continued, leaning in a little to be heard over the pounding music as a drag queen strut through the crowd. “You’re welcome back anytime. Not every queer individual is a fan of loud music and being absolutely blasted. This is a judgment free zone, safe space only.”

Not bothering to correct Molly and tell them he wasn’t actually queer, Fjord simply smiled at the Tiefling gratefully. Taking another swig of his drink, Fjord bid Molly farewell and waved down the bar to Beau as he slipped out. Pausing just outside the door, closing it carefully behind him, Fjord took a steadying breath of cool night air. The music was duller from outside, mingling a lot more peacefully with the sounds of Queens at night.

He and Yasha exchanged a quiet look, something subtly knowing in her stoic eyes, before Fjord was walking off into the night.

--

Caleb looked down at the scribbled note that Veth had shoved at him right before his lunch break had ended earlier that day. Her handwriting scrawled and slanted on the crinkled paper, but the address matched the one on the door and the name of the bar and restaurant hanging above it. Tucking the scrap of paper away into one of his many coat pockets, Caleb hefted his bag a little higher on his shoulder and pushed into the warm interior of The Moon and Mirror.

It was cozy, a little on the dim side, and the décor was intricate in its simplicity. A tapestry hung on one wall between two tall windows, a vibrant red backdrop to multicolored symbols and patterns woven into the fabric. Each table had similar red fabric draped across the tops, lacking patterns but vibrant nonetheless. Every tabletop sported its own antique looking lamp that shed light in a homey beacon of warmth. There was one enormous glass window at the front—heavy, rich drapes held back on either side, velvet and violet in their bundles—that let the late Friday afternoon light spill across the worn wooden floor.

Behind the bar, a lavender skinned Tiefling with solid red eyes and wavy hair glanced up at Caleb’s entrance, an eyebrow lifting appraisingly. Intricate, colorful tattoos curled up one side of their neck and continued out from under their sleeve on one side, curving a serpentine trail down to their hand. They seemed to be in the middle of wiping down the surface, cleaning away the evidence of whatever had happened last night to leave such a sticky residue near plastered to the polished wood.

“Can I help you?” the Tiefling asked, voice laced with a light accent and sweet, deceivingly friendly.

“I am uh…here to see Veth?” Caleb was not nervous, but his statement came out like a question. The wound tension he hadn’t recognized in his shoulders released only when a look of recognition flashed across the Tiefling’s features. They turned as if to call back into the kitchen, silver bobbles clinking against pierced horns, before a quiet clatter was followed by hurried footsteps. From around the far end of the bar, a tiny figure slid to a stop, bright eyes latching onto Caleb.

“You made it!” Veth, his rather chaotic but loveable Halfling friend, came trotting over eagerly as Caleb knelt to greet her. Her calloused, sturdy hands cupped his sallow cheeks as Veth leaned up on tiptoes to plant a motherly kiss to Caleb’s forehead. Button bracelets clattered with familiar charm around her wrists as she pat Caleb’s shoulders, taking stock of him and beaming all the while.

“Grab a seat,” Veth instructed, voice giddy. “The chef’s just finishing up some lunch for us, my treat.”

Nodding silently, he watched her scurry back off into the kitchen before standing and glancing once again at the Tiefling at the bar. They were watching with no small degree of curiosity and fondness. Caleb felt mildly warm under the scrutiny and deflected by gesturing to the numerous tables around him.

“Are any of these taken, or may I help myself?”

The Tiefling gave a wide gesture, a flourish to the motion and something a little less deceivingly friendly in the curve of their grin.

“Be my guest, friend.”

Giving the bartender a quiet nod of acknowledgment, Caleb slung the strap of his bag over the back of a chair and tucked himself into the worn seat of the old wooden chair. His gaze roamed around, taking in the eclectic gathering of worn, mismatched chairs and wayward tables. Each piece seemed to have made its way here for the sole purpose of filling this restaurant. It was definitely one of the more interesting places Caleb had found himself in, and that was saying a lot for a person who had been living in New York City for near two years.

A glass of water slid on the table in front of Caleb as a body sunk gracefully into the seat across from him.

“How do you know Veth, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Caleb looked up from the glass of water and met the solid red gaze of the Tiefling bartender. He raised an eyebrow and took a moment to remain silent as he took in whatever this situation was.

“I work with her husband,” Caleb offered, somewhat vaguely.

“Ah,” the Tiefling snapped their fingers, grinning bright and easy. “You must be Caleb. Veth speaks highly of you. She says you’re very intelligent and working on a degree, yes?”

“You know a lot about me, but I know nothing about you,” Caleb shot back smoothly, keeping his hands tucked in his lap. He didn’t like being known without knowing in return. And while it charmed him to know that Veth seemed to brag about him, it was disconcerting to be staring down a stranger and not even have a name to the face.

“Yes, of course,” the Tiefling all but crooned, hand extending smoothly. “My name’s Mollymauk Tealeaf—Molly for short. I’m Mrs. Veth’s new employer.”

Caleb reached out after a brief hesitation, taking Molly’s hand to shake and finding himself concealing his surprise at how cool the Tiefling’s hand was in his own. Caleb had always heard and read that Tieflings ran noticeably warm, but Molly’s hand was rather chilled. He didn’t comment on it, choosing instead to just draw his hand back after the handshake had lasted an appropriate time.

“She’s very talented at bartending, I’m very lucky to have crossed paths with her. We’ve been scrambling a bit recently to fill the position.”

“Ja, she is very good. She’s a quick learner, too.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Molly beamed, polished fingernails tapping a random pattern against a sliver of exposed tabletop not covered by the cloth. Their solid eyes seemed to take Caleb in. Aware and uncomfortable, the human focused his attention on picking at an errant spot of ink staining the pad of his finger. He could be good with conversation when prepared, but he couldn’t be farther from ready for whatever this was. It felt like an interrogation, but read like an awkward attempt at friendly conversation.

“She’s been struggling a little with getting a job,” Caleb said before he could stop himself, overwhelmed by the awkward pressure. He always slipped up a little when he was nervous.

“Yes, well, most places aren’t too keen on hiring people with a record,” Molly said casually, their friendly expression never faltering.

“You are not most places?” Caleb asked, somewhat derisively as he glanced around the interior.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Molly’s grin was a little less friendly again, hands spreading wide as though amicable. “We’re a fine establishment, decent benefits, ordinary people making a mostly honest living. Just like anyone else in this city.”

Caleb’s somewhat suspicious countenance didn’t change and Molly laid their hands flat against the table and studied the human once more. When they spoke again, their tone was no longer that service type cheerful, instead low and intrigued.

“I thought perhaps with the way Veth spoke of you, she was the protective one in your relationship. It seems I’ve found myself mistaken.” Before Caleb could think to ask what they meant by that, Molly was continuing on. “I understand wanting to protect your own, more than you could fathom I reckon, but believe me when I say your friend will be looked after here. Our employees are family, and everyone in this family is a just a little of the right side of dangerous. She’ll fit in just fine.”

It was a few tense seconds later, Caleb scrutinizing every infinitesimal shift in Molly’s face for signs of deception, that Veth came trotting back out from behind the bar. She carried a steaming plate in each hand and placed them carefully on the table before taking a moment to pat Caleb on his knee as she smiled up at him.

Molly seemed to take that as their cue to leave, pushing to their feet and vacating the seat for Veth. Traipsing back behind the bar with a cheerful wave to Veth’s call of thanks, Molly went back to working at the stains on the bar with Caleb inspecting them.

“Caleb?” Veth’s shrill voice pulled the human back to his senses, blinking at the Halfling across from him. “Are you alright?”

“Ja,” Caleb was quick to reassure her, looking down at his food and feeling his stomach rumble. Right…lunch had been hours ago, and the sun was arching to the horizon now. He always was rather shit at keeping to a fixed schedule outside of work.

