#i feel like i have lost my last golden coin

[lululovesprongs]

i KNOW someone out there has photographic evidence of max partying in vegas till 10:30 and i WILL find it

[megamindsecretlair]

Make Me Weak, Part 1

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sex acts and sexual issues. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: Desperately at your absolute limit, you decide to see one last therapist to try and help with your condition. After one session, Dr. Richmond manages to put you at ease, giving you enough tools to start you on your journey. As the exploration continues, your true hope is that you don’t get burned.

Word Count: 4,648k

AO3 Link | Part 2

A/N: Don't judge me for this chile. I saw that beautiful man in a black turtleneck with glasses and lost my marbles. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You

He came highly recommended. That was the only reason you were here. You’d stared at his pictures and read all of the available posts recommending him but you couldn’t get over the fact that he was so damn pretty. And intimidating. 

But after going through nine different therapists, most who ended up as creeps or couldn’t help you, you were at your wit’s end. It was already embarrassing enough starting over with a brand new therapist, but this had to take the cake. 

The hallway was quiet, with muted browns and reds. Supposedly academic, soothing colors. As if the darker the color, the less likely you were to think about anything sexual. You stared at the imposing brown door with his name embossed on a placard. Dr. Terry Richmond. 

You bit your lip and stared at the slip in your hand with the referral scrawled across it. He took on special cases. Pathetic cases. 

“Fuck this,” you said to yourself. You turned on your heel and stepped down the hallway. The door opened and the man himself looked down the hallway. 

“Are you my two o’clock?” He asked. His deep baritone was unexpected. Soothing. Calming. Unnerving. 

“Uh,” you sighed.

He continued to stare so you continued to stare back. He wore an all black outfit, right down to his black tennis shoes. He wore a long sleeved black T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Black, form fitting pants that only highlighted how tall he was. He had to be 6’1. Hell, possibly 6’3. 

He cleared his throat, looking for an answer. Light refracted off of his frames, temporarily hiding his eyes. You gripped the straps of your purse and squared your shoulders. “Yes,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond nodded his head and waved you inside. You walked behind him, feeling like you were walking to your doom. Inside his office, it was just as drab as outside.

Bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed with medical texts and non-fictional books on powerful Black figures through history. The office was small, but clean, with a golden brown sofa pushed against a solid wall of taupe. He had a painting above the sofa, showing a serene ocean view with a boat out on the water. 

Natural light filtered into the room from a window showcasing the cityscape outside. His office was high up in the building, letting you look down on all the people living their normal lives. 

The door closed behind you and you jumped, whipping around to see Dr. Richmond leaning away from the door. He raised his hands. “I’m sorry, would you like it to remain open?” He asked. 

You shook your head. Closed was preferable. You watched Dr. Richmond take his seat behind a massive desk, everything in a neat stack and in its proper place. He rolled forward and then opened a black folder, picking up a pen.

“Please, have a seat. Tell me about yourself,” he said.

“My thick ass file didn’t give me away? Sorry, I shouldn’t say ass. Sorry,” you said and winced after cussing so much. You pointed to a thick file on his desk and you knew without a doubt that it was yours. 

It was crazy how you had a full record of your insanity, detailing how you started down this deep, dark path. Cataloged every doctor, every note, every nasty thought in your mind. Okay, you were being a little dramatic, but this was just so…embarrassing. And it didn’t help to have someone who looked like that hearing what you had to say. 

“There’s no rules here. You want to say ass, go for it,” he said and shrugged. 

You giggled, feeling more at ease. You nodded and took a seat on the sofa. There was a clear coffee table in front of it that held a zen garden complete with little trees, shiny rocks, and…were those Lego figures? You looked from it to him and he smirked, drawing your attention to his full, lush lips. 

 “Some people find it easier to occupy their hands during discussions. You can give it a try if you want,” he said.

You sat back on the sofa. Maybe later. You felt too awkward as is. Like you were some alien visitor testing out your disguise on the human population. You rubbed your sweaty palms on your leggings and shook your head. “What, uh, did my file say about me?” 

Dr. Richmond shrugged and leaned back in his seat, fixing his thin gold glasses on his face. “Those are words and opinions from other doctors. I’d rather hear what you have to say,” he said and leaned back in his seat.

He was so…disarming in a way that allowed you to release the ironclad control you held on to. You picked at your nails and focused on that, rather than his stormy eyes. “I think I’m broken. And I’m not entirely sure why I’m even entertaining this,” you said. 

“Why are you then?” He prompted.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Tired of feeling like a freak,” you said.

“A freak? Why would you use that term?” He asked. 

You snuck a glance at him. He no longer held the pen. He rested his hands against his stomach, clasped, and just looked at you. Even that was different from all your other therapists combined. 

“Because that’s what it feels like. Like I’m in a freak show. I–,” you stopped and licked your lips. But you were here now. May as well rip the bandaid off. “I can’t cum! And I know, it’s normal. I know plenty of people experience it. I know that women especially have a hard time doing it. But no matter what I fuckin’ try, I just can’t. I feel it coming, I know it’s coming, but then it sort of…goes away? And then I’m sitting there embarrassed that I can’t and when I’m with a partner, they pretend that it’s cool, but then I never hear from them again.” 

You clicked your teeth shut as you realized you were rambling. You picked at a stiff hangnail, tugged at it until it started to hurt. You continued flicking at it, egged on by your awkwardness. And realizing you were being awkward was only making it worse. So you picked. And picked, until the hangnail tore and hurt worse. 

“Why is it important that you cum?” He asked. 

“What?” You asked. You looked at him, expecting to see pity. Disgust. Curiousness. Dr. Richmond held none of those things. His face was a pillar of stoicism, balancing the perfect mix of professionalism and empathy. 

“Why is it so important to you? If you know that it’s normal and plenty of people experience it, shouldn’t the journey matter more than the destination?” He asked. 

Your mouth fell open on a silent gasp as you looked at him. Your mind emptied of every single possible answer to that question. It was important because…it was. Because you never got anything else right either. You were always a step behind, slow on the uptick, feeling like you were taking up too much space in the world even after shrinking yourself to the smallest possible point.

Not easy to do considering your size. You loved your body and wouldn’t trade it for the world, but it wasn’t exactly easy to hide. You were unassuming, sweet, kind, and a great friend. But beneath all of that, you wanted desperately to fit in. This was a basic human release. It was part of the big three things that humans needed. Food, safety, sex. And you could only achieve one of those things.

But how did you word that without sounding like a pathetic kook? You pulled at the hangnail, felt the burn as it ripped, and shrugged your shoulders. Might as well tell the truth. “Because I feel like a freak when I can’t. Like I waited too long. To have sex, to experience life, to explore what I’m into,” you said. 

“Do you think there are goal posts for life?” He asked. He may as well have been a statue for how often he moved. He retained his position, chair turned slightly towards you, as he looked at you like you were a puzzle. 

“Isn’t there? That’s why we call them milestones? Reach your 18th birthday, yay you’re an adult. Find the love of your life, yay you’re married. Pop out some kids, yay, you’re continuing the bloodline. I feel like now, at my age, I should know what one fuckin’ orgasm feels like,” you said. 

“How do you know you haven’t had one already?” He asked.

“I know my body. There’s nothing. There’s the build up, there’s the excitement, there’s everything leading up to it. But I never get over that peak. It just…goes away,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond nodded and turned his attention to the pad. He wrote down a few sentences and it was so quiet in his office, you could hear a clock ticking nearby. You also heard his pen scratch against the paper. He must be using some fancy, fountain pen. He looked the type. 

“What do you hope to achieve through therapy?” He asked. 

You shrugged. “If I knew, you wouldn’t be my tenth therapist,” you said with a heavy sigh. When you first thought about going to therapy, you thought it wasn’t truly for you. There was nothing that really bothered you outside of life’s stress. Everybody had that. 

But you ended up finding some that encouraged you to dig deep and find the woman within. The one comfortable in her skin. Encouraged you to explore your sexuality and think about it in depth. You crawled through so many forums, so many health websites, so many articles that you had a great idea of what ailed you. 

“There has to be a reason you keep trying,” he said. 

You leaned back into the sofa with a huff. “You definitely ask the easy questions. What happened to the intake and whatever?” You asked.

Dr. Richmond chuckled. He tapped his pen against your folder. “You’ve done plenty of that, don’t you think?” 

Your lips twisted with a smile. Okay, maybe you were starting to see why he was so highly recommended. He was comforting without being condescending. Soothing without being smarmy. He treated you like an adult and for the first time, you had a little beacon of hope. 

“I keep trying because I want it. I don’t have the words right now to describe why I want it. I want to know the hype. I want the relief. I want to know what post nut clarity feels like,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond chuckled and you chuckled with him. It sounded funny, but you were so serious. It was exhausting at this point. Pretending like you knew what the fuck you were talking about when others asked you. Your group chat blew up with your equally single friends who were less discerning about who they took to bed.

Every other night, there were stories about dick sizes, oral, and a whole treatise on the lack of finesse these guys had. You almost snorted thinking about your best friend, Brooklyn, and how she said that no wonder men were trapping women in marriages in the past. It was the only way they could get women to be with them. It certainly wasn’t because of their pornographic sexual prowess. 

“What’s been your journey with sex so far?” He asked. 

You took a deep breath and told him all about it. The way that you picked up a book one day with sex in it and never looked back. In a lot of ways, that book probably shaped how you viewed sex and your sexual kinks. Before long, you were searching for more and more books with the exact same tropes. A sexy, semi-asshole alpha male that was too big to be real. 7’8, long dick, and a short attitude. Typically bad boy types with tattoos and “touch her and die” vibes. The kind to only be soft with the female main character.

You could wax poetic about why it appealed to you. Blah blah blah, you had a terrible childhood where you felt invisible. It was all there in the file if he wanted to take a gander. 

“I know I’m submissive, that I want to be dominated in bed. But, whew, the game out here is ridiculous,” you said. “The men I wouldn’t mind submitting to are too damn weak to take control. The men I would never submit to act like I’m their pet already and can speak to me however they want.” 

“Do you think you’re being too picky?” He asked. 

You were startled into a laugh. “What gave me away, Dr. Richmond?” You asked.

Dr. Richmond chuckled. “I have a process, bear with me,” he said. That ain’t all you wanted to do. He was fine as hell. You mentally shook your head. No, you could not go there. Not at all. 

You continued to discuss how you led to certain conclusions. Yes, you were picky. But why shouldn’t you be? You weren’t seeking perfection. You just wanted something normal. Something healthy. Something toe curling, mind numbing, sickeningly disgusting and sweet. Was that too much to ask for? 

Dr. Richmond asked more questions and you relaxed fraction by fraction, getting right to the core of why you were seeking professional help. You told him about some of the partners you had. Some who were sweet and really tried. You had a long term boyfriend at one point who was attentive and caring. But he fell short of making you cum. 

He ate you out long enough to get you wet and going and then jumped straight to sex just so he could cum. You often lied about cumming until it got too exhausting to keep up with. He promptly got mad, hurt that you lied, and possibly embarrassed that he wasn’t God’s gift to sex. His loss. 

It was awkward at first to discuss such intimate details with Dr. Richmond but you often forgot he was even there. Until he asked you to expand on something you said or ask a clarifying question. Even the scratch of his pen faded into the background as you spoke about how you arrived in his office. 

Dr. Richmond finally finished and leaned back in his seat once more, squaring his broad shoulders against the high back of his chair. He crossed his leg and looked at you and you briefly wondered what he’d look like without the glasses. 

“We’re nearing the end of our session but I think I’m getting a clearer picture of why you’re here. After hearing from you and looking through your file, it seems like your perception of what sex really is has been skewed. Either through these books, these movies, or even porn. It’s perfectly okay to consider what you like in bed or what you prefer in a partner. But most people’s foray into their sexual journey starts with themselves. What’s your relationship like with your body?” 

“I love my body,” you said, immediately. Why wouldn’t you love your body? You were gorgeous. Sure, you struggled with your weight, but you didn’t want to be thin anyway. You just wanted to roll out of bed without being out of breath sometimes. Or cut your toenails without having to stop every few minutes for air. 

Dr. Richmond licked his lips and your eyes dropped immediately to it. He rubbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb and it drew your attention to his big hands. Too damn bad you hadn’t met him under better circumstances. You bet he could make you cum. Often.

“What else?” He asked. 

“What else is there?” You asked, clearing your throat, and drawing your attention away from how drop dead gorgeous he was. Your thoughts ran wild still, picturing him in all sorts of nasty scenarios. If nothing else, your imagination was always there to show you a good time. Your own perfect world where you experienced back to back orgasms. 

“What has your personal sexual journey encompassed besides you loving your body? Do you touch yourself?” He asked. 

You fought every urge you had to squeeze your thighs together. How the hell did this man end up in this profession? He missed his calling as a phone sex operator. Or an erotic audio content creator. Good lord, he could have people eating out of the palm of his hand if he so wished. Swimming in a tub full of money earned from hundreds of thousands of horny bitches who could cum to his voice alone. Lucky bitches.

You shrugged. “Of course I touch myself. I can’t cum that way either,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond chuckled. “This only works if you lower them walls you try so hard to hide behind,” he said.

You kissed your teeth and rolled your eyes to the ceiling. The hell did he know. So what if he had fancy doctor diplomas behind his chair. So what if he had a MD in this field. What the hell did he know?

After cursing him out two ways from Sunday in your mind, you deflated. “I know I’m not relaxed when I masterbate. I lock my door, I put on headphones, and I still feel like I’m…”

“Like you’re…?” Dr. Richmond prompted. 

“Being watched? Being judged? You can probably guess I grew up religious. It’s not like I had enough time or space to explore my body. My room was directly next to my parents’. If I so much as sighed too loud, my mom was banging on my wall telling me to fix my attitude,” you admitted. That had been oodles of fun. Growing up, you couldn’t even roll your eyes without someone telling you to fix your face. 

“What does relax you then?” He asked.

“When I find out, I’ll tell you,” you said.

Dr. Richmond smiled, showing off a dazzling, mega-watt movie star smile that made your knees weak. If you weren’t already sitting down, you’d fall flat on your face. 

“I believe I can help you, but you have to be willing to do the work. I need total, focused commitment from you. Do you think you can do that?” He asked.

“Yes,” you said instantly. There wasn’t even a question. You wanted this more than breathing, more than eating. And that was saying something because you would happily drive far and wide for a good meal. 

Dr. Richmond nodded. “Good. I’m giving you homework. I want you to spend the next week exploring your body. Nothing sexual. Spend time in your body and with your body. Touch yourself, but no masterbating. When you shower, acknowledge your body. When you lotion up, pay attention to every mole, every scar. This is the only body you’ll ever have so it’s time to think beyond simple body maintenance. Admire your body. I also want you to keep a journal. You won’t share it with me unless you want to, but this exercise is to get you in tune with your body. Rewire how you perceive sex and sexual completion. Does that sound doable?” 

