#his voice has aged like a fine wine. do it. you won’t regret it at all

[serafimo]

ramin karimloo as the phantom of the opera again WHEN

[ladybugmeat]

7.

THE PARDONER’S TALE

I remember the tough buttons on mobile phones that, like unripe fruit, fought to be pressed.

I remember good drink and how it licked my tonsils and stuck in my throat like hot glue.

I remember hands that would tremble like the wings on a moth.

I remember the passing coffin with its gauze of white chiffon you could see right through.

I remember the exact moment Dave turned to me and said I wasn’t drunk or dreaming.

I remember the exact moment Death looked like my sleeping body.

I remember that once I sat up, Dave said that it would be after him or I sooner or later.

I remember that someone or other once said ‘I intend to live forever or die trying.’

I remember, in a churchyard a mile from here, a broad oak tree along from where the suited-boys lunched.

I remember there was a day, stood at its foot, I found a bushel of pound coins.

I remember finding it wholly enchanting how its trunk made a hollow to rest my head.

I remember Dave insisted that I pick up a six-pack of K-ciders and two Cornish pasties.

I remember that the day’s light was stiflingly blue with potential.

I remember the jangle of coins would send me to choke on my own breath.

I remember Dave insisted I leave quickish.

I remember he had a strange look in his eyes.

I remember that I didn’t like the way he kept counting the coins and then counting them again.

I remember the tinny muzak in the off-licence and how it made me do a terrible thing.

I remember the opaque bottle of cough syrup and how the brown liquid mixed seamlessly with cider.

I remember that someone or other once said ‘I intend to live forever or die trying.’

I remember that I approached him with no guilt, only joy.

I remember that Death moved faster than I had anticipated.

I remember the white blade of Dave’s knife and how it sunk into my stomach as if it were warm cake.

I remember how the open cider washed through the open wound.

I remember that Dave was Death and Dave was Avarice.

I remember you should dial 999 for an ambulance.

I remember the tough buttons on mobile phones that, like unripe fruit, fought to be pressed.

[Through emulating the form of Joe Brainard’s ‘I Remember’, there is the effect of Janus - The ancient Roman God who summons both past and present. Segueing between desire, regret, and anecdote, the speaker’s voice is panoptic. The Pardoner’s Tale depicts ‘The Three Rioters’ who decide to find Death and slay him. This fictive tale of glutton is overlayed with the drunken meditations of those pictured.]

THE PLIGHT OF THE PARSON

Finns Black is 630 years old today. His speech has the same delay as the street’s pipes. There was a patina of age that kept his thoughts private for a good moment after one expected him to speak. And when he did, a person would often make their excuses to catch the first bus. Pulling the chaser of Cherry Wine from his lips, Finns Black restrung the four folds in his brow. His words were simple. Jesus was the only way. It was a fine rhetoric - fully complete, a constrictor knot.

Out in the street, young crowds jeered when Finns Black passed. He took refuge in a narrow cafe where people were too busy eating slim sausage stew to see what he saw. The waitress looked upon him kindly. She pulled his bike inside and parked it in the cloakroom. ‘Are you interested in giving your life to Christ?’ Finns Black touched her arm before she could leave his table. The woman handed Finns Black a cigarette and a lighter. ‘You don’t have to pretend Finns. I have a pack for you upstairs in my locker. Wait around later and I’ll get you them.’

Finns Black watched the heavy blonde waitress pull the cafe shutters shut. Walking towards him, she held out the blue striped Benson and Hedges. ‘You do know that you won’t reach the Celestial City if you don’t give yourself to Christ…’ Finns Black lit a cigarette. The woman looked at him and smiled.

[Within Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, ‘The Parsons Tale’ is an arduous renounciation of sin. I have taken the Parson’s character and transformed him into a disenchanted figure of contemporary life. Contrast to Chaucer’s Parson, Finns Black is fallible, vulnerable, and scared.]

[writing-wh0re]

October 7th. Kinky Halloween Special Masterlist

Kink: Daddy

Au!Fred x Reader.

Words: 2,524.

Warnings: Smut18+, Unprotected Sex, Female Performing Oral, Male Performing Oral, Dirty Talk, Daddy Dom Fred, Praise. Best-friends Dad (Age Gap) 

*Nova is my own character. 

The moment Nova had suggested that I tag along with her for the summer and stay at her dad’s lake house, I couldn’t refuse. I was so excited. 

One, the lake house is in the prime location, bars are within walking distance, the pool is immaculate and the view was something else all together. 

Two, Nova’s dad, Fred. 

God Fred was the definition of Dilf. 

The first time I noticed my school girl crush was Nova’s 21st birthday. Fred had booked out a private Yacht and invited most of the people from our classes. It was sweet and probably the happiest I have seen Nova. However, I spent most of the night at the top of the Yacht drinking and joking around with Fred, both of us wanting to escape the crowd. That night solidified my crush for the older man, especially the second his fingertips brushed my knee which caused my skin to erupt with goosebumps and my breath to catch in my throat. I could have sworn Fred’s eyes lingered on my cleavage a little too much that night but I’m sure it was the alcohol swirling through my veins. 

“Ready?” Nova’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, her suitcase behind her. 

“Definitely.” I confirm zipping my case and following Nova out of our dorm, excitement and nervous bubbling inside of me. 

\\//

Nova pushes the large dark wood door open, the smell of cinnamon and apple filling the air, light chatter bouncing off the walls. 

“I think my uncle is here.” Nova mumbles, leaving her suitcase on the ground and walking through the house. I follow her lead, ditching my suitcase and taking in the beautifully styled home. 

“Hey Dad, uncle George.” 

I almost faint on the spot, there’s Fred and a literal duplicate of Fred.

“Uh Dad you remember Y/n, George this is my best friend Y/n.” I smile weakly at the pair as George smiles at me.

“Good to see you again Y/n.” Fred smiles, I notice George side eye Fred quickly raising his eyebrows before taking a sip of his drink. Fred simply smirks, nodding softly, his eyes lingering on me before darting over to Nova. I frown my eyebrows together trying to understand what they are silently talking about, surely not me. I shake the thought from my head, of course two grown men haven't been talking about me, especially not my best friend's dad. Get it together Y/n. 

“So, what do you have planned for this summer?” George asks, his eyes flicking between Nova and I. 

“Definitely hitting the bars, soaking in the sun and maybe finding a man or two.” Nova winks as she hands me a glass of wine. 

“A man?” Fred questions. 

“Or two?” George questions both of them laughing at each other. 

“It's summer, why not have a little fun?” The second the words leave my lips I feel a blush creep upon my face, Fred and George both chuckling in response. 

“Maybe we should go have some summer fun Freddie.” George smirks causing Nova to gag slightly. 

“Right, that's our cue to leave.” Nova mumbles quickly downing the rest of her glass and walking back inside the house. 

“Uh.” The heat returns to my body as I get left alone with Fred and George. I leave my glass on the table in front of me and walk inside the house, once inside I turn back to take in Fred’s appearance one last time. My breath hitches in my throat and butterflies erupt inside of me as our eyes lock together. I hurriedly look away and rush through the house to get ready for the night with Nova. 

Coincidence. Just a simple Coincidence. 

\\// 

Nova and I had been dancing for hours, the music thumped through my chest, the alcohol flowed through my veins and my mind kept wandering to Fred, curious as to what he is doing right now. 

“Hey, this is Tom and we’re getting out of here.” Nova squeals excitedly, pulling a blonde guy behind her before I even have a chance to respond. 

“Seriously?” I yell, my voice falling silent over the sound of the music. I follow behind the pair, hoping to catch Nova and ask if she is seriously leaving me in the club right now. 

“Hey!” 

Nova’s body disappears into a cab before she has the chance to hear me. 

“Fuck.” I huff, the cool breeze hitting my exposed skin. Only a three minute walk back to the house, I tell myself. I quickly check the time, 11:45pm, Fred will definitely be asleep and won’t question Nova’s hodiny act. 

The walk back was quick and almost claiming. The sound of the wind blowing in the trees, owls hooting and the crispy moon light shining along the streets. 

The walk back to the house had definitely sobered me up, now fully aware of how loud my heels are against the pavement. I decide to slip my heels off before walking on the wooden deck, not wanting to disturb Fred. I search through my bag, trying to find the house key but coming up empty handed. 

“Fuck you Nova.” I mumble, slightly lifting up the doormat with my foot in hopes of a spare key, but no luck. Right as I’m about to walk around the back and sleep on the deck chairs the door pulls open. 

Fred and George both laugh and continue their conversation before their eyes land on me. 

“Oh Y/n, hello again.” George smiles. 

“Um, hey.” I smile back. My eyes quickly flick to Fred his toned chest on full display and loose grey sweatpants hanging on his hips. 

“Everything okay? You’re missing Nova.” Fred asks, slight worry filling his voice. 

“Yeah no, everything is fine, Nova is making her summer fun with Tom?” I question wondering if I should even be telling her father and uncle this. 

The twins laugh at my question, both shaking their heads. 

“Well I will see you later, nice meeting you y/n.” George smiles, “Enjoy your summer Freddie.” George’s eyes look me up and down before he walks past me, the sound of his car unlocking in the near distance. 

“Excuse me.” I mumble pushing past Fred as he stands in the doorway, I quickly drop my shoes with the others at the door, wanting to rush away to my room. 

“So why aren’t you out making your summer fun with a guy?” 

I feel my mouth go dry at his question, how do I answer this without saying it’s because of you dumbass. 

“The guy’s I typically go for aren’t hanging around at clubs.” Fred raises his eyebrow, his eyes flicking from my lips and back to my eyes. 

“What kind of guys do you go for?” 

Now's your chance, say it's him, if it goes badly act super drunk and blame it on that. I take a deep breath after listening to the internal battle with myself. 

“Guys that choose to stay in with their brothers and drink.” The moment the sentence flows through the air, my cheeks heat up, both with nerves and regret. 

Fred smirks, licking his lips before walking towards me. I back away from him slightly before my back hits the wall. 

“Is that so? Darling, I'm old enough to be your father” 

“That has never been an issue for me… daddy.” 

Fred groans before locking his lips with mine. I moan into the kiss, the sweet taste of cinnamon whiskey on his tongue as our tongues fight for dominance. His hands roam my body, falling to the middle of my back and pulling me flush against his chest. My fingers lace in his hair, tugging on the strands. 

“This is wrong.” I pant, pulling away from the kiss as our chests rise and fall. 

“Say the word and I stop.” Fred’s eyes search mine for any hesitation before I close the gap between us. His hands fall to my thighs picking me up in one swift motion and slowly walking us to his bedroom. My red dress hikes up my thighs with every step closer to the room, my black lace panties on full display. I pull my lips away from Fred’s kissing down his neck before discovering his sweet spot. His fingers grip my ass tight, moans falling from his lips. 

A surprised squeal escapes me as Fred drops me on his bed, his eyes lingering on my body. Before he has the chance to ask me I pull my dress from my skin, leaving me in just my panties, thankful that my dress didn’t require a bra. 

“Jesus.” Fred steps back, taking in the sight of me half naked and under him, egar for him. 

“Daddy please.” The nickname causes his eyes to roll back slightly, a low sigh passing his lips as he cages me in against the mattress, kissing my lips before trailing kisses down my neck towards my boobs. I arch my back causing my nipple to press against his tongue more, his teeth pulling at the hardening nub. 

“Yes, daddy.” 

Fred smirks, chuckling as the slight vibration rumbles against my skin. 

“I’ve barely touched you babygirl, look at you, so needy and eager for me.” 

“Only you.” 

My words pull yet another chuckle from his lips. Fred’s fingertips trail along the waistband on my panties causing a shiver to run down my spine. He leans down over my body, his warm breath fanning against my neck. 

“Get on your knees.” Within a second I am on my knees looking up at him. “Fuck, such a good girl.” 

I softly nod in response, my hand palming his evident erection through his sweatpants. Fred hisses at the contact before ridding himself of the clothing. 

A whimper escapes me at the sight of his hard cock. Longer and thicker than I had imagined but everything I need. 

Without being asked I take his dick in my hand, pumping up and down as I lightly swirl my tongue around the head. 

“Yes baby.” Fred’s fingers loop in my hair, holding it out of the way to ensure he gets the perfect view of his cock disappearing into my throat. I bob my head up and down his length, my tongue swirling and my cheeks hollowing out. Fred’s cock leaves my lips with a pop, he grabs his dick and slowly slides it up and down my tongue moaning at the sight. 

“Fucking perfect.” My eyes roll back at the praise, arousal leaking down my thighs and my mind hoping this isn’t some twisted dream. 

Fred pulls me up by my arms, his lips finding mine again in a hungry kiss. His fingertips brush against my clothed pussy before slipping past the fabric and rubbing my swollen clit. I hiss at the contact, Fred moans at the feeling of my wetness. 

“Daddy’s girl likes sucking dick huh?” 

“Makes her little pussy drip?” 

“Does my princess touch herself to the thought of me?” 

I meekly nod in response not wanting the pleasure to stop, however Fred stops his movements causing me to whimper. 

“Daddy asked you a question darling, do you think of me when you cum?” 

“Y-yes.” 

“Good girl.” He presses a quick kiss to the side of my head before he pushes me back onto the bed, ripping the panties from my skin. His tongue presses flat against my clit as I sigh with pleasure and surprise. 

“Daddy.” 

Fred hums against my pussy, swirling his tongue in a figure eight motion as my fingers grip the bed sheets. Fred continues to lap at my cunt, savouring the taste before his hands find mine, lacing our fingers together. 

“Fuck.” I moan as I look down at Fred, his eyes catching mine while swiping his tongue side to side. 

“Yes, fuck, oh I’m close.” I regret saying the words the second Fred pulls away from me. 

“No baby, you’re cumming on my cock.” Butterflies fill my stomach at his words, truly hoping this is really happening. 

Fred lays down next to me on the bed, grabbing my hips and guiding me to straddle his waist. His hand falls behind my neck, our lips meet in a brief kiss before being broken by my moans. Fred slides inside of me, stretching my walls perfectly. 

“So big daddy.” My fingernails drag down his chest earning a hiss from his lips. After a few seconds of adjusting to his size I rock my hips back and forth, keeping my hands placed on his chest for balance. 

“Beautiful.” Blush fills my cheeks at his praise, his soft hands rubbing up and down my sides. I keep my rhythm, every now and again swirling my hips for a different sensation, one that pulls the most delicious moans from his lips. Fred’s hands grip my ass, spanking the supple skin as I cry out in pleasure. 

“Is this what you like, baby? Taking control and fucking daddy?” I hum in response as my eyes flutter closed basking in the feeling of his cock hitting my g-spot. Fred’s hands move to my back, flipping us over as I gasp. 

“Only I can make you feel this good.” 

My lips part and my eyes squeeze shut at the new angle. Fred’s resting on his knees with my legs against his chest, ankles resting on his shoulders, his hands groping my boobs. 

“Look at you squirming on my cock, ruining you for any other man.” 

“God daddy yes.” 

“You’re mine.” 

“Only yours daddy.” 

Fred grunts at my response, his pace picking up as he starts to rub fast circles on my clit. 

“Yes!” I cry out, my pussy clenching around him. “Just like that.” 

“You cum when I say.” 

I huff, digging my nails into the comforter as I scream and cry out. 

“Daddy please, please let me cum.” 

Fred grunts, licking his lips.

“Mmm hold it for me.” 

My eyes roll back as my back arches off the mattress. 

“Daddy, please!” 

I feel Fred’s cock twitch inside of me, a deep moan filling the air. 

“Fucking cum for me Y/n.” 

A shiver runs down my spine, my body tenses as Fred’s name passes my lips. My mind feels foggy and my vision blurs. Fred grips my legs, his hips faltering as his hot release fills me. 

Fred pulls out of me, both of us sighing, our chests rising and falling, sweat glistening on our bodies. 

“Thank you.” I blurt out, feeling tiredness wash over me. 

“No need to thank me Darling.” He places a soft kiss to my lips as I feel my eyelids get heavier, not even bothering to move as sleep envelops me. 

\\//

I wake up the next morning to the sun shining through the blinds. Instantly everything floods back from last night. I quickly lift up the bedsheets, my naked body confirming that it wasn’t just a dream. 

“Morning.” Fred mumbles, his morning voice sending wetness straight to my pussy. 

“Morning.” I whisper a goofy smile on my face. Fred pulls me into him, his nose brushing against mine before our lips meet in the middle. 

“Hey dad, have you see- WHAT THE FUCK?”

\\// 

Everything Tags: 

@hufflepuff5972

@28cnn

@lucymfer

@rory-cakes

@it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream

@gaycatlord-stuff

@mathletemadison

@horrorxweasley

@marrymetheonott

@maybesandohnos

@miraclesoflove

@cigarett3saftersex

@dlmmdl

@aayaissaa

@justfangirlthingies

@afraid-to-be-me

@midgardianweasley

@anonreaderasf

@i-love-scott-mccall

@teehopper

@missryerye

@alina02

@thehumanistsdiary

@thenaivegirly

@skarlettmikaelson

@bella-lxhp

@vanessalenrie

@strawbrryserena

@rocky-is-cool

@youreso-golden

@pottahishotasf

@ferretboysupremacy

@my-river-lilly

@hehehehannahthings

@sunshinexweasley

@calumisdaddyaf

@koshiyoshibaby

@fancy-pantaloons

@arabellelancastersstuff

@evieevergreen

@hauntedmilkshakeunknown

@rebeccaelizabeth

@georgiebaesgf

@stramm-bruder

@acciodignity

@h-anon97

@pandaxnienke

@gummybee12

@daedreamss

@pinkrockstar19

@wrongilbert

@toxickinkysoul

@anusha-swritings

@burned-dorito

[empressapprentice]

Arcana Headcanons: Infidelity + M6

I’m back with more headcanons, and will be sharing even more soon as I have more free time! My last batch was super sweet and fluffy, these are decidedly not. I’m doing these headcanons as character study exercises, and since the LIs are so devoted to you in-game, I wanted to think about what could possibly motivate them to cheat. Not all of these involve sex because I thought that certain characters would consider emotional interactions cheating on their partner. But warning for non-explicit sexual content for several of the M6--I’d say this is PG-13. These are kind of long, but I felt I needed some good exposition to set things up. I hate how much I enjoy angst :( Feedback and requests are always welcomed: if you hate it or love it, let me know why so I can improve! Plus, check out my Ao3 here, where I’ll be posting these as well.

Asra

Asra will never, ever regret giving up half his heart for you. But one night, he can’t sleep, feeling regret for the friendships and relationships he missed out on because it’s so difficult to form connections with others. He wishes that while he waited for you to recover from the resurrection, he’d been able to let others into his life.

He’s slept with people other than you (Julian, for one), but not since you woke up after the ritual. He realizes that he can’t remember any of his previous encounters. He completely forgot what anyone other than you feels like to hold and to touch.

The next day, he tells you that he wants to take a quick overnight trip to Nopal. With such late notice, you can’t tag along. He just wants to spend some time alone and actually get to know the villagers for once, intending to practice his social skills and break the cycle of isolation he unintentionally maintained with the people there.

When he sits around the fire, eating and sharing stories with the villagers, a handsome young man approaches him. He says that he’s always had a crush on the mysterious magician, but could tell that Asra was never open to getting to know anyone. Asra, remembering that he doesn’t know what it’s like to be close to someone else, starts flirting back. Before he knows it, his lips are brushing against the stranger’s.

The moment their lips meet, Asra pulls back sharply, overcome with guilt for betraying your trust. He shakily apologizes to the young man, saying he didn’t know what came over him. He runs back to his hut, gets on the Beast and travels back to Vesuvia as fast as possible. Faust comforts him as he sobs silently, thinking about never wanting to leave your arms again.

Nadia

Nadia is visiting a neighboring territory and sitting through a very, very boring dinner with dignitaries. She’s been away from Vesuvia for a week and anticipates having to stay for at least one more as negotiations drag on. She’s loath to admit it, but she’s lonely. The letters you’ve exchanged via Chandra only make the separation more painful.

So when a diplomat approaches her with questions about Vesuvia, she’s happy to have some company. She clearly admires Nadia quite a bit and compliments the work she’s done to turn Vesuvia around.

While basking in her companion’s kind words, she unconsciously moves closer to the other woman. It doesn’t take long for the conversation to become personal, moving away from professional networking. And even more quickly, the conversation becomes flirty. When Nadia moves her hand to touch the other woman, her intentions are clear. The diplomat is flattered, but hesitant, asking, “Aren’t you married?”

Nadia is momentarily stunned by the question, but refuses to lose her composure. The lie comes easily, from years of schmoozing fellow politicians. She replies that her marriage is open. The diplomat smiles, unaware of the shame pooling in Nadia’s core. She sheepishly invites the Countess back to her room.

Though the dinner is long over and the party moved into the sitting room for a digestif, many having already left, Nadia finds herself worried how it would look for the two of them to leave together. She hates herself for worrying more about appearances than you, but she’s been particularly hungry for the feel of a body next to her in bed and she’s frustrated at not being able to get what she wants for once. So, she agrees.

She excuses herself, saying that she must retire for the night, and waits a few moments for the diplomat to leave as well.

Nadia excuses herself after the shameful act, saying she must be in her own bed when servants come to wake her in the morning. She spends the rest of the night staring at her ceiling, vowing to never tell you about her indiscretion. You find out, of course, knowing your wife too well for her to hide that something’s wrong.

Julian

One night, he goes to the Rowdy Raven and is mid-tankard of Salty Bitters while animatedly telling the story of how he helped defeat the Devil. When he finishes weaving the tale, he heads back to the bar to another drink. Before he can get his coin purse to pay, an extremely attractive stranger tells Barth to put it on their tab--payment for the entertaining story.

Julian gratefully accepts, sliding into a seat to chat with the stranger. Whether consciously or unconsciously, Julian turns his charm up even more, wanting to make sure he keeps them entertained. They swap introductions, Julian’s natural tendency to call people affectionate names and his rakish attitude being interpreted as flirtation.

As the stranger returns the affection, Julian realizes what’s happening but doesn’t want to stop it. He’s practically glowing from the kind words flowing from the mouth of his new friend and is addicted to the feeling. A nagging voice tells him he should get back home to you, but it is quieted when the stranger moves closer to him, running a finger over his chest.

The stranger downs their drink and gets up abruptly. They tell Julian to finish his drink and meet them in the alley outside, with a cheeky comment about seeing what else his mouth could do thrown over their shoulder as they walk out the back of the tavern.

Julian’s breath catches at the thought of a clandestine alleyway quickie, and he can’t deny how appealing the idea seems to him. He stares at the drink remaining in his glass, fighting a mental war over whether to finish it quickly and run to the alley.

Barth approaches Julian, noticing he was about to finish his latest drink and anticipating a request for a refill. While waiting for Julian to finish, he makes light conversation with him. When he asks how you are doing, Julian bolts upright. His face reddens at the mention of your name, knowing he made a grave mistake even considering the stranger’s offer.

Julian leaves the rest of his drink untouched. He awkwardly gets up, says goodnight to Barth and hopes that he won’t run into the stranger when he exits the Raven out the front door. Mercifully, he doesn’t, but he might not have even noticed, he was so focused on getting back to you.

When he reaches the front door of the place you share, he’s sobbing. Even though it’s late, you are waiting up for him, knowing that he often needs you to offer him water and get him to eat some food after a night out. He falls on his knees before you, utterly broken by the kindness of you waiting to take care of him, and begs you to listen to him one last time. He tells you, again, that he is no good for you and it is inevitable he will break your heart. He confesses everything that happened at the bar, his voice breaking when he says how close he was to cheating on you. He admits in a small voice that he will never be worthy of you--despite all he’s changed, he’s always one step away from hurting you.

Lucio

Lucio is dressed in a new outfit, finely made and very flattering. He is about to attend a party at his estate in honor of the summer solstice. The last step in his pre-party ritual before joining you and making a grand entrance fashionably late is to admire himself in the mirror. He poses and struts in front of it, hyping himself up for the night, but stopping short as he notices a grey hair in his meticulously coiffed style.

Moving closer to the mirror, he is horrified that several other grey hairs have popped out since the last time he dyed his hair, not long ago. Stepping back, he frantically tries to change the style to hide them, shrieking as he realizes the wrinkles on his forehead are deeper than he remembers. The time-honored ritual, which has never failed to put him in the right mindset for a night of socialization, has only made him more self-conscious about his age than ever.

He starts pacing around his room, heels clicking and mind racing. He feels a strange sense of longing for his old life, when he had no responsibilities and never worried about the consequences of his actions. He’s old now, and he wishes for the freedom and stupidity of youth.

When he makes the grand entrance with you at the party, his heart isn’t really in it. He immediately heads for a servant, demanding a glass of hard liquor instead of his usual sparkling wine. One glass turns into several, and it’s not long before he’s very intoxicated. You see Lucio drinking more than usual, but you keep getting distracted by guests and can’t figure out what’s going on with him.

Once he’s drunk enough to not care about anything--just as he intended--he makes eye contact with an attractive woman in a slinky gown and winks. His rough flirting works, as the woman comes up to him. He feels a mixture of pride and shame that he’s still attractive and powerful enough to draw someone in with nothing more than a wink.

They chat briefly, but they both know Lucio desires more than conversation and the guest is more than willing to oblige. He takes the woman’s hand, leading her to an alcove far away from the party and they begin to make out. Soon his pants are at his ankles and they’re doing far more than kissing. It’s rough, messy and fast, exactly the thing he would have done in his life before he got the plague and before you.

The woman leaves him panting when they’ve both finished. His stomach drops as he realizes that this cheap attempt at feeling young again only made him feel worse. He realizes with a start that he jeopardized the thing that actually fulfills him and makes him truly happy.

Muriel

Muriel dislikes social interactions with pretty much everyone, especially strangers. How could he possibly cheat on you when he can hardly stand to spend time around his friends?