“How was your afternoon?” Veth asked after a pause in which she inspected him the way a mother would her child when she didn’t quite believe them. “Did you find that book on decoding ancient languages you were searching for?”

“Ah, not quite,” Caleb said, picking up his fork to appease his companion’s motherly stare. “Apparently another student checked it out a week ago. I am willing to wait, just grateful the library has a copy.”

It didn’t take long from there for the two to dissolve into idle chatter between bites of their food. Caleb had to admit to himself that it was rather tasty—warm and seasoned well. He wasn’t much of a cook himself, but he knew a tasty meal when he had one. Veth eagerly divulged details of her new gig within the bar when Caleb finally diverted the conversation away from the events of his day.

“I get to wear a mask!” Caleb blinked at Veth’s excited proclamation, wondering if perhaps he had misheard her. “To hide my identity!”

“Why…would you need to do that?” Caleb asked, glancing with now nervous fervor around the bar. Patrons looking for dinner now occupied a few of the tables, and Caleb wondered if he had missed something. This place didn’t seem intensely shady, but now he worried.

“It’s not like that,” Veth correctly assumed and waved away Caleb’s concerns. “I told Molly that I was worried about being recognized, is all. I’m fine being seen during the day when it’s just a restaurant, but I don’t want people seeing me at night and getting the wrong idea. They might use it against Yeza or Luc, and I don’t want that. Molly was more than understanding and we decided a mask and fake name might work. It’s like I’m a spy!”

Caleb studied her face quietly, eventually sighing and giving his friend a tiny smile. With a quiet consolation of, “as long as you are safe and happy here, I’m happy for you.”

Beaming across the table at him, Veth reached over to pat her tiny hand against his before going back to her food. Caleb took another moment to scan around the interior, taking it all in, committing it all to memory, before resuming his own meal. They kept on with shiftless snippets of conversation until their plates were empty and Molly came to collect Veth for continued training.

As Veth scooped up their plates from the table and left Caleb with a parting kiss on the cheek, Molly leaned their hands against the back of Veth’s vacated seat. Those solid red eyes bore into Caleb again and the human steeled his will against the urge to look away. Whatever Molly was searching for, they seemed appeased by what they found, a broad grin stretching across their lips.

“Well, lovely to meet you, Mr. Caleb,” Molly’s light accent swirled like honeyed whiskey over Caleb. They pushed off the back of the chair and waved a casual hand in a wide gesture around the interior of the bar. Turning their back to walk towards the kitchen after Veth, they called over their shoulder, “stick around a while, if you’d like. We’re open a while longer.”

Caleb had to admit, he wasn’t sure where that invitation had come from, but he had nothing better to do. He could go back to his apartment and read through the books tucked into his bag, but he and his roommate both kept odd hours, and Caleb didn’t quite feel like being entirely alone just yet. The restaurant was fairly empty, and quiet enough for him to concentrate, so he figured there was no harm in waiting around under the guise of wanting to leave with Veth.

With that decided, Caleb settled into his seat and pulled a book at random free from his bag. Nose tucked firmly between the pages, he barely acknowledged the passage of time or events happening around him as he took every word in. It was a great ability for his habits of study, but detrimental at times when he found himself in public places.

He was only reminded of the latter effect when he looked up what must have been a couple hours later. He found himself surrounded by loud music, varying stages of drunk individuals, and—apparently—in the middle of a drag performance.

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) cin'ciri STAR WARS

“Keep your eyes open, Trooper.” Cody orders as the younger clone in his arms lists, tightening his hold around his waist. “Almost there.” His eyes are on the cave he can see in the distance, barely visible through the thick snowfall and illuminated by the lights mounted on his helmet. They had been walking for hours, since their transport had gone down miles from where it had meant to land, and he’s feeling every minute in his aching body.

The others had died on impact, while Cody had been thrown out of the gaping hole in the side of the ship - likely the only reason why he could walk at all. He’d landed in a snowdrift without much more than bruises and a rattled bucket, but he’d been forced to watch the shuttle carrying his men dip into a sharp nosedive, smoke billowing from the cockpit, and he’d seen it hit the unforgiving ice, heart in his throat. Every member of the ten man squad had died within moments of the ship crashing, all of them but the youngest.

Wooley had still been alive, half-buried under the rest of his squad. It looked like they had tried to protect the Shiniest among them with their own bodies when the shuttle had gone down, and Cody had had to quickly extract the whimpering Trooper from the pile of dead brothers. He hadn’t been able to get a good look at Wooley’s injuries then, because water had been rapidly filling the hull and had already reached his knees and soaked through the younger trooper. He hadn’t been able to spare the kid much of a look beyond a quick scan to make sure he had all his limbs intact and his suit wasn’t torn before the storm had hit.

They’d been walking since, looking for shelter they could use until the rest of Ghost Company could come looking for them, or the storm broke. At first, Wooley had been able to move under his own power, with little help from the Commander, but the further they got from the frozen lake where the shuttle had sunk, the more the younger clone started to lag. Despite his own aches and pains, Cody had been all-but carrying the kid for the last hour. He had stopped shivering thirty minutes ago, and now he was starting to go limp.

Dread pools in his stomach, and he gives the kid a quick shake, wincing at the pained noise Wooley makes. “Eyes open, Wooley, that’s an order.”

Wooley’s head lolls, thunking off of Cody’s pauldron and it takes a moment for Cody’s brain to translate what the kid slurs; “Leave me, C’mmand’r.”

“I won’t do that, Private.” He says, then lifts the younger clone into his arms, wincing at the bite of frozen plastoid he can feel even through his own cold weather armour. Wooley’s temp controls must have been damaged in the crash. He had been freezing steadily for hours, and hadn’t brought it up.

“Gotta - gotta get to th’ rendezvous-” The young trooper tries to argue, but he leans into Cody’s chest despite himself and his stubbornness.

Cody picks up the pace, jogging through the thick snow, “I don’t take orders from you, Shiny.”

“Not a Shiny ‘nymore, C’mmand’r.”

“You’re still Shiny to me, soldier.” Cody barks, and he can hear Wooley’s ragged laughter through their internal comms. The noise cuts off with a pained hiss, and it makes Cody wince. “Stay alert, you’ll need to shoot if anything comes after us.”

Wooley is silent for a second, head dipping towards Cody’s shoulder, before the Private jolts. The delay in his answer sets the worry in Cody’s stomach to a boil, “Yessir.” The young trooper slurs, fumbling for a blaster with uncharacteristically clumsy hands.

He doubts the kid would be able to fire it even if their life depended on it, but it would hopefully have his training kick in and keep Wooley alert. Luckily, it doesn’t come to that, because the cave Cody drags the two of them into is empty.

Cody gently lowers his younger brother to the ground once they were out of the biting winds and clinging snow. Wooley whimpers, curling in on himself, and Cody murmurs a quick apology as he tugs off his trooper’s dented helmet. The damage done to the visor - a massive crack leading from the deep crater in the side of the plastoid and marring the little bantha horns he had lovingly painted on it - meant that his brother must have been mostly blind over the hours they had been walking.

“Reckless, stupid Shinies.” He grumbles, setting the bucket off to the side. Wooley blinks at him groggily, some of his ridiculously long curls falling from his topknot to rest across his pallid face, and a wound on the side of his head bleeds sluggishly. Cody hisses sympathetically at the sight of the injury and blue lips as he gets to work pulling the younger trooper’s frozen armour off of him. Luckily, the insulation hadn’t been compromised in the crash and the kid’s thermals are dry and still working - though weakly. They’d probably been nearly burnt-out from trying to heat up the damaged armour as well.

“Dinner first, C’mmand’r.” Wooley slurs, head drooping, but there’s a weak little cheeky grin on his pale face.

“Tell you what.” Cody grunts, moving to begin stripping out of his own armour - he needs to get Wooley’s core temperature back up, or his younger brother will freeze. “The General introduced me to this little diner on Coruscant, I’ll take you next time we’re on shore - we can put it on General Kenobi’s tab.”