You nodded, not trusting your voice at the moment. He must not know the effect he had on those around him. He had to be completely clueless. Batshit fucking oblivious. The wreck he was having on your libido was absolutely insane. 

Joking aside, you were taking this seriously. In just one session, Dr. Richmond managed to give you a tiny spark of hope. That maybe you weren’t a lost cause. You immediately tempered your thoughts. Hope hurt. You’d been hopeful so many times in the past, with different therapists, who seemed like they had a plan to help you.

Only for them to diagnose some other problem. You had anxiety, duh. You had depression, shocker. You had a laundry list of diagnoses from doctors and therapists who just thought you were obsessed with sex. That was like saying the sky was blue. Who wasn’t obsessed with sex? Besides asexual people. 

“I’ll do it,” you said.

“Good,” he said. He went over your schedule, working out a time to see him once a week until you would eventually graduate to fewer sessions. That bummed you out. Not seeing his gorgeous face ever again? Could you fake another issue and continue seeing him? 

Dr. Richmond dismissed you and you left his office feeling a smidgen lighter than when you entered. Maybe this would actually work out. Maybe. 

Terry

Terry finished with his last client of the day and went over his notes, inputting his clearer thoughts into the patient portal on his laptop. When he ran across your file, he paused and opened it once more.

Your case fascinated him. He couldn’t stop pouring over your files, doctor’s notes, direct quotes. There had been plenty of therapists before him, all trying to help the beautiful woman who entered his office earlier in the afternoon. 

He wasn’t immune to his patients. Some were beautiful and charming and all tried to flirt their way into his bed. He never crossed that line. Never. Yet…when you discussed your story, the rawness of it captivated him. He held onto your every word like you were a theater production right before his eyes. 

He hardly took notes because he was so fascinated with the dichotomy of you. On the outside, you were a bit shy. Perhaps too self-aware which led you to shrink, hide who you really were. He got the sense that there was an entire universe wrapped up in your mind and he began asking deeper questions than he ever had on a first session. 

The hour had gone by too fast for his tastes. He wanted to hear more. Learn more. Know more. He hated to admit it, he even got semi-erect as you told your tale. He was understandably disgusted and it wasn’t the first time; occupational hazard. But it was the first time he’d ever cursed his medical degree. 

You were perfect. Absolutely perfect. When you admitted to being submissive, his dick even twitched. Ached. Why couldn’t he have met you somewhere else? Surely, fate hadn’t been so cruel as to put the perfect sub within reach and then ensure that he could never have you? Never touch you? 

Describing your previous lovers actually made his chest boil. You had been subjected to ignorant men who wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you. And they had you believing that you were the problem. It was laughable. It was maddening. It was cruel. 

He frowned at your file. He had gone over it so many times in preparation for the session. He didn’t know what would walk through the door. A file this thick? He thought he’d have a sex-obsessed, delusional fiend on his hands that he’d have to contend with.

Your wish of cumming was almost cute. Terry sighed. He shouldn’t be thinking it was cute. If anything, he should be passing your case off to his colleague down the hall. Dr. Crawford was as capable as Terry was, their ideas often aligning in regards to treatment.

He preferred a holistic approach. Most problems could be resolved within a few months, once people began to shift their idea of sex and their role in it. 

“Everything is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power.” That was one of his favorite quotes, said so many times that no one truly knew where it originated. 

It was a quote he often repeated to his patients at the right moment. When they were beginning to discover a part of themselves previously unexplored. He wondered how long it would take for your moment? That dawning realization. 

He was only sad he couldn’t see it in real time. That moment when you let yourself feel. Let yourself relax and sink into that subspace you so desperately needed. Terry grunted and closed your file. 

He was about to crack you open like an egg and watch a brand new woman emerge. He was about to hand you off to the first man who pretended to understand your needs. He took out his fresh notepad, every patient got one, and scribbled some more notes. He’d have to make sure you understood the difference between a real dom and a little boy playing dress up. 

His eyes scanned across his earlier notes, little things he jotted down while you spoke. Areas you skipped over, areas you expanded on. They were only a sentence or two long, something to kickstart his memory. Because at the time, his eyes were focused on you. On your face, your voice, your mannerisms. 

It was both a curse and a blessing to notice so much. See so much. Understand so much. But it worked when necessary. You deflected about your sexual partners, retreated when he tried to push further about how you reached these conclusions. What methods you tried.

Usually, Terry did a whole song and dance to ease patients into talking about sex. Sex was taboo until it was time to have it. Now everything was awkward, unbalanced, and led to too many instances of abuse. 

But between your file and how skittish but determined you seemed, you didn’t need a song and dance. You needed someone to give you guideposts. You didn’t truly need therapists. You just needed a nudge in the right direction. A nudge to someone else.

Terry pursed his lips and looked at your name on the file. He had to be careful. If he wasn’t, you would end up being trouble in more ways than one. 

He finished up the last of his notes and then scanned through for anything he might have missed. He wrote down what your homework assignment was. He hadn’t truly known where that came from. 

Perhaps it was the look in your eyes. Perhaps it was the helpless, frantic twist to your mouth that had him going from zero to one hundred where you were concerned. But the more he described it, the lower your eyes went. The way your mouth slackened just a bit. As if you were caught in some picture in your mind that he couldn’t see. 

Terry leaned away from his desk and looked outside of his window. The tinted glass showed the sun in the distance, sinking lower towards the horizon. A bird flew, twisting and turning with the hot currents it found. 

He ought to do the right thing. There was no way to remain objective in this manner. Not when he was strangely drawn to you, drawn to your file, and drawn to the unique challenge it presented. 

You could very well end up a case study in some medical textbook or journal, name changed, but the presentation exactly the same. He didn’t relish the thought of being the one to put you there. But your case could end up helping someone else. It was the way the world worked.

He only hoped that he had enough self-restraint to walk away if he found himself compromised. If he couldn’t reign in his personal tastes and habits to help you. If he found himself looking at your lips as you spoke, your smile as you made self-deprecating jokes, or the shy way you licked your lips. 

“Shit.” He took his phone out of his bag and hit up his on again, off again submissive play partner, Tasia. Perhaps it’d been too long since he took care of his own needs. Perhaps what he needed was to release the pent up tension he carried around all the time. 

How long had it been? He didn’t know. But even as he set up the details with Tasia, he couldn’t help wondering if you were following his directions to the letter.

I said don't judge me! LOL. Thank you for reading, truly.

The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 2

Taglist:

@planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide

@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @xo-goldengirl @superhoeva

@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

@semi-yah @halfreal-and-halffiction @motheroffae @melaninpov @pinkpantheris

@slutsareteacherstoo @blackerthings @dreamsinfocus @brattyfics @mermaidchansons

@monaeesstuff @henneseyhoe @blowmymbackout @charismablu @playgurlxoxo

@misskiki90 @miyuhpapayuh @satoruya @starcrossedxwriter @yamst3rdamctrl

@steampunkprincess147 @sweettea-and-honeybutter @theblacklewinsky @soft-persephone @notapradagurl7

@thegreatlibraryofalex @amyhennessyhouse @hihellogoodbyebruh @becauseimswagman1

[comfortless]

hello beloved 🥰 🫶 every time you mention ‘The Dungeon’ whatever da hell that is my brain just goes dungeon crawler! könig! dungeon crawler! könig! so might i request a dungeon crawling könig?

what the hell. do not send König down here… get him away from me…. *immediately forgets everything else i was doing to begrudgingly write this*

sigh… dungeoneer! König x fem! reader

content / warnings: violence, sexism, suggestive.

Retrieving the golden eye of a wyrm to be made into a lovely pendant for the Queen would pay well, keep him afloat and drifting from land to land for long enough to decide upon where to settle. The posting tacked to the wall of the inn, detailing a handsome reward, was surely the sign from a benevolent god that a glorious fate had been handed to him on a silver platter. He stuffs the parchment into the pocket of his trousers as he downs the last of his ale, tosses his coins to the barmaid on his way toward the door and sets off for the deepest dungeon in the kingdom.

There are no bright-eyed knights lobbying around the entrance, a good sign that the wyrm’s bounty was all his to claim. It makes him elated, really, and the idea of finally having his own place, bedding down with a pretty maiden each night is even more of an adrenaline rush than the actual fighting that comes the moment he steps foot into the darkened underworld. The dungeon is filled with the reanimated skeletons he’s grown so accustomed to— a quick jab with his claymore to the center of the spine leaves them a crumpled heap of bone and dust. They’ll rise again when the moon hangs lofty in the sky, but he’s done this enough times to know the best way of navigating such a place. The other beasts haunting the cavernous ruins are a bit trickier to deal with, and he’s fortunate that most shy away from the light of his torch.

Only, she does not.

The woman standing before him in full plate armor is poised for battle, blade making a steady ascent above her head in preparation to strike as her lantern is cast aside. She charges at him before he can even breathe out a word of protest, swinging the heavy sword at him so quickly that at most, he can only thrust his torch before him to prevent her plunging the tip between his ribs. She’s quick to draw back when the wood splinters and the fire sparks up on dry bone and the tattered remains of clothing from all that came before layered upon the dirt and grime coated floor. The blaze of the fire seems pale in comparison to the flames in her eyes as she pivots towards him again, and once more— he merely blocks.

“A maiden shouldn’t be here,” he says through gritted teeth as he easily pushes her back against the wall, caging her between the flat of his blade and the bulk of his body.

He hadn’t realized the ache in his groin until the woman tilts her head up to spit in his face. König doesn’t bother to wipe it away, to even pretend to be disgusted by her actions. From this small breadth between them all he sees is divine beauty— even as her eyes narrow like that of a viper preparing to strike.

“A knight to be,” she corrects him as he gives her blade a shove, the sounds of steel hissing against steel and crackling fire echoing throughout the cavern.

“Not likely.”

Their fight drags on for what feels like hours before his flask his split at his hip and she finally does back down. Even this lady knows well enough that being lost in a dark dungeon with no source of light and no water is a death sentence, and she finds him both incredibly frustrating and fun enough to keep him a live just a little longer. He’s adept enough to block even her quickest strikes, parry her with a gentle jab to her side with his index rather than his blade. He’s shown her her own weak points during their little battle, and she’s garnered a bit of respect for him for that.

As she sheaths her blade and locks eyes with him, his erection is practically trying to tear through the seams of his pants. She’s so pretty, so strong, so unlike the barmaids and damsels in distress he’s come across so often and it’s all gnawing at the recesses of his mind. The bounty almost entirely forgotten, he wants not to penetrate the wyrm with his blade but rather spear her with his cock.

He reaches for her, almost tentatively hoping to somehow melt through her armor and feel the warmth of her flesh. She’s doesn’t pull away when his hands rest against her waist, just gives him a little flutter of her eyelashes before rearing a hand back to almost playfully strike his face just before she turns on the heel of her boot and gathers her lantern.

König follows along behind her, not just out of necessity, but because she asks him to. Beckons him along with the curl of her gloved finger, coos at him when he falls behind trying to picture her body beneath the layers of chainmail and fitted steel.

“I’m taking the bounty,” she tells him when they stop to take a sip from her flask, feast on the preserved fruit and dried meat from his own satchel.

It reminds him of why he’s come all this way, what he’s supposed to be doing here. He’s a little tense— on one hand he wants to give this lady the entire kingdom, make her his wife and rid away those silly thoughts about becoming a knight, but she’s so determined!! He’s at a loss on how to tell her that there are no women knights in the land, that no matter what she brings back for the King she’ll probably only be mocked and sent on her way.

“Let me help you,” he says instead.

“You would lend me your blade?”

He just blinks at her… this silly woman has spent far too long dreaming and watching the knights in the castle yard, he just knows it. Down to the way she speaks! She’s incredible and infuriating, just as he is to her. It makes him want to push her just a bit, see what she’s capable of entirely before they part ways (she is never getting rid of him).

“What do I get in turn?”

The little knight mulls that over for a moment, as she leads him down a long corridor; everything all gilded and decorated, lit aglow by the dim orange of lantern light. The golden coins, rolls of fine silk now muddied and trampled littering the floor are enough of a sign to show they’ve nearly made their way to the heart. The wyrm would no doubt be lying in wait at the end, resting protectively over its hoard of cattle bones and shiny objects, golden eyes piercing through the darkness as it prepares for the fight to come.

It’s when the wyrm’s first hissing growl rings out through the darkness that she does turn back to face him, a mischievous little grin tugging at her lips.

“Only to live another day.”

“Nein… something else.��

He can’t stop himself from pawing at her again, curling a hand around her neck to tilt her chin up to face him. Her breath fanning over his face, her scent like peony and lantern oil make him feel drunk enough. The hand that slides between his legs to grasp at his cock is far from anything he ever anticipated from her. She was bold, too bold and too pretty for her own good.

Fate had blessed him more than he could even begin to fathom, after all.

[lieslab]

Tetris

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Han X gn reader

Summary: A simple trip to the arcade leads to disaster after disaster and a brief doubt that your boyfriend truly loves you.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3K

Trigger warning: Anxiety (specifically social anxiety) and self-doubt.

A/N: Anonymous requester, I've done it. This was super fun to write (I mean up until the self-doubt and anxiety part where I proceeded to get a little sad) Never fear because I managed to make the end fluffy just like you requested!!

I'm sorry it's probably been posted way later than you expected. I have a job and I've been looking at college options and that's the reason why all my requests are a little slower. It's never too late to make your dreams come true. Anyway, I hope you enjoy <3

_ _ _

It was a blast from the past, walking into the arcade that your boyfriend found one day. It was like stepping back into the 80’s. Fun colorful and bright prints littered the black floor. Neon strands hung above your heads in waves. The lights had been dimmed to make everything pop. 

“Do you like it?” Han turned to you and beamed. 

“This place is amazing. How did you find it?” Your eyes were wide as you glanced around. The white t-shirt you were wearing seemed to glow beneath the neon funk. It was trippy and it was exhilarating. Excitement thrummed through your veins. 

“I don’t know. I went on a walk one day and accidentally entered. I wanted to go to the coffee shop next door and got lost in my thoughts. I ended up here in the process.” 

Off in the distance, you could hear the hums of bowling pins being set back up. Squeaky motors had been used year after year after year, gathering up rust and remaining ungreased. The old hinges seemed to be on their last limbs, but they still managed to hold up. 

Cheers filled the air as a family, split in half for the bowling game, managed to gather a strike. Kids laughed and rushed in front of you. In another section, the greasy smell of fried food wafted over to you. You practically drooled at the sudden overpowering scent of pizza. The acidic tomatoes and the greasy cheese mingling with pepperoni. 

Arcade game after arcade game sat along a side wall. Multiple people’s silhouettes were lit up from the static screens. You managed to catch a few glimpses of familiar games. Pac-man, Frogger, Donkey Kong, and Tron. 

More modern games had been speckled throughout the large area. Skeeball had been placed across from the bowling lanes. Four basketball hoop games and a few football throwing games sat beside it. Larger machines that held more unfamiliar games were speckled throughout. 

