#i knew he was going to pass soon but it doesn’t make it any easier

[arttheclown]

i’m starting to feel like losing my grandpa is hitting me even harder than losing my dad tbh

[mysicklove]

CW: aged up character, making out, ppl in love, yuuji is taller/bigger than reader, mentions of sex and NSFW content, word vomit, bad writing bc i wrote it on my phone and didn’t edit it

Yuuji Itadori found making out to be on of his favorite ways to pass time. Sex is great an all, but something about the way your mouth locks with his his, your tongue grazing his teeth while your hand creeps up his shirt just sends his head spinning. The raging boner he gets in his pants is a little uncomfortable, but sometimes if he’s lucky you’ll run your hand over is, pulling a shiver from the boy.

Making out is easier than having sex, no body fluids to clean after you are done (although, he does find himself occasionally cumming in his pants either way) and all the two of you have to really do is fix your hair, and pretend like the room is a little too hot to explain your red, panting faces.

On one second your on top of him, hands in his hair while he’s groaning into your mouth, and the next Fushiguros there, rolling his eyes at Yuujis love sick expression for you. It was great — the switch up was thrilling.

You seemed to like it as much as he did, which almost made him feeel giddy inside, akin to schoolgirl, embarrassing enough. You don’t see a problem of shutting the apartment door the second the two of you arrive at your place, and attacking his mouth.

He doesn’t mind being the one pinned to the door — it may be a little embarrassing considering how much larger he is than you, but you don’t seem to care. Your tongue slides into his mouth without a warning.

It’s a mess of limbs and teeth and saliva, but Yuuji wouldn’t have it any other way. He likes that it’s messy — it’s hotter that way, or so he says, usually after with a massive grin on his face on his red face. But for now, he grabs your chin, tilts it up, and mimics your movements.

Your body is pressed against him on the wall, and he can feel your lower stomach touching his groin, sending shivers up his spine. It’s almost unconscious the way he drives his hips toward you, humping your body to gain some friction of his now hardening cock.

You don’t pay it any mind, cruelly enough, not pulling away from his mouth even with the lack of oxygen between the two of you. But Yuujis stumbling forward, accidentally moving his body too much to be controlled and pulling himself away from your mouth.

He doesnt go far, panting with hazy eyes and red lips, before pressing quick kisses to your mouth while trying to catch his breath. He’s leading you backward, littering now your neck with butterfly kisses. “B-Bedroom.”

You guys make it to the kitchen before your on eachother again like magnets. He lifted you up on the counter, loving to show how easy it is for him to lift you — he’s prideful in his strength, and does like to show you in subtle ways like this. But you don’t mention anything, and he knew you wouldn’t, especially since now his shirt was off and yours was soon to come.

His hands are around your waist, and his mouth moves with rhythm, pulling groans from the both of you until he breathes the words, “love you” into your lips, not caring if you heard, because he says it a multitude of times anyways.

But you do, and giggle a breathless laugh, gripping his hair and pulling it back just to hear him moan. Your hands run over his abdomen, tease his chest, and then finish back at his jaw. “Me too,”

“Bedroom?”

He takes off your shirt, pulling away to lock his mouth on your chest for a moments worth, knowing that you won’t be pleased if his lips don’t find yours again soon. You nod at him.

The two of you make it to the couch before your pants come off.

[axelsagewrites]

Well if you still could 👀

Do you think you could do another Ned x f!wife!reader? I really enjoyed the horny!ned fic you already have but I'd be happy with anything. Fluff, sunshine, rainbows, or babies. ❤️ have a nice day 😊

Ned Stark*Sweet Wife

Pairing: Ned x wife!pregnant!reader

Word count: 942

Warnings: pregnancy and pure fluff

Masterlist Here

“My lady I don’t think you quite understand,” Lord Karstark said as you bit your tongue and tried to pretend you hadn’t had better plans for your morning than been chased down by a disgruntled Lord who thought you’d give in easier than your husband, “If you allowed my family to use that land, we would maintain it for you. Free of charge,” he said as if offering you the best deal in the world.

You took a breath before speaking, trying to compose yourself, “And while I am grateful for the offer my Lord, those lands do not belong to you, and we are already in discussion for how we will divvy them up to- “

“Okay but,” he cut you off making you sigh this time though he did not notice, “If I am trusted with them- “

“Lord Karstark,” Ned’s voice came from behind you with an unusual iciness to it. “I do believe my wife,” he said, his arm gently going around your back, his hand resting on your hip, “and I have now both explained to you your assistance, no matter how generous, is not needed in this matter. However, if your family is desperate for farm lands I’m sure a trade deal can be arranged- “Karstark opened his mouth to speak but Ned didn’t stop, “Which you can take up to the owners of the lands once I have declared them. now if you don’t mind my wife and I are late to a very important meeting,”

Karstark grumbled something under his breath but nodded, “Of course my Lord, my lady. Goodbye,” he muttered before turning to leave with his nose in the air.

“Do you think he is sniffing out the new owners?” Ned leant down, to whisper in your ear making you laugh.

Ned took your arm and began to guide you through the busy corridors, “Who do we have to meet?” you asked, eyebrows scrunched, “I don’t remember setting up a meeting,”

“I arranged it,” Ned said, smiling politely at some passing Lords, “It is of the upmost importance that we attend,”

“And whys that?” you asked as you suddenly stopped outside a meeting room.

He opened the door, ignoring your question for now to lead you inside. Once the door was shut behind you, he stepped forward, closing the gap between you with his finger tilting your chin up to face his cheeky grin, “So I can do this,” he leant down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

You giggled a little into the kiss before pushing him away, “Someone could walk in,”

“So?” he asked, hand moving to rest gently on your hip, “We’re married now remember. It’s allowed,” he teased though his hand gently rose to rest on your stomach, “And soon everyone will know anyway what we get up to,”

“Shut up,” you laughed, pulling him back down for a brief gentle kiss. Your bump was barely noticeable under all the furs and wool you wore to keep the cold out but you both knew it was there, “I hope she doesn’t inherit your cheek,” you teased.

“She?” he asked, a hopeful grin on his face, “How’d you know?”

“I just do,” you smiled but it quickly faded, “I hope that doesn’t disappoint you- “

“Of course not,” he said, cupping your face in his hands, “Nothing you do, especially not this, could ever disappoint me,” his thumb gently stroked over your cheek bone. It was a tender moment, of course ended once again by his antics, “Besides I’ll take any excuse to try again,” he said with a cheeky grin.

“As if you ever needed one,”

Your laughter both stopped when there was a knock on the door. Ned held a finger up to his lip, “Maybe if we’re quiet, they’ll go away,” he whispered.

“Lord and Lady Stark may I have a moment?” said a voice behind the door. You could swear it was the diplomat Lord Bolton sent.

“I swear if this is about those lands, I may just burn them to the ground,” Ned muttered before you both stepped back to open the door.

-

You barely got to see Ned for the rest of the day. Every Lord or noble man seemed to need his attention today and you were running around Winterfell organising a banquet for Ned’s upcoming nameday. It wasn’t till you walked into the hall for dinner you saw him again.

“Hello husband,” you greeted with a small smile as you took his seat.

“You need to slow down,” he said, not even bothering to say hello making you roll your eyes, “you’ve been running around faster than the servants,”

“That’s because I need to finish organising the details for- “

“What you need is rest,” he said, cutting you off and placing a hand over yours.

You sighed, tempted to push it away but you knew his heart was good, “You cannot confine to my bed out of fear,”

“If I was to confine you to our bed it would not be for that,” he whispered making your cheeks burn.