Wooley giggles, sounding almost hysterical, “‘s a date.” He teases weakly, watching with heavy eyes as Cody, now down to his own thermals, starts clicking his armour into place over Wooley’s.

“You’ve been around the General too much.” Cody tells him, amused, and Wooley snorts, humour sparking in big dark eyes.

“Says you.” Wooley teases fuzzily, slumping into Cody’s side, and the Commander loops his arms around the kid’s torso, pulling him into his lap.

He winces when Wooley’s frigid nose presses against his jaw, but his brother’s shivers are steadily returning the longer they talk, his body starting to warm up again, so he doesn’t say anything about it. “What’s that supposed to mean, Trooper?”

Wooley huffs a chittering snicker, curling even closer to Cody’s chest - which he’s thankful for, as the cold was starting to creep into his limbs without the heated armour. “‘veryone’s b-bettin’ on when you-you an’ th’ Gen-Gen’ral are gonna k-kiss.”

“Are they?” Cody says blandly, trying to ignore the sudden heat in his formerly chilled face. “You all must have too much down time then, to be able to gossip about your commanding officers.” He hugs Wooley tighter, feeling his own shivering setting in. “I’ll need to run more drills.” Wooley snickers against his chest, and Cody shivers violently.

Someone would come for them, Cody knows, because his HUD is still operating and reporting his status and location to tactical, even if his ranged comms were shot by the storm. They’d come, so until then he’d keep himself and Wooley alive for them to find.

Without fully realizing it, Cody finds himself drifting off to sleep between one blink and the next, listening to Wooley’s shivering breath as it steadily starts evening out once more as the heat from Cody’s armour settles into his body. He had closed his eyes one moment, and then the next thing he knew he found himself surrounded by noise and light.

Cody jerks, fumbling to roll over, to put himself between his younger brother and whoever had come across them. Frozen hands scramble for a blasterm and Wooley’s whimper is loud in his clogged ears.

“-safe Commander.” It takes him longer than he’s proud of to work out what the familiar voice is saying, and longer still to force his heavy eyes open. He’s surrounded by a sea of white, and Cody worries faintly for a moment of the possibility of snow blindness having settled in, but then his eyes adjust, and he recognizes the blue paint.

“Kix?” He tries to say, but his voice is garbled and slurred, and he can’t make his frozen lips cooperate with his mind. What was the 501st doing here? They were supposed to be on the other side of the planet.

Well, he wasn’t going to turn a medic away when he had an injured brother in his arms. Carefully, painfully, his stiff limbs protesting with every move, Cody heaves his heavy body off of Wooley, flopping over bonelessly as soon as Kix pulls the young trooper away.

“Head injury.” He tries to tell the medic, “Ship crashed.” Kix’s helmet tilts, pulling out a scanner as he crouches over Wooley, and he waves some troopers closer. Without being fully aware of it, Cody relaxes the moment he recognizes Rex’s helmet bobbing towards him.

Help had come.

Cody sags against a warm chest as Rex gathers him close, sighing in relief as he’s completely surrounded with warmth - they had brought thermal blankets.

Good, Wooley would need them.

“We’re already looking after Wooley, Codes.” Rex soothes, and Cody blinks groggily.

Was he talking out loud?

Rex snorts, and Cody lets out a huff of surprise as gravity shifts around him. “Yeah, vod. You’re talking out loud.” Rex is teasing him, and Cody frowns heavily at his younger brother’s chest. “Once we’ve got your hypothermic ass microwaved, I’m sending this footage to Wolffe.”

Ass.

“Oh, language Commander.” Rex mocks, and Cody squirms, annoyed, in his arms - oh, Rex was carrying him. When had that happened? He’s trying to puzzle this out when his brother speaks next, his voice softer, carrying a lilt of worry, and Cody wants to apologize. “Little Force gods, you’re cold.” He had never wanted to worry his younger brother. “Go back to sleep, Cody. We’ve got you.”

Cody blinks again, letting his heavy eyes slide shut, and he relaxes into his brother’s hold. “Not doing it ‘cause you told me to.” He makes sure he says, pointedly getting the last word in before he drifts off once more, Rex’s laughter ringing in his ears.

[imaginaryelle]

Prompt: a day in new sect leader jiang trying to raise jin ling

Thanks for the prompt! This one came in at around 1.5k and can also be read on AO3.

Jin Ling is four the first time he stays overnight at Lotus Pier without a revenue of Jin nurses and servants waiting on his every need. Those people are busy, Jiang Cheng understands, preparing for the new Jin heir, who should be gracing the world with his presence any day now. Jin Guangshan is very proud, he’s sure. Given the stories he���s been hearing lately and the relieved expression on the face of the Jin cultivator who handed the boy off, Jiang Cheng can foresee many, many extended visits to Lotus Pier in Jin Ling’s future.

It shouldn’t make him angry. Hasn’t he spent years visiting Jinlingtai and glaring at their tiny excuse for a lotus pond, itching to show his nephew what his mother’s home really looked like? Hadn’t he hated requesting permission of Jin Guangshan just to hold the child in the first year of his life? But it rankles, that they don’t want him. That the Jin clan hasn’t closed ranks around him in the wake of his parents’ deaths, and that this precious boy of Jiang Cheng’s blood can be so easily replaced by an infant who has yet to take its first breath.

The Jiang Sect is not the Jin Sect. Jiang Cheng doesn’t have enough people to assign Jin Ling a nurse or a servant even if he wanted to, which he doesn’t because Jin Ling is his nephew and the Jiang Clan has never done such things with their own flesh and blood. And it’s not as if the boy is utterly helpless. He can feed himself without spills and dress himself without trouble, and he wears shoes more readily than Wei Wuxian ever—Jiang Cheng pushes the thought aside.

The only thing Jin Ling can’t quite manage for himself in the morning is putting up his hair, but he sits without much fidgeting as Jiang Cheng combs through the tangles and draws up a small topknot; just enough to keep it out of Jin Ling’s face. He is so still, in fact, and so diligent and quiet while working through his morning training alongside the Jiang’s Sect’s older children that Jiang Cheng starts to worry. It’s been a long time since he spent so much time with a child so young, but he doesn’t remember being quite so biddable himself at that age. He’d been expecting tantrums. He’s seen Jin Ling’s tantrums, usually an explosion of tears and wailing shortly before the boy was whisked out of view by someone in a yellow Jin hanfu.

Instead, Jin Ling is clingy—he clings to Jiang Cheng’s clothes and watches him with wide, dark eyes. He follows Jiang Cheng around the grounds, sometimes jogging in his wake with his hanfu clenched in tiny fists. He doesn’t talk, and he doesn’t smile, and he shakes his head and hides behind Jiang Cheng’s leg when one of young disciples asks if he wants to play a game. His face below that bright red dot is a study in careful determination even when he’s drawing on scrap paper while Jiang Cheng answers his correspondence out on the pier. Even as the sun bears down on them in the late afternoon until Jiang Cheng himself is looking longingly at the water.

There’s nothing urgent happening until dinner. A few hours. Plenty of time to dry out. He stands. Jin Ling immediately puts down his brush.

“A-Ling,” Jiang Cheng says, “let’s go swimming.”

This is not met with nearly as much excitement as he hoped. Jin Ling looks around, as if he’s only just realizing they’re surrounded by water. Jiang Cheng starts taking off his own outer layers—no reason to get everything wet—and tries to look encouraging. He can see the sweat on Jin Ling’s face, it’s not as if the kid isn’t over-warm.

“Traditional Jiang Clan way to cool off in summer,” he says. “It’s easier with fewer layers.”

Jin Ling is just staring at the water with his hands clenched around his belt.

“Do you want me to throw you into the lake with all your clothes on?” Jiang Cheng asks, thinking of his father’s laughing threats on especially hot days. Instead of laughing, Jin Ling’s face immediately screws up into tears. He wails, high and miserable.