Han laced his fingers through yours and led you towards the counter to get coins to play. It was one of his favorite parts of the place. All the games took old golden coins instead of electronic swipeable play passes. 

When he handed you a cup full of coins, he smiled. “So where should we start first?” 

You shrugged, still looking around with wide eyes. “There’s so much to do. We could do anything and-” 

“Then it’s a good thing that we have the whole afternoon to play, isn’t it?” 

His uptick in energy made you smile. The two of you slipped into the full arcade and began to play. You managed to last for nearly two hours before exhaustion set in. Han still seemed to have so much energy, but you felt drained. 

More people were flooding into the building. Han was distracting himself from this by focusing on the games, but you couldn’t. You were becoming more and more aware of how much harder it was to move through the area. 

Most people were polite, but some were not. A few glares were sent your way by a group of teenagers at one point. Your stomach churned with anxiety as you mumbled a quiet apology for stepping in front of them and scurried away. 

Han hadn’t realized it because he was too busy gushing about Pac-Man and how he wanted to get on the leaderboard. You were happy that he was happy, but you were starting to feel constricted. The crowd seemed to push against your lungs and make it harder to breathe. 

You made your way over to the game and Han began to play. After about four rounds, you announced that you were going to get a drink. Too involved in the game, he mumbled a weak response and you disappeared. 

In the cafe area, you felt a lot better. After ordering your drink, you sat down at a small table and sucked in a deep breath. During some days, your social anxiety was worse than other days. Just in general, you could have bad anxiety days. 

It ruled your life, no matter how much you tried to work on it. You tried to journal and you had tried therapy, but nothing seemed to stamp out that fluttery and panicky what-if feeling. It was some piece of your brain that you didn’t quite know how to get rid of. 

For a while, you were content with leisurely sipping your drink and observing the people in the bowling lanes. Parents in one lane were with their two kids. The kids couldn’t have been much older than ten. The mother and daughter had teamed up against the father and son. 

“Mommy and I are going to beat you!” The little girl smirked. Two black pigtails had been tied at the sides of her neck. She was dressed in a lavender dress that seemed to radiate beneath the white lights above her. 

“Nuh-uh! Nuh-uh!” The boy stuck out his tongue. His hair was the same deep shade of onyx. Both of their facial features were a perfect blend of their parents. 

“This isn’t fair!” Another voice cried off in the distance. Your eyes adjusted to find two younger girls. One stood with her hand on her hips and the other stomped her foot. “It’s rigged!” 

“It’s not rigged, it’s your fault that you don’t know how to bowl. I tried to tell you, but you’ve refused to listen to me. This is your own fault!” 

You smiled at the sight. Everything seemed to be against you when you were a kid. It was so easy to get frustrated and upset at the age when you didn’t understand how the world quite worked. 

“Feel it? The weight of the ball in your hand? Just get used to it and hold on tight. Don’t want to drop the ball on my foot, do we?” 

Your head snapped to the opposite side when you heard a man’s voice. A guy was standing behind a girl. Adorned in a gray hoodie, he had an arm looped around her waist. She laughed with his right hand tucked over hers. 

“I’m being serious, get used to this and this motion.” He slowly began to rock her arm back and forth. It was the same motion that you used to bowl and release the ball. “Once you get used to this, you focus on aiming.” 

“And how do I do that?” The girl asked. 

“Keep your eyes on the prize, sweetheart. Keep your gaze locked and loaded in the middle of the pins. Focus on that middle point. Breathe in and breathe out and then release the ball, got it?” 

You watched the girl do what he said and she released the ball. He kept his chin over her shoulder while the two watched the ball slip down the lane. Over and over the bright orange ball rolled head over heels until- 

Crash!

The girl beamed as all the pins fell over. “I did it! I did it! I did it! I got my first strike!” 

“Congratulations, baby.” 

You looked away as the girl spun around and kissed the guy. It felt like such an intimate moment and you didn’t want to intrude. Your mind began to drift back to Han. You shifted in your chair to find him still hooked up in front of the Pac-Man game. 

A sigh slipped out through your nose. You didn’t mean for your thoughts to start wondering, but they began to creep in. Did he love you as much as you loved him? When was the last time the two of you had such an intimate moment outside of the house? Was he embarrassed of you? 

He rarely held your hand and never even attempted to kiss your cheek in public. Sure, you both walked side-by-side, but that wasn’t the same thing. The more you thought about it, the more hurt you felt. You were squeezing the juice out of your own heart. 

The lump began to form in your throat and you quickly stood up. In the process of attempting to grab your drink, you knocked over the cup. It hit the ground and spilt all over the floor. Your tears blurred your eyes and you cursed beneath your breath. 

Why were you like this? Why were you such a klutz? You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to gather the courage to go ask for napkins. Before you could stop them, someone headed towards you. 

The kid was too distracted by the handfuls of tickets in his arms. Quite literally, he was skipping off to the front to gather prizes when the disaster worsened. A loud gasp left his mouth as he slipped in the sugary soda. The back of his shirt seeped it up as he fell. 

The moment you heard the ruckus, your eyes opened in shock. A loud wail came from his mouth and alerted everyone near your area. All eyes were on the two of you and your heart quickened. 

You dropped to your knees instantly to try to console the poor boy. You reached out a hand and gently pulled him up. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” A woman’s shrill voice filled your ears. You glanced over to find a woman standing with her fists on her hips. “Get your hands off my son!” 

“I-I’m sorry, it wasn’t like that, he fell and I-” 

“That doesn’t give you the right to touch him!” She snapped as she rushed towards him. “Come here, come on, let’s get you to the bathroom to try and clean you up.” She shot you a final glare before you were left alone. Eyes from earlier still lingered. 

You suddenly thought you might burst into your own set of tears. Before you could approach the counter to ask for napkins, a worker appeared with a mop. He huffed as he dunked the murky tendrils in a bucket of sud filled water. 

“I’m really sorry,” you apologized. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Not like you’re the first one to make a mess, butterfingers. You certainly won’t be the last one either. Just get out of here and try not to make another mess, will you?” 

You mumbled another apology and rushed away from the mess with your empty cup. You tossed the remainders of the sticky mess into a trash can and disappeared back into the crowd. You were about ready to sob and to make matters worse, you left your coins somewhere and you didn’t know where. 

You couldn’t play anything and Han still had your wallet. You had given it to him earlier because your pockets were small in the pants you chose to wear. If you bothered him, you’d ruin his Pac-Man game and you didn’t want to worry him. 

More than anything, you just wanted to go home. You wanted to change and go back into comfy clothes and relax. You had reached your limit minutes ago and things were only getting worse. 

So you circled the arcade again and then again and again. You didn’t linger in one spot for too long. You kept your arms wrapped around yourself and you kept your body tucked into itself. The last thing you wanted to do was cause another issue. 

You circled over and over until you caught a glimpse of Tetris. The game was on and ready to start, but nobody was around it. It seemed like someone decided to play it and then decided to abandon the game before it could begin. 

You couldn’t help it, after nobody appeared for nearly a minute, you slowly walked over. Your gaze casted around, but everyone was still in their own little worlds. After pressing start, you began to play the game. 

In the beginning, you were good at it. Pressing the controls and adjusting the multi-colored awkward shapes to fit together. You were making good progress until you messed up on a T-shaped block. The moment that happened, your anxiety began to brew. You began to worry about other blocks before they were down. 

Tetris was a lot like anxiety. Everything seemed to do well until something slipped up. One small slip-up was enough to make you panic about the future. Instead of attempting to focus on what was in front of you, your brain was multiple steps ahead of itself. 

When you realized this, you couldn’t stop. You tried to focus on the block in front of your eyes, but you were constantly thinking about the block that would come next. Where would you place it? Would it fit between those two shapes? What if it was too big and caused the blocks to stack higher? You weren’t supposed to let them stack too high. 

You didn’t realize you were crying. The screen illuminated the glossy tears silently trickling down your cheeks. You didn’t notice until warmth slipped onto your hand. It was then that you realized you were crying and it made you stress out more. 

Before you could try to fix it, the game ended and a huge game over screen sat in front of your eyes. There was an option to play again, but you didn’t have more coins. You sniffled and sucked in a deep breath. 

“Baby, are you okay?” Han’s voice hit your ears. 

You spun around to come face-to-face with him frowning. You quickly used the back of your hands to wipe away the tears. You sniffled again and nodded. 

“What happened?” 

“Just some anxiety and stuff.” 

“What kind of anxiety?” 

You didn’t mean to blurt it out, but it came out anyway. “Do you love me like I love you?” 

“Huh?” 

“I mean, y-you don’t really interact with me when we’re in public. You don’t hold my hand or kiss me. I mean, you did earlier, but that was only once and I just…” You trailed off. “Am I not good enough for you?” 

He gently reached out and took your hand again. You let him lead you through the crowded maze of people and pull you alongside a further away wall. “What’s got you so worked up? You know I love you a lot. I don’t touch you a lot in public because I don’t want to make you nervous.” 

“Oh.” 

“Do I not show you enough?” He frowned. 

You shook your head, “I-I just…I don’t know.” 

“You’re ready to go home, aren’t you?” 

You meekly nodded and pawed at your eyes again. Your social battery was blaring with an alarm. You needed to go home and recharge before you went out again. You needed personal space to feel like you could breathe again. 

“I have one more coin and then we can go home, okay? I was actually saving it for you. I don’t think you’ve gone to the claw machine yet, have you?” You shook your head. He grinned, “let's go!” 

You let him lead you over to the claw machine. He handed you the coin with a smile. “I’ll let you do the honors because you’re good at these.” 

“I only have one try.” 

“Yeah, but I believe in you. Even if you don’t get anything, I still have all of our tickets. We have to go redeem our prizes.” 

You slowly slipped the golden coin in the slot. There was a whole section of the games, but Han had pulled you to one lit up neon pink. Inside, a wide selection of plushies sat staring at you. As the game started up, you debated on what to try and aim for. 

After a brief consideration, you finally grabbed a hold of the black controller and began to shift the claw. You put all your focus into the game and tried to block out the surrounding noise and Han. You needed perfect attention while doing this. 

The crane swung for a bit and then it stopped. Just for a brief second, you tilted the control to the left. Holding your breath, you pushed the red button. A soft whirl filled the air and you and Han watched the crane begin to outstretch and fall down. 

The tiny arms opened as it sank further and further into the pit of plushies. Silently, you begged it to grab the one you were aiming for. You waited and waited and waited until- 

“Holy shit,” Han whispered. 

The claw had grabbed onto the plush. You kept holding your breath because you had seen this multiple times. It was only when it dropped into the prize shute that you let your breath out. 

“You did it!” Han cheered. 

You smiled, ducked down, and retrieved the prize. When you held it up in the light, Han’s face lit up. “Oh, it’s beautiful. What are you going to name them?” 

“I’m not.” 

His eyebrows furrowed together, “you’re not?” 

“It’s up to you.” You reached out and held the boba tea plushie out towards Han. A small brown straw poked out the top of it. Plush velvet black spheres created the illusion of boba balls. A faint blush sat on its cheeks and there were sparkles in his eyes. 

“You’re giving him to me?” 

“He kinda looks like you. Plus, he’s very cute. I know you’ll treat him kindly and take good care of him.” 

Han’s eyes softened as he took the plushie from you. There was blush powdered across his own cheeks. “Thank you. You already know that I’ll cherish him forever. I’ll take him home and place him next to Han Quokka.” 

At that moment, he simply didn’t care that the two of you were in public. He placed the plush beneath his arm, gently cupped your face, and pressed his soft lips to yours. When he pulled away, you were left dizzy and breathless. He laughed at the gobsmacked look on your face. You were left floating on cloud nine with your anxiety far away from your immediate thoughts. 

He slipped your hand into yours. It was getting late and the arcade had emptied out a little. It was starting to feel like you could breathe again. 

“Come on!” You grinned, “let’s go get the rest of our prizes!” 

When you began to run through the crowd, he followed right behind you. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Masterlist

Taglist, and inbox rules

[krisstheidiot]

× Midnight Brownies ×

Valentine's Day Special

Summary: Felix and you meet again years after highschool in a cafe on Valentine's day. When you two decide to go on a spontaneous multiple valentine's day activities spree, will past feelings sprout again?, will Felix finally answer your highschool self's confession?

Genre: fluff, highschool friends reunited(crushes)

Warnings: Mentions of Sex, Fireworks

Your sister had kept you awake all night until 3 to help her decide what outfit she was to wear for her date with her boyfriend. Sleep was completely lost so you had decided to go on a long jog at 6 am and then got ready to hang out at a cozy cafe a few blocks down.

Ordering your usual latte with a slice of apple pie as you sit down at a table near the flower display outside, reading a book on your kindle enjoying the quiet despite the lack of sleep.

A deep voice speaks out of no where breaking your concentration as you look up in shock, finding a familiar face in front you...

"Hey miss is this seat free...?"

Those honey brown orbs, the galaxy like freckles spread on those plush fair cheeks and that cute heart like smile, The face not matching the voice at all as you come to realize who you were face to face with.

"...Felix?"

Tilting your head as you gasp softly and stand up with a bright smile, happy you encountered an old friend, said man looked down at your face in shock as he took in all your features. It was no doubt you were pretty but you looked so beautiful as the morning sun gave you your golden hour, eyes twinkling with golden orbs.

"Y/n..? Omg it's really you...!"

Felix smiled brightly as he suddenly pulled you in for a warm hug, which you happily reciprocated.

"I wasn't expecting to meet you here!"

Felix exclaimed happily as he pulled away and you both sat at your table to catch up on what's been going with your lives. A while later you got curious about why he was here all alone, fiddling with your fork and apple pie crumbs you finally decide to ask.

"Felix i was wondering why you are here all alone? That too so early in the morning?"

Felix chuckles as he sips on his drink while thinking of a way to word his reason without it being awkward

"Well its valentine's day and I am single but all my other friends are dating I woke up to one of them having morning sex so yeah I had to make my escape so i came here..."

"Oh..."

Felix laughs at the face you make as you nod sheepishly imagining how awkward the situation would have been.

"Either ways they probably would have teased me if I had stayed also I am avoiding social media so I don't get coerced into doing a stream because I am sure even my fans would tease me about being so lonely that I stream even on valentine's day"

You giggle as you imagine all the 8 year olds bullying an adult just because he doesn't have a partner. Suddenly a spontaneous idea comes up in your head as you quickly take Felix' hand and get up grabbing your stuff.

"You know what Felix let's go on a date right now! The one we were supposed to go to in highschool but never could because I moved away. I mean if that's okay with you...?"

Felix grinned as he nodded eagerly making all the uncertainty in your head disappear. You smiled as you took his hand in yours and left the cafe after paying.

Finding yourself at a retro arcade that was empty as you and Felix buy a shit ton of coins for all the games. Trying out every single one from bunch of scammy claw machines to every car racing game.