“Ned!” you scolded, slapping his thigh making him laugh, “You are so lucky I love you. Otherwise, I’d kill you,”

He smiled softly at that, “lucky indeed. However, I’d be even luckier if you would let me announce our news,” he said, squeezing your hand gently.

You couldn’t help smiling a little despite his antics, “Perhaps it would be a nice announcement to make on your nameday,” you finally conceded, “I just wish we could keep it a secret a little longer,”

“Then your wish is my command, sweet wife.”

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[kiyomitakada]

okay fuck it i went to a leonardo da vinci exhibit today and now i have a leonardo da vinci death note AU in my head because i am a parody of myself so you can fucking have it i guess what do i even do with this

light yagami: young genius polymath who is good at literally everything

unfortunately for him he is a foreigner in italia (his family immigrated) so the government is not letting him anywhere near their weaponry projects. instead he does art. yes light yagami painted the mona lisa no i do not take criticism i’m in too deep

his portraits are predictably amazing. smash hit. soon aristocracy from all over italy is contacting him to draw them and their mother. this means he doesnt even have time in the day to draw giant fuckoff warship designs anymore. what point is there to life, he sulks.

eventually he accepts a commission from one kyosuke higuchi! we’re italianizing him because i really don’t think this AU works otherwise but let’s call him higuchi anyway. higuchi is a fifty-something duke of something or other who has recently married one misa amane who is twenty-something (the same age as light). misa is the subject of the portrait because higuchi just loves his darling wife so much (read: they had a shotgun wedding and higuchi needs to keep up appearances)

light is like wow someone who isn’t white it’s been like five years. i kind of feel bad for her, this situation is very suspicious. hello miss amane if you’ll just sit down over there while i get my brushes

misa (seeing the first person who has been even remotely sympathetic to her absolutely horrific life, noticing he hasn’t tried to make any advances on her at all [this is a good thing]): I AM DRASTICALLY IN LOVE WITH YOU.

light: what

misa’s plan of seducing light predictably fails because he’s light, so she explains she has to get the fuck away from higuchi somehow

light is like okay well i am sorry to hear that but what does this have to do with me.

misa, tearing up: im a damsel in distress! also i can get you information about his court

light: whats his job

misa: financial advisor

light: oh fuck yes okay

so light’s plan is now to worm into the yotsuba court to get funding and hopefully sway them enough to let him pitch his cool weaponry ideas so he can Change The World. he does need income in general too (both for himself and his family; expected lifespan was way shorter then obviously).

misa’s plan is to kill higuchi somehow which will be much easier with light as backup she thinks

so. light packs up and moves to the yotsuba court which is thrilled to have THE light yagami portrait artist (i do more than portraits…) in their employ

oh yeah, misa mentions, the prince of the yotsuba court is kind of… weird

light: you could have told me this before

misa: ehe. dont worry about it!! it’s just um. he had a weird personality shift a few years ago? and now he refuses to wear royal attire. he always dresses like a peasant.

light: well it’s not like i’m going to be there to judge him on fashion am i.

THAT’S RIGHT. SIKE THIS IS AN ISEKAI NOW. yes L does remember light killing him <3 he (L) woke up in fifteenth century renaissance italy in a twenty-something-year-old body immediately after the heart attack. by some miracle he already knew italian.

so everything is going swell until one day light walks into his workshop to find the prince flipping through his notebook

light, sleep deprived: hey what the fu—i mean. uh. good morning your highness

there’s no need for that formality. call me L.

(…but your name doesn’t start with an L?) thank you, your highness L. um. sorry i know my handwriting’s messy.

on the contrary i find it completely readable, as long as one reads backwards and caesar shifts it three letters forward.

(oh SHIT he’s onto me) haha what are you talking about?

in fact i think this mechanical dragonfly contraption is rather ingenious.

oh aha that’s not important, just a passing fancy honestly

[ignoring him] if only you had some better way of providing torque, because as it stands the spring engine is extremely poorly designed.

what the fuck did you just say to me

[they end up physically fighting over the notebook because of course they do. meet cute!]

some more details:

ryuk is the patron light eventually gets after being in higuchi’s court for a bit

rem is higuchi’s personal assistant, who was disowned by her own royal-blooded family because her family sucks. she hates her job. if it weren’t for misa she’d probably be on the other side of the country by now

i don’t know where the wammy kids are. they’re definitely competing to be the heir to L’s throne but also they’re not related because there is no way that all the wammy kids (the whole orphanage of wammy kids) could have come from the same person. maybe some kind of insufferably high collar royal boarding school? did they even have those? help me

kiyomi and teru are both advisors in other courts (which are extremely corrupt, light seethes, in his perfect world there wont be any of those anymore) (you work for a court light) (thats different)

okay i’m done for today. you never know about tomorrow though. /threat.

[ @deathnotetober day 12: isekai ]

[ilguna]

Could I please get #1 from the 2nd list with finnick? Maybe it could be him leaving his SO in 13 while he goes to the capitol but this time he lives?

☼ broken promise (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, death, death mention, ehh gore, gun use.

wc; 2.6k

prompt; 1. "Just close your eyes. I will be here when you open them again."

—

A scream lodges in your throat, waking you, rocketing you into an upright position so that you can breathe. With one hand, you grab your throat, gasping for the air that’s been deprived of you, heart beating wildly in your chest. The other is reaching out to his side of the bed to make sure that he’s still there, that he hasn’t left you like the nightmare led you to believe.

Your fingers come into contact with his thigh, you slide your hand over his skin, fingers slowly digging in. You close your eyes, and try to remind yourself that it wasn’t real, and Finnick’s not going to slip through your fingers. He’s here, he’s right next to you.

“(Y/n)?” 

You look over at Finnick, finding his eyes on you. His head is turned over his shoulder, one eye closed and the other one barely open to keep himself awake. You loosen your grip on his leg, most likely the cause of his wake.

“Sorry, Finn.” You murmur.

“What’s the matter?” He mumbles, beginning to roll over to face you.

“I’m fine.” You brush his hair out of his face. It’s getting long, he hasn’t cut it since the reaping. 

“You’re not.” He says, voice raspy but sounding more awake. He grabs your arm, tugging at it slightly. “Come here.”

“It was just a nightmare, Finnick.” You tell him. 

“I don’t care.” He says, pulling again. 

You sigh, but scoot down in the bed, anyway. Finnick lifts the blanket up, arms out to make it easier for you to lay in them. He’s got his eyes closed, waiting for you. As soon as you’re as close as humanly possible, he drops the blanket and pulls you closer, chin on top of your head.

He’s warm, the exhaustion returns to your body slowly. It’s one of the curses of sleeping in the same bed as him. There will be times where he’s tired and needs a nap, but you’re fully rested. He’ll force you to cuddle him, and the next thing you know, the whole day has been wasted away because his body heat has made you drowsy.

However, this time, it’s different. It doesn’t take long for you to get to the brink of sleep, yet you never fall over the edge fully. Each time Finnick adjusts, you’re jolted awake. There’s something keeping you from reaching bliss, and you know exactly what it is.

How are you supposed to sleep when you’re afraid that Finnick’s going to join that stupid Capitol mission? You heard him talking about it with Haymitch a few days ago, and when you asked about it, Finnick told you that it was nothing to worry about. Except, you’re not that stupid. 

You might have been caught up in your own problems here in District Thirteen, but that doesn’t mean you hadn’t noticed his schedule changed a couple weeks ago. He’s not where he’s supposed to be during the day. You did a little prying, some sneaking around, collected the clues and had it put together by his own best friend.