Jiang Cheng freezes, just for a moment, and then he kneels and tries to gather his sobbing nephew into his arms as if it can help. As if that’ll make the tears stop, instead of just meaning that Jin Ling buries his face in Jiang Cheng’s chest and rubs tears and snot right into the crossed collar of his innermost yi.

He pats his nephew’s shoulder. He’s not good at this. He knows he’s not good at it. This was his sister’s thing. Even—well, not his, anyway. Never his. But he can’t stand doing nothing while the kid cries, so here he is, feeling like a fish that’s flopped up onto the dock and flailing accordingly. Eventually he can just barely make out the words I can’t swim among all the other noise.

He frowns. “Of course you can swim. I taught you to swim on your first birthday.”

Jin Ling continues to cry, but quieter. He actually opens his eyes. He hiccups. “You did?”

“I had a fight with your grandfather about it. And Jin Guangyao.” The concept of a pond that is entirely decorative still rankles something deep in his soul.

“I don’t remember,” Jin Ling says, looking like he’s going to start sobbing again.

“You will,” Jiang Cheng assures him, wiping away his tears. “All Jiangs know how to swim.”

“But I’m not a Jiang.” Jin Ling’s lip trembles.

“You have a Jiang Clan spirit bell, don’t you?” Jiang Cheng tugs the bell and tassel loose from Jin Ling’s belt at holds it up for inspection. “That makes you a Jiang. And even if it didn’t, you’d be a Jiang because I say you are.” One of those statements seems to work. Or at least, Jin Ling no longer looks like he intends to continue crying. Instead, he runs his hands through the green silk threads of the tassel and looks out at the water.

“Jiujiu,” he says after a moment, “what if there are alligators?”

“They can’t get past the wards,” Jiang Cheng tells him. It’s a large part of the reason they have wards sunk into the waterways instead of only on docks and buildings.

“But what if they did?” Jin Ling asks, logic and cultivation apparently not enough to satisfy him.

“Then I’ll use Zidian on them.” Jiang Cheng raises his hand so Jin Ling can see the metal snake wrapped around his hand and wrist. “They won’t even get close.”

Jin Ling pokes a small finger at it and traces along the tiny etched scales. His lips press together into something might—just—be called a smile. He nods. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay?” Jiang Cheng confirms. “We can go swimming now?”

“Mn,” Jin Ling agrees with another eager nod.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng says. And then he throws Jin Ling into the water, fully clothed, and jumps in after him.

“Jiujiu!” Jin Ling comes up sputtering and yelling. He waves his arms and nearly kicks Jiang Cheng in the sternum. “Jiujiu! I don’t—”

“You’re fine.” Jiang Cheng slides his hands up under Jin Lings armpits, giving him just enough support that he’ll stop struggling. “You’re floating fine,” he says, which is only a little bit of a lie. It takes a touch of spiritual power to really float in water-soaked layers of silk and linen and cotton, but he can feel that little glow of intent moving under Jin Ling’s skin. His body remembers, even if his brain doesn’t. “See?” he says when Jin Ling has calmed. “What did I tell you?”

Jin Ling leans back in the water. He kicks his feet out and slaps his hands against the surface and watches the ripples fan out and he smiles, and he looks so much like his mother then that Jiang Cheng can hardly breathe for a moment.

“Throw me again,” Jin Ling says.

Jiang Cheng raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. “I think only boys who can float on their own get to be thrown,” he says.

“I can, I can!” Jin Ling squirms away from him and immediately dips lower in the water, but he keeps moving. He keeps his head up. “Again.” He tugs at Jiang Cheng’s sleeve, laughing even as he sputters water. “Again, again!” he demands.

“Just remember you asked for this,” Jiang Cheng says, and heaves him, still laughing, into the air.

[trvelyans-archive]

bread & butter

a gift for @goblin-deity !!! i love pollux and ortega so much, we truly do stan <3 

---

It only takes a few drinks for Ortega to get handsy.

He shouldn’t be drinking at all, really, you think, because it’s probably not safe for him to be drunk in the kitchen when you’re both working with such delicate things, but he is anyway and it’s too late to convince him otherwise. He has his arms wrapped around your waist while you knead the heavy white dough with sweaty palms, and you think about making a joke about how it’s going to ruin the bread, but he probably doesn’t mind. You two are the only people who are going to be eating any of it, after all, and you might not even have any of it, either.

And he’s humming against your neck as his hands roam across your clothed stomach and sides, and it’s very, very distracting.

“I’m trying to focus here, Ricardo,” you mutter, reaching over to dip your fingertips in flour before spreading it across the surface of the flattened dough and beginning to knead it again.

“Mmmm.” He kisses the slope of your shoulder and begins swaying back and forth, inadvertently dragging you along with him despite how rigidly you stand in his embrace. “Are you saying I’m a distraction?”

“Yes,” you say without the slightest hint of hesitation. “I definitely am.”

“Mmmm.” You roll your eyes as he kisses you again. “I like distracting you.”

“Ricardo…”

He giggles. Giggles. This is dangerous. You’ve only had two drinks yourself but you’re still feeling more inclined than usual to make bad decisions and Ortega giggling and smiling and kissing you doesn’t make it any easier. “I like it when you say my name like that…”

“Your mother would be ashamed in you right now, Ricardo,” you say, clearing your throat and focusing on the dough in front of you even though it’d be so easy to pick it up and throw it in the trash and forget about it entirely and pretend you had never even been working on it at all. “You have horrible kitchen manners.”

“Good thing my mom isn’t here right now.” He slips his thumbs beneath the waistband of your pants. “Do you really want me to stop?” he says in a low voice, not pushing any further while he waits for you to reply.

You should say yes, but you don’t. It’s your own fault, really - you shouldn’t have let him convince you that you both needed a drink before you started. All you’re doing is baking bread. You didn’t need a drink, and he didn’t need three. And yet you both drank them anyway, and now you’re tipsy, and that’s not very good. Not very good at all.

“I just thought you wanted to bake,” you say, which isn’t at all a response, and Ortega takes note of that.

“I do,” he murmurs. “I did. And then you put your hair up…” He drags one hand away from your stomach and raises it to your head, pinching your topknot and tugging on it until it draws a reluctant laugh from your lips. “And then you got flour all over your sleeves… and your face…” He traces his finger down your cheek, along your jaw, around to your chin. “… and you’re here, with me, and I love you, Pollux.”

It’s not like you’re not used to him saying things like this to you. It just seems so much more earnest when he’s drunk; less rehearsed. He stumbles over his words and laughs at himself under his breath and seems to stiffen ever-so-slightly when you don’t say anything back. “But if you don’t –“

“Mmm.” You pull one hand away from the dough to cement his arm around you, holding it there while you continue to work with your other hand. “I didn’t say that.”

“You’re a tease, Lux.”

“And you’re very drunk, Ricky.”

He laughs. “Maybe,” he says. “But maybe you’re sexy.”

You snort, shaking your head, grabbing a small handful of flour between your fingers and smearing it across Ortega’s forearm. “And you are distracting me,” you say languidly while your fingers glide across his skin, leaving waves of goosebumps in their wake. “So you can only stay there as long as you’re good and as long as you don’t mess with my bread.”

You know he’s not going to listen, but you’re surprised at how immediate it is. In a flash, Ortega leans forward to the bowl of flour, sinks his hand into it until it’s coated white, and drags it across the front of your top from collar to hem, covering you in white powder that weighs heavy in the wrinkles of your unwashed shirt. “Okay,” he says good-naturedly, as if that didn’t just happen.

Your mouth falls open in surprise as you stare down your clothes. “Ortega!” you exclaim.

He spins you around in his grasp, cups your face with his free hand, and kisses you sweetly. You’d be mad about him ruining your shirt if you really cared, but you don’t – instead you’re mad that he’s tempting you to do something you’re sure you’re going to regret. “Ortega,” you repeat, sounding smaller this time, softer. “The bread.”