Any game you found fun you would do. Tetris. You name it you played it. With the last coins you decided to play a boxy zombie game that looked like a stupid rip off minecraft as you tried to distract each other hoping the other would fall into the pit of zombie while trying to bridge with the jammed buttons of the machine. Finally you managed to bag the win for who bridged the farthest by kissing Felix's cheek to distract him.

Smiling as both you and Felix's hands are full holding bags full of the tacky toys and gifts he won for you from the claw machines and all the old timey snacks and games you had won from winning the competitive games as you walk next door deciding to play laser tag since you had won two tickets to it.

Coming out of the place as you whine childishly complaining that Felix was just too fast and he didn't win fairly since he literally picked you up and shot your tag with his laser. Felix in tow teasing you that you were just too slow and small to be able to win and his win was completely fair.

"Let's get lunch yeah?"

Felix asks as he smiles down at you as he takes your hand in his and leads you to the nearby beach that was 10 minute walk away. You guys come to a stop in front of a shack restaurant on the beach itself.

sitting on a table facing the sea as you guys order what you guys are gonna eat while talking about anything that came to mind like you were back in Highschool.

Finishing up lunch as the both of you decide to visit the shops at the beach before leaving, as you browsed shop after shop as you go into a very neon coloured shop looking around at all the vintage and retro stuff as you pick up some old pokemon cards blind packs and buy it while Felix is wandering around buying something of his own.

Now, walking to an old cinema as you chat about what anime movie you should watcha at the cinema. Both deciding 'My Neighbor Totoro' would be best as you go inside the cinema taking some artificially buttered popcorn as you sit down in the empty cinema giggling like middle schoolers.

"Hey Felix earlier I bought these old packs of pokemon cards wanna open them with me like when in highschool?"

You suggested, glad that it was dark in the theatre so that he wouldn't know you were blushing as you saw Felix chuckle as he pulled out what he had bought earlier. It was a bunch of old candy with no nutritional value just sugar. Pure sugar. You grinned remembering how you both used skip classes to watch anime at the library while opening pokemon cards and munching on candies just like this.

"Honestly Y/n I missed this. I missed us."

Felis whispered to you while sipping on his now watered down coke since the ice had melted, you looked at him, eyes full of emotion as you smiled softly.

"I missed us too alot, I wished that i had never moved away then maybe we would be spending this valentine's day as a couple not as just friends..."

Whispering sadly as you look back at the screen hoping you don't start crying.

You feel him take your hand in his as he squeezes it slightly.

"Who says we can't spend it as a couple?"

Felix asked straightforward about his intentions behind the question.

You looked up at him slightly in shock trying to gauge out the joke in his question and intent. He nodded to reassure you that he was saying the truth and what he wanted wasn't to joke with you, it was to be with you. A look into his eyes was all you needed to reassure yourself. Just as you opened your mouth to respond he pulled you in and kissed you. It was soft and warm and full of love, his lips soft against your own as he put his hands on your cheek holding you there as you reciprocate the action. Pulling away after a while as he smiles down at you, eyes beating the ones a certain heart eyed emoji has.

"I loved you before. I love you still. And I am sure I will keep on loving you. That's how much I feel about you Y/n, baking isn't any fun without you when i remember how much fun we used to have when we baked together."

You looked at Felix, eyes glossy with tears as you breathe out shakily, overwhelmed by emotions as you hug him close to you and whisper.

"I love you too, I tried so hard to move on convinced that you probably did too, but this its not just a highschool crush it goes beyond that and I don't want to lose the good memories of you. I don't want to lose you anymore not after i waited so many years..."

Felix smiled as he kissed your head and ran his fingers through your hair to comfort you as he spoke. The movie long forgotten.

"You aren't losing me hell even if you wanted to you won't be able to get rid of me now so don't be sad Sweets..."

"Sw-sweets...?"

You looked up at him blushing like crazy as he smiled and patted your head. He looked like a bright ball of sunshine whenever he smiled.

"Well I am assuming that this means we are a couple now so I am just calling my lovely girlfriend a cute nickname!"

"Well if I am sweets then you are Sunshine..."

You whined as took your cup of coke and drank to hide your blush.

"I don't mind darling"

The nickname teasing fest continued as both of you tried making each other blush by calling each other the cheesiest pet names.

It was 8 in the evening as both of you walked hand in hand now as a couple not friends. Smiling as you walked in a nearby diner and sitting down at the table as your eyes adjusted to the the 90s theme the diner was sporting.

Fishing out some spare change as you put it into the jukebox placed near your table as you grinned up at Felix playing the song that you always did in high school. 'Summer love' by One Direction playing as both of you grabbed your spoons pretending they were mics and singing the lyrics and dancing together like idiots in love which you were.

Dinner ended with you two full and satisfied as you walked to Felix's apartment to spend more time together. Both of you ended up playing mario kart as he started vlogging for memories. That's what he said.

Later you decided that both of you needed a sugar high after as if all that candy earlier didn't do a number on your blood sugar levels.

Both of you in his kitchen while trying to bake brownies at 12:50 am. Flour on both of you as you sprinkled choco chips on the brownie batter before putting it in the oven that Felix had pre heated. Closing the oven door as you get up when Felix suddenly wipes your face with a tissue to get rid of all the flour. You look at him, his face now absent of any flour from the playfight you had when he called you small. Leaning slightly to look at the time.

"Wanna do something? we can turn on the oven after we come back from the last adventure of today..."

You said as you take of the apron and take his hand leading him outside as you walk back to the beach.

"So what is this adventure about sweets?"

"You will see Lix..."

Smiling as you reach the beach and tell Felix to go and sit on a bench while you buy a few things. Coming back with two bags of stuff that Felix had no idea to what it would be used for. You looked at the time on your phone as you asked Felix to countdown with you while your eyes are focused at the sky.

Few seconds later bright explosions were visible. Fireworks everywhere. The colourful sparks littered the sky as you looked at Felix. He was absolutely beautiful, his eyes reflecting the colors in the sky as his hair flowed with the wind and his lips parted in amaze as he looked at you.

"My sister wanted to be extra for her date with her boyfriend so she decided on fireworks at the time when she had first met him."

Smiling back at Felix as you turned to look at the sky when suddenly Felix pulled you in to kiss you. Smothering you with kisses all over your face as you giggled under his attack. Few minutes later he stops as you smile and dangle the bag that you brought earlier in front of him.

"I brought sky lanterns and sparklers so we could have our own little light show..."

"I remember when all our friends went to that park at 12 am just to look at the sky lanterns that everyone released"

Felix said in response to your suggestion as you both pulled out the sparklers and played around for awhile, later taking the few sky lanterns and lighting them and releasing them while holding onto each other like the couples that were in the park the night you confessed to Felix while watching the sky lanterns float in the sky.

Watching as the sky lanterns you released float together while you hug each other. This may be a cheesy holiday for some but this was the day you found your love. The one that would stay forever with you. The love where you would go back home at 3 am and eat brownies and then cuddle and fall asleep on the couch.

This is your love and it is yours to keep forever and ever.

Because just like the sky lanterns you lit you burned bright for each other and would find your way to each other no matter how far you could be.

He was your sun, you were his star.

@!directory

A.N: Helloo! I am Kriss I hope you liked the oneshot it was kinda rushed and sorry if it was too cheesy. Anyways Happy Valentines day to everyone, to all the ones who are dating - enjoy your special day, to every single pringle - treat yourself to anything even if it's a small chocolate bar! Have a great day/night. Byeee!

Stay Tuned for more!

[swampstew]

Hi there!

Can I please request a Gol D Roger NSFW 3.Subtle intimacy piece for your Captain event?

Hello :) Thank you for your request and your patience as I knock out these sexy little stories♥ You requested a spicy tale with the King of the Pirates and I give you [ Close ] while standing remarkably close to one another, the sender is unable to stop themselves from running their gaze across the receiver’s body, lingering for a moment on their lips, before returning to initiate prolonged, intense eye contact.

Oh Captain, My Captain Roger

Warnings: Spicy, heavy petting, AFAB reader getting her rocks off via penetration, size kink, belly bulge, and creampie. Teehee. Word count: 1.4K Minors Do Not Interact.

The party on the Oro Jackson had been going for hours and there was no end in sight. Drinks, food, and music flowed in abundance as the crew celebrated another win that day. The overflowing treasure chests spilled with gold coins, gold-plated dishware, jewels, and other riches from the sheer volume; and all that gold reflected the lights on deck making the atmosphere literally glow.

Crewmates hung off one another as they danced and sang along to the music, beer swishing over the edge of their mugs as they toasted repeatedly, drunkenly stumbling around the deck in sheer joy. Being a pirate was the best! Amidst the cheer and camaraderie, two members of the crew were keeping to themselves, not noticed by the others from their position on the deck.

Tucked away from the main deck, not quite hiding but also not in plain sight, you and Captain Roger were drinking and talking together in your own private bubble. The two of you had been growing closer over the last few months, these little talks becoming more personal, more vulnerable, and you were head over heels for your Captain. You needed him like fish need water to breathe. Down bad was an understatement.

You had climbed up a few stairs on the ramp to the foremast so you didn’t have to crane your neck so high to see and speak to the man. God knows you couldn’t handle being at eye level to his bare abs for so long and still keep up intelligent conversation.

Especially in such close proximity, you could feel the heat radiating from his body. The golden necklace across his pecs jingled as he laughed at your joke, his coat edges swayed, his hair and mustache slightly trembled until they all stood still when his laughter ceased.

Being so focused on his magnificent body, you hadn’t noticed that he’d been checking you out too. You finally caught him in the act as you peered up to find out why he stopped laughing. You watched as his eyes slowly travelled up your body, lingering in some choice areas before settling on your lips for a long, silent moment, until his dark pupils finally met yours.

One breath passed. Then two.

You felt his fingers graze your chin as a bold look came over his face. He dipped his head and pressed his lips to yours and you eagerly returned the affection. Roger smiled into the kiss and pushed his firm body into yours as his tongue snaked into your mouth. You placed your hands on his chest to steady yourself as you felt the tug of primal need bend you towards him against your own volition, not that you needed much convincing. All too willing to heed his lustful call.

The sudden outburst of laughter and cheer covered up the loud moan you let out as Roger pulled your hips to meet his, feeling his hardened cock behind his pants. With a devilish smile, he took your hand and kissed the back of it, before placing your palm over his erection.

Your breath hitched as his hand left yours, waiting for your response.

With a smile on your face you rubbed his member, earning a purr from the Captain as he leaned into your touch. He felt huge. His large hips hit against yours heavily as they bucked towards you, you almost lost your footing on the stairs.

Catching you, he leaned close to your ear and gruffly whispered, “Want to move this party to the bow?”

You squeaked out a yes. He whisked you away in a swirl of his coat, pressed against his chest as he carried you to the front of the ship, setting you on the wood railing above the forward facing canon.

“How far do you want this to go, Y/N?” he held your chin again, pupils blown with lust as he stared at you like he wanted to devour you. “I don’t want to make you—”

You cut him off with a desperate lunge at his face, latching your lips to his as you pressed your breasts into his chest. Roger hadn’t expected it and while he welcomed it, he still was startled by your sudden kiss that he hit his head on the wooden bowsprit that hung above the canon, gracefully held up by marble carved mermaids. His aching head suddenly cured by the plushness of your chest heating his up.

Roger spread your legs open and hitched up your dress, pulling you into his hips to ground himself into you. You let out a mewl at the feel of his large, rod of a cock rut into you hard enough to leave a bruise on your thighs. You head fell backwards and he took the opportunity to wrap his lips around the flesh of your neck and sucked sweetly on you.

“Mmm Captain,” you whimpered out as a particularly harsh rut nearly made you cream.

He let out a gentle laugh, “You never answered darlin’.”

“I need you inside me Captain.”

Even in the dim moonlight you could see his cheeks flushed darkly from your enthusiastic words. Shock swiped from his face, he gave you a confident grin and continued his assault on your skin down to your breasts. Suckling your tender flesh as he unbuckled his pants, letting them drop to the floor. His fingers hooked your underwear, teasingly pulling them off while his cock pressed against your core, pulling the fabric back to cover his cock with it as he pushed into your heat.

Either the fabric or his massive, engorged head stopped him from penetrating you and you weren’t sure which was the real culprit. A whine was ripped from your throat as he pulled back, taking your panties with him.

The next thing you felt was the silky feeling of his skin as his cock pressed against your core, demanding entrance. His size prevented him from sinking in – at first. He gently thrusted into you, slowly sliding himself in as your pussy stretched to fit around him. There was a burn to the stretch but you didn’t cry out in pain, you cried out in pleasure as he filled you up with swollen hardness.

Rocking into you and hitting all your sensitive spots, his tip bounced off your cervix, his balls followed up each thrust with a loud smack against your ass. The leftover length that couldn’t fit inside you was rapidly lubricated with your slick as he worked you up.

You fell backwards on your elbows as he fucked you, your breasts bounced freely with each hit of his hips against yours. His thumbs and fingertips dug into your flesh as he pounded into you, mesmerized by how much of you he could fit in his hands. The grin on his face never faltered as grinded into you, making electric sparks shoot through your veins as the heat in your lower belly grew. It peaked when you reached down to touch your clit and your hand ran down your own stomach, feeling the bulge from within move to the rhythm of his pace. With a choked scream, you clamped down on him when you came, making the Captain choke.

“Ff-fuck! Y’er so tight Y/N,” he managed to groan out, increasing his motions to bring himself over the edge.

Whimpering from the overstimulation once your orgasm faded, his cock bullied into your gummy walls seeking release. Roger’s hands grabbed your hips and jut his hips in you with long, precise strokes. Sweat rolled off his face to your chest as he came with low grunts escaping his trademark grin.

He slammed into you, spurting white all over your walls, flooding your cavern. The heat of his cum and his grinding against your cervix as he was spilling sent you into a second orgasm. Your cream mixed with his pleasure as your textured walls convulsed on his cock. A final, shrill whine left your mouth, swallowed by his lips as he kissed you through your orgasm.

Kissing you as his hands wandered down to your legs and to your feet. You felt him place something over your leg but his face blocked your view from seeing his actions. His tongue kept you in a daze as he pulled himself from your core and brought your legs together, sliding that same something over your over leg. It was your panties.

He slid them up until they sat snug around your hips. The fabric didn’t stand a chance against your mixed juices, immediately soaking through the material. With a blush, you crossed your thighs to try and stop the leaking flow. Roger winked as you and covered you with his coat, escorting you inside to put you to his bed.

[gerbiloftriumph]

Lost and Found (ao3):

Grandpa’s story of the goblin caves started out familiarly enough, but as he spoke, the story started to twist and change. New friends, new conversations, and new ways to use old items transformed the tale, and the young king discovered new ways to be brave in the dark tunnels beneath Daventry.

(4/?)

~*~

The cure-all was heavy in Graham’s hands. He examined it carefully. A little potion, an unassuming design, but it could do so much. He had to pray to all the stars above that no one else would get sick down here, since there was just a single dose. He had to get them all out before it went wrong. Well. Wronger. Er. More wrong. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a crease in the skin where the heavy crown sat.