Johanna admitted to you that they had been training the entire time. They found out about a rebel mission to storm the Capitol and seize President Snow’s mansion. It turns out that Finnick isn’t the only one that has been getting ready for this. Katniss, Johanna and Gale have been, too.

Only, Johanna can’t go because she failed the final test. Finnick passed.

You didn’t know how to react to the information she told you, besides standing there and staring into her eyes. She knows how much Finnick means to you—what the two of you have been through to get to this point. She didn’t think, throughout all these weeks, that it might’ve been smart to give you a head’s up that your fiance would be leaving on a suicide mission?

Is he ever going to tell you, himself?

Johanna knew you were mad, and she didn’t have any defense. She simply told you that she had advised Finnick to let you in on it, but the conversation never went on any further than that. Since then, you’ve been waiting for him to tell you. Especially since the hovercraft should be leaving any day now.

“You’re not sleeping.” Finnick suddenly mutters, you jerk slightly at the sound of his voice. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it, my love?”

You press your lips together. “Promise me you’re not going to leave me, Finnick.”

“What makes you think that I’d leave you?” He asks, pulling you closer into his body. “I would never want that.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You whisper. “I want you to promise that you’re not going to leave this bunker to go on that mission, Finnick. And then I want you to keep it.”

“I promise I’m not going to go on the mission.” He says without hesitating. You can feel his fingers combing through your hair. “Just close your eyes, baby. I will be here when you open them again.”

The heavy feeling in your chest keeps you from believing him.

–

You cross your arms over your chest, teeth tightly grit together to keep from saying anything that might get you in trouble. Although, no words need to be said. The hard glare you’re giving Haymitch speaks a thousand words.

“Oh, (Y/n), what a pleasure.” Plutarch says, coming through an adjacent door. Behind him is President Coin, hair neatly straightened, eyes landing on you when Plutarch moves out of the way. “How are you?”

You give him a sarcastic smile. “The pleasure is all mine, Plutarch, really. It’s always fantastic to be around you. You simply have the best and most charming personality in this entire cement coffin, you know that?” 

“(Y/n).” Haymitch warns.

“And I’m doing great, actually. I would be doing better if someone explained to me why the hell my fiance was allowed to get on a hovercraft to District Two.” 

“I don’t believe you have clearance to be in here.” Coin says, coming down the steps.

“I should.” You tell her. “I don’t see a reason why you’d want to keep me out of here. Oh right, how else would you then go behind my back after everything I’ve done for you?”

“Who let you in this room?” Coin asks.

“I did.” Haymitch says. “She’s got a point. Why was Finnick allowed to train and she wasn’t?”

“That’s because Katniss and Johanna found out about the program we have, and then told Finnick about it. We didn’t have anything to do with him joining.” Coin stops a few feet away from you. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Miss (L/n).”

“And it didn’t occur to you once to let me in on something like that?” You ask her, not moving from where your feet are planted.

“If it helps any, Peeta wasn’t allowed to, either.” Plutarch says.

You press your lips together into an angry smile. “No, that doesn’t help.”

“We can’t do anything for you.” Coin has her hand outstretched toward the door.

Your jaw goes slack. “Is that right?” She doesn’t say anything. “Get Finnick Odair on the next hovercraft back here, now.”

“That’s not possible, (Y/n), and there’s no need to.” Plutarch tells you. “Finnick is part of a group called the Star Squad. They’ve already traveled to the main camp outside of the Capitol, it’ll take a full day for him to get back to District Two. Their jobs aren’t to fight, though, they’ll be traveling behind the main rebel lines. They won’t be put into any direct danger.”

“You better hope not.” You tell Plutarch. “If anything happens to him, I’ll make sure it haunts you for the rest of your fucking life.”

—

“Let me see!” You shout, slamming through the Command room’s doors. “I want to see it for myself!”

Several heads swivel in your direction, daring to remove their eyes from the screen in front of them to see who’s intruding. When they’re met with you, they look away, uninterested.

No one makes a move to escort you out of the room, despite the fact that Coin made it very clear that you weren’t going to be allowed into Command ever again. The doors swing shut behind you, locking you inside.

You drag your feet forward a couple of steps, watching a replay of what’s just taken place in the Capitol. It’s a video of the Star Squad, the group that you were told wouldn’t be put into any danger. There’s a voiceover from the Capitol, explaining to you what’s happening.

They had been trying to film a propo, when they set off a bomb in the middle of the colorful apartment’s courtyard. It blows off the squad leader’s legs, and you watch as they all scramble to regroup, and descend into chaos when black gel shoots from the street.

They make a run for it, trying to get into an apartment before the oil gets to them. A previously level-headed Peeta turns rabid, trying to kill Katniss. One of the trained squad members tries to save her, and in return, he gets kicked into another pod, where barbed wire strings him up above the street.

From there, it takes two people to get a hold of Peeta, where they drag him inside. You catch sight of Finnick, carrying someone over his shoulder, alive. Then, everyone else files in, except for Gale, who tries to shoot the soldier down from the wire. This is the last glimpse you get of the situation, before the camera goes black.

The Capitol reporter is able to identify Gale, Finnick, Peeta, Cressida, Katniss and a man named Boggs, by first name.

You watch in horror as the next clip begins to play. Peacekeepers line up on the roof of the building across from the one the squad ran into. Bombs are launched into the row of apartments, setting off a chain of explosions, and then the building collapses in on itself.

You can feel your heart drop.

It cuts away to a reporter, standing on the same roof the Peacekeepers were. Behind her, the apartment building is aflame. The firefighters work hard to control the flames. The reporter pronounces each person that was inside of that building, dead.

“Oh my god.” You breathe, hand clutching at your chest, beginning to hyperventilate.

They play this scene over and over, proud of their victory. The only time they stop is when a montage of Katniss begins. They talk of her rise to rebel power, and then proceed to tear her down, claiming that she deserved such a violent end.

The room begins to spin around you, an icy feeling spreads from your head down your chest and back, reaching for your legs. You try to hold back the tears that build in your eyes, but once the first one falls, it’s over. A loud sob escapes you as you take a step forward toward the screen.

You quickly change direction, stumbling to a desk with a computer and keyboard on it. You’re barely able to pull the trash can out from underneath it, before you’re vomiting up your entire breakfast and lunch. You can’t breathe. Between the hyperventilating, the tears, and the puke, you struggle to get more than a breath of air in you at a single time.

You sink to your knees, hands coming into contact with the cold cement. You cry for a few seconds, until it dissolves into a coughing fit, that has you gagging. 

He’s dead. Your fiance is dead, and it’s been less than a week since he left for the Capitol.

The doors to Command open behind you. The sounds of boots scuffing on the ground is hardly audible over your sniffling. You tilt your head back, letting the tears roll down your chin, to your neck. 

“(Y/n).” Someone says, coming to crouch next to you. A hand is placed on your back, between your shoulders, rubbing gently. You think it’s Haymitch. “You have to get out before Coin gets here.”

“I don’t care.” You whimper, “Let her. It doesn’t matter anymore. None of it matters to me without him.”

—

Finnick survived. 

He’s in the Capitol, waiting for your hovercraft to land so that he can be the first person you see when you step off. From what you’ve heard, he’s not even significantly hurt from his time navigating the streets and the sewers. 

When they had first told you that he wasn’t dead and he’d successfully made it to the mansion alongside Katniss, about twelve hours ago, you thought they were playing a cruel joke on you. It wasn’t until they pulled up pictures of him in the aftermath, helping navigate the wounded around him, did you believe them. 