“I don’t care… about the bread… Pollux…” Each few words is punctuated by a new kiss somewhere else on your freckled, flour-covered face. “Did you really come over here to bake bread?”

“No,” you admit as he kisses you again. “I came to see you because you asked me to. And you just happened to ask me to bake bread with you, too, and so I thought I’d do it...”

“Is there anything else you want to do?”

You feel yourself get weak at the knees and wrap your arms around his neck despite yourself. “Bake cookies, maybe?” you suggest.

He groans aloud against the crook of your neck and you can practically feel it reverberate in your chest. “Why do you love teasing me so much?” he whines.

“Because you like it,” you whisper in his ear. “Now, are you going to let me work or are you going to force me to keep teasing you?”  

He looks up at you. “The latter?”

You push him away from you by the shoulders and turn around, beginning to knead the bread once more. “I was going to suggest that you bring this to Tia Elena tomorrow, but now it’s going to be bad, and I know you’d never want to take the blame for that.”

“I think she’d disown me,” Ortega says as he leans over and grabs a bottle of wine, opening it while he watches you. “You were really going to suggest that?”

You shrug. You were going to suggest it, but only because this seems like something you could be doing with her, too, right now, but that thought just makes you said. “You could say you were baking with a friend and had an extra loaf leftover…”

“You think Mama would believe I have friends I could just casually bake with?”

“Maybe.”

“Pollux.” He pours you a glass of wine, leaning over to give it to you accompanied by a kiss on the cheek. “You’re the only person I’d do this kind of stuff with.”

“What ‘stuff’?” you ask foolishly, because you know he’s just going to launch into another tirade about how much he loves you, and you’re not sure if you could handle that right now.

But it’s too late. You’ve said it, and Ortega’s going to answer.

“Domestic stuff,” he says quietly. “You know… washing dishes… cooking… baking… doing laundry…” He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you against his side. “Both of our lives are so chaotic that the only thing we can do together is nothing. The only thing I want you to do with me is nothing. Do you know what I mean?”

“This is the alcohol talking,” you respond, “and my life isn’t chaotic. I’m retired.”

He nuzzles his nose against your head and kisses your temple. “I know what goes on in your head, Pollux,” he whispers, “and I want to help you with those things when I can. I thought maybe this would be nice and relaxing for you…”

“So you’re making me bake for you with ulterior motives,” you joke, because the kindness is a little too much right now.

“I made you come over with ulterior motives,” Ortega responds, “and those things include kissing you… and touching you… and a few other things…”

His hand slips down to your ass, to your thigh. “Only if you want to, though,” he adds, his breath hot and heavy against your ear as he takes your glass out of your hand and sets it on the counter, a movement too measured for a man who is as drunk as you thought he was, so you’re beginning to think the alcohol is wearing off for both of you, and that only thing influencing your decisions right now is the presence of him next to you.

You should be finished preparing the dough soon, and since you have to wait for a long time after that to continue baking the bread…

You tilt your head against his and smile. “You didn’t elaborate enough on your other ideas to let me decide,” you muse. “Maybe do that and we’ll see.”

He’s lucky that you were in a good enough mood today to begin with that you’re entertaining this idea, in the kitchen no less as he reaches up to run the pad of his thumb over the button of your pants. “I want to clean all of this mess off of the kitchen counter,” he murmurs, “and unzip your pants and take them off gently, slowly, just to tease you as much as you always tease me, and then I want to nudge your legs open and kiss your thighs…”

He trails off and you nudge him gently with your elbow. “And?”

“And… if you’ll let me…” He kisses the skin beside your ear and bites your earlobe. “I want to eat you out on the counter until you’re too tired to go home and then you can spend the night and I’ll cuddle you as much as you’ll let me.”

Unfortunately for him, you would never let him do anything with you in the kitchen. Even with the overheads turned off, the streetlights outside would still shine too brightly through the windows. “You’re too convincing right now to be drunk.”

“I’m not,” he responds with a grin against your face. “I was a while ago, maybe, but even then I wasn’t too bad.”

“You just seem really happy tonight,” you comment.

“Because you’re here,” he says, “and because I love you.”

“That’s it?” you ask.

“That’s it.”

You tilt your head to kiss his cheek, and he captures your lips with his before you can manage it. Against your mouth, he mumbles, “And I want to show you how happy you make me...”

There’s a moment of silence while he waits for you to make your decision, and finally you finish up with the last steps of the dough preparation, place it in a bowl and cover it, and turn to him with your hands on your hips. “You have an hour and a half to wait for that to rise,” you say.

“An hour and a half?”

“In the bedroom,” you add.

Ortega licks his lips. “Sounds good to me,” he replies, taking a step towards you and kissing a line down the bridge of your nose before bending over, grabbing you by the waist, and throwing you over his shoulder. “An hour and a half?”

“Yes,” you laugh in exasperation as he carries you down the hallway, except you have a feeling he’s not going to listen to you. Not that you really wanted the bread, anyway. Having Ortega for dinner will be much better. Or him having you, instead.

[yxlenas]

smuggler AU, Murmuring softly or hushing them

Additionally here

When Rey wakes up, she’s sticky with sweat and it feels like she’s boiling. She throws the blankets off, disgruntled at her rising internal temperature. She blinks, eyes gummy with sleep. Someone is mumbling next to her, and a flailing body part slaps against her bare skin.

“S’hot,” she slurs, looping her leg out from beneath the blankets and rolling onto her stomach. The mumbling keeps happening. A sticky body bumps against her. She shoves as hard as possible, and the body shoves back.

Hard.

Rey wakes up fully with a sharp cry of panic as her ass hits the cool durasteel of the captain’s quarters on the Falcon. Sweat begins to cool rapidly on her naked skin, and she cranes her neck up to look at Ben on the bunk.

Ben is moaning in his sleep, writhing in their sweaty sheets. Rey scrambles up, brushing hair out of her face and sitting down on the edge of the bunk. She smoothes a hand over his wrinkled forehead, down between his brows.

“Ben, wake up.”

Ben tosses his head away from her hand, moaning. Rey grips his shoulder and shakes him, gently. He’s sticky with sweat and panicked heat rolls off his body. That’s why she woke up feeling like she was in a furnace. Ben is in panic mode, his back arching off the bed like he’s trying to get away from something in his head. Rey reaches for him again, setting her hand on his cheek and stroking her thumb across the sensitive, delicate skin beneath his eye. He gasps, then whimpers. He’s coming out of it.

“Come on, love,” she murmurs, using her second hand to start combing his long hair back from his face. It had fallen out of the messy topknot he shoved it into the night before and it’s snarled and sweat drenched. Rey tugs an extra tie from his wrist. Ben gasps and sits up so fast he bumps her forehead with his chin and she jerks away, catching herself on the edge of the mattress.

“Sorry,” he wheezes, “Oh, fuck-”

There are tears streaking down his cheeks and Rey settles herself back down on the bed, thumbing them away.

“You were having a nightmare,” Rey whispers, running her fingers through his hair. Ben leans forward, pressing his forehead to her chest. She tugs the rest of his body against her after adjusting, settling back against the wall of the bunk. She tugs his hair into a stubby half ponytail, scraping her fingernails across his scalp.

“Rey,” Ben croaks out hoarsely, tangling their legs. His arms snake around her waist and squeeze, crushing her to him. She runs her hand down his back, resting it on his lower back.

“You’re alright,” she says, resting her chin on the top of his head. His back is shaking, tears soaking into her bare skin.

“You-”

“I’m fine. I’m right here.”

His dreams always involve her dying, somehow. A blaster bolt, a knife between her ribs, anything. She brushes her hand through his hair over and over, trying to soothe him into comfort. He’s still crying, but he turns his cheek to rest against her breast, liquid brown eyes staring up at her.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she coos, “I’m not going anywhere.”