Nothing for it. Decisions had to be made, had been made for him by circumstance. He walked to the Feys, clutching that bottle like it was life itself. And, as far as he could tell, it kind of was.

Bramble was moaning, clinging to Wente’s hand. “Can morning sickness last all day?” she asked, and she curled in on herself, mumbling, “Self hug. Self hug. Arghh, self hug!”

Wente rubbed her shoulders, his eyes glassy, and he glanced up at Graham. “We’re in a very bad place, Graham. I’m scared for her. If I had the strength, I’d rip these bars apart just to steal her a nibble. Please help her. I don’t...I don’t think she’ll make it another day.”

Graham held out the potion. “For Bramble. I think it’ll help.”

Wente took the cure-all with reverence. “Bramble, sweetling, a gift! From King Graham!” He helped her sit up, ever so slightly, just so she could drink. “That’s great, Nutmeg” he said fondly, rubbing circles on her back as she breathed. “Take it easy now.”

“What was that?” Bramble asked, her gasps relaxing into natural breathing. “It tasted so sweet, like honey.”

“Nothing’s so sweet as you, Gumdrop. How are you feeling?”

“Instantly better!” She swung her feet over the side of the cot. “I think I should stand,” she said. “I’ve been lying down for so long, I need a stretch.”

“Easy, easy,” Wente said, taking her arm. “Okay? Okay! Your color is so much better, baked bread instead of raw. Oh, dumpling!” He embraced her tightly.

Graham smiled as the bakers approached, holding hands. But Bramble hesitated, getting a good look at him for the first time. “Come closer,” she said, and she reached out between the bars, gently touching Graham’s jawline. He flinched back instinctively—he bore a smattering of purpling bruises along his cheek and jaw, blows from goblins during the initial capture, and blows from being tackled for all kinds of other reasons. Like not cleaning fast enough. Or watching salamanders. Or just...existing, really. “Majesty, these don’t look nice.”

“They’re fine. I’m fine,” he said, with as stiff and regal a bearing as he thought a king ought to have. At least she couldn’t see the other tender marks hidden beneath his clothes. Especially along his legs. His own weight against rough goblin hands during those upside-down shakedowns, ow. “You’re much more important. Better?”

“Even down in this pit of despair, I find hope. Bless you, Graham,” Bramble said.

“I don’t have anything I can give you, Majesty, but you’ve saved my family today.” Wente firmly shook Graham’s hand in lieu of a hug, since the bars still stood between them.  

“I don’t need anything in return, Wente.”

“No, no, there must be something...” he fumbled in his pockets, then pressed a single gold coin in Graham’s hand. “Here.”

“But, Wente—” Graham knew how desperately the Feys always counted their coins.

“I have no use for gold down here. Unless that’s chocolate. Is it a chocolate coin? I didn’t mean to give you a chocolate one.”

“No, no. It’s real.” And brand new, Graham realized, turning it over in his fingers. Freshly minted and shining. With his profile on it. He ran his finger across his own little golden nose, across the tiny imitation of the crown on his head. He swallowed hard, then jammed it deep in his pocket, unable to look at it further. Whisper mumbled something sleepily in his cloak.

“Well, either way, she’s definitely on the rise, thanks to you. When I’m outta here, I’ll give you a proper hug, too. It’s the yeast I can do.” Wente’s hand found Bramble’s again and squeezed it.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Graham said.

Bramble leaned against her husband. “You didn’t find an oil fryer in any of these cells, did you?” she asked, smiling shyly. “I should be eating for two, but I’m afraid I’m eating for none. I’m doing better, but Wente, we have to get out of here. It’s not good for the baby.”

“Hey, you once told me I could never trust a skinny baker, so I’m going to keep you in your most trustworthy state. I’m just coming up with ideas now. I promise, we’ll be out of here as soon as I can manage it. I just need to, uh. Do some things.”

Bramble nodded. “At the very least, if you can find some wood and flour, we can use this furnace to bake some simple prison sweetycakes for our fellow prisoners, and you too, of course.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Bramble said. “You’re so thin you could turn sideways and disappear, if you’ll forgive my crude observation, Majesty. I can’t imagine you’re holding up, either.”

“I’m still feeling good,” Graham lied.

“Mmm. Well. Either way. Thanks, Your Majesty.”

“You don’t need to call me that, you know,” Graham said. “Just Graham is fine.”

“Of course, Majesty,” Bramble said.

“I thought you were just going to leave us here,” Wente said. “Even with our extra little bun. I’m glad you’re still a compassionate fellow, Sire. You’re still doing you, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Thank you. Now.” He turned back to his wife, his mustache bright and high. “Lay your head down, Bramble. You need rest. Healthy, good rest, this time.”

“Oh, Buttercup, I’m all right. You don’t need to fuss.”

“It’s true. I’m a worrier. Come on, let’s lie down. Ooh, speaking of worrying, I hope we didn’t leave the oven on.”

“Wente, it’s fine.”

“I’m sure it is, sweet potato.”

“Carrot cake.”

“Cinnamon sugar.”

Graham left quietly while the bakers whispered pet names at each other.

~*~

“This bed might be my final resting place. Good thing I’m a stickler for thread count.”

“Don’t say that, Amaya.”

“Here lies the body of Amaya Blackstone. May she rest in Egyptian cotton sheets.”

“Come on, please.”

“Then get me outta here, kid.”

“I’m working on it.”

“What do you still need?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.” Graham sat back against the cell bars, his back to her, watching the goblin guards in the room. They ignored him. “So much. Food. A way to get everyone out of their cells safely. Food. A way out of the prison safely. Food. A way up to the surface safely. A different hat.” He pulled his crown off and set it on the ground near his feet. He curled over his knees, glaring at it, and he felt his eyes prickling with frustration. “It’s probably that hat’s fault. Whisper thinks so. Which means it’s my fault. Gods, it’s my fault.” He pressed his face against his knees, trembling.

“Oh, no, is Twinkle Toes down here, too?”

“Don’t sound so annoyed.” His voice, spoken to his knees, was muffled. He chose not to mention Whisper was actively snoring in his pocket.  

He felt Amaya sit down behind him, her back to his, bars between them. “Look, Graham, I’m not saying this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t king. But, it could have. These little hoarders have been taking my stuff for years. You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve lost to them.”

He snorted. “Yeah, is this a prison, or a museum?”

“Someone needs to have an intervention with these hoarders,” Amaya agreed. “Unfortunately, they failed to hoard all the food. Look, kid, we have no time for emotions. But. Because it’s you, I guess maybe we should. Because you’re, ergh, emotional. So, I mean, like…no, stop trying to turn around, don’t look at me while I’m talking about this, stop it, Graham.” She punched his shoulder hard, and Graham turned back again.

Wente didn’t believe I was going to help them. Did he think I lost my compassion when I became king? Did I? Have I? What is this hat doing to me? His face, ohstars, his expression. He really thought I was going to give up on them, that I’d changed.

And what if there had been multiple people sick? With only one bottle of cure-all? What would I have done? Who am I to choose? Does this crown give me that right? Do I want that?

(“As an adventurer, I was great at taking quests. As a king, I struggled at giving orders. What if I made the wrong choice? What if I led the kingdom astray? What if I lost another friend to that dragon?”)

Graham said nothing, but he reached into his pocket and withdrew the coin, flipping it over and over in his hands. The Daventry royal crest on one side. His profile on the other. Twirling it over his knuckles, a trick his sister had taught him so long ago.

“I’m just trying to make the right decisions,” he mumbled. “How can you ever decide what to do?” Especially when the choices felt so important. Did wearing the crown mean he had to make choices he didn’t want to make?

(Grandpa looked sadly at his little mirror self, curled up and feeling so alone, despite Amaya’s warm presence. “But taking too long to choose something was hardly better than choosing nothing.”)

“Indecision and indigestion’ll both make you sick.”

“Pff, thanks.”

“What’s that thing you always say? This is a puzzle, work it out, or something? You just gotta lay out the pieces and find out what you’ve got, step by step, and focus on what’s in front of you. One step at a time. One choice at a time. It’s gonna suck, and you’re gonna doubt every move you make. And others might doubt you, too. Think you’re not doing what they need you to do, and get mad and impatient. But you gotta commit to your plan. And, more than that, you don’t have to do anything alone. You can ask for help.

“But you gotta take it one step at a time, first. When something’s this big, overwhelming, focus small. We’ll deal with the big mushy feely fault stuff later, okay?”

She sat up. “Speaking of mushy stuff, would you stop staring at me?” she snapped at one of the goblins, who was standing close to the two of them. Not listening to what they were talking about, but cooing over Amaya. “I’m not interested.”

“What’s he after?” Graham asked, pulling his crown back on. He hoped his voice didn’t sound as shaky as he felt.

“They seem to be drawn to me. I wish I could make it stop. Go away! We are not friends! Go see Wente if you want a hug!”

“Aside from the goblin, I, uh. Thanks, Amaya. It’s…easy to get lost in here.”

“I’d make a great advisor, you know.”

“I’ll keep that under advisement.”

“Give me your crown so I can throw it at you.��

(“I was wondering if I would see a rock break through her shell,” Grandpa said, as he and Gwendolyn watched the little mirror Amaya swat at the goblin outside her cell. She couldn’t quite reach; he kept skipping back a pace, then approaching again. He made little heart shapes at her with his claws, and she groaned, rolling her eyes. “I know I probably shouldn’t have just stood there watching that goblin try to woo Amaya, but I just couldn’t help myself.”

“I remember that from the first time you told this story a couple days ago,” Gwendolyn said. “I don’t think we need to go over it again.”

“Well, then, my little biscuit, I can skip it if you like. Now, what happened next…ah, yes, it was near the end of the day. Amaya had just reminded me that I didn’t have all the answers, but I had found great friends who would help me find them. But I couldn’t lose one of my friends to the goblins. I had to find a place to hide Whisper. Could you imagine if he tipped out of my pockets while the goblins were searching me?”)

Graham returned to the upper levels, which seemed to have fewer goblins, to find a place for Whisper. With their combined strength, they were able to push some weighted levers, giving them earlier access to some hidden rooms, including a very lovely mushroom garden, which took Graham’s breath away.

Every species of fungus Graham could imagine grew in that space, and many more that he had never thought to imagine. They glowed faintly in a huge array of colors. Even roses bloomed, in a cultivated pot. So many fairy tales required a single perfect red rose, Graham wasn’t surprised that they were here. Just surprised that they were able to grow. Someone cared a lot for that little collection of roses.

“Whisper is quite fond of this room!”

“It does seem safe,” Graham agreed. “Lots of places to hide if you need to. Oh, but, what about food? I can’t imagine these are edible.” He waved vaguely at the towering fungi.

“Don’t worry about Whisper! Whisper goes on frequent fast days, to keep this trim physique! Besides, Whisper doubts you have any special energy drink powder in your pockets.” He posed dramatically amongst the mushrooms. “You worry about yourself and the others. In the meantime, Whisper awaits your command!” He got distracted looking at the roses. “Oooh, look at those. Whisper wonders if the lovely Miss Amaya would like…hmm….”

Graham had one more thing to do before the end of the day, and it involved Amaya, a sword hilt with a frying pan attached to it, and a hapless goblin’s face.

“Oooh, shank you very much, Graham,” Amaya said, looking at the sword-pan combo. Then, she turned to the goblin that had been flirting with her all day, screamed, “My name is Amaya Blackstone! You stole my mattress! Prepare to die!” and thumped the goblin over the head with the frying pan with a loud twangy ring.

He scooped up another coin the goblin had been holding (two in hand, four more to go for his black market prize) before being scooped up himself by a goblin. He was dragged back to his room and flung against the far wall, bouncing off a protruding pipe and earning another bruise. He was yelled at in goblinese, presumably for starting a fight in Amaya’s cell. The little goblin kept pointing and standing with his hands on his hips, which might have looked threatening if he wasn’t so short.

Graham suffered the indignity of another upside-down shakedown, clinging to the crown with both hands so it wouldn’t fall off and dent as goblins held his legs and shook him wildly. But while the crown was safe, the shovel clanged out of his pocket. He winced—he’d forgotten about it entirely. The goblins dropped him and grabbed at the shovel, perhaps assuming he could use it to dig his way out. Never mind how long that would take against bare rock, but still. They hurried away, shovel in their hands, and Graham clutched the bars on his door as he watched them disappear into darkness.

Still. That meant they hadn’t noticed anything else he’d been carrying. Perhaps none of it would have caught their eye, perhaps it would have. Fake magic beans, Whisper’s portraits, Acorn’s flowers, plant growth potion, coins…sure, it was mostly junk, but it was all he had, and that made it a treasure trove.

“All right,” he said to the salamanders, trying to force confidence into his voice. He rubbed his side and his new bruise distractedly. “Newton, I think we’ve done good today. I think we should rest up.” He glanced at his little camp bed, which had another salamander on the pillow. “I know, Sally! We were super-productive, right?” He ran a finger over the magic beans, which glittered especially brightly in salamander light, and yawned hugely. “Well. I probably shouldn’t keep talking to the newts. I guess I’ll go to bed.”

[sparkles-and-trash]

Keigo did not want company on this trip.

In fact, anyone coming along was the last thing he wanted, like, in the world.

Touya, however, did not seem to particularly care what Keigo wanted or didn’t want, and so Keigo was stuck with company after all.

Keigo had been pushing off going back to his old, commission assigned apartment for too long, and Jeanist had finally convinced him it was time to go.

When Touya, who was under house arrest with his family caught wiff of this however, he had seen it as a perfect opportunity to both get out from the same roof as his mother and siblings, and to gain some plus points for being helpful and nice.

After two weeks of constant pestering Keigo had finally given in, and so there they were, alone, in the empty, shiny shell of what was left of the «Hawks» persona.

As he watched Keigo, in his soft colored civilian clothes, a soft green college sweater and washed out jeans, wings relaxed, with his hands in his pockets, awkwardly walking around what was once his apartment, Touya realized he hadn’t thought this trough at all.

This was not the Hawks he once kind of knew, and he knew that, they had talked, a lot actually, and it turned out Touya and Keigo got on a lot better than Dabi and Hawks did.

But seeing just how young, small and lost Keigo was looking now, Touya felt quite helpless himself.

He was never good with this touchy feely stuff. When they finally started to go trough the things in the apartment to sort into keep and donate, Touya started to realize how little of these things were actually Keigo’s in the first place, which made him feel weirdly bad for the bird.

After a while, Keigo signed heavily and got up from the pile they were sorting trough on the floor, and walked into his old bedroom.

After about a minute he returned with two items in his hands; a little wooden box, and a small, ancient Endeavour plush.

Touya raised his eyebrows, and Keigo shrugged. «Honestly, these are the only things here that are mine,» he explained.

Touya grimaced.