But as he becomes more comfortable with being around people, he starts spending time around the Palace. Usually, he’s waiting for you to finish your duties with Nadia so he can walk you home or go back to the shop for dinner, but sometimes he comes early so he can spend a quiet moment in the gardens.

The more time he spends at the Palace, befriending some of Lucio’s poorly-behaved albino animals and trying to train them, the more time he spends with a certain servant determined to befriend him.

At first, they don’t even catch his attention, he’s so used to tuning other people out. But this servant notices his gentle nature and sometimes brings him some water or tea and a pastry while he’s sitting by the fountain. They claim that they’ve been trained to always serve the needs of their guests, but they’re mostly interested in getting Muriel to open up.

After several weeks of Muriel becoming used to the servant and accepting that they can be trusted, he begins exchanging a few words with them beyond a grunted thanks for the refreshments. The way the servant approaches him reminds him of you and he finds he doesn’t mind light conversation to entertain him and distract him from Lucio’s pets.

One day, he realizes with a start that he not only trusts the servant and enjoys their company, but that he finds them attractive. He panics, not knowing how to tell you. He feels so ashamed of himself for letting someone new in and he’s never felt attracted to someone like this before, other than with you. He’s confused on how to handle his feelings and how he should tell you, if at all.

He confesses the situation to Asra before going to you. Asra is very kind and supportive, saying that it is natural to find other people attractive and that it’s a good sign that he is willing to let a stranger befriend him. But Muriel can’t shake the idea that he’s done wrong by you and refuses to come back to the gardens.

Portia

Given how much Portia likes secrets and romance stories, I think a part of her would love the idea of a sneaky romance. Portia is a deeply practical person, but there are times where she can get carried away with romanticism. The thrill of getting away with it and using her knowledge of the secret passages in the Palace, etc. to hide a tryst holds some appeal to her, but she’d feel ashamed of even fantasizing about it.

She has to work on the first night of the Masquerade after the events of the game due to her new responsibilities at the Palace. Out of solidarity, you work too, creating real-time magical spectacles to surprise guests. To keep up the aesthetic, you’re both still wearing costumes and masks.

While Portia is in the ballroom, she’s fretting over the floral displays and a heavily intoxicated person knocks into her, sending the vase flying. Before Portia can even react, she falls into strong arms, rescuing her from the splashing water and strewn flowers. She turns to thank the stranger, and they say she can express her gratitude by granting them a dance. In the spirit of the Masquerade, she accepts.

She and the stranger twirl around the dance floor to a fast-paced song. The stranger is a fantastic dancer and leads Portia through the steps flawlessly. They end the song by dipping her low. The music switches to a slow ballad while the lights dim. Still breathless, the stranger pulls Portia close, and she loses herself in the moment. The ambiance is incredible, and kissing a gorgeous masked stranger at a ball could not be more storybook-perfect. Their lips touch, until a swirl of magical energy brushes her and she remembers you. She steps back from the stranger and runs off, forgetting about her duties, the flowers on the ground and the rest of the Masquerade. She feels horrible about kissing someone other than you but can’t shake the smug pleasure deep inside her that loves her fairytale romance coming to life.

[goldencuffs]

persuasion

@lamenweek day six: auguste lives au

It’s four-thirty on a Wednesday, and Damen is exhausted, worn down and irritated over the fact that he’s still stuck in the gym storage room, sorting through eight boxes of equipment.

The year seven kid in here with him, Peter, is slow and mullish: he’s only here because Huet gave him detention for not doing his homework for the third week in a a row.

Damen is here because his entire faculty is incompetent. These boxes were supposed to be unpacked a month ago, at the start of the term, but after Kallias walked out, things have been… hectic, to say the least.

In the stifling heat, Peter’s odour is unpleasant, because he’s thirteen, and thirteen year old boys reek.

Damen is seriously considering telling him to leave, but the extra pair of hands, no matter how small and slow, are still better than nothing.

Then, Damen hears the squeak of trainers across the shiny linoleum floor, and a tall, slim figure leans against the doorway, arms crossed.

Damen bites back a sigh, his irritation spiking.

Laurent says, “Hey you, fuck off.”

Peter balks. “Me?”

Damen has his back turned, but in the ensuing silence, he knows that Laurent is staring the poor kid down, unwilling to repeat himself.

“Mr Vallis…” Peter starts, voice high and whiny.

This time Damen sighs loudly. “It’s fine, Peter. You can go home.”

Peter does so, without a goodbye, and when the gym doors close once more, Laurent says, “Damen, I need to talk to you.”

Damen turns around, mirroring Laurent’s pose. “Laurent, I’ve told you a hundred times not to call me by name at school. It’s Mr Vallis to you inside these gates. Always.”

Laurent rolls his eyes. Everything about him, as usual, is immaculate. There isn’t a single hair out of place, he’s still wearing his blazer, and unlike the most boys in this school, he hasn’t loosened his tie or unbuttoned his shirt to wave off the heat.

The only indication that he isn’t a weird, strange robot is the pink across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

“Unless you’re planning on help me with this, I need you to fuck off too,” Damen says, ready to turn back around.

“Actually, Mr Vallis,” Laurent straightens, and Damen doesn’t miss the inflection in his name, “I need a favour.”

Damen unpacks the third box, almost bursting into tears when he sees they’re nets. Nets always go on the top shelf. His back is going to break by the end of it.

“What is it?” He belatedly asks, realising Laurent is watching him.

Laurent presses his tongue to his top lip. “I know there’s a spot open on the wrestling team, and it would look really good on my uni applications if I wrote that I’m—”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Revere. I already told you before the holidays that if your grades don’t improve—”

“They have! I managed to get a B in Ancient History—"

“You need a B average, not just in one subject. I’ve already checked, and you’re barely scraping a C.”

Laurent makes an indignant scoff. “Yes, but it would be a B average if Auguste helped me out with Chemistry—which is the only subject I’m failing, by the way. And he doesn’t help me at all—what’s the point of him being the best Chem teacher at this school if he won’t put me in his class!”

Damen runs a hand over his face. “You know you can’t have your brother teaching you—it’s against school policy.”

“Fine, whatever,” Laurent shrugs. “But, I swear I’ve been trying Dam—Mr Vallis. Can’t you make an exception for me?”

“Absolutely not,” Damen snorts.

“Ugh! What’s the point of knowing teachers if they don’t help you out when you need it?”

Damen shrugs. “Tough luck, kid. If I gave you the spot, it might keep someone who actually deserves it from joining.”

“I deserve it.”

Damen rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” Laurent adopts a haughty look, head held high. “I’ll tell your boyfriend Auguste that you’re being a dick—”

“We’ve been over this Laurent; I’m not dating your brother.”

“Hmm, could have fooled me,” Laurent mutters in a dangerous undertone. “All that touching and cuddling and inside jokes—”

Damen knows that he shouldn’t rise to bait presented to him by a belligerent eighteen year old, but he’s tired, and it’s been a long, long day so he snaps, “Yeah, that’s what friends do, you little shit. Not that you would know what it’s like to have one.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it: Damen is the adult here (the proper one) and more importantly, he’s Laurent’s teacher. A professional.

Laurent’s face falls, and genuine hurt settles into his eyes.

The corners of his mouth droop, and his voice shakes as he says, “You’re such an asshole.”

Damen sighs, “Laurent—”

“Fuck you, Damen,” Laurent says, and turns on his heel in one smooth, elegant move.

*

Two weeks later, Auguste holds one last barbeque party to mourn the end of summer.

It’s not a crowded party: just four other teachers from school, two of Auguste’s uni friends, and of course, bloody Laurent.

He hasn’t said a single word to Damen all afternoon, the rude shit. Not that Damen expects anything less from the most prickly person he knows.

Laurent normally doesn’t even hang out with them, but since he turned eighteen over the winter, Auguste has been trying to include him in their gatherings a lot more.

It’s still a bit surreal to see Laurent easily holding down conversations with men twice his age, a beer bottle pressed to his mouth.

(That part is not so surprising. Damen caught Laurent guzzling an entire bottle of wine when he was sixteen, in this very kitchen).

Orlant touches Laurent’s knee, and says something that makes him laugh raucously.

Damen stands from the couch and makes his way over.

“Hey,” he says, “I think your brother’s calling you.”

Laurent frowns, eyes drifting over to the alfresco, where Auguste is belting Wannabe by Spice Girls and ignoring the grill, Lazar attempting to beatbox along with the words.

God, the steaks are going to burn.

“I don’t think so,” Laurent says.

When Damen doesn’t leave, Orlant says, “You good, man?”

Damen doesn’t bother to reply. He frowns at Laurent. “You’ve been drinking non stop since you got here.”

Laurent throws him a disgusted look. “You’re not my teacher outside of school hours. Fuck off.”

Orlant raises an eyebrow, looking between them. “You’re his student?”

“Barely,” Laurent mutters. “He just makes us do laps and teaches us abstinence like a pastor from the seventies.”

“The curriculum suggests that I—”

“And he won’t put me on his wrestling team because of a small technicality.”

“It’s not a small—”

“You should let him on the team, man,” Orlant says, smiling at Laurent.

Laurent smiles back, eyelashes fluttering.

Damen frowns again.

“Thank you,” Laurent says to Orlant. “I wish you were the coach. Nikandros spent all summer helping me perfect my form, and it’s all been for nothing.”

Damen feels his face crack. “Nikandros? Since when have you been hanging out with him?”

Laurent gives him a devious smile. “Oh, I can be very persuasive. He spent the entire time telling me how good I was.” He flutters his lashes at Damen this time. “It’s a shame you won’t be able to see for yourself, Mr Vallis.”

Orlant watches Laurent shamelessly.

Damen grits his teeth, blood rushing to his head, and grips Laurent’s bicep, ignoring his “Hey!”

He drags Laurent to the unoccupied living room, pushing him away in disgust the moment they’re alone. “What the fuck is your problem, Revere?”

“What the fuck is yours?” Laurent snaps, rubbing his bicep. “Have you lost it already? You usually go crazy around midterms.”

“Shut up,” Damen hisses. “What are you playing at? Did you seriously go to Nikandros for wrestling tips?”

Laurent is still rubbing his bicep, the drama queen. “Well, yes. You wouldn’t help me, so I had to look somewhere else for… expertise. And Nikandros was more than willing to help. Eventually.”

Damen can feel a headache coming on. “Nikandros is shit at wrestling.”

Laurent laughs. “Oh my god. You’re acting like a baby.” “And you’re being your usual intolerable self.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Now Laurent looks livid, his eyes flashing with malice.

“You haven’t even tried to get to know me for the last three years. When you told me I had to improve my grades, I studied my ass off. I got a tutor. I even went to fucking summer school. And yeah, I might only have a C average, but I’ve improved in literally everything. I’ve only failed one subject! At least Nikandros was willing to listen to me. You just behave like an ass.”

Damen swallows, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks away, down at the shiny, tiled floor.

He sighs, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“What was that?”

Damen looks at Laurent, at the sun shining down his head. “I said I’m sorry. Perhaps I have been… a little unfair.”

Laurent snorts and presses his mouth together,

“I didn’t realise how hard you’ve been working,” Damen says, appreciative. “I’m proud of you.”

Laurent goes red. He rolls his eyes, but it’s half-hearted. “Whatever. You’re still a dick.”

Damen smiles. “Yeah, I guess.”

There’s a brief, awkward silence.

Then Damen says, “Okay, give me your speech.”

“My speech, Mr Vallis?”

“Yeah,” Damen raises an eyebrow. “Give me whatever speech you gave Nikandros. If it can convince him to teach you to wrestle, it might convince me to give you a shot on the team.”

Laurent stands straight, assessing him for a moment. “Are you sure, Mr Vallis?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

Laurent gives him a smile Damen has never seen before. It unleashes something dark in his eyes.

Damen swallows, his heart suddenly picking up pace.

Laurent saunters towards him, still with that smile. He comes close enough that Damen can see the small smattering of freckles on his nose.

Damen presses his back to the counter. “Laurent…”

Laurent bites his lip. “Everyone thinks you’re the hottest teacher at school, Mr Vallis. I’ve had a crush on you since my first year.”

Damen coughs, startled. “Laurent, what…”

“Do you want me to give my speech or not?”

Damen’s chest heaves with his breaths. He assesses Laurent’s beautiful face, his mind carefully shutting down.

“Yes,” he says quietly.

Laurent’s smile is sweet and shy.

He’s still wearing that smile when he gets down on his knees. His fingers are quick, nimble as they unbuckle Damen’s belt.

The clank of metal is loud, even amongst the drone of the party.

Damen should stop this. He should say something. Laurent is his student. More than that, he’s his best friend’s just-legal little brother. Damen should—

Laurent kisses the tip of his cock through the cloth, dragging his tongue over it, making it damp.

“Fuck, Laurent.”

Laurent pulls back and smiles at him, eyes half-mast. “I managed to convince Nikandros in about three minutes. Do you think you’ll last a bit longer?”

Damen grunts, hips moving in aborted jerks as Laurent slides down his underwear.

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

[samstree]

Hug a Witcher Day (2/3)

In which Jaskier gets drunk and Geralt gets hurt. Hug a Witcher Day is coming around again, but so are certain feelings.

(hurt/comfort, geralt whump, soft jaskier, more yearning, 3k, rated T, blood and injury)

read on AO3

“No! Not Summer Solstice!” Jaskier shouts drunkenly to the lady approaching Geralt with open arms and then proceeds to use his own body as a shield to stop her advance, his footsteps unsteady. “Saovine! It’s the day before Saovine! I literally just performed the song five minutes ago so I don’t know why you guys keep coming at him. Today is not Hug a Witcher Day!”

Jaskier’s face is red as a beet. It’s no shock that he’s swaying considering the amount of wine he’s been consuming since the end of the set. She frowns at the bard like he’s crazy before muttering an apology.

“Jask.” Geralt holds onto Jaskier’s elbow just in case. He notices the tankard in the bard’s hand is empty again. “Come on. Let’s sit down.”

“But they—”

“I know and it’s all right. Just follow me,” Geralt explains, steering the bard away patiently. Arguing with the bard when he’s inebriated has never been wise.

The bard begrudgingly follows him to the side seats and plops down, smashing the empty cup on the wooden table.

“They—they got the date wrong. It’s not today.” Jaskier slurs in all seriousness to the witcher, his eyebrows still furrowed with residual anger.

“It is not,” Geralt takes the cup away from him, in case someone refills it and the bard will enter the even more bratty stage of drunkenness—or worse, the sappy stage. Geralt shudders at the memory of the Elder-speaking stage where Jaskier delivered an epic on top of a table. “I know it’s the wrong day, Jaskier, but you need to stop telling them off. You haven’t gotten paid for tonight.”

“What? Who wants to pay me for tonight?” Jaskier squawks indignantly, scrambling to pull his unbuttoned doublet together like a blushing maiden.

“Not tonight,” Geralt snorts, tilting his head towards the bustling party. “Tonight. The solstice celebration?”

The gears turn slowly but the bard eventually catches on, relaxing and folding his arms on the table.

“But everyone tried to hug you in the middle of the party.” Jaskier’s voice gets smaller and smaller in the din of the room. “It must be bad for your senses. You know, witcher senses…sensitive. People too grabby…bad.”

Geralt blinks, surprised at Jaskier’s concern. He hasn’t realized how crowded the hall is and how much noise is in the room. It’s a mixture of loud conversations and drunk giggling. Quite a few nobles did mistake the date in the song and come to throw their arms around him. It turns out being privileged also destroys all the shyness in one’s personality. It was…not uncomfortable until one woman’s hand traveled way lower to be considered proper.

He wasn’t going to fight her off—the lady being tipsy and old-aged and all, but that’s when the bard started to interject, blocking newcomers.

It was also when Jaskier started drinking.

Something warm swells in Geralt’s chest as he watches the bard drop his head on his forearms as if his neck can’t support the weight. Heavy-lidded blue eyes flutter shut for a second but he stubbornly reopens them.

“My thanks, for defending my honor.”

Geralt feels a languid smile tug at his lips, one that is slowly returned by the bard.

“Any day, my big strong witcher,” Jaskier says. “Especially the wrong day.”

The bard continues to shift his arms, trying to find a comfortable spot to pillow his chin, but the hard table is giving him trouble. He then notices the witcher sitting right next to him with a soft oh and, in one smooth move, takes Geralt’s arm and cushions it under his face.

It seems to satisfy him, hogging Geralt’s forearm and pressing his cheek over the sleeve. With a few nuzzles, Jaskier lets out a contented sigh and closes his eyes, leaving Geralt leaning forward awkwardly.

Although the witcher is strangely not in the mood to take his hand away, even when Jaskier is cutting off the circulation in his arm. A drunk bard is a force to be reckoned with. It will take some serious efforts to get him back to the inn—big strong witcher or not.

Just when Geralt thinks Jaskier has dozed off from the combination of post-performing exhaustion and too many cups of Toussaint wine, an incoherent murmur rumbles against Geralt’s skin.

“Can’t blame them—” Jaskier turns his head away, facing the other side, the warmth of his breaths ghosting over Geralt’s wrist. “—that they want to… but if I can’t…”

The bard trails off until the witcher can’t make out the words even with his enhanced hearing. Soft snores follow soon after.

Geralt shakes his head and scoots closer, just in case Jaskier needs more parts of him as pillows.

 *

Autumn is around the corner before Geralt notices.

One moment the bard is complaining about the mid-summer heat and how the humidity is ruining his instrument, the next trees are already peppered with golden yellow.

The wyvern contract in a small village should be a quick and easy one. Only a scared newborn is spotted in the past month, possibly lost and lashing out. Geralt intends to time it perfectly so that he can finish it just a few days before Saovine, which means they’ll be on the road during the holiday, which means they will be alone on the day.

His day.

The whole conversation is thoroughly planned out in Geralt’s head, one that he’s certain will do the trick.

Isn’t today Hug a Witcher Day, Jask? Not getting it wrong this time, eh? Wait, there’s no one else on this empty open road. What a shame! After all, you are the one who invented the day. Wait, you want to give me a hug? Hmm, I don’t know… Fine, if you insist, but only because I don’t want you to break your own tradition.

He plays out those lines over and over again while entering what is rumored to be the baby wyvern’s nest with a smug grin on his face.

It’s fine to get a little excited. No one is here to see it anyway.

And the grin disappears when both wyvern parents emerge from the cave, prepared to protect the baby behind them.

Oh well.

When Geralt stumbles back to the inn with too many claw marks on his chest and blood soaking through his jerkin, he decides that the plan is shit from the start anyway.

Jaskier won’t hug him out of the blue. There’s always a reason if the bard touches him, like this moment, like when he rushes out of the door to meet Geralt and to put his uninjured arm around his shoulder. Like when he puts a hand at the small of Geralt’s back to keep him from stumbling. Like when he carefully steers Geralt into their room, settles him on a chair, and coos over the wounds with sweet nothings.

“I have to remove your shirt. It’s stuck with all the blood,” Jaskier tilts Geralt’s chin up so he can no longer see the mess all over his chest. Instead, blue fills his vision, wild and far-away, like the autumn sky. “Look at me, all right? Just focus on me, my dear. Don’t look down.”

He’s seen much worse on himself, but Geralt obliges anyway.

Lost in those cornflower blues, he almost doesn’t wince when Jaskier tears the fabric away.

“Sorry,” Jaskier whispers, but his movements never falter. “Just a moment longer.”

The burn of alcohol and the needle barely register in Geralt’s mind. All his senses are overwhelmed by Jaskier and the faint floral scent on his warm skin, the grounding touch of his palms, the soft apologies that slip through his lips, and then, the cold empty feeling of their absence.

Geralt lets out a small whine when Jaskier leaves him to retrieve the bandages, and it’s enough for the bard to fuss again.

“Shh, it’s okay. You are doing so well.” The bandages are wrapped firmly over the wound. Both of Jaskier’s hands reach behind Geralt to pass the roll and it brings him unbearably close.

Oh, it’s like Jaskier is hugging him.

For a split second, Jaskier’s face is almost pressed against Geralt’s collarbone, his hair ticking the side of his jaw. Those arms that he knows to be strong and thick are circling Geralt’s torso and squeezing gently.

He groans again when it ends.

But alas, it’s bound to end at some point. With his injury tended, there’s no need for Jaskier to keep showering him with touches and soft words.

Geralt doesn’t notice how Jaskier has the strength to put him in bed, the blood loss making the floor swim under his feet, but the mattress dips invitingly and Geralt finds himself cocooned by warm blankets.

Jaskier is still touching him.

“Comfortable?” Jaskier asks, his fingers carding through Geralt’s entangled hair soothingly and the urge of saying no is overwhelming.

No, not when your arms are not around me.

Geralt nods and a tired smile lights up Jaskier’s face. It’s a reserved one, mixed with relief and worry, and it’s so beautiful Geralt wishes he could cry at how it’s making his heart swell three sizes and filling up all the space in this chest. To think he’s the one who gets to see it almost makes up for not getting a hug from Jaskier.

Cold realization sinks in. He won’t get a hug from Jaskier on that day, because they’ll have to stay in town until at least Saovine.

Because he’s reckless enough to get injured like this.

His dismay must be showing on his face because Jaskier is fussing even more. “What is it? Is anything wrong, Geralt? Talk to me. What can I do?”

Jaskier’s brows furrow, his blue eyes wide with worry. Geralt desperately wants to soothe him, to catch the hand that is currently caressing his forehead, but all his strength seems sap.

Jaskier won’t hug him.

But it will be his day soon.

“Yes, your day,” Jaskier chuckles, and Geralt realizes belatedly that he’s said the last part out loud. “That godsdamned day. I never should have written that song. But let’s not think about it for now. You should rest.”

“No…” he croaks.

The regret in Jaskier’s voice is so wrong, so out of place that Geralt would do anything to banish it. He needs to tell Jaskier that he doesn’t mind the day. He needs Jaskier to know that a hug from him is all he can think about for the past year.

But none of those words gets out. The pull of sleep drags Geralt under despite his reluctance, the dark splotches filling his vision.

“It’s okay, don’t fight it. Rest, my dear.” Jaskier’s soft coaxing is the last thing Geralt hears before slipping into oblivion.

In the land of dreams, Geralt feels arms circle around him, grounding him with the pleasant weight. A warm body is pressed against his side, curling up around his frame protectively. He leans into it, just to feel soft breathing against his skin.

He wishes that he doesn’t have to wake up.

 *

Geralt starts the second Hug a Witcher Day sitting at the corner of another tavern.

On top of his witcher healing, days of rest have made sure those wounds from the wyverns are completely healed, but Jaskier seems to disagree. The bard is still hovering, insisting on fetching Geralt everything and helping him get around all the time.

Geralt would scold him for being over-dramatic if he wasn’t enjoying being the center of Jaskier’s attention so much.

“No! You sit tight,” Jaskier says, stoping Geralt from getting up with a hand on his shoulder. “I will get the juice for you. What would they think of me if I let an injured friend do chores?”

“Who’s they?” Geralt asks.

“Oh, you know.” Jaskier backs to the bar, gesturing vaguely into the air. “The…masses. The fans who know about the good-hearted nature of Master Jaskier and worship my music for the very reason.”

The bard bumps into an empty chair when he turns, and Geralt glares at him. Jaskier’s theatrics almost distract him enough to miss the commotion from the street.

Coming towards the tavern door are the footsteps of another witcher, the lightness of his feet on the cobblestone unmistakable.

Geralt is alert in an instant, prepared to call Jaskier back. There could be trouble if someone from another school passes town.

The rider is approaching the tavern but he’s stopped quite abruptly, and Geralt hears the most familiar and bratty scowl known to men.

“Oh, come on! This fucking day! No, I don’t hu—” Lambert lets out a groan as someone obviously pulls him into a hug. “—Urgh, fine!” The other person is thanking him profusely. “All right. You’re…welcome. Yes, it’s fine…”

Lambert’s tone softens as the man continues to chat after the hug, rambling about how a witcher with white hair just fought off three dangerous wyverns and how the locals will forever be in debt.

“Right, right. And pray tell, my good man, where can I find this witcher?” It sounds like Lambert is smiling as he asks and it’s the creepiest thing Geralt has ever heard. “And his bard is with him?”

It won’t take long for Lambert to locate the two of them. It might be best that Jaskier doesn’t face Lambert’s ire head-on.

“Jask,” Geralt calls out anyway. “Come back here.”

“Is there any trouble?” the bard puts two cups of grape juice on their table, and Geralt only sighs.

“Remember when I said you should avoid—”

“Geralt!” Lambert bursts into the door with a bang, startling all the patrons and the owner. Jaskier even jumps and spills juice all over the table. “Where is your bar—Oh, there you are, you bastard!”

The bard is already up and facing Lambert’s incoming anger, his body placed in front of Geralt. More than once Lambert has tackled both Jaskier and Geralt rudely to the ground upon seeing them on the road as greetings.

Geralt warms at the protectiveness of his bard, but he should really be worrying about himself on this.

“Lambert, wait, he’s still hurt!” Jaskier pleads, with both hands out to stop Lambert’s momentum and, against all odds, it works

Lambert stops in his track, inches away from the bard. “My business is only with you, bard. You and your damned songs!” A dangerous glint sparks in the youngest wolf’s golden eyes.

“What—"

Jaskier on the ground before he can finish the sentence and a sharp squeal erupts in the tavern. He’s soon reduced to a giggling mess under Lambert’s vicious attacks. Chaos ensues at what’s supposed to be the quiet corner of the tavern, and Geralt can only take a sip of his grape juice to hide his smile.

By the time Lambert decides he’s had enough revenge on the bard—mostly through tickles—both men scramble up from the ground disheveled and worked up. The owner of the place throws them a suspicious side-eye but remains silent.

“That’ll teach you a lesson,” Lambert grumbles while sitting down on Geralt’s bench.