She rubs his muscled back until he goes limp against her chest, dozing back off. She yawns, carefully readjusting them so she’s laying down with Ben resting against her chest. His legs are bent up to fit on the bunk. She presses a kiss to his temple, closing her eyes.

“I love you,” she whispers into his hair.

Ben breathes steadily, in and out, his breath fanning over her skin.

[otonymous]

Simmer (SLBP Masamune - NSFW)

Description: Masamune beats the summer heat by generating some of his own. Warnings: NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised Word Count: 996 words (~ 5 mins of smut)

AO3: Read here Author’s Notes: The snow is finally melting, so here’s a story set in much warmer weather.  Gratuitous PWP, that is all.  Hope you all enjoy it!

Tagging: @rubyleeray: I confess that the 12 Days of Chrismut was a big reason why I looked forward to this holiday for the past two years 😂 @heavenzfiend: Because I still can’t stop thinking about your Hideyoshi/Kiyomasa/Masanori x MC story.  And I never will.

Also tagging other lovely readers: @all-my-cuffs-have-buttons, @artemira-sengoku, @dear-mrs-otome, @pseudofaux, @fieryanmitsu, @otomediary, @suzi-q-uinn, @kitty-kat-ty, @saizoswifey, @belxsar, @anyakane, @friedchikyorice, @fromthedeskofelizabeththird, @selenecrawford, @akiza-hades-rose

All characters & SLBP owned by Voltage Inc.

On those sticky nights when there was nothing else to do but lie quietly on the veranda and feel the heat coming off one’s skin in invisible waves, you loved to run away from the stone ramparts of Yonezawa Castle, your lover’s fingers tightly intertwined with yours, tacky with sweat.

The soldiers stationed at the gates barely paid the pair of you any attention, assuming you were a page off to run an errand, and never guessing that the man dressed in simple robes, face hidden beneath a straw hat, was the lord of the castle.  

The Dragon of Oshu discretely trained a green eye in your direction, his heart warming at the sight of your face flushed in exertion, trying unsuccessfully to suppress your mischievous laughter at having finally evaded the prying eyes of Kojuro and Shigezane.  And as the quick movement of your legs took the pair of you further and further into the wilds, he wonders if you are real or a figment of his imagination, conjured up to fill all the lonely spaces of his heart left empty by a lifetime of rejection by those who should have held him dear.

Making your way amongst a dense collection of reeds that stood shoulder to shoulder with you, reaching up like so many supplicant hands to the night sky, you finally turn to face him, the collar of Yahiko’s kimono already coming undone to reveal the virginal white of your binding cloth.  Masamune barely registers the warm breeze coming off the river to tousle his hair when his hat falls by the wayside, the intention of his mind as singular as his body when he rushes to touch you at the insistence of your mouth forming the quiet word,

“Come.”

One hand tugs at his eyepatch as the other reaches out to cradle your cheek, its warmth encouraging you to look up at his face from where you’ve settled onto your knees on the spongy earth.  Hungry eyes of sapphire and emerald widen when you bring your lips to his cock, deliberately hesitating a hair’s breadth from contact to prolong savouring the offering before you.  On instinct, Masamune’s hips buck slightly, pushing his silken head past your waiting lips to fill your mouth with a heat that rivalled the temperatures of the sweltering season.  

The Lord of the Date clan was a man of few words, but even he couldn’t suppress the moans your lips and tongue drew from him as they worked their way up and down his length.  You kept your gaze fixed on his unusually expressive face as your head drew closer and closer to the hard plane of his groin, willing yourself to suppress the reflex that would prevent you from swallowing him whole.  And every time his head falls back in ecstasy, every time white teeth bite down on the plush lower lip you love to suck into your mouth, the overwhelming desire to please has you salivating with each slide of his cock against your flattened tongue.  

Your kneading hands sense the tensing muscles of his backside through his loosened hakama, and not long after, he spills into your mouth, coating the hollow of your cheeks and flooding your tongue as you make to swallow all that he leaves behind.

“I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to…”

Masamune says under his breath as he kneels to face you, gently wiping away the cum glistening on your lips in the moonlight, and as his index finger drags across their swollen softness, the lust in his eyes flickers back to life despite the guilt hanging on his brows.  

“May I?”

His question resonates over the din of rushing water nearby, and he is on you the instant you nod, tongue slipping into your mouth to partake in the lingering salt of his release as his hands work feverishly at the bindings around your chest and the hakama at your waist.  

When you feel the heat of his breath lingering at your entrance, close enough to send the blood rushing in throbbing pulses through your sensitive flesh, the anticipation has you craning your neck to look at your lover.  What you see makes you blush.

Masamune is staring at your pussy, eyes glazed over as if entranced by the sight.  When he finally ventures to skim his finger over the length of your folds, admiring the strands of arousal that cling to his hand, you close your eyes to avoid burning up from embarrassment.  

“You’re so beautiful.”

They fly open again as you gasp at the contact of his mouth on you, his voice muffled as he makes his confession in the midst of lapping desperately between your legs.  And when his fingers push into your wetness to curl and press at the end of every stroke, you are so thankful for the ability of the river to drown out the noises you weren’t even aware you could make.  

Masamune’s breathy whimper in your ear makes you wrap your trembling legs tighter around his waist, the sensation of his entry so sweet you want to keep him there forever.  The dim light of the stars overhead start to blur with every body-shaking thrust, and you struggle for breath in the stagnant summer air as his pace picks up.  One large hand weaves into your disheveled topknot to tilt your head, allowing Masamune to suck at the tender flesh of your neck as you feel him tremble against you before collapsing by your side.  

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

Thoroughly refreshed, you smile conspiratorially at each other as you approach Yonezawa Castle, painfully aware of the dreadful way you both must have looked with mud-caked clothing and grass in your hair.  But the soldiers at the gate only widen their eyes for a moment before stepping aside to let their lord and his page through, thinking on how strange it was that no one even saw the One-Eyed Dragon leave in the first place.  

Thanks for reading!  More stories available here! 💕

[lightsburnbrite]

The Devil is in the Details: Part 3

Karina sat in the empty office, drumming her fingers on the desk. She had set aside the day to start putting the gallery together but was currently short on any motivation. Finally, Karina pulled up a spreadsheet containing all the pieces she intended to display and got to work sorting them. Once she knew how she was going to display the paintings, the movers would deliver them.

Grabbing a tape measure, Karina started jotting down a few notes on which set would hang where. She was almost finished when she heard the little bell above the door ring, signaling a visitor.

“Sorry,” Karina called out with out looking up, “we’re not open yet.”

Coming from around the corner, Karina was surprised to see Daniel.

“Hey.” He flashed a broad smile once the door was closed behind him.

Karina attempted not to appear too surprised and offered a smile in return but quickly stopped when it felt more like a grimace. “Hi. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Right, sorry.” Daniel smiled again as he began to wander around the still empty space. “Nena told me about your gallery.”

Karina tilted her head in just a way that she was indicating that she expected him to say more.

“Oh, yeah.” He let out an awkward little giggle as he shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just you look different.”

Without thinking, Karina glanced down to her Joy Division t-shirt and jeans so worn they were practically shredded in some areas. “Well, I mean, you’ve only seen me in work clothes so…”

“No, no. You look good, really good.” Daniel seemed to realize that he had crossed a line and immediately went back to apologizing for dropping by unexpectedly. “I came to see if you needed some help.”

With a polite yet entirely forced smile, Karina shook her head. “Thank you, but I’m still figuring out what I want to do so I’m not really at that stage yet.”

“I didn’t peg you as an artist.” He turned back to Karina and cocked his head to the side in a gesture she figure was supposed to indicate he was ready to listen to her response.

Inhaling, Karina smiled again in an effort to keep a pleasant face. “No, it’s more of a pet project. I inherited a lot of paintings and I don’t have room in my apartment to display them all so I figured this would be the best way to share the pieces that I didn’t want to donate.”