There was no question about it, Coin didn’t even bother to put up a fight against you. You, Johanna and Haymitch were put on the first hovercraft that would be traveling to the Capitol. And you haven’t been able to sit still in your seat the entire time. It’s driven Johanna crazy enough to have Haymitch switch seats with her.

You reach for your engagement ring, twisting it on your finger. You should be landing any minute now. It’s only been a week or so since Finnick left you in Thirteen, but it’s felt like months. You went from having him, to losing him, and getting him back only a couple days later.

The hovercraft jerks suddenly as you land. Your fingers fly to the belt they advised for you to have on during the landing. You pull it off, getting to your feet. The pilots shout for you to stay back while they open the rear door. Nothing happens for the longest second, and then the door begins to creak and groan, sunlight flooding in through the cracks.

You start forward, eyes adjusting to the sunlight. When it’s about halfway down, you’re able to get your first glimpse of the hovercraft runway, and the people coming toward you. His bronze hair is shining in the sunlight, and he’s changed into street clothes, instead of wearing the bulky armor that he’d been pictured in.

The second the door touches the concrete, and the pilots tell you it’s safe to leave, you’re out the door and running in his direction. The people he’s with move away, expecting a large impact, while Finnick opens his arms widely, ready to embrace everything you have for him.

You slam into his body, feeling his arms wrap around you, pulling you against him so tightly, that you’re sure you’ll become one person. Finnick presses kisses on your forehead, temple, cheek, neck—anywhere he can touch skin. When you tilt your head back, he seizes your lips in a long kiss, that you have to force yourself to break apart from.

His face twists, eyebrows drawn in, about to ask you why you’ve pulled away like that, but you’ve already grabbed a hold of the front of his shirt, beginning to shake him. He grabs your arms, eyes widening.

“If you ever do that to me again, Finnick, I’ll leave you!” You shout at him, jerking his shoulders. “Do you understand? I will leave and never come back!” 

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n).” Finnick says, holding onto you. “I’m so—”

“How could you do that to me?” You sob, “You could’ve died!”

“I know.” He tells you, “It won’t happen again, honey. I promise you. And I’m going to keep it this time.”

You cup his face, pressing your lips to his. 

[lightlycareless]

Please make a oneshot with our couple taking a bath together 🥺💕 but you know it would not end with just a normal bath since it's naoya....heheheh

Heya anon!!

It would not even begin as a bath let's be real hahaaha. However, I do think Y/N would be the one starting the whole, you know, that �� it's probably one of the few moments you get to be in control. Kind of. hehe.

Warnings: smut. doing it in the shower!!! or bath whatever. slight mentions of pregnancy (more like wanting it)

Now, happy reading!!!

Before meeting you, Naoya hated going back to the estate.

He hated how lonely, scrutinized, and diminished he felt whenever returning to his supposedly called home after an extensive ordeal, only to be scolded for his seemingly lack of skills, even when he was already the best around. 

Naoya couldn't wait for the moment either his dad died so he could get control of the clan and do whatever he pleased, or leave, wait out for that moment and back to reclaim what was rightfully his.

But when you came along… Let's say his perspective changed for a lot of things.

Starting with this one: his fervent hatred to return home. Now, it's all he thought about: the moment he'd get to see your beautiful face cheerfully receive him, with those softly tinted cheeks and shiny eyes he wishes he could stare at for an eternity— though he supposes he could make do with the fact they were solely his for now.

Once informing you he was on his way back, Naoya already knew what to anticipate.

First, you'd ask his staff to solely leave his care to you, so when he arrives at the gates only you'd be there to receive him. No one else was worthy of his presence like you were, and they wouldn't dare risk his ire for interrupting this intimate moment between the two, so they complied without much resistance.

From there, a warm meal. Naturally, you were very knowledgeable of his tastes, so there was never overestimations when it came to your commitment. In fact, such sentiment, alongside your meek demeanor, fingers fidgeting with one another as you sweetly asked if he liked what you prepared is what made your food far more delicious than anything else. Though going out to restaurants was also a valid suggestion—if you felt like it, he’d arrange it.

And finally, perhaps his favorite activity of all, a bath. Just like all the things you’ve done for him, it was prepared with such delicacy there was no way he could let it pass; in fact, Naoya often preferred doing this first, and would probably do so far more frequently, if he didn’t end up dirtier afterwards.

“I’m tired.” Naoya states; and with just that simple word, you were able to clearly understand what he wanted—getting to act soon after by leading him into his personal bathroom, unfastening his shirt and hakama, letting it fall to the ground and subsequently revealing his toned body for your admiration, which you always did whenever he came back from a mission, but not for reasons one would expect.

It was the fretting side of you, the one hopelessly devoted to him, that consistently led you to observe if there were any new scars, injuries for you to tend and endear, for you could never hate anything related to Naoya.

Luckily, your husband was very cautious when working, and with his technique making it far easier to avoid curses, it was rare that he’d come with injuries, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t worry, nor show your appreciation for the work he puts in for the community, the same one you often think doesn’t deserve him.

It wouldn’t take much longer after that for you to strip as well, one swift movement and your kimono would fall alongside his clothes, Naoya’s breath hitching to his throat at the sight of your bare body as you guided him into the bathtub, promptly joining him.

“Does it hurt?” you murmur when beginning to scrub his body. Naoya finds it endearing that your touch, as gentle as it was, still managed to worry you of its adequacy.

“No.” he chuckles. “You’re quite adorable for fretting about such silly things.”

“I can’t help it, I worry for you whenever you’re away…”

“Really? And how much do you worry, if I must know?”

“I can’t tell you” you breathe, pressing soft kisses against his jaw. “But I can show you.”

“Always eager, my love. Is this what you thought about when I was gone?”

You press your lips together, letting out a subtle hum as you nod.

“Y—yes.” you breathe, kissing him once more and making Naoya sigh in turn, becoming putty underneath your gestures. “It’s the only thing I think about…”

“You’re a vixen.” He chuckles, hand trailing down your back and onto your ass, where he’d give it a tight squeeze, making you release a whine he quickly captivated with his lips.

Before the eyes of others, Naoya liked to present himself as powerful, imposing, domineering and with no intentions of ever considering others beyond what he could get out of them, if they served any purpose he could exploit, and discard them when they didn’t.

But with you, behind closed doors, he likes to indulge in something else; lean back, relax, and let you take the lead to deal with all his pent up frustrations.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone that spending never ending days away from his wife was bound to agitate him; thankfully, you seemed to understand this very well, and just as he expected of your lascivious nature, your hands would eventually find their way to his cock, innocently stroking it with the pretext of cleaning it, only for your velvety walls to engulf his hardness later on, choking him with the same agonizing tightness and warmth he could only describe as home.

“Aah… oh, fuck princess…!” Naoya groans, melting away between your kisses and steady jumps, keeping a stable pace that has you taking his member deeper and deeper, as if trying to imprint his size, to make up for all the emptiness you felt when alone. “Yeah… Keep—keep moving like that—!”

“I love you” you whined, pressing kisses against his neck as your hands roamed his body, worshiping the work he’s put in. The reflection astounding sorcerer he was, the future of the Zen'in—your husband. “I love you, Naoya-sama…”

“You—you whore” his cock twitches at your debauched use of titles, at the submission you've conceded for him, or whatever he was able to distinguish past your moans and the sound of water splashing alongside your thrusts. “Know your fucking place.”