“Noted. No more hugging songs.” The bard fixes his hair with careful fingers and ignores the other witcher. “It’s not like any of you showed any appreciation. For all the thanks you’re getting, none goes to the bard.” He tsks.

“I’m sure Geralt thanked you enough for all of us. Or has he not pulled his head out of his ass yet?”

Geralt stares at his brother and his grumpy remark, confused at the meaning, but Jaskier asks first.

“What do you mean?” the bard says with half a mind still focused on the curly fringe over his eyes that sticks out stubbornly despite his fussing.

The air between them suddenly tenses. A knot forms in Geralt’s stomach, an inexplicable dread rising in his throat.

Lambert’s expression turns to something equally inscrutable and amused, which is all the more unsettling. No matter how much of a prick the young wolf is, he’s never been unreadable to Geralt in the many decades they’ve known each other. He doesn’t appreciate the suggestive way Lambert winks at him when the bard isn’t looking either.

Geralt kicks his brother in the shin, the ‘one more word and I will kill you’ conveyed silently. Anything that comes out of his brother’s mouth next can’t be good, so he has to interject.

“I told Jaskier it was fine. The song. Stop being a prick.” Or mention it ever again, the gleam in his eyes warns.

“My, my. I see.” Lambert grumbles but uncharacteristically withholds comment.

Jaskier finally gives up on fixing his hair, frustrated. “Must you ruin my hair every time? Now I’m sure you two can behave while I order us more food?”

Now that Geralt is so close to Jaskier, watching him going up to the owner behind the bar and holding the most mundane conversation on this morning, the ache slowly returns.

He wonders if Jaskier wrote the song thinking about hugging him. After all, the bard is the most devout advocator for changing witchers’ image. He wonders if Jaskier would give him one if he asked.

They’ll have to be alone first.

And yet, when Jaskier comes back to the table, the owner is following behind. If the bard has ever been sheepish in his life, it would be this moment.

Lambert realizes his intention first.

“No more hugging,” he deadpans, nudging at Geralt’s ribs. “Once is enough. You take the rest of them.”

“The wyvern almost killed her husband.” Jaskier sounds a lot less confident than normal, hesitant even. “Please, Geralt? She just wants to thank you.”

The owner is a woman near her forties or fifties, her expression hopeful. Geralt stands up, opens his arms, and tries to make sure his smile is as friendly as possible. Putting people at ease has always been Jaskier’s strong suit, not his.

But her relieved smile brightens up her whole face after they share a simple hug, her steps lighter when she leaves.

“She told me that she was worried sick for him. Her husband.” Jaskier explains, fidgeting with his fingers like every time he does before an important performance or competition.

“Jaskier.”

“You know that song is not out of nowhere, right? Well, the line ‘hug a witcher for good harvest’ was made up, but… you do make a difference, Geralt. I wanted them to know all the ways you’re making the world safer, and the hearts a little less broken. Just like you did for her.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt stills the bard’s hands before his nails dig into his palm too deeply. “It’s all right, I understand.”

“You do?”

“I told you I’m fine with some strangers hugging me for a day,” Geralt chuckles, “Because I’m not doing it for—”

The words trail off. Beside him, Lambert is scooching over in the least subtle way and any words Geralt had a moment of bravery to voice instantly die in his throat. He releases Jaskier’s hand.

“Don’t stop on my account!” Lambert starts to drink from one of the cups of grape juice, slurping loudly. “You being a sap is disgustingly adorable. I want to see how it goes.”

The moment is ruined further when another man comes over asking for a hug and he’s not the only one. More people are noticing the day and two witchers and the bard sitting in the room, looking at their table expectantly.

Jaskier leans back, making room for more incoming townspeople.

It seems that Geralt will be busy hugging this year as well. He just doesn’t know if all these people can fill the Jaskier-shaped hole in his chest.

---

Should I end this story with hugs, kisses, or *wink* something more? Tell me what you think! <3

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @birdsflyhome @dapandapod

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[honeypirate]

Can you do Benimaru x reader ?Hmm, the reader is training with him then she gets injured,and after taking care of her,he confessed to her ? sorry if this is too much,your writing is amazing ✨

OMG I loved this!! Thank you for sending it in!

I hope you like this!

Benimaru x fem!reader

(In this fic, if a third gen grows stronger it changes the eyes.(In the show the fifth pillar had her eyes changed when she got her ignition abilities, but I wanted to twist it) Other than that I have little idea of how the eyes change)

Little editing

Little swearing

Little drinking but reader is same age as Waka

In this moment you regretted asking your friend for training.

You had trained with him every day for the past four days, he was to help you strengthen your abilities so you could become a better third generation before sending you back to your company, the eighth.

What he was doing was annoying you and pissing you off. You would have hated him if he acted like this the whole time, outside of training he was sweet and funny, but damn, he could be tough. Sure you like it but it was almost the end of your training for the day, couldn't he see you were nearing your limit? Maybe you’re holding it together better than you thought.

Which was confirmed when the next words left his mouth “I know you can do better. I saw you do better yesterday in fact” his voice sent anger throughout your veins, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes for just a second, grounding yourself so you don't lash out at the annoying, ridiculous, strange, interesting handsome, sexy.... You grit your teeth and your eyes fly open, cutting off your thoughts as you tried to use your flames again. Come on, you think, i can push myself, just a little more

He was about to speak but you heard his mouth shut as you moved your arms out in front of you, feeling the flame in your veins travel down the inside of your arm and around your wrist, flowing down each finger to the tip before swirling down and pooling in your palms. You tighten the circle of bright warmth, growing smaller and smaller, until you begin to make your own version of a sun wheel. You twist your hands, the fire staying in the air as you make a circle, when you connect the ends together it erupts into tiny explosions of stars that twist around each other.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed with this display. He watched as you sent your attack forward, the strongest he’s witnessed from you. “Now do it again” he says and you turn to speak your mind but he takes one look at your face and hops down from the porch and quickly comes toward you, causing you to take a step back and tense your stance

“your eyes have changed. You are getting stronger” you can't look away from his eyes even if you wanted to, the anger you had felt for him had dissipated with his proximity. “What do you mean? What do they look like?” he points to your left “that one, is like mine, an X, except green. Your other is green with a pink heart” you hum softly, your cheeks flushing under his intense gaze, he leans down and your breath hitches, until he whispers “now do it again”

you feel your annoyance and your anger boil in your veins again as you huff, turning towards the training ground. You gather all your annoyance and anger, the last energy you had, sending it all to your palms as you feel the familiar swirl of flame and as you make your circle. Your hands shake, your breathing hard pants as the oxygen doesn’t come. You feel your flames sputter and when your circle connects the ends,, the stars that erupt fly back at your fingertips making you scream out as the flame turns to smoke.

You cradle your hands to your chest as he appears next to you “let me see” he commands, his voice strained with worry. You slowly hold out your hands, the tips of your fingers smoking and the skin singed in a few places on almost every finger. “Come with me” he says through his teeth and you can’t tell if he is mad at you. You nod and follow him into the guard house, your fingers leaving smoke behind you with every step, chewing your lip in worry.

He takes you into the medical room and gestures for you to kneel with him. He holds out his hand and you sigh as you hold them out in front of you, the sunlight through the window hitting them and illuminating the several black dots that are still smoking.

He doesn’t say anything while he cleans up your hands, his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry” you whisper “I messed up” he shakes his head to the side once but doesn’t speak until he’s done bandaging your hands. The only sound being your hiss of breath every time his gentle fingers brush a healing ointment over your wounds or the touch of bandages.

“You’ll be okay, just overheated and you should heal up fine.” His voice is gruff and he won’t look you in the eye “I'm so sorry. I pushed you too hard. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. I should have known. I should have seen the signs. I can’t believe I made you hurt your beautiful hands. I’m so sorry” his voice cracks in the last word and you reach out, but he stands quickly and leaves you in the middle of the room.

A few hours later you try to catch his eye during dinner but he avoids you, talking to Konro beside him and not even facing your direction. You give up trying to talk to him and fill your glass with wine, downing it and then grabbing the bottle and leaving the table quietly. Your heart is too sad to even stay there, trying to talk to the man you had started to get feelings for but having him avoid you was terrible, it felt like it was your heart he was cutting up on his plate.

“What are you doing Waka?” Konro asks with a sigh, watching you leave the room with the bottle clutched to your chest, your hands not touching it all. “What do you mean?” he asks and takes a bite, hoping the food will sate some of the acid currently burning his stomach. “I mean, you’re avoiding her, and she's been trying to get you to look at her all evening. What did you do and why are you avoiding her?”

Benimaru sighs, looking around the nearly empty room before turning towards Konro “I pushed her too hard. She hurt herself. It was my fault and I can't seem to bear looking at her knowing I am the one who hurt her” Konro furrows his eyebrows “have you asked her how she feels? Have you talked to her at all? ” Benimaru looks at his hands “I uh..“ Konro nods “Waka, stop acting like a child. She’s a grown woman, treat her like one.” his eyes widen before he stands and leaves the table. Konro was right, he was acting like a child, he needed to treat you like the strong woman he knows you are, and be the man he is and talk to you.

You find your way back to the medical room, grabbing some more bandages and then making your way up to the roof. You sigh as you sit at the edge of the roof, dangling your feet over the edge. You unwrap your hands, the semi-dirty bandages unraveling from your fingers, and wince when the cool air touches your burns. Pulling out the roll of gauze you start to redress your fingers, but they shake too much to do it properly.

“Damn” you whisper as the gauze falls from your fingers for the upteenth time, this time falling from the roof all together. Your fingers just didn't want to cooperate with you, so you sighed again, the heaviness in your heart growing as you turn your attention to the sky, the moon full and bright; unlike your heart.

“You dropped something” you laugh in jest “I've dropped a lot of things recently Waka, the ball, my goddamn heart, that one wasn’t on purpose though. Kinda blindsided me actually” you ramble, taking a drink from the bottle as he sits next to you, your hand throbbing against the cool glass.

He takes the bottle from you and takes a drink before setting it farther behind him so it wont roll off the roof. He holds his hand out towards you and you sigh before shoving your wrist against his palm, your fingers shaking as you avoid his eye contact.

“I meant the gauze” he says and you chuckle dryly, a embarrassed about your outburst as you mutter “oops.” His hands shake slightly as he wraps your fingers, but they were as gentle as they were before. The cover of the bandages feels better against your burns, no exposed sensitive skin. He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your palm that sobers you up (you had like 2 glasses so you wouldn't even be drunk or even too buzzed by now, a long time has gone by and you ate a big dinner) he places your hand down against his thigh and holds out his hand for your other, which you place much gentler against his palm this time.

When he finishes he places another soft kiss to your fingers and you move your hand up to his cheek tilting his face up so he looks you in the eye “Benimaru. I don’t blame you. Sure you did push me, but I was too angry, I should have realized I went too far already. You know I like a little tough love to push me so I get stronger” You watch the corners of his mouth twitch into an almost smile as his eyes flick between both of yours

“Thank you,” you whispered, your hand still resting against his cheek, your bandages tickling his skin “thank you for patching me up. For taking care of me still.” you close your eyes and lean your head against his shoulder “Please don't avoid me anymore” your voice was sad and it made his heart crack. He stares into the sky for a few seconds, putting his thoughts in order, before he reaches out, one hand around your waist and the other on the back of your head as he pulls you up into his embrace and moves you both a little farther from the edge of the roof.

“Don’t go back to the eighth. Stay in the seventh.” he whispers, “I want you to stay” his cheek was against the top of your head as he held you gently to his chest,. “What.. like just as a subordinate who works with you?” He chuckles and it shakes you gently, “no, not just a subordinate.I dont usually hold my subordinates like this and I don't gain feelings for them. You have never been a subordinate to me. You’re intriguing to me. Captivating.” your heart beats races, your cheeks feeling warm as your spine tingles excitedly.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you. Konro talked some sense into me. I need you to know that I really adore you. I don’t want you to leave. I have been dreading the end of this week” you pull back and kiss his cheek softly before you part from his embrace so you could look in his eyes “I’ve been dreading leaving you.” your voice was as quiet as his, the only one listening was the moon and stars above, “You’re strong, you have a good heart, and when you’re not pushing me with training,” you smile when he chuckles “you make me laugh, and you make me happy” your cheeks are flushed from your expressions of feelings and from his soft gaze. “Can I stay with you?”

He leans forward, kissing the blush on both of your cheeks. “Please” he says, his voice sending tingles down your spine before his lips connect with yours for the first time. Your eyes flutter closed as his soft lips touch yours, stars bursting behind your eyelids as your hands rest against his neck. When he pulls back the cool air sends a shiver down your spine and he smiles “we should go inside, it’s getting late and cold.” He runs his fingers softly through your hair “Plus we should talk to Obi tomorrow since you’re going to stay”

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

They find Jaskier in a tavern a few miles outside of Oxenfurt. It’s Yen who spots him first – who sees him across the room, whose eyes go wide with recognition.

It takes Geralt a little longer. He smells him before he sees him – all sweet honey and wildflowers and salt. But he can’t believe his eyes when he looks up.

Jaskier's aged. He’s not old – not even close to being old – but his hair is more white and grey than it is brown, his crows’ feet now undeniable. Geralt was never really sure how old Jaskier was, and Jaskier never told him, but he looks now to be in his late fifties.

He’s still staring at him when the bard, seated at a long table with a gaggle of students, peers up.

There’s a long, drawn-out moment where they stare at each other across the tavern. Geralt feels like his heart has dropped into his stomach and his stomach has dropped into his feet. He feels guilty, suddenly – guilty that so much time has passed of Jaskier’s life without him in it. Part of him wants to rush over there and -

And what? 

He doesn't know.

And then Yen is suddenly waving him over, and Geralt hasn’t time to say anything before Jaskier’s sat at their table, a full glass of wine in his hand, his eyes just as blue and bright as they ever were. 

Somehow, it’s just like the old days. The little anxious knot in Geralt’s stomach quickly vanishes and he falls back into easy chat. Jaskier’s been travelling, he says, and teaching a little – hence why he’s so close to Oxenfurt. He asks after Ciri, and even asks how Yennefer’s doing – although his voice is still somewhat colder towards her. He’s as much of a chatterbox as he ever was, weaving them the stories of his years away from the witcher.

There's a sparkle to him, now - something Geralt can't place. He's confident and, even after all this time, still a shameless flirt. But behind all that is something else - something almost like fear. Sometimes he laughs at one of his own jokes but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Geralt realises, halfway through a story about a brawl at a wedding, that he's missed Jaskier. He's missed his easy going nature, His ceaseless chatter. Jaskier is - he’s forced to admit - just as distracting as he ever was. Perhaps even more so: he's always been attractive, but the years have been kind to him, and the salt-and-pepper of his hair suits him.

Very little else has changed - save for a pendant dangling on a silver chain from his neck. It's a flower, intricately designed, resting gently against his fine satin shirt. He plays with it absent-mindedly as he talks.

Geralt suddenly regrets not spending more time with him. It's easy to forget how short the lives of regular humans can be. Jaskier isn't ancient, by any means, but he's sped through more than half of his life in the blink of an eye. Soon, the songs and stories and wild, boisterous character will just be…gone. 

It won't do. Deep in his cups, Geralt is about to propose that Jaskier join him on his next contract, when the bard seems to have a sudden thought.

"I must go," he says, standing, "I've a room here this evening but I'm off again in the morning, bright and early!" He laughs, but it sounds forced. "I'll… well. See you, Geralt."

As soon as Jaskier's gone, Yen turns to him, eyes steely.

"Something's going on."

"What?"

"Jaskier. Something isn't right. He's up to something."

"Yen, you're being paranoid."

"Don't tell me you couldn't sense it, Geralt. He was reeking with magic."

Truthfully, Geralt hadn't noticed. Yen spots his blank expression.

"God's save me," she rolls her eyes, "Some things never change. If you'd taken a moment to stop staring at him you'd have noticed your bloody medallion was twitching. He's gone and gotten himself involved in… well, in something."

"Yen, really-"

"Don't you 'really' me! Think about it, for once, please. You must have sensed something was off about him."

Geralt concedes. "I… I suppose. Yes."

"Well, then." She says it like the matter is closed. He looks at her, raising eyebrows. "God's, Geralt, go and find out what he's up to!"

"Now?"

"I - yes, now! Or do I have to go up there and twist it out of him myself?"

Geralt sighs. "Fine. I'll go. Wait here."

He downs his drink then heads in the direction of the staircase. He doesn't need to ask which room Jaskier is in - he just blindly follows his smell, almost as familiar as his own, even after all this time. 

It's strongest outside the last door on the landing, and he can hear movement inside the room. He braces himself, trying to work out what he's going to say, then grabs the handle and pushes open the door. It's unlocked - years ago, he would have chastised the bard for such carelessness - and Jaskier gives a startled yelp as it swings open.

"Jaskier, we need to-"

He freezes. Jaskier stands in the centre of the room, half undressed. His shirt and doublet are strewn haphazardly on the bed, the new silver pendant thrown on top of them. 

He's young again. His wrinkles are gone, his hair no longer streaked with white. He looks just like he did the day they met, like he did the day he was cursed by the Djinn, like he did the day Geralt abandoned him on that fucking mountain. He looks like he did the day they'd parted ways more years ago now than Geralt can remember.

"Geralt!" he says, arms outstretched, surrendering, "Okay, look, you see: the thing is-" 

"What the fuck, Jaskier?"

"There… may be something I need to tell you."

[twilightofthejedi]

fic: lost in your current like a priceless wine

written for @ahenix !!

thank you sm @trynatalktou for the beta work!

read on ao3: here

summary:

“Or we could just share the bed,” she ventures. his gaze snaps to hers, incredulous. She barrels on hurriedly. “It’s big enough for the both of us, anyways.”

in ep 17, what if chayenzo decided to spend the night in the hotel room after they plotted? and then there was only one bed??

set during episode 17

Cha-young closes the laptop with finality, heading to the table where the tray of food had been set out. She pours a drink into two glasses, and hands one over to Vincenzo where he stands by the large glass window. He smiles, taking the drink from her hand. She leans against the wall, and lifts her brows at him.

“What now?”

“Now we try to get some rest.” He pushes off the wall, and she follows suit. “It’s already late, and we need to be up early tomorrow to see the fruits of our labors.” He grins at her at this, boyish with his enthusiasm.

“All right. If you hand me my room key, I’ll leave first, Mr. Cassano.”

He blinks at her. She frowns at him.

“You didn’t get another room?”

“No. Should I go and get it? I’ll be right back.” He makes to move for the door.

She thinks fast.

“No it’s fine. There are so many couches here anyways. I’ll just make myself comfortable on one of them.”

He looks pained. “No, no it’s fine. I’ll go down and book another room.”

She tries to play it off nonchalantly. “Yah, does money grow on trees for you? I said it’s fine, right? Typical mafia, flaunting how rich you are…”

“All right, all right. Just don’t put your feet up on the coffee table with your shoes on,” he says hurriedly.

Just to be contrary, she sashays over to the couch, not missing how his breath hitches. She flounces on the couch ungracefully, and kicks up her heels-clad feet on the low coffee table, groaning at the relief it brings to be off her feet. Smirking, she looks over at Vincenzo, who looks like he isn’t breathing.

Good.

“What was it that you said?” she asks loudly. He tears his hand through his elegantly styled hair, and she is suddenly seized by the desire to do it herself. To know exactly how the strands of his hair would feel through her fingers.

Focus, Cha-young. You’re supposed to be making him lose his mind, not yours.

He doesn’t seem to notice her racing heartbeat, however. Marching over to her, he takes a hold of her feet and removes her heels, his hands impossibly gentle. Then, he stands abruptly.

“I’m going to wash up. I’ll be done soon,” he says, and she thinks that if all it took to unsettle Vincenzo Cassano was to put her feet up on a coffee table, she would have done it a long time ago.

When he finally emerges, his hair is wet and plastered to his forehead, and all she can think is oh shit.

“You can go ahead, Ms. Hong. I’ll get some blankets for you out of the closet,” he says, and oh, his voice should not be that smooth. She nods, and hopes it doesn’t look like she’s fleeing when she hightails it to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, she steps out, clouds of steam at her feet. He is running a towel through his hair, and she has to look away, because the simple act of him drying his own hair should not be this attractive to her. She finds a water bottle and takes a long drink from it, her throat suddenly dry.

He seems to realize that she has come out of the bathroom.

“Ms. Hong, I can take the couch, don’t worry - you can have the bed.” She looks towards the couch, and sure enough, his shoes are neatly arranged in front of it. This is patently unfair, of course. He’s paying for the extravagant hotel room; he should be allowed to at least sleep on the bed.

From middle school, to law school, to her internship and partnership at a firm, Cha-young has been known for her ability to think fast on her feet. It is, after all, what allowed her to win trial after trial, to the point in which she had secured a position at Wusang, a prestigious firm, at such a young age. She prides herself on this ability.

It comes especially in handy now.

“Or we could just share the bed,” she ventures. his gaze snaps to hers, incredulous. She barrels on hurriedly. “It’s big enough for the both of us, anyways.”

He nods slowly.

“Yes, you’re right. I’ll take this side.” He moves to the side closer to him, and she stares at him, unable to believe her own luck. She unwinds her hair from the twist on the top of her head, and catches him watching her. He quickly looks away, cheeks reddening.

She smiles to herself. Still got it, Hong.

He climbs gingerly underneath the covers, and she follows suit, but with considerably less grace.

They lay there in silence for a few minutes, the only light originating from the Seoul night outside. She is acutely aware of every particle of her body, and every centimeter of distance between them.

Much to her relief, Vincenzo speaks first.

“I never thanked you.”

“For what?” For once, her customary brashness has abandoned her. Maybe it’s something about the unfamiliar environment, or the lambent light gilding his face in soft light. Or maybe it’s the quiet vulnerability in his voice, as he stares up at the smooth plaster of the ceiling, determinedly not looking at her. She props herself up on one elbow, and turns towards him.

“For staying with my mother that day. And then staying with me afterwards. I never thanked you.”

She is taken back momentarily.

“Why would you need to thank me?”

“You didn’t need to do that. That went beyond the professional limits of our partnership.” She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes, but suspects that if she did that, he would take it as some sort of rejection, which she has no desire to do. She decides to be delicate, for once in her life. Her father is probably gaping in heaven. Cha-young being considerate of someone’s feelings? I never thought I would see the day!

“I think, Mr. Cassano, that we’ve gone well beyond the limits of a professional partnership,” she begins carefully. He goes rigid, and turns to face her, mirroring her position.

“Either way, I greatly appreciated your support. I don’t think I could have gotten through it without you.” Despite his words, his tone is stiff, formal.

Cha-young has known Vincenzo long enough to know when he is holding something back. Still, she won’t push him.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving you to face it alone.” Light, unweighted words. Cha-young still remembers the hushed hours of the funeral, how he had stood, head bowed, in his suit with the three stripes on the arm. She hadn’t known what to say, what to do, so she had simply stood there with him, a silent vigil to the maelstrom of his grief.

He inhales a shuddering breath, his eyes fluttering closed. “How did you do it, Cha-young-ah?” She is so (pleasantly) shocked at him dropping the honorific that she is rendered completely speechless.

“Do what?”

“How did you go on? I’ve tried to shut out my mind and keep moving, and I’ve tried to keep busy, but then my mind gets quiet and I don’t know what to do. So how did you do it?”

Outside, rain gently hits the glass of the window, and she looks at him, really looks at him for the first time since she had settled under the covers. He always looks handsome, but now he looks almost liquid in the moonlight slanting in through the hastily drawn curtains. His eyes look like storms, shadows whirling around themselves in the dark expanses of his irises, his pupils blown out.

She thinks, rather foolishly, that she wants to kiss him.

“I gave myself a purpose, remember? I vowed revenge, and I didn’t allow myself to stop.” She flops back on her back. “So as far as dealing with grief, I don’t think I can give you good advice. I’m barely dealing with it as it is.” The rain outside picks up, and she huffs a laugh. They’re really two broken people aren’t they? She can’t even offer him any advice, because she is exactly the same as him in that regard.

“So I guess don’t let yourself stop. We’ll figure out what comes next after we’re done doing everything that needs to be done.” She feels bold, all of a sudden. “And we’ll figure it out together. Because I don’t know, either.”

His hand suddenly reaches out, and takes hers. Her entire body feels like it's running through hot water, and she squeezes his hand back.

“That sounds like a good idea. Excellent plan, Ms. Hong. You truly do belong in the mafia,” he says, but his voice is thick.

She laughs, and he smiles, pleased, looking down at their entwined hands. And suddenly, just like that, Cha-young can not wait anymore. The world that they both live in is far too dangerous for her to deny her own feelings any longer. She has enough regrets in her life that she doesn’t want to add to them. She will never be able to live with herself if she doesn’t act now, so she does.

As simple as that.

She leans down, moving her free hand to curl around his neck, and kisses him. He doesn’t hesitate like he did in the gallery, and pulls her into him, and she sinks into the warmth of his chest. He kisses her back and it’s everything that she has ever wanted. If she thought that the kiss in the gallery was amazing, this is simply heady. She thinks that she could get drunk on the feeling, the feeling of his mouth moving against hers, and the sure, steady warmth of him underneath her body.

When she pulls away, his face is soft, and he reaches up to run his thumb over her lips. She runs her fingers through the outrageously soft strands of his hair, and smooths it away from his face.

The rain has slowed down to a gentle backdrop at this moment - this moment that seems to be frozen in time. She leans down to press a kiss to his jaw.

“Go to sleep, jagiya,” she says, daring to call him the word that she has wanted to call him since he lost the bet about the bungeoppang. He smiles at her, slow and luminous, and turns around, his back to her.

She settles behind him, and reaches forward to wrap her arms around him, and press her lips to the nape of his neck. He sighs contentedly, and she can feel it in his chest.