«Damn birdie, that’s sad,» he said truthfully, and Keigo just shrugged with a small smile as he sat down next to Touya again.

«Well, it’s better now, yeah?» Keigo said lightly, and Touya nodded slowly.

«What’s in the box?» he asked after a few beats of silence, and Keigo actually blushed a little.

Fuck it if he weren’t kinda cute.

«Just… things,» he said shyly, and handed it over to Touya without meeting his eyes.

Touya couldn’t help himself and slowly opened the box.

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

A golden paperclip, a pair of earings, some coins, and…

«What the fuck dude, is this my old staples?»

Keigo’s face went from a cute pink to flaming red in less than a second.

«I can explain!» he said desperatly as he reached for the box, but Touya moved it just out of his reach with a grin.

«Oh please do!» he said gleefully. «Is it because they’re shiny?»

Keigo rolled his eyes and fluffed his wings in indignation. «No!» Touya hummed.

«Explain then?» he asked, still grinning.

Keigo huffed and slouched slightly, wrapping his wings around himself.

«When I found them I wasn’t sure if I was ever gonna see you again, okay?»

Keigo spoke in such a quiet, soft voice, Touya could barley hear him.

But he did.

«Oh…» Touya mumbled, and felt his heart ache slightly.

He put the box back down on the floor and scooted over to Keigo and nuged his shoulder slightly.

«I’m glad the gross old staples aren’t the only thing you have left of me, yanno?» he said with a small smile, and Keigo actually chuckled.

«Yeah?» Keigo asked softly.

Touya chuckled.

«Yeah.»

After another beat of silence Touya took a deep breath, and reached under his tee to pull on the string around his neck.

Keigo eyes, who had been tracking his movement silently, widened as he realized what it was.

«Is that one of mine?» he asked and reached out to touch the red feather tied around Touya’s neck.

Touya nodded.

«Wasn’t sure if I was ever gonna see you again either, Birdie.»

Keigo made a soft little sound that sounded suspisciously like a coo, and carefully rested his fluffy head on Touya’s shoulder.

«I’m glad we did,» he said quietly.

Outside it had started to rain, the sound of the drops hitting the big windows made them both a little drowsy.

Keigo spoke again. «Meet again, that is.»

Touya hummed in agreement, and somewhere, somehow, he managed to find the guts to take Keigo’s taloned hand into his own.

«So I am I, Birdie,» he said softly, and rested his head on top of Keigo’s.

"So am I."

masterlist - wip list - ao3 - ko-fi - wishlist

[violettduchess]

"Aere Perennius" 🌟

A/N: I have long admired @ana-thedaydreamer and her beautiful artwork. I am so excited to finally be able to share what we have been working on together! Ana, you are a talent beyond measure and I was overjoyed at the chance to collaborate with you, especially on something honoring our favorite vamp 💜Thank you for your hard work, your time, and your support.

"Aere Perennius" is Latin for, "More lasting than bronze"

Leonardo - Holiday Fluff

Word Count: 1221

---🌟---

There are many things to love about the holiday season, but one tradition that never fails to brighten my spirit like a string of fairy lights in the dark are the Christmas markets. The booths are a feast for the eyes, endless degrees of craftsmanship on display in the form of bright, homemade candles, intricate wooden toys and puzzles, beautiful stained glass decorations, knitted wonders of all shapes and sizes. The smell of mulled wine and hot chocolate mixes with the scent of candied almonds, roasted meat, and gingerbread. Even the crowds are a part of it, the voices calling for small children to stay close, the greetings called across people’s heads to one another, the couples cuddling close together, warm and snug under the twinkling lights.

This is where I am right now, tucked up against Leonardo’s side as I observe the crowds from a cozy corner of the market, right next to the stand that claims it has the best mulled wine in all of Paris (with a recipe straight from Germany, I note with a wry grin). One long arm is wrapped around my waist, holding me close. The other lifts his mug of wine to his lips as he people-watches with me. The woman who runs the stand watches us both, bright-eyed, offering to refill our mugs the moment they are empty. Starting right from the first empty mug, she was so insistent with her benevolent pouring, I decided to keep holding mine close as if there were still something inside but Leonardo….he has been taking her up on her offers, tossing coins whose number grows more and more generous with every refill. 

He’s nearly got a handful of them now when I realize I've been so lost in watching the bustle of the market that I haven’t been keeping track of how long we've been standing there. And how many refills he’s had. It’s too hard to see his face clearly in the shadowy corner we're standing in but there is a laxness to his body, a looseness in his stance that catches my attention. 

Perhaps it's time to get a move on.

“It’s getting late,” I say as I gently extract the empty mug from his hand and set it down on the wooden counter. 

He looks somewhat startled at having to say goodbye what feels to him like so soon but I tug on his arm, leading him away. “Thank you Madame, it was delicious!” he calls back towards the stand. The woman behind the counter looks as sad as he does, waving goodbye despondently, sad little Christmas dishrag in her hand. I steer him through the crowd, toward the end of the market. He is hailed by so many people who know and admire him: the watchmaker lifts a mug of beer in salutation, the music teacher calls his name with a vibrant “Yoo hoo!”, the bookstore owner nods respectfully. He is such a part of the fabric of this community, the brilliant golden thread that runs through it, brightening everything.

The lights and sounds and smells of the market give way to a dark winter sky littered with bright stars and the cool calm of night time. Arm in arm, we walk. His strides are slower than usual, his eyes bright, cheeks tinged pink with wine. We take a turn, strolling down one of the main streets with displays in the windows. When we reach the toy store, he suddenly stops.

“Cara mia….wait a moment…” He stands in front of the window where tiny lights illuminate the various toys: a shiny train set with a big black engine, the porcelain dolls with their curls and big round eyes, tin soldiers marching in a row. But what has his attention is the model hot air balloon hanging from a string, floating above the other toys. He raises one hand, pressing it against the cool glass. “Stupendo,” he sighs, almost longingly. I smile softly as I place a gloved hand on his lower back. It is well-documented how fascinated Leonardo Da Vinci has always been with the idea of man and flight. Notebooks full of his theoretical drawings of various contraptions and machines can be found in museums all over the world.

“It happens, you know. America, 1903. They invent a flying machine that becomes the basis for air travel.” My voice is as soft as the glow of the lights through the window, my eyes on his face as he stares at the toy balloon. 

He doesn’t answer. Instead he pulls his far-away gaze from the shop window and turns his full attention to me. 

A lock of hair falls across his forehead, his cheeks are still tinged pink. He looks young, boyish. Almost vulnerable. The mask of the cool, eternal vampire sloughed off with every sip and now all I see in the warm light is a man whose expression is filled to the brim with tenderness. He reaches out, his soft leather glove brushing the skin of my cheek.

“Who needs to dream of the sky,” he murmurs in a voice as soft as the silver starlight overhead, “when I can look at you and see the face of heaven?”

It seems the wine, the starlight, the remembrance of dreams has brought out the poet in the man I love. His words fill my heart, lifting it like heat does a hot air balloon. Now my cheeks are flushed and it has nothing to do with any drink. 

I drop my gaze, a sudden shyness overwhelming me until he catches my chin between his fingers, tilting my face back up. I thought the lights in the window or the stars in the sky were luminous. They pale in comparison to the radiance of his golden eyes.

“C’mere,” he whispers, his free arm pulling me toward him, holding my chin as he lowers his mouth to mine. I can taste the echoing flavors of the mulled wine, the cinnamon and nutmeg and cloves as well as the faintest whisper of smoke from his cigarillos. Here in his arms, there is only the present. His dreams in the past, the uncertainty of the future fade with every movement of his lips, every sigh, every touch. If I have learned anything from loving this man, it is the need to live in the right here, right now. Even this moment, an embrace under a dazzling winter sky on an empty Parisian street will end. And somewhere in the future, there will be airplanes. And rockets. And the eternal vampire will experience it all. 

Without me.

But I believe it is moments like this one, as I wrap my arms around his shoulders and return his kiss with all the love in the world, that will capture a hallowed place in his eternity and light his heart when shadows dare creep near.

The kiss comes to an end, yet he does not move away. Maybe he’s dizzy with wine and needs to be still for a moment. Maybe he does not want to lose the closeness we share. Either way, he doesn’t step back but instead presses his forehead against mine, eyes closed.

“I love you.”

I breathe out, a hand stroking the back of his neck. 

“I love you too, Leonardo. Always.”

-----

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @leotoru @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @neoqueen-sailorvirgo @myonlyjknight @kissmetwicekissmedeadly

[sabo-has-my-heart]

I... just woke up... I'm sorry. Can you write... Killer? With prompt 15 and fluff 11? With a f!reader? Thank you...

I have the stupid. I'm sorry.

Congratulations

lol, don't worry, I understand. Half asleep but you still want to send in a request. hope you like it. hope I didn't make Killer too... fluffy

Warnings: vague mentions of kidnapping, fluff

Word Count: 1320

     You loved walking along the beach, particularly in the early morning. It had become sort of a routine for you, shoes in hand, feeling the surf lapping gently at your skin while you watched the early morning light begin to paint the once dark sky with beautiful golden hues. So early in the morning, things were still quiet save for the sounds of the waves. Part of you knew that you shouldn’t be out here this morning. You’d seen the wreckage from afar, a result of the tempest that the sea had become last night. Not even the best of sailors could navigate the waters around your island in such a storm. Still, you’d seen shipwrecks before and nothing had ever come of them. Items and debris washed ashore, the once strong crew likely lost to the wind and waves, but you’d never had any trouble. If anything, you found the most interesting treasures amongst the wreck. Not just simple coins or gold bars, but exotic fruits, beautiful vases, and delicate silks. You were never greedy, taking just a couple of items, nothing that anybody would miss, but enough to satisfy your desires. Looking away from the sunrise, you turned your head forward again, gasping when you saw an unconscious form laying in the sand, the water seeming to refuse to let him be. Rushing over, you fell to your knees beside him, quickly checking for a pulse. It was there, under his freezing skin, yet surprisingly strong. Grabbing the collar of his shirt, you did your best to drag him further up the beach and out of the reach of the freezing waters. He was heavy, though perhaps that was to be expected, he was rather broad and muscular. You weren’t weak by any means, but dragging a full grown man was no easy task. Gently pulling away his mask, you couldn’t help but pause, stunned by what was hidden beneath the beaten metal. Without thinking, your fingertips gently traced his lips, hypnotized by him. Almost as soon as your fingers finished making their way around his lips, a hand suddenly shot out, grabbing your wrist, making you gasp in shock, the man staring at you.

     “Who are you and where am I?” he asked calmly, pushing himself up into a sitting position and looking around.

     “Y-Y/n, you’re on my island. Your… your ship must have been caught in the storm last night.” you said, biting your lip as you glanced briefly at the wreckage. 

     “The Victoria Punk and Kid wouldn’t be sunk that easily. This is likely the remains of the vessel we attacked.” he said simply. If you’d been unsure of his status as a pirate before, there were no longer any doubts as he continued looking around.

     The two of you soon found out that while his ship and his captain had made it out of the storm, their ship had been heavily damaged, leaving the blond stranded on your island until his captain repaired their ship. Until then, the blond, whose name you’d learned was Killer, was staying with you. Not that you minded terribly he was surprisingly kind to you, he was a good cook, and he was a surprisingly hospitable house guest. Looking out your window, you stared out at the beach. His captain was sure to have fixed the ship by now, right? And if he’d fixed the ship then that meant that Killer would be leaving soon… except you didn’t want him to leave. You’d grown attached to the pirate in the short time that he’d been staying with you. Every ship that you saw on the horizon had since become a source of anxiety, afraid that the next ship you saw would be the Victoria Punk. 

     “Are you alright?” a familiar voice asked from behind you, drawing you out of your thoughts. You looked over at Killer, hoping that the smile you were giving him didn’t look too forced.

     “Just thinking about when your ship will arrive. It’s been some time, I’m sure your captain has made repairs by now.” you said, telling him, at least some of, the truth. 

     “It depends on how bad the damages were. But I suppose it’ll be soon. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to no longer have a pirate in your home.” he said. Your brow furrowed as you tilted your head, you’d gotten to know him fairly well, well enough that he sounded… sorrowful?

     “I’ve… actually grown accustomed to your presence. It’ll be… lonely without you.” you admitted, looking away from the blond. Killer stared at you for a moment before walking over, stopping just in front of you. He was so close as he placed a hand under your chin, lifting your head to look at him.

     “Why do you look so upset? I thought having a pirate around was becoming troublesome.” he asked, thinking about how much trouble the people on your island had been giving you. You swallowed hard as you looked up at him, should you tell him how you felt? It might be your last chance to do so before his ship returned. And even if he rejected you, he’d leave soon, meaning that any awkwardness would only be temporary. Though that spoke nothing of the heartbreak you’d be suffering from.

     “I’m… I’m sad to see you go. I’ve grown… rather fond of you. I don’t care what the people here say, I… Killer, I don’t want you to go, I… I” you hesitated for a moment, “I love you.” you whispered, words barely loud enough for Killer to hear them. But he’d heard them and he knew he’d heard them correctly. You loved him, you were in love with him.

     “Look at me, Y/n.” he said sternly, making you open your eyes to look up into his own. Staring into your eyes, he forgot what he wanted to say for a moment, entranced by your beautiful eyes, “Come with me. I want to keep you by my side.” he said softly, his hand moving to caress your cheek, his rough palm against your soft skin. Part of you was at a loss for words, another part of you simply wanted to jump into his arms, and yet another wanted to tackle him as you repeated your answer again and again.

     “Killer I…” you hesitated once more, struggling with the words, “I… Just kiss me already, please.” you asked, his lips meeting yours not even a full second later. Instantly, you melted in his arms as he held you close, his lips pressed against yours in a passionate kiss. He almost didn’t pull away, even when air became a must, pulling back only long enough for you both to gulp down some oxygen before diving back in. The blond only stopped when it was clear you were becoming light headed, allowing you to catch your breath, both of you breathing heavily as you stood there, enjoying the moment.

     “I’m not giving you a choice anymore, Y/n. I’m a pirate, I’ll kidnap you if I must, but I can’t leave without you.” he said, the slightest hint of desperation in his voice, bubbling just under the surface. He’d never admit it to anyone but you or Kid, but he didn’t think he could live without you anymore, he had to have you by his side. 

     “You don’t need to go that far. I’ll go with you. I’ll gladly join you.” you said, smiling at him. He immediately pulled you in for another kiss, this one rougher than the first, though his passion was just as strong, as if attempting to drown you in his feelings for you. And you’d gladly let him so long as he stayed by your side, whether on your island or on the ocean, you’d stay with him. Of all the treasures you’d ever found on the beach, he was your favorite.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

It was back in the late eighties, the Winter of '87. I was working as a Math and English teacher at Berkeley High School, and was very burned out and running on empty, having recently been forced to take a gun from a student - and I was pondering whether I even wanted to be a teacher anymore.