“I'm — I'm sorry.” You whined, moving your lips up to his in efforts to kiss him, but his wicked interests deceive you, earning you a sour taste of rejection as seen on the teary look in your eyes. “N—No… Naoya… kiss—kiss me, please.”

“You already have my cock and you still want more?” He chuckled, enjoying the way you suffered by his indifference. “What did I do to earn such an ungrateful whore of a wife?”

But it was all a jest, of course it was, you knew that well—for the second time you attempt to captivate his mouth he immediately succumbs, taking in your soft lips and it's sweet flavor, the same one that completely hypnotized him the first time he had it, the one he'd rather die than to never taste again.

He could never deny you. Naoya physically couldn't, the pain of being away from you was too much to bear that he couldn't even hide it, ruining his mood even more than usual, to the point where outsiders kept their distance for their own safety. That much was your influence.

It's why Naoya gave you whatever you desired, though not without some banter, because you're the only one that has made him feel safe, capable of being vulnerable without the fear of being ridiculed, but most importantly loved.

So, he gives you all the kisses you want. All the caresses across your curves, sweet nothings against your ear, and his seed deep inside your belly, holding you tightly against him, careful to not let a single drop spill, as he promised to celebrate you with the highest honor he could bestow upon you, the lady of the house, his beautiful wife: his children.

The two have been trying, for quite a while now too, diligently and as frequently as possible given your desperation to become a mother, and his need to make another claim and let everyone know you were his.

But results have yet to be seen, and while somewhat disappointing, this doesn’t demotivate neither too much, understanding that until his seed takes root, both could still enjoy each other's company: with you continuing to ease his pent up frustrations, this time with your mouth under another silly pretense of cleaning him, making him cum two more times, before drying him and moving to the bed…

And him succumbing to your affection, seeking your embrace soon after the two laid on the futon, intertwined with one another as Naoya enjoys your comforting warmth, as well as your scent.

“You smell… different” he notes. Not that he minded, you were always sweet and gentle with your selections, yet, something about it…

“I wanted to make your return special.” you murmur. “I thought I'd try something out of the usual”

There it is, what made this observation unique. He smiles at your dedication, however…

“I like the other one better” Naoya teases, and you pout, somewhat saddened.

“I'm sorry, I’ll go back to that—” you attempt to peel away from him, eager to get up and change into the perfume of his liking, but he holds you down, smirking.

“Or we can just… sweat it out” he suggests against your ear, you tense up but do not reject him.

“We just took a shower.” It’s your last, feeble persuasion.

“I think you missed a spot”

Maybe the insatiable one here was Naoya all along.

Naoya gets turned on when you call him naoya-sama. With that cutesy voice that UgH you know what buttons to press to make him GO WILD.

Anyways, thank you so much for this request!! Still working on improving my smut skills, so keep 'em coming hehehe 🤭

Take care and hope to see you soon!! 💖💖

[brandyllyn]

Silk from their soul (04)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: Teen (series will be explicit) Words: 1.3k Summary: At the Gate

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

He has no idea what has come over him.

Sure, he’d found the bounty. That part had been easy. But what the hell was he doing following her off to the Sierra Nevadas? The money was the other way, and every step they took was another chance for her to run away from him. Or get hurt.

It made no damn sense.

“So where you headed, Cowboy?”

He can’t resist. “Mountains.”

Another one of those laughs flows out of her. It does something to him, halfway between soothing his soul and grating on his damn nerves. “I meant before you decided to come with me.”

He considers just telling her the truth. It’d make things easier. No way she’d get away from him out here, the area is too flat with nowhere to hide. The best she could hope for would be to outrun him for a spell. Hell, she might not even do that much. She seemed more the type to try to talk him out of it. Beg a little and maybe try to use her wiles to get him to let her go.

The thought was tempting, he had to admit.

He lets his mind wander, ignoring the stream of consciousness chatter coming from her. He’d tie her up first, that usually got folks to start considering their options real quick. She’d look up at him with those glossy eyes and, hell, she’d already be on knees. Wouldn’t be the work of a moment to slip his thumb between those plush lips and-

“Where are you going?”

The thoughts scatter and he scowls at the landscape, reaching down to adjust himself. “The fucking mountains, like you said.”

“The mountains are that way,” she gestures, about thirty degrees to the right of where he’d been taking them. 

“There’s a trading post this way, unless you got enough on you for the trip.”

She makes a face at him but starts walking in the direction he’d set. With a sigh he reaches out and grabs her arm, correcting her a bit.

“This a’ways, darlin’.”

He doesn’t hold on. Doesn’t wrap the rope on his belt around her wrists and tell her she’s just a job for him. Doesn’t fess up to how and why he found her.

If he did that, he wouldn’t get to hear that bone-jarring laugh again.

She also didn’t seem to care. Striding beside him companionably, as though they’d known each other years. Fuck, she was going to get herself killed. 

Not that it mattered to him. Would be a waste of a few thousand caps though.

“How do you know?”

“How do I know what?” he drawls back.

“The trading post, are there landmarks?”

Adjusting the pack slung over his shoulder he glances at the sun. “I’ve been there a fair few times over the years.”

“Do they take anything besides caps?”

He cocks his head, “Why, you not got any?”

She’s frowning at the ground ahead of her, studying it like it insulted her momma. “Some. Would they accept trades?”

“I do not know,” he responds truthfully. It’d been a good forty years since the last time he was there. Who the fuck knew how they ran their business now. “But we should get there around sunset. You can ask them yourself.”

“That close?” she seems surprised. “I didn’t see anything from the tower.”

“You wouldn’t.” 

She doesn’t ask for clarification and he doesn’t bother to give it. She’d see for herself soon enough.

He spots the first guard before long, back to a boulder not far off the path. He flashes the signal, middle and ring finger straight up. The man squints but lets them pass.

He’d just have to hope the signals haven’t changed in the last few decades.

Another mile and she actually sees the guard first. “To the left, behind the ridge.”

Squinting, he spots them, rifle tracking their movements. “Good eye.”

“You gonna signal them too?”

Huh, he didn’t think she’d noticed last time. “You want do the honors?”

She waves her hand at the person on the ridge, middle two fingers up in a ‘V’. Again they don’t get shot.

Yet the gates to the post remain closed as they approach, no wave from the ramparts or shout of greeting. The post blends into the landscape, half buried in the rubble of an old visitor center. Someone had dug it out a while back, created caverns and fortified it against people like him.

“I seem to remember a rather warmer welcome.”

She glances at him, then the wall of sheet metal. “Should I be worried?”

“Maybe.” He takes a step forward, holding his hands up. “We’re here to trade, Martha still around?”

“Martha’s been dead sixteen years,” a voice calls back. “And we don’t take to ghouls in these parts. Move along.”

A growl threatens to escape from his throat, his vision going red at the edges. He needs another hit of chem but now isn’t the time. “Just looking for some supplies for my cold-blooded friend here.”

“Cold-blooded?” she mutters defensively.

“She’s welcome, you ain’t.”

“I’m not coming in without him.” She steps up next to him, putting a hand on his wrist and gently pushing it down. He lowers both hands, giving her an assessing look. “We’re just passing through, we don’t mean any harm.”

“That’s what people who mean harm say.”

“Fair,” she mumbles under her breath.

“Maybe this is where we part ways,” he tells her. It’s not as though he wouldn’t know where she was. He could wait for her to come back out - hell it wouldn’t even be the work of a moment to follow her in. He could think of at least three ways into the place he’d bet his left nut no one remembered anymore.