The rain patters on, and Cha-young can not think of a better way to go to sleep.

[chuckbass-love]

hi! i wanted to request a smutty fic w prompt 100 with ransom and reader. maybe they were at a party and someone was hitting on reader and touching her and ransom got mad. 🤗

Hi love! Again, to everyone (including you) that has sent in a request, i’m sorry it’s taken so long. I feel bad for making people wait but i never wanna upload work that’s anything short of great in my eyes. I always want to be at my best. This didn’t quite go the way i wanted it to but i really hope it’s still good. Everyone reading, please feel free to leave feedback. It helps and is very appropriated.

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Prompt #100: “Call me selfish, but i don’t ever want anyone else touch you”

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Jealousy, swearing, smut, sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, slight ownership kink (if you squint) and daddy kink. 18+

Word Count: 3,563

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @kylosrehn go check them out💜

Over My Dead Body

When making plans for the weekend with Ransom, going to a party full of stuck up rich people wasn’t exactly on your agenda. But, seeing it’s part of his lifestyle, you made an exception and besides it was yet another party hosted by his grandfather Harlan. 

You never used to attend these parties since Ransom never invited you. He preferred to keep your interactions strictly bedroom related, nothing more, nothing less. It was beginning to confuse the hell out of you because sometimes on a rare occasion, he’d let you meet his friends and family.

But as previously stated, it’s rare.

When the two of you first met, sparks flew instantly. Your friend had introduced you, she was on a date with her boyfriend, her boyfriend brought him along just like she brought you along.

Their way of setting you two up. And it worked.

A solid 2 hours after meeting the man, he was balls deep inside of you making you forget your own name and turning you into a moaning mess underneath him. Since then you’ve been hooked. Whenever either of you are horny, you fuck.

But like any other fuck buddy relationships, there’s a catch. You two have a clear love for each other, one that neither of you will ever be brave enough to admit. Mostly because Ransom is a huge commitment phobe. The thought of only being with one girl for the rest of his life scares him and you just don’t admit your feelings because the thought of being rejected weighs heavier than the optimism of it working out in your favour.

 Although he’s scared of settling down, Ransom sure did seem keen to bring you along with him to this party tonight which now you come to think of it, he’s been like that the last few times he’s taken you out.

Maybe he’s changing his mind.

“Red wine?” you hear, turning your head to see the man himself holding a wine glass for you and a tumbler glass for himself, no doubt filled with whiskey on the rocks. He does love his whiskey after all.

“Thank you, so tell me again. Why am i here?”  you ask before taking a rather large sip of your wine, you certainly need liquid courage if you’re going to talk to these people.

“Who else would i have brought?” he responds, voice monotone, almost as if he’s bored and very uninterested. So all this time you thought there was a possibility of him changing his mind when in reality, he’s just been bringing you along to all of these lavish parties to keep up appearances.

No doubt to keep that controlling mother off of his back.

You shrug, continuing to look around as Ransom greets some of his grandfathers guests. One of them looks at you before looking at Ransom who eventually introduces you two, attempting to strike up some small talk until he’s being dragged away to talk to a group of men who no doubt are a lot older than him. Leaving you stood all alone.

That’s when you spot a guy across the room. He looks around Ransoms age. Tall, expensive suit, blonde hair and blue eyes. Plus he seems friendly. He raises his hand to wave and you reluctantly strut over, greeting him with a shy smile which he reciprocates.

“So, what’s a beautiful woman like yourself doing stood all alone?” his compliment has you flustered and unsure how to respond but still, you find the words “thank you and i’m not alone, i came here with Ra-”

“Ransom Drysdale, yeah i saw you with him, where did he disappear to?”

“I have no idea, off talking to random strangers” you chuckle nervously, feeling slightly embarrassed about his absence. Little do you know, Ransom can see you with this mystery man, gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw at the sight of you laughing.

Surely he can’t be that funny, he thinks to himself. But he is. He’s hilarious.

“So what do you think drew her to him then?” you giggle, gesturing to the couple next to you, a woman who’s dressed up to the nines with her husband who looks a lot older than her “oh obviously his looks, what makes you question her intentions?” he smirks and you shove him playfully.

“Oh of course. What was i thinking? Silly me” you wink, downing the rest of your drink in seconds before he takes another flute of champagne off of the waitresses tray for you.

“If i didn’t know any better i’d say you’re trying to get me drunk sir” you say using your best posh voice. Unbeknownst to you though, Ransom can hear your whole conversation, every single thing you’re saying to this man.

But can he really be mad? You’re only talking to, right? Besides he’s not exactly your boyfriend so you’re free to talk to whoever you want. Not that you want anyone else.

What he won’t admit now though is how jealous he is right now, he’s had just about enough of another man making you laugh the way that he’s supposed to make you laugh and now the only way this man is taking you home is over his dead body. But for now, he’s gonna make use of his best poker face, side eyeing the two of you on the sly as anger starts to build.

You start to look around the room yourself, trying to find Ransom and as you do, you spot him heading over to the drinks table so you decide to take that as your opportunity to excuse yourself, joining your date.

“Hey you” you bump him, a cheesy grin plastered across your face, one that fades as quickly as it appeared thanks to Ransoms straight and unimpressed expression.

You stand in front of him, blocking his access to the drinks “is everything okay?” but instead of an answer, you get silence. No response whatsoever. Why is he ignoring you?

“Ransom?” 

“What?” he mutters, evidently agitated “what’s wrong?”

He chuckles in response, shoving past you to get his drink and lifting the tumbler to his plump pink lips, practically gulping it down without even so much as a flinch “oh don’t worry, everything is fine. Hey why don’t you go back to your little conversation with Mr Perfect will you” and just like that, he’s storming away from you and up the stairs to the second floor, instantly regretting sending you back to that man.

What could have gotten him so wound up?

If seeing you with that guy is the problem then maybe he shouldn’t have left you.

And without a second more to overthink and fester over his random outburst, you return to the other gentleman. One who knows how to treat you with respect as opposed to shutting you out.

“Hello again” he beams “i was about to say your name but then i remembered we never exchanged those”

“I’m Y/N”

“Jack”

“Nice to meet you Jack”

“Likewise”

The two of you shake hands as another conversation sparks up, pushing all Ransom related thoughts to the back of your already full brain.

Whilst Ransom is sat in the bathroom. Flustered, angry and ready to blow his lid at something so small. A situation that means nothing. That man means nothing to you, surely. You’re just being friendly, after all he did leave you to go and socialise. What did he expect you to do? Stand in the corner away from everyone?

You don’t want this guy though. Jack is just a friend you’ve made here. You want Ransom and he wants you too but his pride is in the way.

God what is wrong with him?

Evidently a lot.

One minute he’s all over you, taking you to parties and the next he’s giving you the silent treatment and acting like you’ve done something wrong.

And the only reason for his odd behaviour is because of the plan he made for tonight. Anyone who knows Ransom knows very well about his thoughts on relationships but with you, things are different and they always have been. You force him out of his comfort zone, you challenge him and you make him better. He was so nervous for tonight that the second the two of you arrived at the party he was drinking and acting strange.

As much as the thought of settling down scares him, he knows that it’s much better to tell you than watch you leave and find someone new. Seeing you with that guy only confirmed that. 

After spending who knows how long in the bathroom trying to talk himself out of kicking up a fuss, he heads back down to the party, maybe he should go and spend more time with you but as he walks down the stairs, he instantly spots you and that same guy again. His hand is on your arm and you’re way too close for his liking. Close enough to make his skin crawl and his jaw clench even tighter. 

He storms over, hearing his voice as he does so.

“So i know you came here with Ransom but i was wondering if i could maybe get your number?” he asks, scratching the back of his head as he anxiously awaits your reply.

Jacks nerves are abundantly clear until Ransom cuts you off, stopping you from opening your mouth to respond. He tugs on your arm, pulling you back “the answers no, prick” he snaps, dragging you through the crowd and out into the cold night air, barely giving you a chance to say goodbye to anyone and causing goosebumps to form all over your bare arms and legs.

“Ransom what the fuck?” you yell, trying your best to yank your arm from his tight grip “just get in the fucking car” he demands, opening the door for you. How chivalrous of him. His raised voice made you jump a little, cowering slightly and leaving you with no choice but to do as you’re told.

The second he gets in too, he’s shoving the key in the ignition and speeding off away from the party. Jack and all of the crowd long forgotten not just out of sight but out of mind too. Now all you can think about is Ransom and what’s got him so angry all of a sudden as he was pretty happy on the journey here.

You daren’t speak though, god forbid. Your words will only wind him up further.

Knuckles start to turn white as he grips the steering wheel like never before, his fingers tapping frantically which is an obvious indication of his need to get home as soon as physically possible.

You honestly can’t remember if you’ve ever seen him this angry in the whole time you’ve known him and that’s quite literally the scariest thing about this.

Eventually you reach his house, or should you say bachelor pad and he barely waits a second for you to exit the car before he’s storming off into the house without you.

Once you get inside he’s nowhere to be seen until you hear a loud slam of a door coming from upstairs. You head up and into the master bedroom instantly to find him undressing and discarding his clothes across the room. 

“Ransom” you approach him with caution, worry filling your soft and caring voice but the moment you’re a few inches away and about to touch him, he shoots around, scaring you.

“Would you have given him your number?” he questions, his blue eyes looking deep into yours almost like he’s looking into your soul.

“Who? Jack? No, of course not. Why’re you even asking me that?” you protest, hoping he’ll believe you but now you come to think of it, you probably looked way too close for comfort.

“Lies” 

“Why are you being like this?”

“Because it sure seemed like the two of you were getting awfully cosy tonight, laughing, drinking, touching each other” he explains, closing the space between you and making you gulp.

“Well maybe if you hadn’t of treated me like i was invisible all night then i wouldn’t have needed to make friends with him. You forget that you barely said a word the whole time” now you’re the one that’s angry as you step back after your outburst, watching him carefully. His next actions shock you though as he just laughs, turning away and speed walking across the bedroom to the en suite. But before you can even follow him, he slams the door, making you flinch and then as you thought he would, he locked it.

Why can’t he ever be mature enough to talk about things. All he ever does is avoid confrontation. You don’t really like it either but at least you’re trying to sort whatever issue has him all in his feelings and angry.

Rather than sitting and waiting for him to leave the bathroom, you decide to go and get ready for bed in the other one, showering before getting dressed into whatever you can find. Which just so happen to be a shirt of his.

He dries off, wrapping a towel around his waist before unlocking the door and walking out to find you sat on the bed.

“The answer is no and that’s the truth” 

“Oh yeah? Then why was his hands all over you like you were there with him tonight?” 

“That was nothing, we were just laughing. What about you though huh? Snapping at me all night, leaving me and then deciding at the very last second that you want to spend time with me. Felt a lot like just another one of your games” it doesn’t look like he believes you and now you’re over trying to prove yourself.

“I left to talk to people and i was acting funny because going to those parties never end well, i wasn’t playing games with you” he stalks towards you, closing the gap.

Okay, now that makes sense. It explains all about how his behaviour changed when the two of you entered the actual party.

“You know, seeing you with that guy wasn’t easy. I got angry. All this time i thought you knew that you belonged to me, clearly i was wrong” his fingers graze your arm before settling underneath your chin and tilting it up, forcing you to look directly into his eyes.

“Maybe you need a reminder” he’s so close to you now, his hands are all over your waist, moving down agonisingly slow towards your ass. He smacks the backs of both thighs as a signal for you to jump and you do. How can you resist?

His lips attack yours in a brief and passionate kiss before he throws you down to the bed “i’m gonna make you forget all about him” he then removes the towel.

You furrow your brows watching as he lifts your (his) shirt up, revealing your laced panties. His favourite on you. He spreads your legs with his hands as he tugs you to the edge of the bed, kneeling down to press a firm kiss to the inside of both your thighs.

That’s when he does what he always does, turns you into a moaning mess by devouring your pussy like a man starved. Sucking, slurping and flicking his tongue all over your sex effortlessly like your body was made for him. Just how you felt the first time he ever touched and tasted you.

“Mhmm, just like that” you run your fingers through his styled locks, messing them up without a care. “I’m the only one for you" he mumbles and it vibrates onto your clit making you giggle.

“You’ve always been the only one” you whisper and he looks up at you with lustful eyes but also a look of love. One you’ve not seen before or maybe you’ve never noticed.

The way he looks at you isn’t new but all this time you’ve assumed it’s because of his attraction to you, that he’s only looking at you that way because of his uncontrollable lust.

“Only i am allowed to touch you like this, taste you” his lips wrap around your clit, sucking like his life depends on it as his thick digits tease your dripping entrance “s’wet sweetness”

You tug a little harder as you lift your bum off of the bed, grinding yourself on his face with a burning desire for that sweet release, the one only he has been able to give you “that’s it sweetness, cum all over my face, cum for daddy” his low and raspy voice spurring you on and talking dirty sends you over that edge as you cum with a loud moan. Quicker than usual.

You try to push him off as you scrunch your eyes closed, seeing stars. All you can focus on is how sensitive you are but he’s cleaning you up with his tongue, clearly can’t get enough of how you taste.

“Always so sweet” he gets back up, moving you further up the bed and parting your legs as he hovers above you with his fingers making quick work to slip your panties to the side. The tip of his cock rests at your entrance as he dips his head to capture your lips with his tongue pushing past them and into your mouth to battle with your tongue.

You can taste yourself on him and that alone arouses you leading you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his torso “i need you, now” you plead, urging him to give you what you want, which he does. He pushes in slowly at first, seating himself deep inside before really moving. 

His pace gets going, rocking his hips back and forth, making sure to fill you up all the way as you claw at his back, your mouth hanging open in the perfect O shape “fuck, daddy it feels so good” you groan moving with him in his thrusts.

“Feel good baby?” he pants, resting his head in the crook of your neck, placing open mouthed kisses to your weak spot “tell daddy how good it feels sweetness. Use your words” he growls and you lift his head up so you can kiss him, cupping his face with one hand “it feels incredible, please don’t stop”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Wanna feel that pussy cream all over my cock. Give it to me sweetness” he licks his index and middle fingers before pressing them down on your clit hard, rubbing aggressively as his pace turns animalistic.

He’s ramming into you with such vigor, his breath fanning your shoulder and the noises he’s making are a far cry from just moaning. No he’s not moaning, he’s upset too or at least bothered by something.

“Can feel you squeezing me sweetness, you close?” he kisses your shoulder but this time he’s more gentle, almost as if he’s afraid of breaking you.

“Yes, oh my god i’m gonna cum. Please, keep going” 

The two of you move more frantically. Desperately chasing a joint release.

Grunts, growls and the sound of skin slapping together fills the room, the sound bouncing off of the walls as you both near closer. That’s when you turn the tables around, kissing his neck this time, biting too.

“I’m gonna cum daddy”

“God i love you so much, cum with me” 

3.2.1

And you’re legs are shaking in the air, his cock starts to twitch before he coats your walls with his hot seed.

“I love you too”

As he looks back into your eyes, you see it, the tears brimming and threatening to spill but he quickly kisses you, knowing full well that it’ll distract you but not this time. You pull back to look again but he only moves.

“You know i don’t think i was ever angry at you” he starts, standing up to retrieve the towel “it was him. Seeing him flirting with you only made me realise what i wanted” you get off of the bed now, approaching him “call me selfish, but i don’t ever want anyone else to touch you” he rests his forehead to yours, his hands resting on your waist “you’re mine, plain and simple”

“You never were one to do things the easy way” the two of you laugh before he kisses you “the easy way is boring”

Although you’re shocked about his confession, you daren’t pry more right now on his feelings. For now you just want to enjoy this moment. The two of you feel the same and that’s enough for you.

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

General Tags: @deadlymistress24 @coffeebooksandfandom @chris-butt @holtzkinnon @mychemicalimagines @llamadelreyx @haus-of-bitch-talk @buckstaybucky @thewinchestergirl1208 @chrissquares @patzammit @dummiesshort @cevans-fics @americasass91 @toni9 @aaliferous @bradfordmyworld @thereisa8ella @kaminorogers @yassspose @randomsevans 

Just Chris & His Characters Tags: @onetwo3000 @persephonequeenofthedead @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @rynabarnesrogers @princess-evans-addict @stxvercgersslut @chris-evanslover @bval-1 @thejemersoninferno @denisemarieangelina @janeyboo @evansphnx12 @whxre4cevans 

LMK if you wanna be added to my tag list.

[tessiete]

16 (“If you want, we could go together?”) or 46 (“Shut up, I am a delight!”) for Obi-Wan & Padme, but no pressure whatsoever <3 <3 <3

Pressure! Pressure! Pressure! Lots of pressure. You know how my vanity requires that everything I write be capital P Profound.

This was a lot of fun to write - I forgot how much I love Padme. Now I’m contriving how to have her and Satine in the same fic and see how different they are.

In the meantime, here’s 2k of Padme just staring at Obi-Wan. Hope you’re at work @tree-scapes 

AND NEVER DO HARM TO THE WORLD

She asks him before she’s certain of the wisdom in it, herself, and he looks at her as if he’s only certain of its absence.

“If you want,” she says, “We could go together?”

The hitch in his step makes her wince as they reach the top of the Temple steps. She’s trapped him now, she knows, and feels guilty, but there’s no way for her to withdraw without causing further injury to both their dignities.

“I only suggest it since I know it’s a burden to - to me,” she explains. “And my usual escort is indisposed.”

He smiles. It’s a stiff and awkward line, as though drawn across his face by the unpracticed hand of a child, but he bows, and acquiesces with grace.

“Of course, Senator,” he says. She’s senator again, though moments before with Masters Windu and Koon she’d been Padme, so she knows it’s not the company.

“If it’s no inconvenience. I wouldn’t want to impose on your schedule, if you’d only meant to go for a short -”

“It’s no inconvenience at all,” he insists. His smile is kinder now, his awkwardness eased by the desire to alleviate her own obvious discomfort. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Good. Then I will know to expect you,” she says. With one more shallow bow, and the press of his fingers to hers, she hurries away, anxious to escape the louring gaze of the Temple guardians, and Obi-Wan’s curious stare.

She expects that he will show up, as promised.

She expects he will be, in all ways, gracious and prepared.

She expects stilted conversation, and wonders how often her tongue will stray to speak of Anakin, hoping the wine and frizz won’t alleviate one problem only to create another.

She expects she will spend the evening regretting her impulsive invitation, and making him regret it, if he doesn’t already.

What she does not expect is to be met at her door by a man she hardly recognises.

She has known Obi-Wan Kenobi since she was a girl, and he, hardly more than a boy, though in her eyes even then he’d been a man well beyond the reach of her childish ambition. Met again, he’d seemed...not ancient - one could hardly call him that - but aged, perhaps. Somber. Solemn to the point of serenity. He had an authority of a kind she’d only seen in grandmothers and wild prey, a sort of amused resignation to the motions of life, and an understanding gained through loss and sorrow. Whatever it was, it was something very distant from her, as if he’d grown out while she’d been busy growing up.

But the man that stands before her now is young, and sparkling. And nervous. It is a side of him she’s not seen before, and it has her counting the distance of years in her head. Is it ten? Less than? Surely not more. Are they truly peers?

He wears a skirt of muted blue, with three deep pleats pressed the full length on his right side. The creams of his traditional tabards are replaced with a stiff white tunic, and a thigh-length jacket with wide sleeves that drapes soft as the sky over his shoulders and down his back. It is a curious mix of imposed structure and natural elegance.

“Jedi formalwear,” he explains beneath her curious inspection. His fingers twist at the inside of a sleeve where the fabric hangs just long enough to hide his hand. He extends his opposite arm to offer her proper support. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” she agrees, and instead of the more sophisticated and out-dated practice of simply laying her hand atop his, she tucks her arm beneath, and steps close until their arms are pressed between them, more like comrades than indifferent chaperones.

They stay that way until they reach the Feano Lyceum, Obi-Wan’s arm against hers. She is presented first, and his name follows. She thinks he may pull away here, in public, but his hold remains neither loose enough to encourage release, nor tight enough to prove her suspicions about his disquiet correct.

A few ambassadors and fellow diplomats nod in greeting at their arrival, but they are not questioned about their connection. This, Padme realises with some relief, and then worries that the Jedi may sense some of that and go looking for its source. She isn’t certain, yet, what lies within the power of the Force to provide. Anakin seems as attuned to her moods as she is at times, and then so oblivious at others that she thinks they must be total strangers. It would be unfortunate if Obi-Wan were to tend towards the former. If he knew about whom she thought of so often and so well...

It’s been six months since she’d wed her knight, and she’d heard lots about Obi-Wan second-hand, but only as a father, or an overly strict mentor. He is neither of these things tonight. And he is neither of these things to her. So what is Obi-Wan Kenobi?

A Jedi, certainly. Wise. Accomplished. Just. Driven. Demanding. These were all revealed to her by Anakin, and proved to her by history. But he’d said more she was less convinced of.

Stern? Perhaps, though she might instead say serious.

Aloof? Not that. Not judging by the way he leans into her at the approach of the senator from Alk’Lellish III who courts him with a lascivious flick of her tongue, and lingering prehensile limbs.

Cold? Not by the way he nudges her to draw her attention to the buffet table where two politicians abandon a vehement argument to fall into an enthusiastic embrace, stifling a smirk.

Pretentious? Not in how he coaxes her to try some sort of elegantly twisted hors d’oeuvres only to break out into genuine laughter as he watches the spice hit her tongue.

“You knew,” she accuses, trying in vain to wipe at her mouth with a synthcloth napkin in an elegant fashion.

“I might have,” he acknowledges, before mercifully passing over a cocktail from the bar. “It’s a White Knight. Made with nerf-milk. It’ll soothe the sting.”

She throws the drink back with the steel of a seasoned professional, and Obi-Wan’s brow rises in surprise.

“I’ve been in politics a long time,” she says, a warning in her tone.

“Ah,” he says, signalling for two more. “So have I.”

His own drink disappears as quickly as her first, and he calls for a flute of frizz while she sips at the Knight.

“I was under the impression you’d be above all this,” she says. “You know - as a Master of the Order.”

“I had similar delusions,” he agrees, taking a long draught of his drink. “However, it turns out there’s rather more politicking in times of war than of peace.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, it seems that now we are required to be paraded about as the face of the Republic at these things as often as possible. To show we are here. To demonstrate our investment. To prove that the Chancellor is doing something about the Separatist threat.”

He finishes that drink, and reaches for another passing by on a tray. Padme’s smile turns to a frown as she watches that one disappear nearly as rapidly.

“You sound as though you don’t approve,” she says.

Obi-Wan tenses beside her, and turns away to set his empty glass aside. She cannot see his face, so must read what she can in the rigid line of his back as he says, “I lost many friends on Geonosis.”

“I’m sorry.”

When he turns back he is smiling softly once more, and she can’t tell if it is the Knight or some otherworldly radiance of his own that makes him blur at the edges, disguising his hurt, and transforming his disgust into dust, swept away by the fine skirts, and elevated company.

“Don’t be,” he says, deliberately applying her apology to a far less serious wound. “That’s why I came tonight with you. I had hoped you might ease my way, and perform all necessary flattery for me.”

“Oh, I hardly think you need my help in that,” she says, rolling her eyes, content to follow him to safer ground. “Maybe only to keep your admirers at bay.”

A short, sharp exhalation of air, and he falls silent, looking away.

“Why, Master Kenobi,” she cries, entranced and in utter delight, “Are you blushing?”

“That would be rather undignified for someone of my rank,” he denies. “It’s only a flush from the heat of the room.”

“You are blushing!”

“I am not,” he says. “It’s the ventilation that’s lacking.”

She waits. He watches her out of the corner of his eye, until she catches his gaze and holds it. His lips twitch. She can see his facade begin to splinter. It only pushes her to a higher mirth, and she laughs outright as it gives way entirely, leaving them both breathless and gasping.

Their joy catches the interest of several nearby dignitaries, one of whom is the Lellish ambassador with the wandering appendages, and before Obi-Wan can revert back to the blandly pleasant stoic he plays at, she takes him by the hand and leads him to the floor.

“Dance with me,” she says.

His smile remains, though his head tilts in confusion.

“This doesn’t seem a particularly effective way to solicit political support,” he suggests.

“No,” she says. “Not at all. But then I don’t find myself particularly interested in politics tonight, do you, Master Kenobi?”

“Obi-Wan,” he corrects, eyes shining.

“I thought not,” she says, and a smirk winds its way across her lips like the arched spine of a smug felinx.

They dance one set, and then the next, twirling away in a flourish of colour and light the moment anyone steps too near, or looks too close, and for a time they cannot be touched, and when they are spent, they fall laughing, out of line, upon each other.

“Anakin won’t believe this!” she says, her voice still rising with the excitement of the music. She doesn’t realise what she’s said until Obi-Wan’s eyes turn cloudy, and a wedge forms between his brows as he looks on her with a strange regard. “Next time I see him,” she amends. “I’ll tell him your secret.”

The Jedi coughs to clear some stray thought from his throat before it can be said aloud, and looks out over the room.

“Yes, I - I’m sure he’ll be amused,” he agrees. “Though we have attended many functions such as this before. Growing up. On a variety of worlds. It can be of little surprise to him - it seems that such civilized negotiations are common everywhere.”

Padme settles her skirts, and treads cautiously. “I suppose that’s true,” she allows.

“Though I imagine he little suspects that I am capable of such delight.”

“He has never said that,” she says, unwilling to slander Anakin even in her denial of him.

“But evidently, he thinks it,” Obi-Wan says, then sighs, gathering himself again. “Forgive me,” he says. “I find myself more and more uncertain what Anakin thinks, and feels. He doesn’t come to me as - Forgive me. You’re much too young, but I suppose one day, when you have your own younglings eaten up by adulthood you’ll feel it, too.”

“You’re not so old as all that, Obi-Wan,” she chides. “Hardly older than me, and not much older than Anakin. Certainly not old enough to be his father.”