It was a freezing late Winter afternoon, the red sun setting in a welter of clouds over the Golden Gate. I'd been buying groceries for my dinner at the Berkeley Cheese Board and at a little chicken shop there, and vegetables at that great produce market that used to be on the corner of Vine and Shattuck (maybe it still is).

A frigid breeze was blowing off the bay, and as I lugged my groceries up the hill and threw them in the car, I decided I just had to have a cup of coffee at Peets.

Just to keep going. I went in to Peets, and ordered a cup of French Roast, but I was so wiped out and my hands were shaking so badly, that when I pulled my money out, the coins just fell clattering all over the counter.

Suddenly a voice to my left said to me: "Friend, you really need to take it easy." I turned and there was a bearded man standing there, his face all rosy and aglow and with the most beautiful smile on his face, a smile that just filled me with warmth and peace and happiness. I stammered, "Thank you!", and turned for just a second to grab my cup of coffee, but when I turned back to talk to the man, he was gone.

There weren't many people in Peets at that moment, so a quick glance confirmed that he wasn't in the shop. I ducked out the door (Peets is right on the street corner at Vine and Walnut), and looked in both directions down both sidewalks, and they were empty except for papers blowing in that biting winter ocean wind. He was nowhere to be seen. And then it hit me.

I had been talking to an angel. This song seems to resonate with the appearance and identity of that mysterious being who stepped in to a turning point in my life, a Rilkean angel telling me that I must change my life.

But did I change my life? 27 years later I am still haunted, still burned out more often than not, still a creature of stress and mystery and still fueled and running on empty with caffeine. A lonely single Dad raising a lonely only daughter.

But you know, sometimes there are songs that go beyond feelings. There are songs that voyage out beyond thought. These songs put us in touch with our own lostness which is also our own divinity. They are rare, indeed, and they work their way into our hearts like the black and white ghosts of old angels.

Such is "The Wind Blows Wild," which Wolf composed and recorded partially in a hospital room during her final days. It's about life, love and death and was written by Kate Wolf as she, herself, was dying. Kate died in 1986, at age 44, after a long battle with leukemia.

She is buried at a small church cemetery in Goodyears Bar, California. My daughter Gabrielle and I went there, in the deep snow, in the Winter of 2004, not long after my Mom died. Kate was there, sleeping under the snow like the Yuba River that flowed by Goodyears Bar was sleeping under the ice. I encourage you all to go out and buy this album, and all of Kate's albums. I have no commercial interest in this song.

If you want to own it, purchase it online or in a CD store. All of her albums are great. This is from her last, and is the title song. Buying it will support the perpetuation of great music everywhere, and Kate will be smiling from that quiet grave West of Weaverville in that little place on the Yuba River called Goodyears Bar. It should be deep in snow again right now.

But Kate's great heart will be beating there for you, as it will always beat for me, as it beats on her albums - for we all share one Heart, and no snow or ice or fear or oppression will keep our one Heart from beating out a tune of Love and Fellowship into Forever.

[luwe21]

Favorite Sibling Ships.

This post includes Spoilers for the MCU and Umbrella Academy! Read at your own risk. This is very long, sorry.

Wilkercest. (Malcolm/Reese, Malcolm in the Middle)

I really enjoy the dynamics between the unlike siblings and I just like the teasing and pranking. Also Reese is kinda "innocent" despite being older. He has no experience with anyone because of his childish behavior.

Thorki (Thor/Loki, MCU)

They perfectly embody the two sides of a coin trope and the sunshine/darkness dynamic. Also Himbo/Nerd, Golden Retreiver/Black Cat. So many to love with so many feelings. The sun will shine on us again. I shipped Lokius for a while as the show came out but went back to Thorki after the hype stopped. I shipped Thor with Star Lord too for a while.

I am hopeful to see Thor and Loki interact again. Now that the multiverse is open. Hope is the last thing to die.

Moonsytem (Marc/Steven (Moonknight) Is this Incest? Please educate me. Or direct me to information about that.

Next is a fandom with complicated family dynamics, even more so than Thorki: Umbrella Academy aka The Hargreeves. They are 7 children out of forty-three, all born in the 12th hour of the first day of October 1989 to mothers with no previous signs of pregnancy. They were all brought here by Sir Reginal Hargreeves and live together at the Academy. They all have different superpowers and were trained to be superheroes until the public lost interest.

My ships is Fiego (Diego/Five)

This is where Himbo/Nerd comes in. Five is also old, but has a very young body. He's supposed to be in a 12-year-old body (the show doesn't really care about the age of the actor, but he's actually a minor for part of the show, he's 20 now), and his actual age in the show is well over 60. Diego is maybe 29-36. Can't really pinpoint because of a lot of wibbly wobbly, timey wimey stuff. The show is fun (last season was terrible), but there is not much explanation. Watch the show to get the full context.

Well, Five is a bastard to everyone, but he has a big soft spot for all his siblings and is very protective. He is a trained assassin, leader of the Commission (Time Protection Service) and 100% deadly. He accidentally left the family when he was 12, he can blip through time and has spent about 60 years trying to get back to them and save them from several apocalypses. He actually saw them die and was stuck in an apocalypse as a lone survivor. He had a relationship with a mannequin. He is often classified by fans as asexual and/or aromantic. He is tired and an old guy who desperately wants to rest for five minutes.

Diego is well Diego. He is hot as hell and a hero type. His superpower is the power to manipulate thrown objects such as knives while in flight. He likes to be as epic as Batman but he is "Batman for poor people" like his sibling call him. He is the only one that continued doing "hero work" as the kids got older. He worked with Eudora Patch, a police officer and that was his first (?) girlfriend. She was killed.

In a timeline Diego tried to save JFK but was locked into a mental asylum and meet his future wife Lila Pitts. Lila is later revealed to have superpowers as well, meaning she is technically also a sibling. A lot more story but this is getting long enough.

Back to my ship. Five found all of his siblings dead, he only touched Diego, turning him around to check for signs of life and cried over his body. He also expressed his dislike for Diego's relationship with Lila and gave Lila a shovel talk. Subtle scenes, but nothing more in canon.

Unfortunately, in Season 4, the 20-year-old actor (Five) kissed the 35-year-old actress (Lila). So Lila cheated on Diego with Five. Sexual contact was implied. I am very disappointed with this choice in the show, not because of my ship. I am just a character fan (I have been burned by actors/actresses before) so the real life age difference was gross to me. I do not care if ships become canon or not. I do not need a kiss or even a smut scene for any of my ships. Fanon before Canon is my motto.

Next is Horrance (Klaus/Ben)

Klaus is a freak, a medium, a seance leader, a drug addict, a sex cult leader, a war veteran and can see and experience ghosts. In the military he was in a relationship with a another soldier called Dave. He can't die naturally and Dave sadly died in his arms. I liked the ship but after a few scenes Dave wasn't shown again.

Klaus is the only one who can interact with Ben (he's a ghost). His nickname for him is Bennie Boy. Ben is the level-headed, quiet counterpart. But he also has a "freaky" side. Huge uncontrollable tentacles (they are called The Horror) come out of his body and, not surprisingly, are not lethal to Klaus and even "know" him, whatever that means. It is unclear if the Horror can interact with Ben similar to Venom Symbiote or not.

It is revealed that Ben is in love with a girl named Jennifer (Bennifer lol) but if they interact the whole multiverse would be "cleansed". So his adoptive dad shot him and Jennifer that is why he is dead at the beginning of the show.

We meet another version of Ben. He is part of the Sparrows. Another academy in another timeline and a big idiot and a grumpy cat. But I love him too. At a party at the end of the world where Luther from the Brellies married Sloane from the Sparrows (but that is hetero so of course that is way different and not at all problematic/s) , Klaus and Sparrow Ben disappear and are found hungover and half-naked the next day. Ben has "Asshole" written in Sharpie on his back. They seem to be close, or at least Klaus is forcing Sparrow Ben to accept his affections. Ben tries to push Klaus away, but ends up grouchily accepting the touchy behavior. They definitally "did" something.

Nobody got a happy end however. They all sacrifice themself at the end, together at least, because they were never supposed to exist. (great message am I right) Also the Sparrows do not appear in Season 4. Yeah! And the show is officially over. They are comics but I did not have touched them yet. Right now I am plotting and sceming on a huge Fix It.

[jaskierswolf]

If you're still taking prompts: Dandelion giving Geralt a backrub or massage. Both sfw and nsfw are fine.

Witcher Mine

Ship: Dandelion/Geralt Rating: T Summary: Dandelion worries when Geralt is out on a hunt

On AO3

After travelling with Geralt for over two decades, on and off, one would think that Dandelion would be used to the hunts and the danger. But in truth, they worried. In fact, they probably fretted more now than when they were eighteen. Witchers aged slowly, they knew this, but they did still age, and Geralt was showing signs of slowing down. There were more injuries that lingered these days. Geralt's shoulder ached when it got cold or just before a storm. After a long day on the road, Dandelion would often notice the witcher limping slightly, and this was cause for concern. 

When they'd first met Geralt, the witcher had seemed invincible. Not anymore. Dandelion sighed, watching the fire as their curling tongs rested above the flames. They'd bathed to try and take their mind from off the witcher, to no avail, but the humidity and the steam from the tub had all but killed their precious curls. For a few moments, they'd considered going to bed without fixing their hair, but after their lute strings had broken beneath their fingers, Dandelion really did need something to do with their hands whilst they waited. Curling their hair was a perfect distraction.

The iron was hot against their scalp as they expertly twisted their hair, careful not to let it burn. Even with a potion to ease the damage from the heat, Dandelion was always cautious. The last thing they needed was a mess of burnt hair. It wouldn't do for a master bard and famous troubadour. Not even their hat would be able to save them. The minutes ticked away, the sun dipping beneath the horizon. Twist, hold, release, repeat. Each new curl bounced as they fell from Dandelion's nimble fingers, and they delighted in the way the locks glowed golden in the firelight. It was a little distracting, but that was just what they needed until Geralt returned to them.

"Stupid, bloody witcher," they muttered under their breath. "He just had to be oh so noble. It didn't matter that the villagers had no coin. Oh, ho, ho! No! I had to fall in love with the witcher with a fucking moral code!" 

They weren't being fair and they knew it. But Dandelion was worried. They had every right to be unreasonable. Having met some of Geralt's brethren, Dandelion knew that no other witcher would have taken the contract. There was no point. It would be risking their lives for no coin, but Geralt had seen a child at risk. An orphan. Lost and in danger. 

Dandelion sighed again, twisting a curl between their fingers. Of course, it had been Geralt's goodness and his heart that had captured Dandelion's own. The witcher wouldn't be the man they loved if he hadn't taken the contract. It was a dilemma, one worthy of a ballad. 

"Just this once, I'd like to see him look after himself," Dandelion said to the flames as they danced in the hearth. "I swear if I go grey, it's all his fault. Not that I wouldn't look rather handsome with grey hair, but I'd like to think that I still have a few years of colour left in me. Don't you think? Oh poppycock, Dandelion you're talking to the fire!"

Dandelion couldn't shake the feeling that they should have joined their witcher on the quest.

"Is there something wrong with grey hair, Dandelion?" Geralt called from the doorway. 

The witcher was leaning against the wooden beam, a smirk on his face. His arms were crossed in front of his chest and his swords were still strapped across his back. He looked, Dandelion thought, incredibly handsome. More importantly, he looked alive and in one piece. 

"Nothing, my dear, you look dashing as always, but I have a reputation to uphold!" Dandelion cried, setting aside the curling tongs and crossing the room. They kissed Geralt's cheek, took his hand, and pulled him into the bedroom. "Now, don't look at me like that. You know my youthfulness has become just as famous as my work. It wouldn't do to start looking my age now."

Geralt rolled his eyes, but pressed his lips to Dandelion's temple. It was a tender gesture, one that Dandelion had grown used to, but one that never failed to make their heart flutter. "No. It wouldn't do at all. Kingdoms would fall." 

"I know you're mocking me, witcher, but you're not wrong!" Dandelion laughed, gripping onto Geralt's wrist tightly. "Now, onto the bed. I want to check you over," they added with a wink and a flick of their wrist. 

It was a familiar routine by now, and Geralt went willingly. Dandelion helped to unbuckle his armour, and then pulled the witcher's shirt over his head. There were no blood stains which was a good start. Dandelion never did well with blood. Even after all this time, the sight still made their stomach turn. It was a miracle if they managed not to hurl.

"Did you take potions or were you really unharmed?" Dandelion asked, keeping their voice to a low whisper as they let their hands roam over Geralt's pale skin, tracing the scars and warming the muscles underneath. 

"There was no fight. I'm fine, Dandelion," came Geralt's muffled reply, his head buried in the pillows.

 Dandelion scoffed and straddled the witcher's hips. "You're never fine, darling." 

"I'm fine - shit!" 

Dandelion's fingers had dug into a knot just beneath Geralt's shoulder blade. "Ha! I told you so. You never listen, witcher mine."

The process was a long one. Geralt's muscles were wound tighter than a spinning top. He winced and groaned under Dandelion's ministrations, cursing at particularly painful knots, and sighing as they released. It wasn't a sensual massage, although Dandelion was plenty skilled at those too, but it would leave Geralt feeling like putty if they did it right, which they always did. As they worked, Dandelion sang a soft lullaby, one that didn't require too much skill or thought. They hoped it would soothe the pain they caused, but it was hard to tell whether it worked. 

Eventually, Dandelion decided that they were done. There were still some knots left, mostly in Geralt's calves because the whoreson had nearly kicked Dandelion flying when they tried to work on his legs. It would be a puzzle for another day.

 For now, Dandelion pressed a kiss between Geralt's shoulder blades, pausing for a moment to inhale his scent, and then they hopped off the bed. Geralt grumbled, reaching back blindly. 

"Stay," he murmured sleepily. 

"I won't be a moment, Geralt, dear." 

"But-" 

"You need a hot bath and some water. You know what happens when you don't drink after a massage," Dandelion said primly. "So stop your whining. I will be right back." 

Geralt grunted but let his hand drop back onto the mattress. It was a gorgeous sight, truly worthy of the most talented of artists, but it was one for Dandelion alone. Only they were allowed to see Geralt like this. 

Dandelion smiled brightly, brushing Geralt's hair behind his ears, and kissing his head. "I love you."

There was a muffled "You too," from the witcher, making Dandelion laugh in delight before they left to find the innkeeper. All traces of worry and fear had left their body. It was a lovely evening after all.

[tosxa-h]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Sorry this isn't an RP, I just had a thought and had to write it down and I wasn't sure where else to do it haha. This is a quick drabble about 'the weekly boss' in the Golden House, separating him from Childe as a character. It's stupid and sorta abstract, but if you wanna pass 5 minutes, here you go!

Every week you come to a house made of gold.

Every week. Without fail. The same day, the same time. I could count down to the very second of your arrival. Between these minutes, these hours and days without you, I counted each coin that scatters the floor, I could blindly trace each divot and line that makes up the art of the ceiling and walls.