“No,” she snaps, taking him aback. “We both go in or neither. This is ridiculous.” Louder she says, “I’ve got some old world gear. It’s not a lot, but you let us in and I’ll offer you a fair deal.”

“Leave the ghoul outside.”

“We go in together or not at all.”

Something shifts in him and he presses the heel of his hand to his chest for a moment. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had laid a claim to him. Not that he worked with others often - but most people were as eager to get away from him as he was to be rid of them.

There’s silence from the post, then a new voice. “What you got?”

“Circuit board,” she calls back easily, “ultracite, gold.” The Ghoul’s eyes widen and he takes a step to block her from view.

“The fuck you have?” he snaps in a low snarl.

“I told you I needed to trade.”

“You didn’t fucking tell me you were carrying fucking gold in your damn pack, they’re liable to kill us on the spot.”

“I’ll trade,” she calls past him, “in exchange for supplies for us both for two weeks. And meds.”

“What if we just take it?”

“Told you.” he grunts, but she lays a steadying hand on his sleeve.

“I’m tougher than I look,” her voice is strong and loud and suddenly he believes her, “and my friend is… well you know what he is. He isn’t going to go down easy either.”

“I won’t,” he chimes in, letting them see his wide grin. “I got a lot of miles on me, if I take a mind to it y’all ain’t gonna live to see the sun rise.”

“See?” she sounds charming, like she’s listing the brunch specials at one of those old Hollywood restaurants he used to take his wife to. “We can all die, or we can all live. Personally I’d prefer the latter. Why don’t we agree to be friends for a bit then we can all move on?”

Silence hangs heavy in the air for a full minute before a loud squealing noise breaks through. The gates slowly part and a woman steps through with a rifle slung over her shoulder.

“Well, you’d best be getting on. Once the sun goes down ain’t nobody coming in, I don’t care what you have.”

☢ ☢ ☢

For updates follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

[matrixsss]

Foxy Escapades

For day 2: Fox for @lucienweekofficial

A/N: This is just a short ficlet, I am having a bit of a writers block but I still wanted to write something for this week. Hope you enjoy it

Read here or on AO3

Every once in a while, Lucien gets overwhelmed with being himself. Being an emissary is hard work on the most normal and easy of days. Having to deal with other courts and their ways can get infuriating. He knows how to navigate these situations, of course, it doesn’t make it any easier though. Lucien, when overwhelmed can be cranky and sometimes out of control. Tamlin knows the signs of an overwhelmed Lucien before Lucien himself knows it.  

Tamlin hated the sound of bones cracking as he shifted others or himself, but he would do anything to help Lucien out. So, he shapeshifts Lucien into a small mischievous fox and as soon as he does, the fox runs off into the same direction as he always does; Autumn court. Although Beron was no longer among them, Lucien still couldn’t bear going back to his home in his fae form.  

As a fox though? It gave him enough courage.  

Lucien had no thoughts as he ran towards the autumn forest, just a sense of pure freedom. The crunching of colourful leaves beneath his paws, the familiar brisk and crisp smell of his beloved home. He kept running and jumping over fallen aspen logs, always careful of not setting off a bear trap that he knew were around the vast autumn courts forest.  

“Drop it.” Lucien knew that voice, it belonged to none other than his older brother; Eris. An idea popped into his foxy head when he heard the voice. Their relationship was... well rocky to say the least. So many years have passed, many tragedies alongside them that built a wall between the once close brothers.  

He had good memories of Eris showing him good hiding spots in their library, how to catch fish in the stream far away from the Forest house. Lucien remembers how Eris taught him to not fear the fire running through his veins and how to wield them. Which somehow always turned into a game of who can make the funniest shapes made from their fires.  

Mind you, Lucien always won (Eris would disagree).  

The ginger tried to fix whatever was salvageable of their relationship, but it was not easy. Eris’ walls were built so high and mighty that no-one and nothing could break through them. Deep inside he had a feeling that Eris wanted to reach out, but the years of Berons reign left him broken, unable or rather he did not know how to be soft and accepting.  

Lucien stealthily sneaked closer to where his brother stood, surrounded by his hounds. One of the hounds sniffed the air before its eyes met Luciens’. He half expected the hound to bark to alert the others of his presence, but it was like the hound knew who it was. So, it did nothing but turn around and plopped its’ entire body on the fallen leaves. 

Lucien stared at Eris’ back as he calculated his next moves. In a second, he ran towards him, leaping in the sky towards his brother, who at the last second turned around and Lucien ended up bouncing off his face. His brothers’ head was pushed back from the push of his paws as he stared ahead in pure shock.  

The hounds did nothing, they did not care of the fox's presence which told Eris everything he needed to know. The small smile on his brothers’ face told him as much.  

The two brothers played around, like they used to in the past, just in a different way. Eris’ laughter bouncing off the trees and foliage around them, so much so that even the forest started to glow in pure joy.  

With the sun soon to set, Lucien looked at his brother, huffing at him – a goodbye for now- before running back towards his other home and his high lord.   The worries he had before, gone.

***

Hope you liked this little thing, you can use the header image if you'd like ☺️

[pxgeturner]

kiss it better - t.m riddle

prequel to “milkshakes & confessions” told through mainly his pov

an. all of my tom writing takes has the golden trio cast in modern day. i like his era friends like rebastan, abraxas, rosier. i just don’t know enough about them to write in that era. And also it just easier to write them in a modern setting as i can sprinkle in some modern muggle things. also i’m kind of tired of tom calling hufflepuff r “badger” in so many fics, so she has a much cuter animal nickname. also.

warnings: tommi is down horrendously for r. also theo is an asshole in this.

m.list

he sits a row behind her, next to his friends, listening to her giggle at something her lab partner said. He thinks they’re roommates.

theo leans toward him, whispering, “y’know, riddle, i was walking through the halls yesterday, and that one fell and scraped her hand,”— theo gestures first to the partner, then her— “and she takes her friend’s hand, kisses it fucking better. like a pathetic child.”

tom tilts his head. “hm.”

she leans forward, presumably to note one of professor snape’s remarks, tom isn't sure. he hasn’t paid attention in weeks since he read ahead in the textbook.

“you shouldn’t be so rude, she’s a nice girl.” pansy shoves theo’s shoulder.

“she’s a hufflepuff.”

“so?”

“she’s probably making chocolates or writing secret admirer letters for tomorrow.”

“no she’s not. she’s going to be studying divination tomorrow in the library. she asked me if I wanted to but blaise is taking me on a date.”

“why would she ask you to study with her?” theo scoffs.

“because i’m her friend you idiot. where do you think i’ve been eating my lunch?”

“you’ve gone completely mental.”

“that’s you, you absolute wanker.”

tom sees a hufflepuff who hangs around her quite often. he watches them. soon she approaches them, embracing excitedly in a hug. she squeals unnecessarily. she does it cutely.

“your friend is over there,” he says to pansy.

as pansy looks over, the cute hufflepuff girl notices the group of slytherins and rushes over. “hey, pans!”

“hey.”

“guess what?” “what?”

“professor sprout gave me extra credit on my paper! she was very impressed that i knew about the roots of the bone thistle plant because it wasn’t something that we studied.” her eyes are bright with excitement and her hands dance around as she talks. sometimes her ‘r’s come out a bit too soft and sound like ‘w’s. she smiles widely and it shows her lovely crooked teeth. the sheer nail polish she put on last week is chipping and fading at the tips. she’s wearing her favorite lipgloss and shoes. they’re the ones she wears most often. the lipgloss is red and the shoes are platform mary janes. he likes red lips and mary janes. he likes girls that have lisps and imperfectly lovely teeth. he likes girls who fidget and have chipped nail polish. he likes girls who do all those things and are her.

by the time tom tunes back in, the subject has changed.