“I was his master,” he corrects. “And now that he is knighted, I’m not certain what I am, anymore. He is changing faster than I am.”

She watches him as he watches the room spin, whirling by him in a wild array of colour and form that he cannot possibly follow - or if he can, then he is even more distant, even more removed from her ability to reckon. He is different. He is set apart, even from Anakin, and she suddenly wonders if that is because of the Force, or because of himself. Is it he who feels removed? He who feels shut out? He who feels divested of his place in the world, defined only by the title others call him and lacking the distinction of earnest comprehension? It isn’t enough, she thinks, to see in him what Anakin sees, or what she might expect. She needs to see him for himself, and appreciate him for that.

“His brother then,” she concludes, and she takes his hand. “And my friend, whatever else besides, no matter what he thinks.”

“If you say so,” he says, and she can feel him yield beneath the pressure of her hand, and the firmness of her conviction.

“I absolutely do. Let’s not think of him. Let’s be whatever we are right now. Let’s be delighted and delightful together, and have just one more dance.”

[writerman]

For the prompts, could I ask for elbarduil where Bard is a half elf like Elrond but has had to keep it a secret so Thranduil and Elrond don’t know and Bard just kinda forgets to tell them, and then one day after something happens to Bard and he gets hurt, BAM they find out and realize Bard isn’t going to die of old age like they thought, they’re not going to lose him.

I did not mean to write all 2,773 words today but I figured I had kept you waiting long enough for my sorry butt to get some motivation in me to write...

Thank you for sending in the prompt, I truly appreciate it and I very much enjoyed this request and now I want more half-elf Bard.

—————-

“He lost a considerable amount of blood I saw it all,” Elrond began, his eyes scan the courtyard until his gaze fell to Bard who was sat fussing the stable cat. He looked as he always did only tired. “I feared it was the end of him, Thranduil. He was pale and weak, my heart knew he would not see the end of the day…” Elrond’s voice soft now as he relived the memory vividly in his mind. 

Thranduil, however, looked unconvinced as he turned to watch Bard with narrowed eyes. Of course, his entire demeanour and excellent health left Elrond to look a little… off his mark but it was not in the lord to lie. 

“Yes, he truly looks close to death, all that walking and talking and laughing. By the stars, he is on the precipice of life and death. I see it now.” Thranduil received a gentle nudge in the ribs from Elrond and they both shared a smile that slowly dissolved into quiet laughter. 

“I am sure whatever it is Bard will tell us.”

“If he even knows himself.” 

“You are right. It is best that we only remain thankful he is still with us at all.” 

They remained standing under the archway that led from the royal quarters to the courtyard and simply watched as Bard took in the summer sun blissfully unaware that his husbands were inwardly perplexed at his survival. 

It was not until they mentioned his injuries over dinner that night did it occur to Bard that they had no idea he was in fact half-elven just like Elrond. 

Then and there would have been the perfect chance to tell them, to dramatically reveal he hadn’t been human this whole time! 

Cue random gasps of surprise and maybe some applause. 

But the moment was gone before he could even fathom how to word such a thing. Thranduil had changed the subject to Elrond’s subpar wine and a light sprinkling of bickering flavoured the conversation for the rest of the meal.

All thoughts of the accident and Bard’s miraculous recovery had dissipated now, the conversation did not come up again until Thranduil appeared one morning dressed to kill in robes fancier than Bard had ever laid eyes upon before. 

“We are riding to Lothlorien today, will you join us?” Bard, still in his everyday wandering around pretending-not-to-be-king clothes, paled for a moment as his mind raced and his heart started beating faster than a hummingbird’s wing. 

Lothlorien, where his dearest naneth resided. It did open the floor to Bard explaining who he was and it would be easier with his mother there to back him up, even though it was rather unlikely that Thranduil and Elrond would not believe him.

“Yes, I think a trip would be nice. Why are you heading out that way?” He hoped the question was as casual as it should have been. It must have been because Thranduil sighed and gestured vaguely in the direction of Elrond’s voice that floated down the hall. 

“To visit extended family.” 

More than you have any idea about, Bard thought but instead of speaking he merely offered Thranduil a sunny smile that spoke of innocence where there was none. 

With a silent order to change Bard got up and hastily dressed in something more fitting to see Galadriel and Celeborn. Meeting Galadriel was always such a jarring experience though not at all negative… just jarring and she was always so kind to him and not at all surprised that he was aware of elven customs, unlike Elrond and Thranduil had been. 

It would be near 6 hour trip from Rivendell to Lothlorien and Bard found the time passed with the blink of an eye. How long had it been since he had been there to see his mother and how long had Galadriel pretending she had not known he was there? 

Regardless of who did know, he was more aware of who did not and just how they might feel when he suddenly springs it on them that he was not a frail little mortal man they needed to constantly worry about every moment of the day. 

That wasn’t fair, they knew he was strong and capable but there were time Bard forgot just who he was and allowed them to coddle him even if it was only in the slightest of ways. So used to being seen as just any other human living among humans it was easy to carry on as one would. 

And no one had yet commented on how little he had aged only that he looked good and healthy which was enough for him because it was safe and if not a little bit pleasing to hear. 

They were greeted at the gates by Haldir who called for the entry to be opened for their arrival. Bard gave a hearty wave which the elf returned which earned him a few peculiar looks but it didn’t seem to bother Haldir in the slightest. 

“Elrond and I must discuss elven matters, would you like to join us?” Thranduil sounded bored before he’d even attended the meeting and Bard truly felt for him because he knew Thranduil would have preferred to be doing something more interesting than reminiscing about a time so long ago it seemed inconsequential. 

“I shall leave you to your important matters and I will find something to occupy myself with for the time being.” All he wanted to do was get out of his riding gear and drink something cold and sweet to refresh himself before he slunk off to find his mother. 

It would be a pleasant surprise for her to see him and the thought of seeing her joyous smile spurred him on and he set off for the rooms he was usually given when visiting, he was well aware they would already be ready for them. 

“I shall just go on without you then,” Thranduil called out after him and Bard threw a smile over his shoulder his dark gaze meeting with Thranduil’s pale one as they share a fleeting moment of humour before Elrond took the blond’s attention and they strolled in a leisurely manner towards their welcome party. 

It might have been seen as bad manners not to greet Galadriel and Celeborn but he was sure they wouldn’t hold it against him. After all, he was a human and could not possibly manage to ride 6 hours on horseback and then sit talking for hours drinking wine strong enough it could knock out a full-grown cow. 

Once in private Bard stripped over the leather riding gear and smoothed out his shirt and tidied his now wild hair into something more presentable for his naneth. The anticipation of surprising her was unbearable and the jittery excitement inside him had him pacing the room as he tried to cool himself and give himself time to slip out of the guest quarters unnoticed. 

-----

“They do not know about me do they?” Leithriel asked her smoky voice was coloured with humour as she smiled to the point the corners of her eyes crinkled. A true and, almost, delighted smile. 

“No, and it isn’t as though I was trying to hide it from them, it just never came up in conversation and it took me being gravely injured for me to consider that, perhaps, they didn’t ask me about mortality because they were afraid mine was fragile.” Bard had his elbow on the dark polished surface of her living room table with forehead rested in palm as he stared at his own reflection. 

“You surround yourself with sons and daughters that have lives as quick and as wild as a raging sea. I can see why you would not recall your own heritage when I see rarely see you these days.” Leithriel’s smile faded Bard could hear in her voice that she regretted her actions. 

“You belong in Lothlorien. You would never have been happy in Laketown or Dale without Da. And I would not ever ask you to join me there, we both know I won’t be there forever. One day I might even come here for good.” Leithriel arched a brow at him in question, she looked wholly unconvinced by his words and shook her head. 

“You would leave your husbands and come here to live with me?” When she put it like that it did sound embarrassing but it wasn’t what he had meant. 

He sat back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair hoping the action would ease his mind. There was a genuine fear that Thranduil and Elrond would be unhappy even angry with him for hiding this from them. 

While the logical part of his mind told Bard that he was being ridiculous he still couldn’t help but worry that it had been too long and that it would appear as though he had hidden it from them when that really wasn’t the case. 

“You will not settle here if you do not tell them now.” She was right, of course, and she knew it. “Before you go, I had something made for you.” Rising slowly from her seat with grace Bard knew he’d never possess, Leithriel left the room returning moments later with a package wrapped in pretty silvery paper tied with string white string. 

“I had hoped to send this before your next visit but now is a better time than any to give you this. You married so quickly that I was unable to offer this to you for the wedding but I suppose it will do as an outfit for dinner tonight when you are with Galadriel and Celeborn.” There was a quiet sadness in her voice that Bard wanted to ask her about but before he could he was urged by her to open the package. 

Not wanting to argue or delay what seemed to bring her joy Bard unknotted the string and let the paper fall open revealing neatly folded fabric. He set it on the table so he could stand up and when he lifted the first piece from the set it unfolded revealing a striking burgundy outer robe. 

“The first robe your father ever had made for him by elven tailors. He was ecstatic about it, burgundy and black and he cut quite a fine figure in it too, though he soon became a slight bit too round to wear it as he got older. Morvan wanted you to have it, ion nin.” 

His father had never been the kind of man that had been interested in holding onto his possessions and had always favoured skills over things. There wasn’t much left to keep of his father’s after he had died, and his mother had found it too painful to house anything that reminded her of Morvan other than his picture which hung proudly still on the wall of her library. 

“I want to put this on now.” Bard didn’t wait for a response as he strode from the room with the clothing gathered up in his arms. 

The black tunic and leggings fit perfectly and those garments alone made him feel so noble how a king should look. As he slid the outer robe over his shoulders the picture was complete and for a moment Morvan stared back at him instead of Bard’s own reflection. Those same brown eyes and wild wind-ruffled waves of dark brown hair he had been the very image of that man and how he missed him for a moment. 

Returning to the living area Bard felt he could not speak, the air in his lungs held as though trying to stay in the moment for a while longer, to hold the feeling of pride inside him for as long as he could.

“I- my eyes would deceive me I swore on the stars I thought you were your father.” Her eyes shone as she spoke and Bard released the breath from his lungs and crossed the room to embrace his mother in thanks and in comfort. 

When they parted she shooed Bard from her home with a smile but he knew there was still pain there and should he have lingered his appearance would only have made it worse. With a quick farewell, Bard crossed the courtyard and met Thranduil and Elrond as they left their quarters to go in search of him. 

“Oh my, we leave you to your own devices and suddenly you have a sense of style that may even rival Thranduil’s?” Elrond leaned in to press a soft kiss to Bard’s cheek in greeting and apology for leaving him so long. 

The sun had set and the warm evening lay before them with the song of night birds drifting through the trees. 

“Where did you go to find such clothing. This is the finest tailoring I’ve seen you ever wear and it has the Lothlorien style stamped all over it.” Thranduil slid a hand around Bard’s waist his excuse was to inspect the quality of the fabric but he was definitely just admiring how well it was shaped to his body. 

“This is the perfect moment to tell you that my mother gave it to me.” His bright and airy response was certainly out of character and certainly put on but rather than question the tone of voice both Elrond and Thranduil share a quick look before allowing Bard to continue. 

“My mother lives here and this was my father’s robe she said he wanted me to have it. Which means, as I am sure you worked out in no time at all, I am half-elven.” Had his heart ever beat so fast in his life? 

Silence.

More silence. 

“We know. We realised rather quickly when you were near death and recovered in record time from something that would have killed any normal man.” Thranduil drawled yet he tempered the tone with a smug smile, his hand still planted on Bard’s waist. 

“However, we were not aware of which parent was elven and if they were still alive,” Elrond added as he moved to Bard’s other side. “What we do know is that we are so very relieved you felt comfortable to tell us this and that you will be with us far longer than we could have ever imagined.” 

Bard felt himself visibly relax as he was led back into the guest quarters. What could have been a tense and uncomfortable moment was breezed through leaving Bard with little to worry about though, there was something else on his mind. 

“You know, it is all well and good me being elven and all but you do still have to meet my mother and she still has to like you.” 

The sound of wine being poured into goblets punctured the silence before Thranduil scoffed.

“I’ve not met anyone who does not like me.”

“Do you enjoy saying such ridiculous things to those that know you intimately?” Elrond queried taking Thranduil’s goblet of wine from the blond’s and handing it to Bard before Thranduil could even begin to take a sip. 

“Your reputation precedes you, meleth. You are a ray of light to us but from the outside looking in you may be seen as, ah, tad wintry upon first meeting.” It was a gently as Elrond could put it without dancing around the words and Bard was so wonderfully entertained by it all. 

“What he’s trying to say is, sometimes Thran you can really be a bi-” His words were cut off as a cushion hit him in the face. 

“Alright, alright, I am quite aware of what you are trying to tell me. It just seems to me that there is nothing to worry about. I am charisma personified when I need to be.”

“Well, I have never once witnessed that.” Elrond quipped now taking the second goblet Thranduil had poured. 

“You don’t seem concerned about meeting his mother, why are you the embodiment of calm?” Thranduil questioned now crossing the room to pour his drink out of reach of nabbing hands. 

“Oh, I am not calm. I am positively terrified but at the same time, I had to meet Galadriel and Celeborn once upon a time. I sincerely doubt it can be any worse than that.” 

Maybe not but Bard was not going to let them know, either way, it was far more interesting to see them suffer the unknown. Both of them never knowing when Bard might spring a meeting on them and leaving them wholly unprepared. 

The trip to Lothlorien was truly not a wasted one.

[mrsseverussnape]

Love Is You - chapter 11

A/n: hopefully this is gonna be posted… It was very stormy and the power is off for hours because of it. I tried to create a moodboard and i am trying to post it but even my own data is not working very well, the storm was that bad and probably damaged something… I deserve some comments after trying that hard to post that😂

    Christmas was around the corner, but Scarlett wasn't as excited as she used to be even it was her favourite time of the year. She was planning to celebrate it with her kids but apparently, they had other plans which she found out quite late. Sirius has invited Leo and Remus over for a boys Christmas celebration and Carina would celebrate it with her boyfriend's family this year. Actually both of the kids have offered to stay with her but she didn't want to ruin their plans for her own enjoyment. Then Scarlett thought to spend the day with her parents just like the old days but it turned out they have already booked a holiday, they would be in Switzerland during Christmas week. So this plan has cancelled too for her. Normally she wouldn't mind staying alone but on special days she would like to have a company, especially this year she needed it more. Scarlett thought if she could invite someone over for Christmas but she didn't have many friends and the ones she had already married and would celebrate it with their families or they were living in abroad. Then one possible person came to her mind but she wasn't sure if he had someone special to celebrate the Christmas with. But she wanted to give it a try and wrote a letter to Severus and invited him over for dinner.

    Christmas had a special place in their relationship. They have started dating on December, couple of days prior Scarlett's 18th birthday then she has invited him to her house for Christmas break when she found out he would stay at Hogwarts and with that he could meet with her parents. And the best memory of that Christmas was the present that Severus gave to her. He has got her a white British long hair kitten that she fell in love with immediately. Severus has gotten that idea since Scarlett was such a cat lady and actually she was a cat herself as an animagus, also she has told him about her late cat who passed away a year ago. Scarlett has named the new kitten Pearl and she has become basically their baby and in the summer of the same year they got another kitten together and named him Paul. The warm feeling of the memories made her smile, these happy memories has become her comfort zone lately.

    It was the Christmas evening and the kids were ready to leave while Scarlett was busy decorating a cake. Leo and Carina came to the kitchen to say goodbye to her.

"Mum the cake looks delicious but isn't it way too big just for you to eat?"

"I will have a friend over, i won't be alone."

"Oh you didn't mention that. Now we don't feel as guilty for leaving you alone. Who is coming?"

"Professor Snape."

The kids exchanged looks for a moment. They still haven't said anything to her about the trunk so she had no idea that they know about her past relationship with Severus Snape.

"It will be great for you two to remember good old days, I am sure you have missed them. Have fun!"

Scarlett looked at Carina rather suspiciously after what she just said. She was asking and talking a lot about Severus and her lately. "Thank you... Are you leaving?"

"Yep, take care and don't drink much mum."

"Okay mother." Scarlett rolled her eyes at her daughter. "You two have fun and say merry Christmas to everyone from me." She kissed their cheeks goodbye. "Love you."

"Love you too mum, bye!" Carina and Leo both apparated at the same time, leaving Scarlett by herself.

She did the final touches on the cake and put it in the refrigerator to set. Now she needed to get dressed before he came. Scarlett decided on a velvet bodycon dress which is off shoulder and its emerald green colour was complimenting her copper red hair beautifully. She brushed and styled her wavy hair and finally put her signature red lipstick. Scarlett looked herself in the mirror and enjoyed her view truly for the first time in a while. She hasn't dressed up fully for a long time and she has missed seeing herself like this.

    The knock on the door took her away from her thoughts. She rushed to the door and took a deep breath before opening it. When she opened the door and saw him standing there with a winter bouquet and wine bottle in his hands. It was such a coincidence that he has picked a velvet emerald green jacket to combine with his black trousers and shirt.

"Welcome Severus, come in! It is snowing outside."

"Hello." He smiled and entered the house once he lived in together with her, handed her the bouquet and the wine he brought. “These are for you.”

"Ah thank you, the flowers are so pretty!" She inhaled the flowers’ scent.

"Not as pretty as you..." Severus couldn't take his eyes off of her, Scarlett has aged like a fine wine.

She blushed lightly at his statement and looked away from him. "You can directly go to the dinner table; we better eat them before they get cold. And you know what, i cooked everything by myself, no help from the house elf!"

"Today is the big day then huh? You are showing me your improved cooking skills?"

"Oh yes today is the day!" Scarlett giggled while they were taking their seats.

He looked at the small feast that she prepared for them. It wasn't a classic Christmas feast since both of them were vegetarians but everything was looking more than perfect.

"I must say, i am already impressed Scarlett. Everything looks and smells splendid."

"Everything tastes splendid  too, i guarantee." She winked at him. "Help yourself, bon Appetit!"

    After the dinner they moved to the couch with their drinks in hands. Severus has really enjoyed the foods even he admitted that Scarlett's cooking skills have moved from 1 to 5 point. Scarlett was more than happy to hear that because cooking wasn't her best skill at all.

    Hours have passed and they have talked little bit of that and little bit of this, ate the cake Scarlett has baked and listened to some music from the record player. After 4 glasses of wine, Scarlett had an unnecessary amount of courage and suddenly asked him if he had anyone in his life even though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear the answer. Severus wasn't expecting that question at all but he had the answer.

"No, i don't." Severus finished off the wine in his glass. Starting a new relationship didn’t even cross his mind after their breakup. It was either Scarlett or no one for him.

"How come you are still single? You would make a great husband, i am sure."

Severus sighed and shook his head. "Scarlett, you are the only one who value me, every part of me that i don't even like myself... And i am so stupid that i let you go..." He wasn't planning the say those things but they did flow from his mouth, apparently wine has affected him too. But he didn’t care, if they had to do the talk they would now.

"I didn't want to go, you left me..." Scarlett whispered while playing with the wine glass. He hasn't even given her a proper reason, just left her. "Why did you leave? I deserve an answer Severus... It has been years, won’t you tell me still?”

Severus still didn't want to tell her the reason, he was sure it would make Scarlett very upset but he knew he should eventually. The reason has made sense to him at the time but the moment he broke up with her, Severus has regretted his decision deeply but he couldn't turn back because he has thought she wouldn't want him back anymore after how much he hurt her.

Severus took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, this talk wouldn’t be easy at all for both of them. "I will tell you but please let me finish it before saying anything… You remember that nightmare-like times between us and Sirius… I have visited Sirius when he was at the hospital after his suicide attempt, this was before your dad informed you about it. All he talked about was you and how much he loves you, how much you mean to him. And i thought maybe he loves you more since he tried to kill himself after you cut the ties with him, because of me... Scar i don't know, i just thought that he could give you more things than me and you deserve the best so i decided that you would be happier with him than being with me... Don’t look at me like that…"

Scarlett couldn't believe the things she just heard. She has always thought that he fell in love with someone else or he didn't love her anymore. "Severus, that is the stupidest thing i've ever heard from you... Didn't i show you enough that i was in love with you deeply and i was so happy with you...? I didn't want anyone or anything else but you Severus. I loved you… but apparently you didn’t love me enough…"

“That’s not true…” He couldn't dare to look into her eyes or say anything else, the words stuck into his throat. Now he knew it is a stupid reason but as a young boy it made sense to him. Severus has never thought a beautiful and rich girl like Scarlett would be his friend, let alone be dating someone like him. And there was Sirius, Hogwarts's most handsome boy and Scarlett's lifelong best friend, plus he was in love with her like crazy. Sirius looked like a better fit for Scarlett rather than himself, he never felt confident against Sirius, Severus didn’t have the looks nor the money while Sirius had both. But now looking at Scarlett and Sirius's divorce, it was clear that his thoughts were nonsense because he would never cheat on Scarlett, ever.

"Severus...?"

Scarlett’s trembling voice brought him back to reality from his thoughts. Severus looked into her tearful eyes, she always told more with her eyes and Severus liked that silent communication but now her eyes had an effect of a dagger and stabbed his heart. Then his eyes moved to her red lips and unconsciously he leant into them ever so slightly but he pulled himself back in the next second he noticed what’s he doing, he shouldn't have kissed her even he wanted nothing else. Scarlett was the same; her heart was wanting to kiss him but her brain was saying it's not a good idea at the current situation.

"I better go... Thank you for the dinner." Severus stood up to leave suddenly;  If he stayed any longer, he was scared that he wouldn't control himself and the conversation had a tool on both of them.

Scarlett just nodded, she still couldn’t process the things Severus revealed. "Good night..."

"Good night Scarlett..." And he vanished in the air.

Taglist:

@snapefiction @lizlil @elizabeth-baelish @misselsbells06 @mais-e @lunnybunny12 @anfre109 @entirelymesmerising @wolvesofwinter13 @mrssnivellussnape @mestin-writes

If you wanna be on my taglist, let me know!

[hecohansen31]

Not The Right Time

The Story Of How Everything Met The Family:

Ivar+Reader (Modern! AU)

(Masterlist) (Previous Chapter)

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

A few things before you start reading, SO PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU START READING THE CHAPTER!

This is a filler chapter again as the previous ones, mostly because this came out to have a lot more things to write than I originally thought and instead of writing a whole lot and leave it without a sense I prefered writing two parts (the next will be the angsty one!)

Pretty please, also: Tumblr has been penalizing me a lot, not making my tags work and not sharing my work, so please... if you do like the chapter and enjoy my writing consider sharing it and commenting it (please don’t simply share it, because I didn’t come here to be famous, I came here to gain feedback).

It takes a LOOOOT of courage to pubblish our own works, hence although you don’t see it, us writers go through A LOOT in our writing and such, dealing with insecurities and anxieties, most of the time not to have a gain from it, so please do consider supporting us through feedback.

Feedback makes my fingers write faster and my heart beat stronger!

With this being said, I do hope you’ll enjoy it!

Have a nice reading!

SUMMARY: Finally the Thanksgving Day has come and you have to endure a family lunch with your past lover, which might bring back more feelings and insecurities than you have ever thought.

WORDS: 12,6 K

WARNINGS: Pregnancy, Unexpected Pregnancy, Pregnancy at a Young Age, Mention of Abortion (and Being Harsh About it), Heartbreak and General Angst, Abandonement Issues and Being A Single Mom, Mention of Infertility, Use of the Word Cripple.

You set up the umpteenth outfit for the following morning, eventually choosing your more elegant pair of jeans, black and high-waisted, matched to a white sweater with a V-neck cleavage, elegant but not matronly.

Would it be enough to impress Aslaug, the ice queen?

You shook your head annoyed with yourself and with your overthinking.

From the start of this week you had told yourself that you wouldn’t have stressed yourself out for the Thanksgiving you had to pass at the Lothbrock house, although you had promised yourself to appear in your best shape.

And yet, the entire week you had done nothing more than set up things and ideas for it, getting your luggage ready on Tuesday, meanwhile you got Eric to be in his bed early tonight so that you could check it to make sure you had everything you needed.

It would have been one sole day, but you had still packed a small baggage mostly for Eric, with a few change of clothes (four, precisely) and a more elegant set of clothes, although Ivar had promised you it’d be extremely informal.

But you remembered perfectly that Aslaug’s idea of informal were elegant vintage dresses, giving her the look of a desperate housewife out of a ‘50s commercial, but with eyes of pure steel and a smirk that could petrify anybody on who it was set on.

When you weren’t busy being afraid of her judgement for your uncured clothes and dirty hair, when you were younger, you admired her dearly.

But you knew she didn’t like you very much.

She and Ivar always had a strong relationship and you were sure that one of the many reasons why she didn’t like you truly, as any girl that Ivar might have brought her home, was that you had stolen her smaller son for quite some time.

So, you shouldn’t have been worried, in the slightest, about it anymore.

Although you and Ivar had a child together, he undoubtedly had no intention of bringing you back home to him or of creating a relationship with you.

But you were still scared shitless of her judgement.

You were halfway through setting up another possible combination of clothes, when your phone thrilled awake under the pile of clothes on your bed, and you went to answer it, noticing it was Ivar.

You almost hoped he’d tell you that he was sorry but the entire Thanksgiving lunch had been postponed.

But you got another kind of ‘bad’ news:

‘… Freydis has had… an urgent appointment’ he explained, his voice clearly showing some kind of worry, but at the same time… it almost didn’t feel authentic.

His voice was mechanical, but you blamed it on the phone.

‘… she has started bleeding this afternoon. The doctor says it isn’t anything worrying, but he wants her to avoid travelling and to keep her relaxed during this time’.

You had your own experience of bleeding a bit during your own pregnancy, so you could understand the doctor’s worry and you hoped that she’d be fine, saying so to Ivar as you explained that it was totally fine.