The whole time, Daniel was nodding enthusiastically. Karina thought he looked like a little bobblehead. “Wow, that’s a great idea. I’ll…just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help out.”

“Sure,” Karina noticed that she had subconsciously made her way towards the door, “I’ll do that.”

Once Daniel had left, Karina scrunched her mouth into a frown, wondering why he had come in the first place. The visit hadn’t scared her, she didn’t feel threatened, but still she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Making her way back towards the office, Karina found that she was having a difficult time concentrating again. Instead, she found herself wandering the space, seeking inspiration or motivation in any form. When she heard the door chime again, she actually jumped this time.

“Hey,” Leon spoke softly as always, but his voice was now more soothing to her ears. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Karina beamed a smile at him and kissed his cheek before wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest. “No, it’s ok. I just wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“I thought you might like some lunch.” He winked as he held up a picnic basket with a blanket folded on top, causing Karina to laugh.

“Did you really put all this together?” Karina took the blanket and gave it a shake to unfold it before taking a step closer to kiss Leon again.

With a sly little grin, he shook his head. “Nope. One of the chefs at the club was very nice and set it up for me. We’ve got sandwiches and some sort of cucumber salad.”

Karina began unpacking the basket, pulling out its contents. When she got to the sandwiches, both wrapped in brown butcher paper, Karina handed the one marked with an “L” to Leon but immediately laughed when she found the other one wasn’t marked with an initial but instead had a little drawing of a mouse on it. “You’re too much, do you know that?”

“I do.” Leon looked very pleased with himself, but Karina couldn’t decide if she wanted to chide him or reward him for his cheek.

Leon continued to smile. “But you love me anyway.”

“I do.” Karina mimicked his initial response before she crawled closer to give him a kiss. “How long do I have you before the club takes you away again?”

Pressing his lips together, Leon hesitated. “Four days. Then I’ll be gone for about a week.”

“I guess that’s not so bad.” She rested her chin on her hand and pretended to pout. “Thank you for coming home early.”

Leon gave a little nod. “I told you it was as much for me as it was for you.”

When their lunch was wrapping up, Leon glanced around. “How much more were you wanting to get done today?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Karina sighed. “I’ll probably just measure the walls and then I can figure out where I want to hang everything at home. I was thinking of calling Jannis to see if he wanted to display some of his pictures here, just to get things started, you know?”

Leon leaned forward and kissed Karina’s forehead. “That’s really sweet of you. I was thinking, what if we went to the big house for a couple of days. I can train in the gym there since I don’t have to report for a few more days and there’s the pool so it won’t be as hot and we won’t have to deal with any interruptions.”

“I’ll have to talk to Nena but I can probably rearrange my work schedule. It would be nice to go hide in the woods.” Karina laughed at that, imagining the two of them huddle in a cave instead of lounging around a house that could almost be considered a palace instead.

Karina locked everything up and they met back at their apartment. Leon beat her home and she arrived, she found him lounging on the sofa with his legs dangling over the arm. With a laugh, she motioned for him to sit up so she could join him. Leon moved just enough and then when Karina sat down, he rested his head on her lap.

“I called Olga and told her to expect us tomorrow morning.” Karina instantly began to run her fingers through Leon’s hair. “Sound good?”

Eyes closed, Leon let out a little sigh. “Sounds perfect. What do you want to do tonight? See a movie? Go out for dinner?”

“Is Serge seeing anyone right now?” Karina gazed up at the ceiling, a pensive expression on her face.

Leon opened his eyes, trying to get some idea as to how that answered his question. “No, why?”

“I was just thinking it might be nice to set him up with Isabella.” Looking down at him now, she continued to play with his hair. “We could get them both out for dinner with us.”

“I don’t even think Serge is home right now. I mean, yeah, we could do that, but not tonight.” Leon stood and stretched his arms above his head. “How about Sophia’s?”

“I do like the idea of not cooking tonight.” Karina held her hands out for Leon to help her up. As soon as he did so, Leon pulled her against him, wrapping his arm around her waist.

They stayed that way for a bit before Leon slid his hands down and gave Karina’s backside a squeeze. “Go start getting ready and I’ll call for a table.”

Rummaging through her wardrobe, Karina found her white eyelet lace dress. It was just cool enough for the unseasonable heat but also not too casual. By then, Leon had changed into a pair of navy shorts and a white oxford shirt and was getting ready to tie his brown boat shoes when Karina asked him to zip the back of her dress.

After she pulled half of her hair up into a topknot, Karina tugged on Leon’s elbow so that he was standing next her in her full length mirror. “You know, sir, you do clean up nicely.”

“Is that why you married me?” Leon kissed her temple before fastening his watch.

Karina grabbed her clutch and followed him out of the bedroom, giving him a quick swat on his rear. “Among other reasons.”

Leon continued to walk towards the front door, but spoke over his shoulder. “Don’t start with me, Maus or we’ll never get out of here.”

Once they were seated, Karina looked up from her menu and grinned at Leon.

“What?” He laughed. “That look is usually when you’re thinking something ridiculous.”

Karina just shrugged. “I was just thinking I’m happy that they provide an a la cart menu because I came here with my parents once and they tried to serve me octopus.”

“I’m sure that went over well.” Leon smirked, his dry sense of humor sometimes cracked when he was around Karina.

“Yeah, I didn’t eat the main course that day.” She flipped the page. “I might get the-”

“Chicken?” Leon raised an eyebrow.

Karina pretended to frown as Leon finished her sentence. “Am I that predictable?”

“Just your palate, Mausi.” He gently nudged her foot under the table. “When you don’t eat pork, beef, or most other meats, your options can be limited.”

Sitting the menu down on her plate, she playfully tipped her head in defiance. “And what are you getting, the adventurous eater that you are?”

“The tuna.” Leon smiled before adding a wink.

Karina shook her head and laughed as she covered her eyes, her cheeks blushing to a bright pink.

Leon was genuinely stumped as to what prompted that reaction. “What? What did I say?”

“Nothing.” Karina sighed as she caught her breath. “It just hits me every so often that I am hopelessly in love with you.”

This time he nodded. “I know. I am absolutely in love with you too, Karina.”

When Leon awoke the next morning, he wasn’t surprised that the other side of the bed was empty. Karina had an internal clock that prevented her from sleeping in on most days and Elsa had come to count on an early morning stroll because of it. He stayed in bed for a few more minutes until he saw Karina walking back and forth from the kitchen wearing one of his sleeveless shirts and a pair of boyshort underwear. The sleeve holes were large enough that when Karin lifted her arms to get something from the cabinet, the side of her breast was clearly visible. Leon felt a familiar tingle in the pit of his belly and laughed to himself, hoping that the day would never come when he wasn’t turned on by his wife.

“Good morning, beautiful.” Leon called out from bed.

“Hello, sir.” Karina strode in and sat on the edge of the bed before she leaned in to kiss him. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

With a yawn, Leon shook his head. “I was just enjoying the view.”

Leon reached out and stroked the curve of her breast with his index finger before giving her nipple a pinch.

“Ow!” Karina laughed as she shrunk back.”

Sitting up straighter, Leon stretched. “You wanted to leave soon, didn’t you.”

“As soon as you’re ready.” Karina stood and pulled out his duffle bag. “Now start packing because I cannot wait to spend two days with you in the middle of nowhere, pleasantly drunk, and stuffing myself full of Olga’s food.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Leon stood and started to help Karina pack. “How can I resist.”

[the-moon-and-stars-my-love]

Imperio

As the trial commenced, the trial wizard took his place behind the raised table. When he spoke, his voice carried through the trial chamber. “Bellatrix Lestrange, you are charged with the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom.”

He had just opened his mouth to speak again when a soft voice cut in. “But I didn’t torture them.” The statement seemed to echo in the chamber despite how quietly it had been said. All eyes went to the witch who had spoken. She stood in a cage in the center of the room, her black hair had escaped from whatever topknot it had been in and was now fanned around her, acting as a dark shadow around her face as she stepped closer to the bars. Her fingers curled around the metal, but she didn’t dare reach out. The occasional shimmer of protective magic around her cage prevented her from doing anything. Well, most anything.