“you should have tom study with you. he doesn’t understand the arcana.”

she turns to tom. “i’ll be in the library tomorrow evening studying for the quiz on monday. you should definitely join if you need any help. if you do come, you should bring the deck you borrowed from professor trelawney.”

tom hopes she can’t hear his heart beating, and nods. she says something more to pansy. he leaves, theo follows.

“oh my fucking god. oh my fucking god, pansy, i hate you.” she giggles.

“all of you slytherins are preying on my downfall.” she glares at pansy, enzo, blaise, and draco.

“we’re trying to help,” blaise snickers.

“by having me make a fool of myself!”

mattheo passes by, and then backtracks. he moves around the sucker in his mouth and chuckles. “this is absolutely rich.” he turns back around, “i’m gonna go talk with my brother.” that didn’t make her feel any better.

...

it’s so romantic to spend valentine’s night hunched over a desk with a tarot deck, pendulum, and a mug of now-mostly-cold tea. of course a notebook is part of the party too. she checks the clock and the surroundings compulsively, worried that tom might not show, but she has no idea what she would do if he did. it got excessive, so she forced herself to stop.

tom finally makes it to the library. he sees her at the table, her supplies sprawled out in front of her. he approaches the table, pulling up a chair and sitting across from her. she doesn’t look up, which is fine; tom has plenty of patience. he watches her flip a card and write something into the notebook, and flip another, write something else, periodically sipping from her mug, for five minutes. as she’s about to flip over another card, he uses two fingers to tap the table twice. she yelps, the card leaving her hand and flicking him in the chest. her eyes are wide, and bright, like a bunny.

“hi,” she whispers.

he returns the card. “i’m sorry for being late. a first year needed homework help.” he doesn’t really like lying this time.

“that’s all right! i’m glad you could make it.”

tom nods.

“what kind of things were you hoping to cover?”

“i don’t quite understand why we must take such a useless class. it’s not even magic.”she looks at the table, suddenly interested in her pendulum.

“something wrong?” he wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction.

“i’m, uh, planning on studying divination in university.” oh. “but i know it’s an acquired taste, no biggie.”

“i didn’t mean to offend you. i suppose i should try to understand it. for the class at least.”

“i think i could help with it. who knows, you might like it.”

tom gives a small smile.

“all right, so in a tarot deck there are five arcana.”

“suits.”

“yeah. there’s the four minor arcana: wands, pentacles, swords, cups. the major arcana are the unique cards, like the empress, magician, devil."

he nods.

...

as the two of them are packing up, her bag’s zipper gets stuck. shepulls at it, trying to unstuck it.

“move.” he’s right behind her. she can feel his shirt rub against hers. she slides to the left to give him room. his long fingers manipulate the back of the zipper, quickly freeing the zipper from its thread prison and zipping the bag up the rest of the way.

“pfft, that’s so obvious, why didn’t i think of that? i swear i can be so dumb.” she takes the bag as he offers it back to her.

“you’re not dumb,” he says. “you’re one of the smartest girls in your year.” if she didn’t have such a brain-melting crush on him, she’d laugh. “but you’re definitely the prettiest.”

her cheeks are hot and she doesn’t know what to do. “wow, thanks.” she wants to slap herself.

“there’s a café in hogsmeade that is still open, do you want to go get a drink?”

he just asked me on a date. it is a date, right? “won’t we get in trouble for being out past curfew? pretty much everyone is back already.”

he leans in close to her, fixing a strand of her hair. “relax, you’re with a prefect. nothing bad is gonna happen.”

“let me drop off my bag first?”

...

the two of them talk about everything-- and nothing-- all at once. he pays; she tells him he shouldn’t’ve. he says, “don’t worry, bunny,” which makes her blush once again. once the order is ready, he is the one who goes to pick it up. when he gets back he places a brown pastry bag on the table with her drink. he sees her eyeing the lemon poppyseed scone. she tells him he shouldn’t have, and he says it wasn’t a problem. she insists they share the pastry.

she talks about her family, he tells her about his. the two of them share stories of his brother being a distraction. both of them recommend books to the other. her hands keep brushing against each other as they pick off pieces of the scone. tom orders another. the barista makes a last call for drinks, and he orders her a decaf lavender latte, because he can’t have his girl sleepless, now, can he? she stays until closing, not wanting to leave the bubble she’s created here, with this sweet boy.

before they head out into the frosted air, he zips up her jacket. as they walk back to the castle, he holds her steady. going uphill, the two of them reach a particularly slippery stretch of sidewalk that wasn’t slick on the way over.

“if i fall, you’re buying me dinner as compensation,” she tries to joke. she feels like she’s two seconds from being flat on her face, but tom isn’t wavering at all.

“oh, of course, and i’ll kiss any bruises better as a bonus.” that makes her quiet real quick.

she survives the hill, slightly disappointed that she didn’t slip. once they’re back in the castle, he even walks her to the hufflepuff dorms. “i’ll see you tomorrow, bunny,” he whispers in her ear. he takes note of the smell of the shampoo she uses.

he returns to his dorm, and theo is still awake. he’s at his desk, finishing an assignment. “you studied divination with her,” theo states.

“yes.” tom starts to change into something more comfortable.

“you took her on a date.” “yes.”

“do you think you could love her?” “yes.”

“i knew it.”

“how?”

“you stare at her. not like how you stare at other people. your expression is fairly neutral, to be fair. but you look slightly peaceful.”

tom makes a soft hum. “then why do you hate her so?"

"i don't"

“you don’t?”

“i wanted to get a reaction out of you, you golem of a man.” tom hums again.

“goodnight, nott.”

“goodnight, riddle.”

as tom is about to turn out his lamp, theo speaks once more. “don’t break her heart, tom. she’s a nice girl.”

and while tom doesn’t answer, he thinks about how he’d try his hardest to never make those beautiful eyes shine with tears.

[iboatedhere]

Thank you @henryspearl @suseagull04 @orchidscript @cha-melodius @lemonlyman-dotcom & @jmagnabo92 for the tags!

I hit the lower limit for my @aroyallybigbangrwrb fic this week!

--

It takes him almost forty five minutes to go less than three miles but he doesn’t mind it. He sits with his head against the window and watches the city pass in jilted starts and stops, his breathing getting easier and deeper the further he gets from home.

The shelter is packed, but it’s easy to spot Henry behind a long row of tables, scooping steamed corn and carrots onto plates. 

He smiles warmly at everyone who steps in front of him, dressed in an orange volunteer shirt, a red apron, and a hairnet. 

Alex feels like a complete fucking asshole standing there in his designer leather jacket and hundred dollar shoes. 

He thinks about cutting and running, but then Henry lifts his head and spots him, pinning him in place with a smile. 

Alex tries to smile back, but whatever he manages to do with his face must be worrying because Henry’s smile fades and he tilts his head with concern.

Alex really wants to run now but his feet carry him forward instead of away and soon he’s standing in front of Henry.

“Are you all right?” 

“I’m fine.”

Henry raises his brows.

“Seriously, I’m good,” Alex tells him. “Just put me to work.”

Henry looks him over then nods. “Go see Donna,” he says, “she’ll tell you where to go.”

Donna, the recreational coordinator who takes Thanksgiving very seriously if her pilgrim hat and light-up turkey necklace are anything to go by, throws an apron and a hairnet at him and sets him up at the beginning of the line, handing out rolls and prepackaged pads of butter.