And that it wouldn’t have been a problem for you to cancel your planed for Thanksgiving.

You’d just have to postpone the meeting with Aslaug to another day.

‘… actually, about that…’ the tip of his tongue seemed heavy, almost slurring his words ‘… I don’t want to… it won’t cange anything… Freydis won’t simply be with us’.

You were extremely surprised by that admission as you tried to understand, why would Ivar come with you to his mother, when his pregnant fiancée was troubled with her pregnancy.

Although you knew it wasn’t your place

And Ivar seemed to feel your question.

‘I have tried… to tell Freydis that I feel more comfortable staying, but she won’t… she says that I am a fretting animal whenever she is sick… so she told me that it’d be better for health if I visit my mom’ Ivar’s voice was calm, almost as if he thought that Freydis’ request was normal and he accepted it easily.

Which contrasted perfectly with the way you remembered Ivar.

Back when you had been nothing more than a couple of friends, Ivar was always worried whenever you got minimally sick, although he was extremely grumpy about it, since he could be quite difficult with his emotions.

Once you had needed a small daily check-up at the hospital, and Ivar had literally hounded your bed, although your mother had been right there with you, leaving you two alone, as soon as she had noticed Ivar and that he wouldn’t back it up.

So, it felt strange that Ivar, the big and tough alpha man he had been taught to be, didn’t even try to protest against Freydis’ choice, when she was much pregnant with his pup and when she was the love of his life.

… unless…

… unless she wasn’t truly the love of his life.

But this was your idiotic brain trying to ease the slight and irrational jealousy you had been feeling, which had started when you had met Freydis and your heart had started beating again for Ivar.

But you were aware that it wasn’t useful in the slightest.

It hadn’t worked the first time.

Why would it work this time?

‘… I know that I seem awful’ he read your mind ‘… but Freydis will have a friend coming over to check on her and I think that I’ll stay till lunch and then go back home, immediately. She’ll let me know if anything bad will happen’.

In the end Ivar’s tone seemed extremely honest and you didn’t feel like mingling in his own relationship’s issues, aware that although you shared a son, you certainly didn’t have any more right to share his life and to know his own private details.

‘I can come and pick you up, if you don’t want to travel alone’ you proposed, although you regretted the words the moment you voiced them, knowing that they broke the second rule you had given yourself that week.

‘Don’t come too close to Ivar’.

No matter what.

And not again.

‘… that’d be nice’ his own voice held surprise and for a moment you almost expected him to reject the idea, insisting on that awfully toxic idea that he was an independent man who needed nobody’s help.

But he surprised you.

‘… I would actually like it, if you aren’t bothered by driving. I can pay for gas’.

‘There is no need for it’ you muttered lightly ‘… you already paid the medical bill this week’.

Which had been great, since you had been able to arrive to another month without adding some further debt to your whole life, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but question yourself and your decision.

Had you been a good mother?

Could have Ivar given Eric more?

‘… well, we’ll see tomorrow’ he commented and you could already picture that small smirk he had on his face in that moment, sure that he’d win also this argument, but not without a fight ‘… in the meanwhile, I’ll go to sleep to wake up tomorrow at 7 a.m. and you can swing in here by 8… or I can come to you…’.

‘I’ll come to you’ you suggested since Ivar’s house was on the road for Aslaug’s house a two hour ride that you had studied alongside other details about how much you remembered of the house and whether it was proper or not to nominate Ragnar in front of the whole family.

Sigurd had helped with a few things, although he had told you he wouldn’t be there on, since he had better things to do, which meant he had small Thanksgiving gig in a bar in the city.

And free alcohol as a payment could be quite convincing.

After receiving all the news of that night, you also should have indulged yourself in a glass of wine.

But you wanted to wake up at a decent hour tomorrow.

With no hangover, again.

In the end you went to check on Eric, finding him effectively asleep, which surprised you since he could be reckless and wouldn’t go to sleep till all his energy was out of his body, and today he had been quite excited to meet his grandma.

He must have taken your suggestion about ‘going to sleep earlier, to make the morning come faster’ seriously, something that made you smirk a bit as you gently moved to collect his crutches left on the floor, gently caressing his dark hair, as you kissed his forehead.

In the end, although your heart was slowly breaking, it was all worth it.

Overthinking comprehended.

---

Ivar had been truly worried about leaving Freydis alone.

Although it seemed more something that he did to avoid others’ judgement than for his own worry.

Almost as if he knew he shouldn’t have left her, and deep down he felt bad about leaving her…

… but it wasn’t for the right motives.

It was guilt, not love, making him act like that.

And he was sure that that should tell him much about his relationship with Freydis.

Lately he had been questioning it, although he knew he was toying a dangerous line, even more when their wedding was so close, since Freydis had chosen to pull it closer since she would have soon been ‘heavy with his child’ and she didn’t want that to ruin the wedding.

He had suggested that they simply postponed to after her pregnancy, but Freydis had literally shot him a murderous glare and he hadn’t said much more than telling her that she wouldn’t have looked ugly even ‘heavy with his child’.

The entire expression had made him uneasy, not solely for the way she had expressed the pregnancy as a negative aspect.

Pregnancy could be difficult on women, since it changed their bodies.

But he was sure she’d look amazingly all full with his child, swollen up and gorgeous, glowing of the pregnancy brightness that would have made her solely pretty.

It had undoubtedly made you gorgeous, from the photos he had seen of your pregnancy.

And he was anxious of staying by her side for such a journey, as he hadn’t been able to do the same with you.

And also the way she pushed on the ‘his child’ part, almost as if she wanted to convince somebody and it had made him nervous, although he tried not to measure every word she had spoken, because it’d drive him mad.

Lately he had been feeling more and more like he had been picking out at every word from Freydis’ mouth.

And not for her own sake, but for his, something that was absolutely awful for an engaged couple and when Freydis’ scare had caught up to him that afternoon he had thought that although it might seem selfish, he needed some time away from her.

Simply to recharge himself and change the mentality he had been having, since he was bringing himself to insanity, judging Freydis in a way that on the long run would have been hurtful.

Even more when she had sacrificed so much to be with him, constantly showing him that she loved him, desperately.

And he thought he felt the same.

But he couldn’t deny that since you and Eric had come back, he had felt the flame of your relationship rekindle, and although at first he had thought it was simply the effect of seeing you again after all this year…

… now he seemed stuck in a limbo.

He had never truly closed the things with you.

Although he had pretended that day of not wanting you anymore, he hadn’t felt in the slightest what his words meant.

It was supposed to be just a stupid dare.

His brothers had been jealous of the close relationships that was forming between you and him, truly impressed by the fact that you two had had sex, and they had dared him, starting from Bjorn, to break up with you for a day.

‘… to see if she suffers, to see if you are… her true love…’ had joked his stepbrother, a lazy smirk on his face, and although Ivar shouldn’t have, at the time he considered his older brother cooler and although he wouldn’t have admitted it to his face, not then and not now…

… he did most of the time what he told him to.

Hvitserk had agreed on the plan, meanwhile both Ubbe and Sigurd had been skeptic, Ubbe eventually joining in, sure that it would have been ‘a fun joke’ and that you would have debunked it immediately, meanwhile Sigurd had just kept to himself, telling Ivar that he was ‘a fucking asshole’ for doing this to you.

And that he’d have suffered greatly for this idiocy.

And he had been right, for once.

After the ‘fake break up’ you had distanced yourself from him, pushing him away in a way that had made him almost self-conscious toward other relationships and when college had rolled around, with a broken heart he had moved away, hoping that the distance would have healed it.

But neither that nor time had brought some relief to him.

He had had his fair share of girls in college: he might have been a prick and a cripple, but money and status clearly brought all the girls to him, but it had never felt like with you.

And he had never felt truly attracted to them.

Something that on the long run had just made him lose his own virility and sex, unable to even simply get it up, no matter the fact that he thought that the girl in bed with him was hot as hell.

She might have been the prettiest woman in the world, but she wasn’t you.

Something that he had never told the sexual therapist he had been seeing for Freydis’ joy, because the doctor would have for sure told him to get back with you, if he wanted an healthy sexual life.

Which wouldn’t happen for sure.

Mostly because you had made it very clear that you would have preferred being thrown in a dumpster than sleep with him.

But he couldn’t deny the thought of not feeling truly comfortable with anybody else, other than him, having you the way he did long ago.

He was jealous of all the imaginary lovers you could have had.

But he justified as simple worry for Eric’s wellbeing.

But he was aware that you wouldn’t have done anything bad for him.

That was why the flame of the past burned bright in his chest.

He had seen you go from a beautiful girl to a gorgeous mother, a journey that echoed on your skin and although you weren’t comfortable in it, like Freydis, you didn’t hide it, showing Eric as your pride and glory.

And he felt the same towards the boy.

He was the sole thing good that he had done.

… alongside Freydis’ baby.

He laid a soft kiss on the slight bump at that thought, meanwhile Freydis gently turned to latch out on him half-awake and half-asleep, as she mumbled a small and chewy ‘… goodmorning’, and Ivar gently moved his nose up her figure, reaching her face, which he peppered in kisses.

It was more a mechanic gesture than a proper one.

But still Freydis didn’t seem to notice the difference, for which he was grateful.

He hoped that a few hours of freedom would make him realize what he had been missing and why Freydis was the one he was supposed to be with.

And not you.

“… I am going, if you think that you are feeling well enough” he mumbled, as he looked at the clock, a quarter past 8, her friend was supposed to be there in a few minutes and he wanted to check on who she was, but Freydis simply nodded her head almost eager to see him gone “… are you sure?”.

He seemed to be not the only that would have enjoyed his freedom.

“Yeah yeah, you overbearing bear” she muttered, almost annoyedly, hiding her face in the pillow, as her long hair spilled on her naked back “… just go, I wouldn’t want mama bear to be worried”.

He grimaced at the veiled insult that Freydis had muttered, but didn’t say anymore, instead gently caressed her hair away, checking her face and her temperature, both seeming healthy, although he was still a bit worried.

If not for Freydis fully, at least for the child she was carrying.

The doctor had assured them that it wasn’t anything wrong.

It was common to bleed through the pregnancy, mostly during stressful periods, which did match with Freydis’ current situation and her crazy wedding planning.

The doctor, himself, had suggested that she took it easy and maybe hired someone to help, and this plan had been explicitly encouraged by Ivar, but she had insisted on doing everything on her own, although she had reassured Ivar that she’d take it with much more calm.

“… isn’t your friend supposed to be here already?” he muttered softly, not wanting to leave her alone, but knowing that in a few minutes you’d be there, since your anxious personality always made you arrive a bit earlier.

Freydis shook lightly her head, and turned to him, again sleepy with her lids hazily closed as a hand came to her chest.

“… my mom is coming, just give her time!” she replied, stretching on the empty bed, but Ivar couldn’t help but hear intensified her words, surprised that Freydis had called her mother, truly, when she had said a ‘friend’.

“… your mom?” he asked, unsure if he had heard right “… I thought… you said a friend”.

Freydis bit her lip and Ivar immediately noticed the gesture, unable to feel like it was a gesture that his fiancée did whenever she was nervous.

And it was starting to happen more and more.

And he was starting to have his doubts.

“No no” she mumbled, slightly pushing herself to have her back against the plush headboard of their shared bed “… I must have been so tired that I mixed up the names… sorry… it is my mom”.

“I thought you didn’t like your family” he could feel the way she was starting to feel more and more nervous with his comment that hid questions, but at the same time she hadn’t been very talkative in the family department and he had just assumed she didn’t like them.

Again, that lip-biting and a little look at her phone, with shone with a number appearing on it, and under it the name ‘mom’.

… Gosh, he was low key losing it.

“I just… I just thought that I might want to be closer to them, at least for the baby” she explained softly, her voice thoughtful as she took a deep breath “… my mom wasn’t that bad, also, I just… grew distant after I went to college”.

Which made sense.

And maybe Ivar was becoming quite more suspicious for something that was completely harmless.

… he was just overthinking the entire situation.

Trying to find faults, when it wasn’t Freydis’ in the slightest.

“… still I’d like to know your mother” he knew better than to come between a child and a mother, but he would have preferred to know her before allowing her near his child, although Freydis trusted her “… invite her over for tonight, we’ll have a small dinner with together, to celebrate and to thank her for staying with you”.

He didn’t want to prod more and Freydis’ face rewarded him with a small smile as she brought him for a long, long goodbye kiss, that not even the notification of a message in his phone, probably from you, stopped her from ending.

He kissed her one last time, and then left her grabbing quickly his travel bag since he had a few things to bring to his mother, a few toys he had brought as a gift to Eric and even a small gift card for you, although he knew that there was no true occasion.

But he felt like it was a nice gesture.

He checked the message as he closed the door behind himself, realizing that it was indeed you, assuring that you were early and would be waiting for him outside, Eric having also stolen the phone from you to send him a photo of himself.

And Ivar snapped one of himself, as he grabbed onto the crutch he had for emergencies, although he didn’t use it too much, but his mother would have gotten an heart-attack if she hadn’t seen him with a crutch, at least.

No matter the fact that she stored a lot more in their house.

And at the start of the week she had even gone as far as to ask whether she had to get some for Eric, for you know… emergencies and such.

‘… Ivar, I am serious!’ she had protested once, when Ivar had started laughing at her worried tone on the phone ‘… I want that sweet boy to be at the most ease, in my house’.

‘Mom, (Y/N) will probably bring crutches if he needs it and you buying some would only make her even more nervous. And let me tell you: she is already terrified by you’ he had explained, because although his mother was important for him, he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable with her.

And neither he wanted Freydis to be.

Although, unlike with you, there wasn’t much that could be done with Freydis, since both the women had closed off the option of a possible relationship between each other, which made it difficult to even feel something for the other.

You, instead, had always wanted to be loved.

You cared too much for people’s opinion, no matter the fact that sometimes you just couldn’t be liked by everyone.

And he couldn’t help but to think that was probably how your friendship had started back then.

He made you wait just a few more minutes, moving in your car, although he noted to himself that had he ever had trouble choosing a Christmas gift for you, he should have definitely gone with a new vehicle, since the poor thing you drove looked ready to kill itself from any moment.

He sat behind with Eric, to have more space for his legs and be more comfortable, as you pushed forward the car seat to allow him more space, meanwhile Eric saluted him from the car booster seat, smiling as Ivar moved to kiss his forehead, as you checked from the front mirror.

“… do you have everything you need?” you asked, softly, meanwhile you tried to start up the car and for a moment Ivar thought of suggesting you took his car, although he knew that it might have been difficult to use since it was set up for his needs.

“Yeah, don’t worry” he replied, as he adjusted himself, pushing the safety belt to click in its place “… is everything alright with you, two?”.

“Oh yeah, Eric is literally the most excited about today” and although you maintained a cheerful tone, it was obvious that you were nervous, although your eyes were hidden by sunglasses “… he woke me up at 6 a.m.”.

And now he understood the need for the sunglasses.

Eric clapped his hands, unable to stop himself from giggling loudly, and Ivar couldn’t help but find it adorable gently mimicking him much to your grimace.

But a light smirk appeared on your face as you pushed yourself away from the parking lot, setting up the map on your phone.

“Can we put music on, mom?” asked Eric, who looked like he could have fought anybody off, in that same moment “… please, please, pleeeeaseee”.

“Ok ok” you mumbled, before shooting a look at Ivar “… if your dad doesn’t mind”.

It felt strange, the way you said it.

For once you hadn’t called him Ivar and neither ‘he’, but ‘your dad’ almost as if you had recognized his role in Eric’s life.

Which wasn’t an easy and quick feat.

And he appreciated it.

“I don’t think I have much choice” he muttered softly, as he shot you a quick look, seeing your reaction on the mirror of the car, again that soft smile, barely there, but it was there.

“… truly, when you are a parent, you have none”.

---

The trip had been quiet.

Although Eric had moved himself around at the beat of the music for a few minutes, he had eventually drifted off to sleep and neither you nor Ivar had had the heart to wake him up, instead drifting off in a mindless chatter between you two, meanwhile you driver to your destination.

You had also confessed him that you, yourself, had had some problematic bleeding during your time with Eric, telling him that it was natural and that rest in most cases was the best way to go.

And Ivar explained to you that she’d have her mother over, some kind of dubiousness in his words, but again you didn’t dare sticking your nose in his thoughts and problems, instead telling him that during pregnancy you had indeed grown closer to your mother.

A lump in your throat appeared as you thought about your father instead.

It seemed that the women of your family were cursed with men that wouldn’t simply stick.

But meanwhile Ivar was doing his best to be there for his son, your father had left once it had gotten hard, pushing you and Eric away, something that made you a bit sad, and you were almost glad for Ivar’s comfortable presence.

You might have felt uncomfortable for the crush you had been harboring for him, but some things had never changed and the complicity you had always shared had remained and you were thankful for it, now that both your souls had grown quieter and reconciled.

Ivar guided you to his past house, although you had memorized the road when you were ten and could have still reached it blindly.

But you let Ivar think that you had forgotten some things.

Once you were set up in the free parking lot, having arrived first, Ivar woke up softly Eric a gesture that made your heart clench a bit, because although Ivar wasn’t known for being the most emotional man you knew, he was just so gentle with his son.

And the sole thought of it, somehow, hurt you.

You got out of the car, asking Ivar if he could buckle up Eric back in his braces, as you got the few things out of the car to be able to lose as little of time as you could.

Ivar did it quickly, meanwhile Eric still clang on him, half asleep, making you smirk softly, steadying himself against your pants, as Ivar grabbed his travel bag and you your own trolley, spending a few extra minutes to lock the car.

Because you were extremely nervous.

Although you had no reason to be.

Aslaug didn’t need to examine you, as a girlfriend or as a mother.

But you still… felt uneasy at the thought of disappointing her.

And Ivar noticed it.

He gently pushed his hand onto your back, not too close to be truly intimate neither too strong to be possessive, but it was calming and you shot him back a slight thankful smile, as Eric, again shy, hid behind you both, leaning on your trolley.

And then Ivar rang the door.

And before you could say anything to comfort Eric and yourself, the door was opened.

It revealed a graceful woman, in an elegant set of comfortable clothes, a pair of pastel sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt, something that you hadn’t thought you had ever seen the prim and proper woman wear.

But that wasn’t the sole surprise.

She obviously immediately focused her eyes on Ivar and you were glad of it, although it was almost awkward to stand there, but you endured it gladly, happy not to have the attention on you.

Which didn’t last.

Because once she got up from hugging Ivar, she moved her attention towards you and you were also enveloped in a tight hug, the entire gesture contrasting so much with her ice queen persona that you remembered that it sent you in sensory overload.

And you were glad that it finished pretty quickly, making you smile at the woman as she softly saluted you.

‘… oh gods, it has been so so long since I last saw you” she commented softly, shooting you a quick look “… and you look like not a single day has passed”.

“You also do look the same” you replied tightly, surprised by her warm personality, but soon Aslaug’s attention shifted away from you and onto Eric, hiding himself behind you both, as the older woman crunched down to be at eye-level with Eric.

“… and who is this handsome young man?” she asked with a soft smile, as Eric gained a bit of confidence with all those compliments, moving forward and holding out an hand for Aslaug, as you had told him to do.

The older woman, already on the verge of a crying attack, accepted it welcomingly, commenting how much he looked like his father as a baby.

‘… but you do seem much nicer’ she joked, as she gently lead him inside, checking with you if you were comfortable, to which you nodded, because although you had been unsure about all of this, you couldn’t help but be sweetened up by Aslaug’s soft gestures.

Ivar shot you an amused look as he moved inside, pushing the travel bag to sling over his shoulders, so that it wouldn’t annoy him with his braces, as you moved inside.

As soon as you were inside a storm of memories caught you, unable to truly ever forget the many things that had happened there, the many adventures that you had gone through thanks to the Lothbrocks.

And although there were many things you regretted…

… this wasn’t one of those.

“… it didn’t change in the slightest” you breathed out, as you took in the vintage furniture, matched with pastel fabrics that made it seem like a mixture between an haunted house and a magical castle.

“Mom wouldn’t agree” commented Ivar as you both reached the cloakroom to deposit your coats and to leave there your luggage “… she says that everything has changed since we have gone away”.

“Don’t make me think about it!” you muttered, shooting an ironic look at the roof, meanwhile Ivar giggled with overexaggerated annoyance.

“He is only five!” he reminded you, and you shot back a glare that told him ‘he just wouldn’t understand’ “… you, moms, are all the same: overthinking everything and everyone”.

“Don’t even try to talk ‘momma’s boy’ “you taunted him, and again you were right in between that friendship and that crush stadiums of your relationships that made moments like this irresistible and the most difficult for you.

“… my lips are sealed” muttered gingerly Ivar, although he moved to distance himself from you, clearly showing his uneasiness to this, something for which you were grateful.

And you both moved to the kitchen where Aslaug had brought Eric, making sure that he did a second breakfast in full fashion, completely spoiling his child and looking at him with a curiosity that made it seem like she was examining a strange animal.

You had had a small talk with Eric to explain him who Aslaug was and how to behave with her, promoting a more rigid behavior, that might have been not what was proper actually for the welcoming they had received.

“… I hope you didn’t mind that I gave him something” and with ‘something’ she probably meant half of the food in her kitchen “… I am used to my boys being quite hungry”.

You tried not to grimace at the ‘my boys’, but still chastised Eric a bit, not wanting to deny him the food he needed, but if he ate all those things not only he would have been on a sugar high by this afternoon, but he also might have not eaten anything at Thanksgiving lunch.

And yet you noticed the unsure look on Aslaug’s face, reminding you one of your own when you had been the young girl, waiting for her examination.

And although you knew it wasn’t proper, you almost snickered with yourself for it.

“… don’t worry” you simply commented, dabbing almost possessively Eric’s lips, trying to gain some control back, as you showed Aslaug that although you appreciated her concern and gentleness, you were Eric’s mother.

And she seemed to understand it as she distanced herself lightly, focusing her attention on her son.

And noticing solely now that Freydis was indeed missing.

‘Where is she?’ she asked, with a light scrunching of her eyebrows, which you recognized as ‘the look of disappointment’ otherwise known as the ‘I am judging you’ face.

And for a moment you didn’t want to be in Freydis’ place.

“She has had some problem with the pregnancy” immediately Aslaug’s eyes tightened on him, evidently worried “… she has been bleeding a bit, and although the doctor has told us that it isn’t anything worrying, he said to avoid stress”.

And facing a mother-in-law like Aslaug could be quite stressful.

So, you didn’t blame her.

“… and why aren’t you with her?” her voice was slightly lowered, not to be heard by a rather disinterested Eric, his gaze focused on trying to steal a few more handmade cookies, which you tried out for yourself, and you had to say that Aslaug certainly hadn’t lost her touch.

And you hoped they weren’t poisoned.

“Mom…” Ivar’s voice was indeed a bit annoyed “… she insisted about remaining home and I didn’t leave her alone, she is with her mom”.

This comforted you and Aslaug, honestly, as the woman moved her gaze onto Eric, who had finally shifted his focus on his grandma, suddenly having woken up fully from the food and tiredness nap he had been having.

“… so… you are my other grandma?”.

You were tempted to almost facepalm yourself, because if Eric had inherited one bad trait from Ivar it was his uneasy bluntness and you couldn’t help but blush a bit, almost worried of Aslaug’s reaction.

She had recognized your role as a mother, and she had even hugged you.

And then your child went like and literally called her ‘his other grandma’.

She was probably already questioning your parenting skills and…

… and she started laughing, loudly.

And you and Ivar soon joined, Ivar more truly than you, who croaked almost as a newborn bird, meanwhile Eric looked at you all, as if the inside joke you had said wasn’t funny and he wasn’t getting it, till Aslaug softly moved an hand towards his smaller one and muttered softly.

“Yes, sweetheart” she muttered softly, as she reached out to straighten up his hair, as he brought them away “… I am grandma, Aslaug”.

“Oh, that is a cool name!” Eric chanted, looking with bright eyes at your grandma “… like the name of the princess Ragnar marries!”

Not even the mention of Ragnar was enough to make a soft smile disappear from Aslaug’s face, as she did nod and confirm that ‘it was the same name indeed’, before she shot you a quick laugh, embarrassment written on her face.

And insecurities.

You encouraged her with a soft smile, and she asked you whether she could play a bit with Eric, outside.

‘It shouldn’t be too cold’ she explained ‘… and don’t worry… I have set up a small table and a few things for him…’.

You couldn’t help but be extremely warmed up by the way Aslaug seemed to already care for Eric, although your uneasiness was still there, constantly worried that these people might leave Eric’s life, leaving him heartbroken.

But you also knew that although Aslaug was an ice queen, she was truthful in every little gesture of her.

And when she swore, she meant it.

Ivar had definitely taken that after her.

‘Mom can I go?’ insisted Eric, shooting you a deep look, as you moved to lay a soft kiss on his forehead, before you allowed them both to go outside, sending him a light smirk as Aslaug smiled at you gratefully.

‘… just wear a jacket and an hat!’.

Ivar who had watched carefully the scene, laughed again at your worry, but you caught the way he attentively looked outside to make sure that everything was indeed Eric-proofed, although he shouldn’t have doubted his mother.

Since she had been through that with her own son.

You wondered whether she was so immediately attracted by Eric because of the similarity with Ivar.

But you didn’t have too much time to mind to these things, because suddenly there was a ring to the door and your small safe haven was becoming a crowded family function.

Shit, you were nervous again.

Ivar’s brothers now did know that you and Ivar had a child together.

He had told them after you had agreed to be there on Thanksgiving day, and he had taken it upon himself to contact them to give them the news, since you had both agreed that it would have been awkward to discover it in that moment.

Although you honestly hoped you could keep that secret for a bit more.