“I beg your pardon?” the wizard sputtered, blinking in confusion. He hadn’t been expecting her to speak at all during this trial. It unnerved him.

Bellatrix’s lips curled up ever so slightly at the left corner, nearly a sneer, but her voice remained as soft and innocent as ever. “I didn’t torture either of them.”

A soft murmur of confusion broke out amongst the witches and wizards in the chamber. The Aurors had been sure it was her who tortured Alice and Frank Longbottom to insanity by use of the Cruciatus. They had captured her in the middle of the act. Frank and Alice barely managed to survive the encounter. The wizard called for silence and slowly the conversation tapered out. “Mrs. Lestrange-”

“Bellatrix.”

He paused, swallowing nervously as he made eye contact with her. Those eyes. It was like staring into black holes. They seemed to devour any strength the wizard might have had. “Bellatrix. Are you saying you have evidence otherwise?”

“No. I’m saying you’ve gotten it all wrong. Here, let me tell you what happened…”

Read the rest on ao3 or under the cut

-----

“You know,” Bellatrix began, lazily twisting a piece of her hair around with her wand from where she leaned with her back against the bedroom wall. “I always hated being told I had to act a certain way growing up. Polite and elegant. Dignified and reserved and ever so slightly coy. The perfect daughter.” She punctuated the statement with a little curtsy, pretending to gag once she pushed off the wall, dropping her arm and swishing her wand around absentmindedly. She took a long look around the room, feeling a content sort of calm settle in her chest as noted the unmade bed, the frames that had been knocked over on the dresser, the jackets that had fallen off the chair by the desk in the corner.

“Can you imagine? Me? Like that?” she continued after a moment with an overdramatic shudder, taking slow steps over to where Frank Longbottom sat, gagged and bound to a chair by his hands and legs. “No thank you. Never had the patience for it.”

She noted with delight that Alice Longbottom’s eyes grew more panicked as she followed Bellatrix’s movement. The blond woman was across the room, sat bound and gagged in a similar manner as Frank. She tugged at her bonds, an invisible barrier keeping her from moving the chair and therefore continuing to restrain her.

“I will say, though, one very good thing came out of that. Do you know what that is?” Bellatrix hardly paused as she went on, dropping her wandless hand onto Frank’s shoulder and glancing back at Alice. “I was taught the phrase ‘ladies first’ and that a gentleman will always act with this in mind. Isn’t that fun!”

“Now, from what I’ve heard, Frank here is the perfect gentleman. Why, with a face like that, I can certainly imagine he must treat you as a well as a pure-blood deserves,” Bellatrix carried on in a cooing voice. Her fingers danced along his shoulder, nails dragging along his neck, before she gripped Frank by the jaw, squeezing as she shook his face ever so slightly. “You’re rather marvelous, aren’t you, Frankie? Shame your talents were squandered.” With a deep sigh, she placed a kiss to his temple and then pushed his face away.

Her eyes snapped over to Alice when she heard her distressed outrage, muffled by the cloth in her mouth. “Oh, don’t worry, Alice. I wouldn’t dare take him away from you. No, you two are much too good together. And you love each other so very much, don’t you?” Bellatrix hummed, shooting Alice a playful wink. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Frank shaking his head as if desperately trying to get Alice to stop drawing attention to herself. As though, if he could keep Bellatrix’s attention, Alice might have a chance to get away. It was a sweet thought, though horribly incorrect.

Bellatrix chuckled softly, as she stepped towards the bed and plopped herself down, legs crossed and arms holding her up. Head tilted, she glanced between Frank and Alice. They seemed to be trying to communicate silently, their eyes practically screaming as they tried to formulate a plan to escape. In truth, Bellatrix found it amusing. When she had been told she was supposed to take care of the Longbottoms by any means necessary and to be prepared because they were a powerful witch and wizard, Bellatrix had been expecting more. Maybe more protection spells. That they wouldn’t let their guard down no matter what. Though, Bellatrix thought, she had cheated a bit, casting the Imperius curse on a child and using him to gain access to the Longbottoms’ home. Still, it was their own fault. So trusting.

She admired how courageously they had fought her, throwing spell after spell without pause. They clearly worked well together and, though she loathed to admit it, they very nearly overpowered her. But they had slipped up when Bellatrix had locked Frank in a Full Body-Bind curse and Alice had hesitated between cursing Bellatrix and saving Frank which had given Bellatrix the chance to curse her as well. Their desperate attempts to save each other had been their downfall.

“Love is such a funny thing, isn’t it?” Bellatrix said after a long minute of the Longbottoms’ silent communication. Both of them glanced over at Bellatrix, their chests giving them away as their breathing seemed to stutter in fright at her voice.

Bellatrix had always had a soft voice. One that was shockingly different to what people expected from her. It had the strangest musical lilt to it, so it pulled people in, forced them to listen to her. And her eyes. There was a misleading softness to them when she spoke, making people unsure if she was mocking them or was honestly being gentle. She spoke in a way that was truthfully more terrifying than if she were to simply be yelling at you. It made the moments when she did snap all the more impactful. A rumbling lightning storm. You almost didn’t know what to expect.

This is what made the Longbottom’s hold their breath as they watched Bellatrix stand, moving over to the nightstand where she had placed their wands earlier. Picking them up, she made her way back to stand in front of the bed once more. With a lazy flick of her wand, Bellatrix brough the two chairs in front of her, keeping them a meter apart from each other. Bending down, she placed their wands just in front of them and stood up, looking between them curiously.

“You know, I never did like the Cruciatus curse,” she said, head tilting as she examined their faces. She didn’t speak again until she saw their faces twitch, both their eyes flickering back and forth between Bellatrix’s face and her wand which seemed to be emitting a soft glow at the tip. Once she saw the traces of uncertainty and fear in their eyes, she smiled. A small smile with a sort of twisted amusement.

“It’s quite difficult to turn someone mad like that,” she explained quietly, her fingers gently tapping against her wand. She waited another few beats, listening to their heavy breathing and the slight creaks of the chairs as they tried again, pathetically, she noted with disappointment, to get out of their binds one more time.

Bellatrix raised her wand and looked at them closely before saying, with a subtle excitement nearly creeping into her voice, “Imperio.”

As the curse was cast, she watched their eyes go wide and their bodies tense before, a moment later, their eyes glazed over and their shoulders dropped. Bellatrix lowered her wand slowly, eyebrows lifting ever so slightly as she let out a breath of laughter, her eyes going back and forth between Frank and Alice. This was one of her favorite parts. Amazement colored her face and her lips quirked up once more, pleased, as she realized the curse was holding. Two in one go. Powerful witch and wizard indeed.

She let herself delight for a few moments before she leaned forward, waving her once more to remove the cloth from their mouths and freeing them from their binds. Bellatrix could feel the rush of control run through her as she spoke her first command. “Now, why don’t you two...have a little fun?”

------

And with a lazy sort of nonchalance that sent a shiver down the spine of each person in the trial chamber, Bellatrix said, “So, like I’ve just told you. I didn’t torture the Longbottoms.”

Bellatrix gazed around at the witches and wizards in the chamber, their faces all mirroring the horror they felt as they listened to Bellatrix telling them what she had done. What she had made Frank and Alice Longbottom do. And when no one in the room spoke, Bellatrix went on, leaning her forehead against the cool bars of the cage and speaking just above a whisper as if confiding in them. “I think we bonded in the end, the Longbottoms and I. But when they saw what they had done to each other…” Bellatrix paused, taking a breath as she remembered their faces, “they were so sad. So in the end, it wasn’t the curse that turned them insane. It’s sort of lovely.” In the silence, Bellatrix’s soft laughter seemed as loud as the rumble of a storm.

Inspired by a series of asks (x x x) answered by @sirussly