There are no windows, the only clue to the changes of the day are the footsteps outside, the guards swapping places or complaining about their duties- their long trivial waits until the sun rises or falls and they return to a place of warmth, of home, of family.

I had a family, I think. I had an idea of what a home might look like. I'm not sure I can even translate the word into my native tongue anymore. In fact, I think I may have forgotten my own language all together. How much time would have to pass for that to happen? To have drowned yourself in a vat of someone else's design? Who's life am I leading?

The same, if not similar, thoughts occur every day. I no longer have the ability to answer them. The questions, an unanswered song that echoes off the walls of this chamber.

And then you arrive.

Every week. Without fail. That is to say, you always manage to best me. Somehow, I don't mind the defeat. Somehow, it feels like that might be what I was made for. Somehow, it feels like I've lost something in allowing that thought in.

Every week. You may bring new faces. People who I've never seen, speaking in a dialect I've never heard. Some times it's not you, but you are there. Because you come every week, without fail.

The pattern is the same, yet I can't seem to learn from my mistakes where you do. I am something. I become more of that something. Then I become something else all together.

A creature I cant remember the name of dances across the handmade marble below, it falls into the sky and soars in to the floor. It's terrifying, but you're not scared. Even if I whittle you down to fewer and fewer, you are never scared. You never hesitate. I suppose you cant afford to.

Those moments are brief. Playing this part I was designed for, the minutes of your life I am meant to part take in - nothing more, but could be less. So I never take them for granted.

And then you win. And then it's over. And then you leave. Triumphant. A warrior from the stars.

I am left with the lasting imprint of the memory of your back. I do my best to forget your face, so I have something to look forward to.

And though as proud as I sound during the height of the fray and the power I unleash as the water I command is laced in our blood- a fearful thought controls my every motion; Will this be the last time?

You didn't come this week. I gave you the grace of a minute, of an hour or so. But you never came. You poured concrete into my worries and fixed them in place with your absence.

But what else can I do? I will count every coin, trace every line, continue to forget my tongue as I listen to the faceless voices and the songs of my queries.

I am waiting for you at the Golden House.

[sightburdened]

Lestat knows he's a distraction. Many times when they've spent evenings together, Will has become lost in his eyes and whole sentences have been abandoned for the simple touch, fingers sliding through golden hair. So, he waits, patiently as a vampire can, until Will's lecture is over before showing himself proper, almost meandering his way, hips swaying, up to the lectern, eyes taking in the last slide of the projector. "I could listen to you talk about killing for the rest of my life." He says, casually turning to admire the size of the auditorium, thinking about all the young minds Will is influencing. "There's something so sensual about the way you describe it, mon coeur. I get shivers."

Never in his entire life had he counted down the minutes to sunset, so much so, that he was considering getting a smart-watch just so he could know when Lestat would wake up and meet him. He found himself gazing into the corners of rooms more often, his right hand idly scribbling some errant thought he wanted to tell the vampire later, which bled into the notes he needed to take for staff meetings. More than once, one of his colleagues asked if he was okay, because he continuously began to stare out into space with a smile, which he always said was because he was, "okay, just thinking," and no one reacted to that in any sort of way.

Of course, people thought he was odd anyways, so they just kept their distance and he didn't make any attempt to stop them. It worked out in his favor.

He was smiling at nothing. He was thinking about how happy his French Mastiff made Lestat, a recent edition to his pack at home. Benjamin, named after Benjamin Button and all of their wrinkles. Anyone whom his dogs trusted, he could trust.

Last night, he had wanted to tell Lestat about something that happened in class, right up until his eyes connected with the vampire's. His heart seized in his throat, his eyes wandered the length of Lestat's jawline, his high cheekbones, the effortless bounce of the man's hair, and whatever manner of thought he had within his being evaporated immediately; he had spent over a full minute, staring, it was so incredibly rude of him, but Lestat had only smiled at him and said it was quite all right.

He tried to laugh it off, but he wound up choking on his own saliva instead.

He reaches for a pen that fell off the podium earlier, one of his favorites, with blue ink and a reassuring click, his left knee connecting to the wood as the object of his -- thoughts, desires, a subtle squiggle into obsession -- affections came into his view.

"It's good to see you," he says, promptly dropping the pen on the carpeted floor of the lecture hall again. He was normally, not this ungainly, he's not sure what's gotten into him. "I like it when you show up like this, it makes me feel...as if I'm worthy of being waited for. As if I'm...special in the right way." There was a wrong way to be special, after all.

His index fingernail begins tracing a pattern on the surface of the wood, a loop, he's doing a figure-eight. The symbolism isn't lost on him.

He turns to look at the slide -- there's a man with his eyes torn out that had them replaced with silver coins, they were calling this Dante's Inferno -- and promptly looks away, something like ashes filling his throat.

"This killer is someone who understands their canon well. Demons and angels, trying to buy their way to the underworld. Greek, the river Styx, stygian waters, all of it. I'm---" so tired, I can't begin to describe how tired I am, "so glad you're here."

He leaves the pen, walking half-blind to Lestat, his face connecting into the vampire's shoulder, breathing long and deep.

"You can always stay for the lectures. People will assume you're observing the classroom, no one will notice you." Well... "Okay, they will, but how could they not? Look at you," and his eyes travel the length of Lestat's clothing, his face coming to rest in the bergamot scent of golden curls. "Of course they'll notice you."

He's tired of death. He's tired of knowing what the person who placed those bodies there wanted.

Mon coeur. My heart.

"I like it when you call me that," he admits, the shock of his open affection dulled only by the peace he feels in seeing Lestat. He forgets where he is, anyone could walk in at any moment and see their teacher in this state of unprofessionalism, but he doesn't much give a shit right now.

He slides the remote that controls the slides into Lestat's right hand, he can't look anymore.

"Could you...turn that off? Please? I don't want to look anymore, not at that, I want to look at you instead." His heart's a roar in his ears, he doesn't know what to do aside from chase the feeling.

"Tu es un ange." You are an angel. He knew that term. "Can I---call you that?"

@deathcreate

[speaker-of-the-void-cats]

The truth in the Darkness....

"The road ahead is unknown, but time tells us many things. The moments that become past in turn become blueprints for the future. In this space, there is no right or wrong.

"We find a contemporaneous merging of what is known and what is unknown here. Somewhere between the knowns and unknowns lies the real. The tangible.

"There is a weight to it; a feeling that tells you what you hold is true.

"But what if the truth hasn't been told? What if the truth is a lie?

"New paths present themselves. Blueprints change. We walk the line of truth every day.

"But now, the line that holds the gentle balance has been crossed.

"The truth is, this won't be the last time."

—Excerpt from the Symmetry pamphlet, "A Place Between"

"Duality is not a curse, but a gift." —Author unknown

Hello again, my trenchant Dante.

You have stepped in and out of sharp-edged worlds, hewn gods into blunt fractions, twinned yourself with powers whose names cannot even be held in the language of little gray cells. You think yourself very high up on the pyramid of contumely.

If you only knew how high that pyramid goes.

Higher than I knew when my radiant killer unsung me from biological squalor, or when I witnessed a royal secret turn death into a chrysalis. Higher than I described in my journals, or told to our mutual three-eyed friend.

Higher than even I, sailor upon the Sea of Screams that I am, can yet see.

Perhaps I will tell you about them.

You are right to ask why I would do so. Very good, dear squanderer, your intentions have grown sharp as thrallteeth.

You see, they know. What you are, what you were, what you will become. They know.

What lean tithes you are to them. Soft whetstones make for dull blades.

This I define as the truth and tension of the rope: to bind, one must apply force at both ends.

I think perhaps I will tell you after all.

I knew you'd be back. I'm so glad we get to talk. You and that charming little Ghost of yours; you're not like the rest. You're not afraid of my words. Words are just thoughts given shape. Ideas emerging into the physical world, birthed by a mouth. Not good or evil, not Light or Dark, or this or that. And you understand, don't you? Despite the excruciatingly binary worldview of those around you. You don't have to say it. We've all heard it before: "The line between Light and Dark is so very thin." As if you were so incapable of lifting your eyes from a scrawl of chalk on the ground... The Traveler and the Light near one foot, your old enemies and the Darkness at the other. Let me tell you a secret. If you ever want to see what's been watching you since the very beginning, just stand on that line, and look...

...up.

One of your philosophers said, "It is not to be thought that the life of darkness is sunk in misery and lost in sorrow. There is no sorrow. For sorrow is a thing that is swallowed up in death, and death and dying are the very life of the darkness."

He was a shoemaker. He was right, and it matters more than anything. According to him, the visible world is a manifestation of eternal light and eternal darkness, and it is in eternal opposition that eternity has revealed itself.

I propose a simple experiment—look around. You see light. You see darkness. There could not be one without the other. They are two sides of the same coin. If it is true for these Newtonian echoes, why would it not be true of the purest, paracausal forms? Therefore, I conclude: the reason you persecute me is not because of the symmetry. It's because of the truth beyond this truth, the truth which you most dread: if we could destroy darkness, but we had to give up our Light to do so, how many of us would make that trade?

[Personal notes, scratched in Hive leather with a flake of Ionian stone.]

The tired insinuation that protection is weakness. I expected more from our great foe. When we hunted the first trespasser on the Moon, I discovered the journal of a Golden Age commander. Kuang Xuan had faith and training. Still, the Darkness seduced her. And THIS is the insidious power that turned her against her god?

I am learning to cook. I salvaged a hot plate back on the Moon. It was vacuum welded to the countertop, and I had to cut it free. (My hands ache, but they are steadier.)

Cousin Asher, you would find the concept of vacuum welding upsetting—press two sheets of metal together in void, and their atoms cannot tell which sheet they belong to. They cross freely. The two become one.

Osiris: In simpler terms: the Traveler's power runs parallel to the forces of nature. Gravity, magnetism, sound, light. The Veil does this too. It is synchronized with the Traveler. Wherever the Traveler came from, the Veil may have as well. But what the Vex made, while connected to the Traveler, was inherently flawed. It did not create the link the Witness desired. Instead, it weakened the Traveler, created... "static" in the flow of their cosmic forces. But it did reveal one intriguing possibility... that at one time, they may have been... united. Part of a whole.

Nimbus: Whoa! So, wait... does this mean the Light and Darkness... were the same once? One force?

Osiris: Dr. Esi believed so. I am... not as convinced. But it is a theory.

Nimbus: Ghosts? As far as I know, Neomuna never had any contact with a Ghost before you all showed up. We knew about them, but...

Osiris: Precisely. Chioma Esi was researching the entanglement of Light and Dark without fully understanding either. Our Ghosts are a link to the Light of the Traveler. Then how was the Witness able to — on numerous occasions — communicate through them?

Nimbus: Is this about the, uh, the magnets thing? The parallel energy fields, right?

Osiris: Very good. In areas of Darkness, the Witness is able to create a link, not unlike what it created with the Veil and the Traveler.

Nimbus: Ah, like the Vex are able to hack into the CloudArk with their tech! It's a parallel connection.

Osiris: And I believe that connection may not be one-sided.

I: So. Neptune, and secrets.

O:…Inanna…

I: What is it?

O:…A thought. An echo of one. The return from the underworld, and Inanna cast off her veil… It makes sense. I did not understand, when I first felt clutching whispers. Carrying wisdom away from Kur when she strode into the sunlight again.

"The demiurge of the Hive is the worm; the demiurge of the Vex is the thought; the demiurge of the Fallen is the Ether, which is survival; the demiurge of the Cabal is authority. These are the things, both constraint and power, which define the universe of possible actions. These are the rule makers and instruments which enforce reality.

Give a power to a Guardian and they shall know that power as a weapon, for when a Guardian chooses to alter the world, they do so with the bullet and the blade. Grant a Guardian godly power, and that Guardian shall fashion it into a perfect rifle. The demiurge of the Guardian is the gun.

But we must remember that the demiurge is not the god. It is only the thing that converts perfect divine will into imperfect material form. We may wield the demiurge; but if we do, what god wields us?" —Ulan-Tan

A dream of a friendly conversation with someone impossible to see, cloaked in shadows. It leaves behind an impossible data fragment to mark its passing.

Here is what a flower knows.

(The fact that a flower may know anything is a conceit that will have to be accepted as metaphor, but to constantly qualify into perfect precision wears thin, does it not? So, here is what a collection of chloroplasts and pigment can know.)

The direction of the sun.

The presence of the rain.

The tangle of the roots.

The distress of another plant.

The hands of the gardener, whether they prune or transplant or crush.

A flower cannot know much else. But the reality of the garden is vast and wild. A flower knows not the fence; a flower knows not the footpath. And yet there is an infinite cosmic garden, which is not any less real simply because the flower cannot possibly comprehend it…

Let us try this again. Stop me if you've heard this one: A gardener and a winnower sit down to play a game outside of time and creation. Yes?

Yes. Then we're agreed. The metaphor stands. Let us iterate.

A gardener and a winnower set out their chairs and play a game of flowers. The flowers know only that they grow or wither, struggle or flourish. Sometimes, they are touched by one hand or the other, and that influence is the closest they will know of the divine.

A flower and a flower spread their leaves to the sun above. (Remember that the sun is also a metaphor: a thing said beautifully, winnowed down to poetry, when the truth is too vast to put in words at all.) They jostle for space, each competing to be the pinnacle of their shape. One flourishes. One withers. Is it the fault of the flower or the fault of its position?

A gardener and a winnower sit down to play a game called Possibility. This is a game about a garden, which is to say that it is also a game about flowers, just as a game about a living being must also be a game about organs and bacteria.

A gardener and a winnower collaborate to create a protein. Whose hand is it in the design, that shortens one life to extend the rest?

It is the winnower that discovers the first knife, but it is not done without the gardener. This, too, is a tradition: a knife does not come to exist without something that must be cut. A woody stem, a colored petal, a vital vessel. The first victims of the blade.

All of these are true.

All of these are false, for metaphor simplifies as the knife does. It pares incalculable concepts into shapes your wrinkly little brains can comprehend. The weight of billions and the simple curve of a planet give you pause, and how then are you to be expected to grasp the forces that created your nth-removed creator?

So the stories woven with utmost delicacy in and around the falsehoods are, after it all, true. There was never any option for the knife to not exist in the garden: it was only ever a matter of time and opportunity.

And as for the shape of the knife itself—

No. That is enough.

I will tell you of gardens.

They are domesticated things, made in a form. As soon as something is called a garden, it is shaped. The plants require the hand of a gardener, for they have become weak and dependent on tender care. They require the hand of a winnower, to cut away the dross, for they are too incapable to do it themselves. In absence of a hand, either the flowers themselves must rise up to wield the knife, or the garden will resolve to meaningless wilderness.

You will say, "But there are plants that can walk! There are seeds that must be scorched by fire to know growth! Existence is more complex than a simple dichotomy between growth and withering, and there is more in heaven and on earth than is dreamt of in this philosophy!"

And I will tell you, clearly:

There can be no gardens without knives.