You weren’t ashamed of Eric or of having Ivar back in your life, although it was simply as a co-parent to your five-year-old, but you knew perfectly that Ivar’s brothers had always had a certain image of you.

An image that even after all this bullshit you felt like you had to upheld.

And you couldn’t, anymore.

And you hadn’t ever told this to Ivar, when you were together, but you hadn’t ever felt truly comfortable with his brothers.

Hvitserk was okay, although he was a bit too flirty for you, but he had taken the hint once you had threatened him of cutting his ‘beloved friends’ off and Sigurd was nice, although he could be twice as childish as Ivar, sending you the demo of many of his songs, expecting you to listen to them in a few minutes.

But they were ok.

You did dislike Ubbe, since you couldn’t help but feel at unease with him, although he was the calmer of the brothers, but you couldn’t help but think about the infamous ‘look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it’ phrase.

Although you didn’t personally know much, since you had moved away, you had heard many rumors about him, and his numerous affairs, ending up his marriage with Margrethe, ruining the poor girl, and ending up marrying his brother’s wife.

If this wasn’t a scandal straight from a telenovela, you didn’t know what to call it.

But who you truly disliked was Bjorn.

He was the older son and thankfully he was their stepbrother, so he wasn’t around much time.

He had quite some toxic behaviors, starting from being a serial cheater and not a believer in monogamy, going on with the fact that he left whenever it got too hard, and although he wouldn’t be there for that lunch (which was a relief) you still didn’t like his presence.

And you secretly, not so much, hoped not to meet him.

He had been the most against your relationship with Ivar.

He had been constantly telling Ivar that he was losing out on being in a relationship at his age, but Ivar hadn’t cared much for his words, although you knew that he looked up at Bjorn almost like an hawk as if in that way he could steal his place as Ragnar’s heir.

But back in the time you hadn’t said much.

Ivar’s relationship with his brothers was already broken up by jealousy and the typical emotional angst, so you hadn’t wanted to add much more.

But now… having to face both Hvitserk and Ubbe, who brought Torvi with himself, they made you bit your tongue both for anxiety…

… and both to keep inside your words.

You felt a stranger left in the kitchen as Ivar opened the door, welcomed them inside with snarky remarks and sarcastic comebacks, but you could almost smell their interest and curiosity for you.

Ivar had told you they had taken the news well, but Sigurd had told you that both Ubbe and Bjorn had freaked out terribly in the chat, muttering things about your child and about the fact that Ivar was ‘stupid’ for taking it in so easily, without testing yourds.

Hvitserk had been the only one welcoming it, already muttering all the things he’d teach your child as his ‘favorite uncle’.

If Ubbe and Bjorn kept on acting like that, he and Sigurd would have soon been Eric’s sole uncles.

You wouldn’t have let your child grow up in such a disrespect.

You understood their uneasiness at your revelation, but you had expected some more confidence, because although you hadn’t been friends, truly, you had grown up together.

And Ubbe, himself, shouldn’t have muttered much after he had adopted the sons of another man, after he had ‘stolen’ away his bride.

Was there something truly different in what he had done and in what Ivar was doing with Eric?

But you reigned in your sourness, welcoming them inside the kitchen with a smile.

And for the first time in his life, Hvitserk moved to you immediately, ignoring completely the sweet treats on the table, laid out solely for his enjoyment, since Eric and Aslaug, the only one who would have dared to stop him, were outside, overlooked from the windows of the kitchen by Ivar.

He hugged you so tightly that he swung you off the chair you were comfortably sat on, making you giggle at his affectionate antics, before he hounded you to know where ‘his little nephew was’.

“… Gosh, I still can’t believe that Ivar was the one to forget about the condom rule, among all of us” now you were definitely embarrassed and Ivar shot an annoyed look at him, telling him to back off “… but I am glad that you are back here!”.

“Apparently I couldn’t run away that far” you commented, meaning for it to be ironical, but there was some truth behind it, and Ivar noticed it, his eyes growing a bit darker, as Hvitserk’s attention finally caught the cookies on the table.

And you were left dealing with Torvi and Ubbe.

The woman presented herself to you, since you didn’t know her if not from what you had heard from Ivar and Sigurd.

She was quite nice with you, at least being polite and gentle, and Ubbe was simply nice, something in his straight and tight pose making it difficult for you to feel relaxed and not awkward.

But still… you survived it.

And were glad to simply settle back in the background noise, meanwhile the brotherly chatter began, and you moved to Ivar’s side by the windows, noticing that Aslaug was trying to teach Eric some gardening.

‘She will get along quickly with my mom’ you muttered ‘… she works with a florist these days’.

“She has taken to gardening after we all went away…” there was something almost nostalgic in his voice “… as with yoga, pilates and a few hundred other hobbies… she always wonder why we are so restless and she blames it onto Ragnar, but the truth is…”

Now a proud smile lighted up Ivar’s gorgeous face, showing you the growth that he had gone through in those years where you hadn’t seen each other.

“… the truth is that she has a wild streak in herself”.

You were surprised by the door opening one more time, signaling that another guest had been welcomed, a guest you hadn’t expected as everyone else in the room.

The awkward silence intensifying in the room, as Ragnar walked in.

A grimace on his face as if he hadn’t expected everyone to look at him like an annoying mosquito, something that was quite evident in both his eldest and his youngest, meanwhile Hvitserk was still focused on the cookies.

Which you did also.

You were definitely much more uncomfortable now, but at the same time you felt  a bit unrelated to all this family drama, glad when Aslaug walked in, to make Eric wash his hands, evidently having noticed that quite some time had already passed.

She noticed Ragnar and concealed quite well the surprise in her eyes, simply muttering a few orders at her children, meanwhile Eric ran to you, and you tried to isolate yourself asking him what he had been doing and what Aslaug had taught him.

Ivar also came closer, crouching down at his side, and that was what caught Ragnar’s eyes as he noticed the small family that had formed before his eyes, after he had exchanged a few unpleasant and rigid comments with his sons.

“… I thought you were with blondie” the comment was insensitive on so many aspects.

But when had Ragnar ever been attentive with Ivar?

Aslaug had smothered him, and Ragnar had tried, the few time he was in his life, to reverse the whole project with a steely discipline and a barely concealed disdain for Ivar’s disability.

“… none of your business, dad” Ivar muttered, pointing out each word, as you gently tried to lead Eric away from the confrontation that was soon to erupt, Aslaug noticing it and taking you with her, to find a vase for the flowers she and Eric had picked.

And you exchanged a soft smile with her, thankful for the distraction.

And as Eric roamed for the storage room, under your watchful eyes, choosing a proper vase, you muttered a gentle ‘thank you’.

‘… I…’ the words burned on Aslaug’s tongue, and you definitely felt like that was another thing Ivar had for sure inherited by her “… think I am the one who should say ‘thank you’ this time, this time, actually… and sorry”.

You were surprised but didn’t try to stop that discourse.

“… I didn’t mean to be horrid to you” she explained “… I never… thought you were, I actually was just worried about Ivar’s heart… although it wasn’t… my business”.

“I…” you knew that you should have said something like ‘don’t worry’ or ‘it isn’t a problem’, but you just felt like hiding behind pretty words wouldn’t have helped you, even more in this situation with Aslaug “… apologies accepted”.

She smiled brightly at you.

“… I know… that this isn’t a proper situation and Ivar and you have much more to discuss, but…” her mutter was almost the one of a scared child “… I’d like to be present in Eric’s life, if you ever need an help… I do know of your mother…”.

“I hope not to sound rude, but…” your tone was light and at the same time heavy “… it is just… I need a bit of time. I handled this alone, with only my mom on my side for so long, and now it is just strange to have all these people around you…”.

Aslaug nodded, although she wasn’t able to shed the sadness from her face.

But then you reached out for her hand.

“… but with time, I do hope to let you in” you softened your tone “… Eric needs his family with him”.

And she smiled the absolute brightest, right as Eric came back with the biggest vase.

“Can we use this?!”.

---

Ivar had always loved Ragnar, as a child.

He had seen him as his own hero, the sole he could relate to and the sole he could trust, but moving on with years and Ragnar’s numerous disappearances, the love and admiration had become distrust and hate.

For a father that had never wanted him.

But Ragnar still had his own influence on him.

Starting from the fact that for a long time children had been a very touchy subject for him and one more reason why he had chosen the fertilization in vitro.

To avoid his children developing any pathologies, like him.

Ragnar had wanted Aslaug to abort him.

It was a truth that Ivar had learned when he was fourteen, hormones full blown and annoyed at everything, once overhearing one of the many fights going on between Ragnar and Aslaug.

Since he was ten year old, Ragnar used his mother’s house as an hotel, constantly checking in and out, maybe playing with his sons for a little time, but many other times he’d tell them his magical journeys and stories.

And most of the time, it’d end up with Ragnar screaming at Aslaug.

And her screaming back at him.

Once, when they had gotten quite heated, mostly because Aslaug had told him that she was tired of taking care of his child with no help form him whatsoever, Ragnar had shot back that maybe she should have aborted Ivar when she had the time.

And Ivar, ‘Ivar The Boneless’, as his brothers always nicknamed him, had cried for an entire afternoon, after hearing that.

But this hadn’t shattered Ivar’s heart, not yet.

He had followed his father as a puppy, and he remembered the way many fights had erupted between you two for that, because of Ivar’s faithful behavior to somebody who didn’t deserve it.

Going to college and distancing himself from both his parents, he had learned that what you had complained about had been true, and his relationship with his father had been much more distanced, although he worked in the family business.

But he was trying to form his own legacy.

Hence Ragnar’s presence just brought him back in the past.

And he hated the feeling of being inferior that he felt.

He had been feeling so well, with the knowledge of yours and Aslaug’s relationship, mending as he noticed the desperate happiness in his mother’s eyes at finally meeting her first grandchild.

… he was indeed having a good time, without overthinking the whole ‘Freydis-You-Eric’ situation but now another thing was added to that dangerous math.

“Isn’t she…” Ragnar scratched the back of his head, as if it helped with remembering “… your old best friend? And how old is the child? Did you seriously hide a child for so long?”.

His tone was joking, but strangely arrogant and Ivar wondered if Heahmund felt that way when Ivar spoke to him.

… maybe he should have apologized.

Because he was extremely annoyed by Ragnar’s behavior.

“Which part of ‘none of your business’ don’t you understand?” he shot back, and Ragnar seemed seriously hit, his movements a bit slowed down probably from the few shots of tequila he had taken before coming here.

“I am just… I am…” the words weren’t slurred, but he was fully drunk, although his chain of reason seemed quite clouded by whatever he had taken “… you are my children you are my business”.

He shot a small look at all ‘his children’ in the room, trying to regain some sympathy but it wasn’t much useful, since they all were on Ivar’s side for once.

Both Hvitserk and Ubbe were neutral to his father, but this didn’t mean that they would have ever taken his side, even more as grown-ups.

“… we stopped being your business, after we were five and I got chicken pox and you were on the other part of the world, screwing somebody, meanwhile mom took care of four children all by herself” commented Hvitserk, something that definitely put Ragnar in great unease, not knowing how to react at that.

Not that he had to, since his son returned to eating, but it was clear that there was a quite some distance between him and his sons.

And Ivar didn’t like his presence even more, because he didn’t want Ragnar around Eric and neither did you, since you hadn’t known about it, having been assured that he wouldn’t be there.

But his father always found ways back to them.

His mother had never been able to fully delete him from their life and neither she had tried to delete him fully, at least for the sake of their children, and he couldn’t make it a fault to her, but he hoped his father would just take a hint.

“… I just… I just wanted a nice Thanksgiving” commented Ragnar, raising his hands as if to surrender anything he might have wanted “… with my family”.

And nobody could deny it.

Although they could make it true hell for him.

In the end the brothers decided to keep to themselves as Ragnar stood in the middle of the room rather awkwardly, meanwhile you and Aslaug returned in that moment with a vase that was bigger than Eric, the small boy trumping happily between the two women, as Aslaug and you shared a few interesting botanical facts.

He wished he could see the same happening with Freydis.

But he tried to make his thoughts quiet, not truly knowing how to deal with Eric and Ragnar, so for now he just tried to act the best way possible, meanwhile he helped ‘his little man’ with the vase.

“… no no, Dad! I am strong like Thor!” protested loudly Eric, but you did send Ivar a look as if to say ‘do check on him’, meanwhile Aslaug adjusted the flowers, the other brothers quickly finding excuses to disperse from the kitchen: Hvitserk going to the bathroom and Ubbe and Torvi going to his old room, so that they could do a few calls.

He had hoped Ragnar would get a hint too, but he didn’t.

And he came close to Eric, as the child sat down to help his grandma and you, your eyes immediately trained on Ragnar, who sent you a small smile, probably not recognizing you fully, although he had indeed recognized you as Ivar’s ‘best friend’.

You didn’t look definitely happy to see Ragnar, but you didn’t let it be seen on your face, although you were attentive with the way Ragnar moved closer to your son.

Because he wasn’t certainly an idiot, and he must have done the math to realize that the child was Ivar’s, no matter the amount of alcohol and drugs that he had put in his system to numb it.

“… hi” he muttered, as he came to Eric’s side, the boy’s eyes suddenly moving onto him, as he shot you a surprised look, again shyness in his eyes and Aslaug chastised Ragnar with a warning smile.

“Hi” replied Eric, as he turned to him, after you had lightly nodded, but still putting an hand on the back of your child, as Ivar came to your side, something that made you send him a soft thankful smile.

He couldn’t help but feel something deep inside him fall in love again with that smile.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked, as Eric shook his head, and Ragnar sent a look at Ivar, who sent one to you.

He hadn’t meant to make you live this situation, knowing perfectly well how much this would have made you nervous, because for sure you hadn’t expected to be surrounded by so many people and not only because he did remember that you were an introvert…

… but it must have been a big change to go from nobody knowing anything to everybody knowing about ‘your dirty little secret’.

But you decided to do your best to make something good out of an awful situation.

And you invited Ragnar to explain it to him, with a small look, that spoke the words ‘don’t fuck it up’.

“… I am your grandpa” commented the man, as Eric’s eyes became bright like stars, as he clapped his hands, strongly.

“Grandpa!” he called him excitedly “… do you want to come with me to my soccer games?”.

The question was so innocent and adorable that even Ragnar cracked up a tender smile as he nodded your hand, although he could totally feel you grimace at that, but you gave Eric your best smile, as Aslaug suggested that she got the vase set up, and you helped Eric washed his hands properly.

Effectively leaving Ivar and Ragnar alone.

You shot him a small look to check with him, before joining after Eric, and he wasn’t able to stop himself from thinking about the past and about how your constant support had meant so much for you.

And he had been stupid enough to take it for granted.

“Where did that one plop off?” commented loudly Ragnar, once you all were out of earshot, making Ivar grimace and for a minute he thought that he could have just ignored him and hoped he’d just ‘magically’ disappear.

Since he was so good at that.

But if Ivar had inherited something from him was that shit-eating attitude that would have stopped him from backing off and relenting, even when it was clear he had lost.

“… I discovered about him a few months ago” explained Ivar, trusting the fact that Ragnar wasn’t truly listening.

That he wasn’t truly interested in what he had to say.

Ragnar was only interested in what he, himself, had to say.

“… (Y/N), his mother, didn’t let me know about his existence till I found out, because she was sure I didn’t want him in my life…” which was strangely what had been happening with him in his family, so he couldn’t blame you truly for having had that thought “… turns out she was wrong”.

“So, you took him in” he spoke of Eric almost as if it was a charity case and Ivar had to hold back the rage in him “… that’s a good action, son”.

“I am trying to avoid becoming like you” he commented, a sneak attack at Ragnar who showed the sufferance of it but stabilized quickly “… abandoning the children that I fathered as if they were simple trash”.

“… but is this true?” he shot back, letting out an amused breath “… because I do think that you are following in my footsteps perfectly”.

“No, I am not” he ground out his teeth as he growled out the words.

“Then where is the pretty blonde I saw the last time?” Ragnar asked loudly “… and I don’t think that you are married with the mother of your child…  so, I do think that you are handling them both… unsure of what to do”.

And this was damnably true.

“You know nothing” it was stupid, but he hoped it’d shut up the entire situation, because it was making him feel just worse.

Would he seriously end up like his father?

Old and with a myriad of problems?

He hoped not to.

He had wanted to become bigger than him, in his job, but he had also wanted to become better than him, family-wise, that was the reason behind his choice of Freydis.

Why he had let himself be convinced so easily in what sounded like the fairytale life.

But was it truly?

Even more when he felt so perfectly with you and Eric.

“… but I do” it was barely a whisper.

But Ivar didn’t have a good enough reply for that.

---

Ragnar’s appearance at the Thanksgiving lunch had undoubtedly put a bit of a damper on your mood, but you tried your best to take care of Eric, letting the baby interact with his grandpa.

Eric missed greatly your father and his grandfather.

Your grandfather had been extremely attached to Eric, and his disappearance had been so sudden that Eric had simply thought, for a whole week after he had run away, that he’d be back soon.

He had just gone on a trip.

And when the knowledge he wouldn’t have come back had settled in, Eric had grown much more silent, and he had kept this behavior till he had met again Ivar, developing again his cheery personality, for which you were thankful.

But at the same time, it made you worried.

And although Ragnar had been gentle with Eric, you didn’t exactly want him around your child, had his tendency to disappear kept on being present in his tumultuous soul.

Eric had had enough instability in his life, and you didn’t want to add much more.

But you had bigger problems at hand.

Hvitserk had been introduced to Eric and he kept on trying to teach him some dirty limericks, much to your, Aslaug’s and Ivar’s annoyance, who all shot him an annoyed glare.

But you were glad that Eric was having fun with his uncle and you were even gladder by the soft-spoken approach Hvitserk had been having about it, completely treating the situation as if it was completely normal.

Unlike Ubbe who kept on shooting attentive glances at the child.

But you ignored it, in favor of having a few chats with Aslaug and Torvi.

In the end, by the time the lunch was ready, you were definitely much more comfortable and although you tried to keep your bigger emotions at bay, you almost felt… involved in the family.

And you were unsure if it was a good thing or not.

You were glad for that environment for Eric, who was definitely at ease and happy.

You hoped you could keep the same thing up after Freydis had her own child, something that put you a bit at unease, not wanting to push yourself in a situation where you didn’t belong, knowing perfectly well how much care a newborn baby required from both parents…

… and although Ivar was handling quite well the situation…

… you hoped the new baby wouldn’t have been leading Ivar away from Eric, when they were both that close.

Although it was a selfish thought.

But for now, you tried to push away those awful thoughts.

And enjoyed the moment.

By lunchtime Eric had already gotten a few new toys by Ivar, something that had made you quirk a brow at the man himself, but he had just smirked slightly as if to say ‘what can I do about it’.

Well, if Eric was going to grow up as a spoiled brat, he’d have had to do something.

But for now, you enjoyed seeing your beloved Eric all happy and playful.

Aslaug was nice also, certainly having grown quite close to the child, although not much time had passed, but you had smiled with pride, as she had complimented you for the amazing education he had received…

‘… unlike somebody else’ she had muttered looking at her children: Ubbe on his phone, Hvitserk with something stuck in his mouth and Ivar trying to figure out a lego castle for his son ‘… I swear I tried my best’.

‘I do believe it’ you shot back, with a small smile.

Also Aslaug tried her best to avoid talking about Ragnar or with him, and he on his part did his best to avoid both her and Ivar, moving onto the sofa, as he watched a game, soon joined by Hvitserk.

Eric instead helped Aslaug out after the lunch, bringing her dishes from the table to the kitchen sink, although he barely reached the table, helped by you and Ivar.

‘The portrait of a family’ commented tightly Ragnar, something that put you and Ivar through a lot of uneasy embarrass, but you handled it at your best for the wellness of your mental health.

As you all settled down for a small and calm after lunch coffee, the food having lessened the differences among each other soon you found yourself dozing off, happily, on the sofa.

Lately you had been doing a lot of night shifts at the art gallery, because they were better paid and you felt more comfortable being able to take care of Eric in the afternoon, so you could help him with homework and bring him to soccer practice and doctor appointments.

You must have simply closed your eyes for moment just to wake up when you felt tiny fists hitting lightly your stomach and opened your eyes to find a rather happy Eric, blowing in your face to push your hair away.

And outside it was utter and fully dark.

Shit.

You looked all around yourself immediately seeing that you weren’t on the sofa anymore, and you had been tucked in what you remembered being Ivar’s old bedroom.

You couldn’t help but be worried sick, immediately checking your watch and discovering it was already 7 p.m.

You had slept for four hours.

Which would have been reasonable, hadn’t you basically fallen asleep at your ex’ house, when you had promised to bring him back to his pretty wife right after lunch.

You couldn’t help but have this feeling of having basically fucked up everything.

And Eric kept on jumping on the bed.

“… sweetie” you called out to him, realizing that if you had been napping all this time he had had the time to replenish himself of sugar and would end up probably breaking his brakes if he kept on jumping in that way “… where is your father?”.

“Dad is downstairs” explained Eric, as you gently grabbed him on his waist to calm him down and bring him an hug, indulging a moment more enjoying the warmth of that soft body and the smell of light sweat and cuddles that Eric always had on his clothes.

Before his words truly registered.

And you realized Ivar hadn’t gone back.

To his very pregnant wife.

Because of you.

As soon as you managed to settle down Eric and make him move after you, you descended downstairs, to catch he Lothbrocks in what looked like a challenge of GTA.

All the brothers were playing, cursing lightly at each other, meanwhile Aslaug glared at them for those curses and Ragnar cheered them on, with a beer in his hand.

It almost seemed a normal family.

And then immediately their attention was onto you, as Eric loudly chased after you, his brakes stumping against the soft moquette of the house, as you noticed he wasn’t wearing shoes, Aslaug catching your gaze and explaining to you:

‘He seemed uncomfortable and I thought he’d feel better without shoes…’ she set you a small look ‘… I hope you didn’t mind it’.

‘No no, if you don’t’ you spoke back, before you sent Ivar a pleading look, and he abandoned the newest round of the game, among brotherly insults, as Hvitserk slapped his ass, and Eric had a quite gleaming look at that gesture, making you send him a glare.

You expected Ivar to be angry.

He was always angry when things didn’t go the way he wanted.

He was a perfectionist in each thing, even more in his own plans.

But Ivar simply looked at you softly, as you hurriedly moved to explain that you could still make it time for you to arrive at 9 p.m. back in the city and to please apologize to Freydis for your accidental…

‘Hey… don’t worry’ because as much as he hadn’t changed from the perfectionist he was, you continued on stumbling on your own words whenever you were nervous, as you did back in the time ‘… I have actually asked mom if you could stay here in the guest room with Eric. I don’t want you to drive with this tiredness’.

‘I slept, I am completely energized’ you replied loudly and then yawned ruining completely the effect of your words, and earning a soft raised eyebrow from Ivar ‘… and I wouldn’t want to bother… Aslaug was already nice enough to have me for lunch…’.

‘… she doesn’t mind, and she prefer to have me safe on the road’ he explained ‘… Freydis also said the same’.

‘Gosh I just feel so awfully for having fallen asleep!’ you commented breathing loudly ‘… I swear that I totally understand if Freydis is angry with me’.

‘I actually…’ he started with a smile that wasn’t truly a smile, but something to hide his uneasiness ‘… actually I think that she is grateful for that. I can be pretty annoying…’.

Which you didn’t certainly deny.

But at the same time, you would have been eager to have him back at home, had you been pregnant as Freydis, although you didn’t regret your pregnancy and certainly didn’t need a man by your side, but…

… having him back home with you would have made you feel better.

Although Ivar could be indeed quite suffocating when he was trying to be ‘overprotective’.

But again, it wasn’t any of your business.

‘… are you sure?’ you simply mumbled, feeling like you could have survived a bit more with Aslaug’s food and a bit of relax, although you had to get to your phone, probably, before your mother came to search you, here, herself.

The brothers all left before dinner and in the end, it was simply you and Eric, Aslaug and Ragnar, the latter basically falling asleep on the sofa, right after the meal.

Aslaug stayed up just in time for supper, before retiring to her chambers, probably a bit tired by the fact that she had had to handle an ex-husband, one child and three grown-ups who were like children, mentally.

You and Eric also left soon, as Ivar took care of switching off the lights and setting the alarm, but you knew that he also needed a bit of private time to talk with Freydis.

And you had to set a five-year-old with too much sugar in bed, washing him up and changing him in comfortable clothes, making sure he got his meds.

As you were changing him, Ivar knocked on your door, to wish you goodnight and offer you a set of pajama, which you immediately recognized as an  old pair you had left at his house when you were fifteen and used to sleep over there, enough that you had started leaving pajamas as clues in Ivar’s wardrobe.

But you couldn’t deny still the surprise you felt when you had it in your hands, laughing lightly as you wondered whether you’d be able to fit in them.

“… I can’t believe that you still have it” you mumbled, stretching it out in front of you to take in the awful sloth decoration on it, and the obnoxious white color that had become a dirtied yellow for too many wash-ups.

“Mom must have noticed it and washed it” he commented dryly, and you could detect the lies in his words, but were grateful to sleep into something familiar and not your uncomfortable clothes.

And it smelled like Ivar.

As if you were back at the times when you had just been invited to sleep over at his house, once your parents’ fighting had become too intense for you, and you had just snuggled closer to him, his smell immediately comforting you.

And it still comforted you to this day.

“Thank you” you muttered, as Eric moved forward to receive his ‘goodnight kiss’ and his ‘goodnight story’, something that effectively seemed to ease him up, meanwhile he settled in the big bed next to you and you changed in the bathroom, noticing that you had grown a few inches since the last time you had worn the pajama.

It had grown also tight in some other places, and you were almost ashamed of moving yourself outside of the bathroom, eventually bringing yourself to when Eric called out for you, and you tried to keep your eyes down, as you sat beside him in bed, his eyes still shining with some kind of interested ‘curiosity’.

Almost a gleaming mischievousness.

So, you got ready for whatever he was going to ask for.

“Mom!” he chanted out loudly and you shushed him telling him ‘to be mindful of the people sleeping in other rooms’ “… how did you and dad meet?”.

Gosh, didn’t this bring out horrible memories?

And some sweet ones.

Ivar looked as confused as you for the question, but not half-displeased.

“Sweetie, it is a long story…” you started, but Eric looked like he might have not slept for months if he hadn’t heard it, as he pleaded for more.

‘Just another minute!’ he chanted loudly ‘… just another story’.

And eventually both you and Ivar relented, the man’s eyes sparkling brightly, as he started.

“Actually I knew your mother for a long time, since we were tiny like you…” and he went to boop softly his son’s face, making him giggle “… we were best friends for a long time”.

“And then what changed?” asked curiously Eric.

‘Ivar started to look me as a woman, not as simply his best friend’ you wanted to say, but you knew that this wouldn’t have been very PG-13, so you simply opted for a more ‘fairytale-like’ explanation.

“… your dad and I both grew up and so did our deelings, and our friendship became more love” you explained, as you kissed softly his forehead, Ivar’s eyes slowly settling up to you meanwhile you said those words.

And you tried not to let it affect you.

… too much.

Since it was truly impossible not to feel the pressure of those beautiful eyes.

“But if you loved each other why did you…” his brain seemed to settle up links and you honestly were as confused as him to that situation, because in the end although Ivar had told you that he didn’t love you anymore, he hadn’t ever said the reasons behind it “… why are you not together anymore?”.

And you let also this be handled by Ivar.

His eyes shifting on the floor as you, yourself, felt too uncomfortable at that question.

“… we just…” they were blabbers the ones in Ivar’s voice “… I broke your mom’s heart sadly, a lot time ago, and I wasn’t able to do much to repair it in the meanwhile, but…”.

He brought you closer to him, with a loose arm, which made you both seem the picture of awkwardness, but it was enough convincing for Eric.

“… but we are together, now…”.

“… in a way” you added, before moving closer to Eric with a serious look “… and somebody is way past his bath time!”.

And Eric tried to protest a bit more, but eventually he let go, and you switched off the main light, leaving only the one on the bedside table, as Ivar continued on softly combing his hair, something that eventually got Eric to breath out softly, signaling he was asleep.

And Ivar had to leave.

Although you could see he didn’t want to.

And you couldn’t deny him, truly.

“… would you like to lay down for a bit with us?” you asked softly, as you settled on the opposite side of him “… he seems happier and calmer when you are beside him”.

“I never thought somebody would have said that” he commented with a light twinkle in his eyes “… you won’t mind if I stay?”.

You shook your head, telling yourself that it was just for tonight.

It was just for one night.

And then you’d go back to normality.

Sadly.

---

Liked What You Read? Want To Support Me? Buy Me A Ko-Fi!

---

Taglist:

  @ funmadnessandbadassvikings @zumzum96 @lovenomatterwat @fisherbrookphotos @ bagpipes606 @justmoondustwoman @ nina2697 @ squids-for-knees @ xaviers-nipple  @alhenablack @crazy-fan-101 @dumbitch-juice @ivyfatale @ v3ro00  @emilie1993 @kittybites-94 @lordsexmachine @nadiahiikers @ electronicrascalbasketballdean  @ notorious-dom  @veggie2meggie @loveabove @ohmy-sammy @cutegyrl927 @ szarigray  @ khaleesi-provenance  @mypmaddiction @ thatweirdhippiesblog  @chrys-1029 @queenboosha @loliismutt @ hallowed-heathen  @rls905 @ manunitedgotbruno @ fantasygirl1864  @ amy8220  @heavenly1927 @marvel1995 @ serafina21  @ feministattraction  @pedernille @ that-friend-in-the-corner  @crispygiantsaladgarden @l loveliklove @ love-livinglifetothefullest @ace-fiction @ lastfallenstar  @justacollegestudentyay @ multi-fandomwriter97 @ghostssss @miss2001babe @badskinbabe @choppedroadwolfathlete @ ironwolfbailiffclam  @lucyroz3y @ ovular-ovoid  @myheartbeatsjustforyou @tgrrose @winchesterwife27 @ntlmundy @secretsthathauntus @walkxthexmoon @lol-haha-joke @myheartbeatsjustforyou @gearhead66 @akaduds @youbloodymadgenius @frenchzodiacgirl @lordsexmachine  @alexhandersenx @peaceisadirtyword @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @maggiescarborough​

[ellie-s-list]

Dedicated Hearts

Chapter One

A Levi Ackerman x OC story

WARNING: Contains spoilers from the OVA, A Choice With No Regrets

Sitting on their knees before her, Sadie looked the three criminals up and down, going down the row. They weren’t dirty, roughed up. They actually looked less like how you would think a criminal of the Underground would look. Despite their appearances, they can fight, and they have committed crimes. Going from her left to right, Sadie assessed the criminals.

The first one was a dark-haired man, he seemed to be the leader. He was strong-willed and proved to be difficult to take down, Erwin needed Sadie’s assistance so he wouldn’t get his throat slit. He was capable and formidable.

Next was a young redhead. She had two pigtails, and a defiant look in her green eyes. She was spunky but new to the whole “fighting” scene it seemed. Alaina, the soldier who took her down, seemed to be unharmed, not even a scratch on her face.

Lastly, was a young blond-haired man. He had ice-cold eyes, yet knew when to choose his fights. Sadie could recall him telling the girl, Isabel, to save her energy. He could be an advisor to the other man, helping to guide their actions through logic. It was interesting, and a little scary, since Sadie realized that the way the group acted was paralleled to the way she ran her squad.

The criminals were stripped of their maneuver gear, Erwin taking a set and standing in front of the three. Sadie took her position behind the redhead, keeping an eye on them.

“I have some questions to ask of you three,” Erwin held up the set of gear, “Where did you get your hands on this?” He also looked virtually unharmed, but when Sadie came upon the scene, she knew he was fighting with all he had.

Neither of the three answered, all defiant to the Squad Leader’s question. If it were Sadie in the situation, she would most likely do the same.

“Your technique was excellent, who taught you?” Erwin continued pressing, not showing his annoyance with their defiance. Yet again, though, they did not respond. Erwin walked over to the dark-haired man with an undercut, “You’re the leader, right? Have you received military training?” Again, the dark-haired man kept this mouth sealed.

Erwin, assessing his age, looked up to Sadie, “He looks close to your age, did you see him where you were stationed for training?”

Sadie shook her head, “Even if he wasn’t at my post, with the way he moved there would have been word through the teachers.”

Erwin hummed, looking back at the man. He chuckled, “That’s the face of a man who wants to kill me and escape.”

Sadie smirked, she has felt the same way for Erwin before. But it was usually because he stole the last bottle of wine. Not really the escape part though, but same feeling.

“I’d like to avoid any rough treatment if I can,” Erwin said, he put the gear down by a nearby building, he then turned back to the group. He side-eyed Miche, nodding.

Side-stepping, though she knew she wasn’t in the way, Sadie watched as Miche surged forward. He grabbed the hair of the man, pulling it back and then he plunged his face forward and into a puddle.

“I’ll ask again,” Erwin said, his tone lowering. “Where did you learn vertical maneuvering?”

“We didn’t learn it from anyone!” A voice yelled, making Sadie flinched. She looked down and saw the young girl was the culprit. “You think we’re gonna let a civil servant push us around?”

The blond also spoke, “We figured it out so we could survive in this dump.” He then scoffed, “Anyone who doesn't know what sewage tastes like couldn’t understand.”

Sadie blinked, exchanging a look with Erwin. The two followers seemed to look up to their leader with pride, maybe even love. Yet, their leader was still defiant. Maybe if they hurt one of the followers he would speak.

Erwin decided to relent, “My name is Erwin Smith, what are your names?”

They still didn’t speak, and the three Survey Corps members were getting impatient. Miche pushed the man’s head in again, then roughly pulled his head up to look at Erwin.

The Squad Leader tilted his head, “I applaud your determination, though if you keep it up then we’ll have to move on to your comrades.” He made it a point to look at Sadie, the woman moving forward right behind the young girl. Alaina also came forward, and in succession, the two pulled out one of their blades and placed it by their necks. Their other hand was in each of the criminal’s hair, keeping their head still.

“If you’re gonna do it, do it!” The red head shouted, though not moving against Sadie’s blade. “You’re all bastards!”

Sadie tilted her head in consideration, “I try to be.” She muttered.

Erwin gave the other blonde a look, as if sending her the word ‘really?’ Sadie grinned, winking.

Shaking his head, Erwin asked again, now pointed towards the leader, “What is your name?”

It only took a few seconds, but they dragged on as if they were ages. That is when the man spoke, his voice raspy, “It’s Levi.”

Erwin took a step forward, “Levi.” He knelt, “Would you make a deal with me?”

Levi’s eyes widened, Sadie noticing ,/ the flecks of blue in his dark iris’s. He was honestly a beautiful man, even with the sewage water dripping down his cheeks.

“A deal?”

“I won’t ask about your crimes,” Erwin stated. “In return, you will lend me your strength, and join the Survey Corps.”

“If I refuse?”

Erwin stood up, sighing, “I turn you over to the military police. Considering your crimes, I don’t think you or your comrades can expect decent treatment.” Erwin motioned with his hand over to Alaina and Sadie, the two pressing the blades delicately to their criminals’ necks. “Choose whichever path you wish.”

Levi grit his teeth, looking to his comrades. He then looked up to Erwin, venom in his tone as he spoke, “Very well. I’ll join the Survey Corps.”

To say the least, Sadie felt awkward as the criminals were let to stand. Sadie and Alaina sheathed their blades, and Erwin instructed Miche and Matthew to carry the discarded gear.

“What’s going to happen to the ODM gear they have?” Alaina asked Erwin, the man turning to the brunette.

“We’re going to keep it for testing,” He said simply, quickly ending the conversation.

Sadie rolled her eyes, “Now that you successfully took over my day off, that I put in for three months ago, what are we going to do?”

Erwin fought back a grin, the corners of his lips peaking a little, “I guess you’re free for the rest of the day, right?”

Blinking, Sadie cracked her knuckles, “This would be the time I would start heading back to base.”

“So we head back to base.”

Biting her lip, Sadie glared at her fellow Squad Leader. She then held her hand out, “Can I have the keys to the cuffs? Or are we going to let them go when we get above ground?”

Erwin handed her the iron ring with the sets of keys, “We can uncuff them now, but first search them for weapons.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” Sadie mocked a salute, turning to Miche, Alaina, and Matthew. “You heard your Squad Leader.”

Later, as the eight of them walked towards the southern entrance, Alaina skipped next to Sadie. The brunette seemed excited, her gait bouncy as she slowed to a walk.

“Sadie, I never knew how good you were at darts!”

Narrowing her eyebrows, Sadie looked down to Alaina, “What?”

“Last night, you were winning every match at the bar.” That statement seemed to pique the interest of Levi. The dark-haired man didn’t put up any resistance, true to his word of compliance.

Putting a hand on her chin as she walked, Sadie tried to think back to the night before. She remembered finishing her paper work, and also her last glass of wine.

“Was I already drunk when I entered the bar?”

Erwin looked back at the that question, now also intrigued.

Alaina rubbed the back of her head, looking away from the young Squad Leader.

“Yeah, actually. You were talking about how you couldn’t drink anymore wine, and then…” She trailed off, gazing towards Erwin.

“And then what?” Erwin asked, smirking towards Sadie.

“You called Erwin a bitch.”

Sadie couldn’t help but laugh at Erwin’s following expression. He quickly slated it to emotionless, but the quick allowance of surprise was enough for Sadie. Erwin looked forward, continuing on as if he didn’t hear anything.

“Seems like something I would do, even if I was drunk,” Sadie hummed. She then looked to Levi, who was still gazing at them. Their eyes met and he quickly looked away, staring at the back of Erwin’s head.

“Yeah, you went on about how he took the last bottle of available wine, so now you had to search for more when you came to town. Then a few guys suggested you played darts with them, and then I guess you made a deal with them,” Alaina explained, her eyes getting big as she continued. “You won of course, but I don’t really know what the deal was and I wanted to see if you could tell me?”

Biting her lip in thought, Sadie crossed her arms. She honestly didn’t remember much of the night before, but it would also be like her to accept any deal.

“It was probably something to benefit me… Who were the two I made a deal with?”

Alaina looked up, thinking, “I think it was Theo and Zach.”

Grunting, Sadie shook her head, “It was definitely something bad then. I hate those two.”

“They do make me uncomfortable.”

“Exactly, bitches get what they earn.”

Alaina tilted her head, “So what did they earn?”

“I think I get to beat them up, honestly I’ll do it anyway even if that wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Even drunk you get even?” Matthew piped up, laughing gently.

Sadie nodded, “I serve justice in any form, Matthew.” She then smirked, “Even when I’m dead, I’ll give you hell from the grave.”

Posted 6/27/21, Story by @bakugosbreathmint

do not repost my content, reblogs are fine

[pinkhairedlily]

Endless Seasons With You

Chapter 12 of The Spring He Came Back | 12 of 12

Hinamori’s eyes fluttered open at the arresting sound of her alarm clock. Her phone was also simultaneously ringing. How she came home she’ll never know, but she was still in her coordinated outfit and she was lying down in her room with the heater perfectly functioning. Her mouth was so dry and coarse like felt paper; it was as if the alcohol evaporated inside. Her last memory before she blacked out was….Hitsugaya, his hooded gaze, and his lips on her.

She reddened immediately at the recall. Her hands slapped her cheeks several times to get out of the trance. She was fairly certain it was a dream. Sharp pain shot through her temples, indicating the coming and going of migraines from an alcohol-induced night. Her eyes found the medicine bottle and the note under it on her side table.

For your hangover. Sorry I wasn’t able to say goodbye. – Shirou

What? Hinamori grabbed her still ringing phone and saw the caller ID.

“Finally you picked up!” Rukia’s voice greeted her a bit cheerier than last night.

“How come you don’t have a hangover?” Hinamori asked, still massaging her temples. “I feel like puking.”

“Oh but you were truly a sight last night, you know. We need you to spill all the details later,” Renji said over Rukia’s laughter.

“Don’t be late. We need to see them off on the train platform at 12 noon.” The two quickly hang up, saying they had some errands to do.

“12 noon?”

Hinamori rushed out from her room, towards Baba’s, and and to the guest room. He wasn’t here. His things weren’t here anymore.

“Momo? Are you looking for Toushirou?” Baba called out from the kitchen. “He slept at Dr. Byakuya’s house last night, but he went here this morning and delivered some medicine.”

Hinamori slumped to the floor in a puddle of hopelessness she last felt a decade ago. Did she misread everything again? Did she wear her heart on her sleeve so naively that it came back to bite her for the second time around?

Whatever happened last night wasn’t enough to warrant a reason for him to stay. This encounter on the platform was her last chance, and if it won’t work out, at least she’ll be able to let go of him with the knowledge that she told him her true feelings. She looked at the time on her phone and saw that she only had one hour left.

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

The train’s whistle sounded twice, indicating that it was nearing the departure time. Hinamori jumped off her bike, her farewell gift in her arms. Then again, just like ten years ago, the doors started closing when she was running towards the platform.

“Wait! Shirou!” She quickened her run, the flowers losing some of their petals in the process. She tried to look for silver hair at every cab, even just for a split second. Surely, she might still have this last chance. She wasn’t able to say her last proper goodbye. Why was fate so harsh on her?

Tears started to blur her vision, but in the last cab she finally caught glimpse of Urahara and Byakuya. She pounded on the train’s doors, hoping they would somehow pry open, but the train started to move. She still hasn’t found him. “No, no, no, no.”

It was the last whistle, the moment to leave. She ran just before the train rode the momentum, she ran like her life was on the line, she ran with the hope that maybe she could catch the rail and be swept away in its journey. But the wheels were so much faster than her legs, and she was just one step away from the end of the platform.

Maybe I should jump.

Before her feet could lunge at the space between the platform and the last cab, someone grabbed her waist and pulled her to safety, the bouquet of daffodils loosening from her grip and flying with the strong wind.

He was gone. The train has left the station. She stared at the open blue sky, dotted with the swirling petals of her yellow daffodils and the pink cherry blossoms. How dare you be a beautiful day when I just lost him.

She cried openly, like how she did when she lost her parents. What a pathetic life she has led so far. She got manipulated by a man she truly admired, she thought she lost her grandmother due to her negligence, she drove her best friend away from his hometown, and she lost the chance to make him stay. “I haven’t told you yet I like you, Toushirou. It’s so unfair.”

“You already told me last night, Momo.”

His scent wafted around her, arresting her senses in a sudden burst of realization. She turned around and saw that he supported her fall on the platform. There was a hitch in her throat when it dawned on her that he didn’t leave. She succumbed in his embrace on the ground, afraid that he would suddenly leave or take the next train. She hugged him a little bit more – never mind that people were looking, never mind that traffic patrol was calling them out on the radio, never mind that their friends were breaking out to cheers and yells.

He held her hand as they walked towards a quiet spot on the side of the station. “I wasn’t on that train. Why were you getting on there?”

“Are you gonna be on the next one?” Hinamori asked. She wasn’t in the clear yet.

“Of course not.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were drunk and you passed out. In the middle of drinking, no less.”

“You could have told me this the day you arrived.”

“Because I wasn’t sure if you would have me.” That pout seldom came on Hitsugaya’s face, but it did now in a random moment of insecurity.

Hinamori was suddenly pissed. She didn’t run across a train platform like a crazy lady for her sincerity to take jabs. “How much more should I prove to you that I would have you?”

“I know, I know. That’s why I stayed,” he reassured her. “You kissed me.”

It wasn’t a dream. They really did kiss last night. “And you kissed back.”

“Are you regretting it now?” He reached out to her other hand like a second nature. This hand holding was fast becoming a routine for both of them.

“Silly, don’t you dare regret staying behind too.” Hinamori sighed at the sight of yellow petals in the wind. “I brought you a bouquet as a farewell gift. They’re frost-resistant and they bloom all year round. I grew them myself.”

“See, I told you you’ll come up with that idea.” Hitsugaya let go of her hands and wrapped them around her waist. He pulled her closer so the wall can cover them from the prying eyes of the crowd. “I think I need to reward you with a kiss.”

His head lowered down on hers, and their lips found each other in a sweet, lingering way. “Would it be too fast if I asked you to go out with me?”

The whistle resounded again, this time signaling an arrival.

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

Five years later

The spring season was ending, but the daffodils in Hitsugaya’s arms were as fresh as the first bloom. In front of him was Baba in a wheelchair, still spritely as ever but her legs have given way to old age.

“Congratulations, Momo!”

The academy’s robes fit Hinamori like a second skin. Hers were maroon instead of the traditional blue for the undergraduates; she finished her bachelors and graduate studies in five years in a feat only she could have done by grit and hard work. Her thesis built upon her work on floral ecology and climate-resilient flowers which earned her several distinctions and publications. She has done all of these and still managed to keep her florist job afloat. Proud was an understatement.

She went to Hitsugaya and Baba after the pictorial, her arms enveloping them in a large, warm hug. The three Rs plus Gin also gave her bouquets and gift baskets.

“So where are we eating?” Urahara, Byakuya, and Unohana blended in the crowd in disguise, careful not to catch the attention of other faculty and students. The three became members of the academy board with Unohana passing the crown of chairpersonship to Byakuya.

“There’s a grand luncheon in our house,” Baba said. “It’s not my cooking, but they’re all my recipes.”

Hitsugaya hailed their service, a large van that can accommodate all of them. Long tables were set on the family grounds under the shade of the old camphor tree. Just like any other big day, announcements were bound to be made.

When Byakuya offered a wine glass to his sister, Rukia declined. “Isn’t it too early to be drinking?”

“I’m pretty sure you drank wine when it was still nine in the morning,” Byakuya said. Then he looked over to Renji and saw the nervous expression.

“Oh Byakuya, you’re gonna be an uncle!” Urahara patted him on the back, the latter choking on a morsel of food.

The couple got married last year during fall. It was Rukia’s wish to have a rustic-themed wedding in a barnyard, and Renji encouraged this. Hinamori was happy enough to curate the floral arrangements in warm muted red, orange, and yellow tones. Now they were bringing a baby into the world.

“Congratulations Rukia and Renji!”

“You should one-up me, Rangiku.” Rukia smiled at her friend, knowing what was up. The blonde took up Rukia’s offer. Rangiku’s hand showed her ring finger adorned with a silver band with a small turquoise in the middle. Having been engaged a few months ago, her wedding announcement with Gin was overdue.

“So we settled on a winter schedule,” Gin announced, kissing Rangiku on the cheek. Unamused expressions looked back at them, slightly disoriented at the date.

“It’s the busiest school season what with the orientations and the trainings and the school openings,” Byakuya protested.

“Oh come on, make time for me,” Rangiku whined.

“You’re not my sister,” Byakuya retorted.

“Fine. Rukia will still go anyway, and I doubt you’d leave your pregnant sister unattended.”

“Sly, Rangiku. No problems for me.” Urahara opened a new bottle of wine. “Any news from you two, Hitsugaya and Hinamori?”

Hinamori quizzically looked at her boyfriend of five years and wondered if she missed anything major. “Um, I graduated?” Hitsugaya weirdly avoided her eyes.

“That merits a cheer.” Unohana held up her wine glass and proudly beamed at Hinamori. “To Momo!”

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

Their guests left just before dusk settled down, ending the celebration with an exhilarating high. It was a tiring day, but it was mostly fulfilling. Just a series of accomplishments that have accumulated over the years; a series of interactions, of hellos and goodbyes, of hugs and quarrels, a series which made relationships, lasting memories, and great achievements.

After securing Baba’s bed and her medicine, Hinamori and Hitsugaya went to the back of the family compound for a quick reprieve from house chores. The rumors were quick to lash out with their living-in arrangement, but they honestly didn’t mind them, neither did Baba. The compound was too large, and they could easily sleep in different rooms and in different sections. Obviously, they didn’t because they spent a long time too far apart and any more distance would keep the other awake throughout the night. Cuddling was also a much more effective way to fall asleep.

The foothills and the vacant lot behind the compound were now filled with plots of different floral varieties. The dusk had a magical feel to it, the way the sun would transition into the soft glow of the moonlight, and the play of lights across the petals of the blooms. Half of the area was dedicated to daffodils, Hinamori’s memorial to their meadow of childhood and adolescent memories. Hitsugaya, having been granted by Baba’s blessing to own part of the compound, converted some rooms into his laboratory and office. More or less, they have started leaving imprints on this ancestral land.

HItsugaya had a plan – become the youngest tenured faculty, have watermelon contests during summer, and live out the rest of his days with the only family he knew – and his plan succeeded. He initially thought he strayed from that path and entertained the idea that maybe, perhaps, in some foreign countries, there was some other face he could come home to.

But Momo was home. He knew that before he left some fifteen years ago, when they left things unsaid and dealt with the repercussions of it within that decade. He knew that when he came back one spring season and saw how she built herself back up, when he realized he had a chance to turn his dream into a possibility. He knew that when he slept beside her and soft sighs escaped her lips as she snuggled closer. Momo was home.

They were indeed two separate journeys merging at the end of their respective successful conclusions, and he couldn’t be any happier.

“What are you smiling about?” Her hair was undone; it grew to a length reaching her waist, and he wanted nothing more than to slip his fingers in between those strands.

“Your hair and the moonlight,” Hitsugaya said. “I don’t want to one-up our friends earlier.”

“We’ve had conversations about this, but I’m not sure if I’d ever be ready.” She slid some straying locks behind her ear, blushing at the implication of his words.

Hitsugaya observed a little more. She said she wasn’t ready, but anxiety wasn’t in her body language. Maybe his timing was just right. “Looking back, it was quite a feat that I made you fell in love with me in one week.”

A light punch landed on his arm. “There’s that usual saying that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I’d like to believe it was planted there before long.”

“The trysts in the secret room really did their job, huh?” He had an inkling about that too, and he was glad he did those little things because those little things soon became bigger pictures and the pictures became dreams.

Hinamori laughed at the memories, the sneaking in the early mornings, and the pitiful self she was before. “The most we did was sleep on each other’s laps.”

“Well, don’t you want to sit on my lap right now?” Hitsugaya asked.

“We did this before Shirou and I only got allergies,” she complained, but she slid closer to him and he enveloped her in a back hug.

“Here’s a crown for my pretty girl.” The daffodils were beautiful on her hair, and the stars slowly ascended on the night sky. “And here’s a ring for the love of my life.”

Hinamori didn’t say anything and for a second, he was afraid she would say no. His plan B was to hole up in his laboratory for a few weeks and then ask for an explanation from her, but he soon heard muffled sobs from her.

“I told you I’ll never be ready for this. I’m tearing up so much.”

“Momo, we talked about communication so I need a definite yes or no,” he said as he was wiping away her tears.

She turned to him and nodded happily. “I’ve had five spring seasons with you, and you might think I’m greedy but I want them all.”

Hitsugaya mouthed a silent yes and matched it with a fist pump before he could slide the ring on Hinamori’s finger, both of their hands trembling in happiness.

“I’m quite nervous,” he said to her. He wiped a stray tear from his eyes, not noticing that he started tearing up as well. “I guess I’ll be like weepy Renji on his wedding day, but I’ll be happy to spend endless seasons with you for the rest of my life.”

It was Hinamori’s turn to cup his face. “That makes the two of us.”

The two kissed under the moonlight, the yellow daffodils swaying to the gentle caress of the wind, their meadow of happiness never wilting.

A/N: Everyone, thank you for reading my work. It was a joy writing HitsuHina. I hope you found some bit of comfort in their stories, and I hope you are all safe and well. On to our next journey! :)