It helps to take his mind off things. Having something to do with his hands and people to talk to. 

When the line ends Donna pushes a full plate of food into his hands and tells him to enjoy. 

He finds an open seat and doesn’t look up when Henry sits down across from him with his own plate.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Alex says. 

“I didn’t say that you had to.”

“I know, but the way that you’re looking at me….”

“How do you know how I’m looking at you? Is it projected in your cranberry sauce?”

Alex heaves a sigh and lifts his head to meet Henry’s ocean blue eyes. 

“You’re looking at me like that.”

“I’m afraid it’s just the way my face looks.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.” He pokes at his food then groans. “I left,” he admits. “My parents had been at each other's throats all night and then June got into it with them and I couldn’t take it so I left.”

“That seems like a valid response.”

Alex scoffs. “How? I left my home.” He taps his finger against the table. “I ran away like a little kid. I’m thirty three years old.”

“And I still think it was a very mature thing to do. You were in a situation that made you uncomfortable and instead of engaging or making things worse for yourself or others you left. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You really are best friends with Dr. Okonjo, aren’t you?”

“The bestest,” Dr. Okonjo says, appearing at Henry’s side as if he’s been summoned. He’s stolen Donna’s turkey necklace—or maybe he has his own—and his hair is a rich auburn, perfect for fall. “What are we talking about?” 

“How you’ve rubbed off on Henry.”

“Never,” Dr. Okonjo, says brightly, “but I do try to be a good influence and please, Alexander, if we’re going to be friends we’ll need to drop the formalities. Call me Percy, darling, or better yet, Pez.”

“Then call me, Alex, please. Alexander is reserved for my mother.”

“And how is your mother?” Pez asks. “Your lovely sister mentioned that all your parents were in town for the holiday.”

“They were alive last I knew. Slight chance my sister has killed them by now. Maybe she let my step dad survive or maybe she thought it would be better to leave no witnesses. She and Nora might be on the run.”

“How exciting,” Pez says without missing a beat and Alex laughs. “I assume you came here to have plausible deniability of any wrongdoing.” 

“Yeah, that sounds a lot better than just running away.”

“At least you only crossed town to get away from your family and not the Atlantic,” he says with a significant look toward Henry who rolls his eyes.

“As I was telling Alex, sometimes the mature thing to do is leave.”

“Indeed,” Pez agrees. “It’s important to take care of yourself. No guilt, love.”

“Just the dread of having to face them again.”

“That can be difficult,” Pez says, suddenly serious. “And you can’t hide from it forever. If you ever need to talk, my door is always open.”

“Thanks,” Alex tells him, feeling overwhelmed by the support. “That means a lot.”

“Anytime,” Pez answers easily while Henry presses his knee against Alex’s beneath the table. 

--

Tagging: @lightningboltreader @liminalmemories21 @porcelainmortal @fullsunsets @sunshinestrand @maxbegone @oxfordslutphase @inexplicablymine @anincompletelist @accol-fics @youcancallmekathyp @bitbybitwrites @cricketnationrise

[sleepchapter]

soobin yandere prompts 3 and 5

“no babe, you aren’t weak — i should just be the one protecting you, okay?”

“leaving isn’t an option.”

soobin was your boyfriend. he still considered you two to be dating, but you had wanted nothing to do with him anymore. he just lost it one day. he invited you to his home, everything was going fine up until when you got up to leave he blocked the door and wouldn’t allow you to go back home. he said he was doing it all to protect you and that he loved you, but how could you continue to love someone that could do this to you?

for the most part he just kept you locked in his room. you were only allowed to leave to go to the bathroom, and although he had a window, he blocked it off awhile ago. how had nobody gotten suspicious? he had neighbors, had they never heard your screams? did they not find it weird that all of a sudden his bedroom window was boarded up? were you even in the news? was anyone looking for you..? all of these thoughts caused tears to stream down your face and you move your knees to your chest while sitting on his bed. a few minutes later the door could be heard opening and then you heard it lock a few seconds later. you look up to see soobin standing by the door staring at you. he had a sad look on his face, and deep in his eyes you could see a sense of guilt after he saw your tears.

“hi babe..”

you don’t respond and just look away. he sits on the edge of the bed still glancing at you. obviously he was feeling uncomfortable from the amount of guilt in his body. you could tell he wanted to reach out to you but didn’t dare to. it was moments like this that would be best to try to leave. if you pulled at his heartstrings good enough, maybe he’d let you go. it’d be a lot easier to manipulate him and guilt him even more so he’d let you go. if he felt guilty from a few tears streaming down your face, then any words you said to him had to make him feel at least a little worse. you soon decide to look him in the eyes so he could see the damage he’d down so he’d feel worse and before he could turn away again you spoke up.

“i want to go home..you say you love me, but if you did you’d trust me.”

you stop for a second knowing you had his attention. he was about to speak up but then you decide to continue,

“do you think i’m to weak to take care of myself? you don’t think i’m capable of looking after myself?”

that seemed to garner his attention even more. his eyes widened a little and was genuinely surprised by your words. he scoots slightly closer and his face drops once again.

“no babe, you aren’t weak — i should just be the one protecting you, okay?”

you don’t respond and only sniffle and wipe the more tears rubbing down your face. they were tears of sadness, hurt, and anger. once again, it hurt more because you were dating him, and you were happy with him, so why’d he have to ruin it all by kidnapping you? you offer him a look of anger and speak up once again.

“you ruined anything we had soobin, i want nothing to do with you ! i want to go home!”

it looks as if you struck a nerve with him for a second and he sits there silent for a while. then his face has a more determined and slightly angry look. he looks you directly in the eyes and speaks up.

“leaving isn’t an option.”

he gets up before the conversation can continue any deeper and before you actually start to get to him. he goes to unlock the door but before he opens it he says something whilst staring at the ground.

“i know you still love me deep down, love doesn’t just disappear….”

he continues,

“but if it’s true, you’ll love me again. we’ll get passed this, we’ll be okay…”

he seemed to be saying that last bit to himself rather than to you. he was trying to convince himself that all of this was fine, but you both knew it wasn’t. he leaves the room, and you hear the door lock as his footsteps grow farther. this isn’t love, and if you can get him to see that, if you can exploit the bits of guilt he already feels, then you might be able to leave this place. things between the two of you would never be okay, but you’d be okay. you’d get out of here and you would be okay.

[quinnchee]

Bleeding heart

Spoilers for the new archon quest! And part of scaras voice lines?

Scaramouche x reader

Bleeding heart flower.

Art is NOT mine art by: fenkko on twt

You don’t understand how much I love their art

-

Scaramouche, The Balladeer, Kunikuzushi, names forgotten in an instant, never to be remembered always to be forgotten.

You were simply tending to your home, holding a small plushy, it had the softest hair and cute purple clothes, quite adorable. But… where did you get this? You placed the small doll down on the table and had a good look at it, it’s eyes were closed and it had a small smile, it looked homemade. You really had no idea where this came from, it didn’t look like anyone you knew nor did it resemble any doll you’ve seen out in town.

In confusion you picked it up walking to your room, whatever it is, you didn’t really care. It was an adorable plush and you were determined to keep it. Your open the bedroom door to find the perfect spot for your new friend, eyes skimming across the room and landing on the bed. Many blankets and pillows sprawled all over the place, you huff, why did you need so many blankets and pillows anyways? It just meant more work for you. Placing the doll down you continue cleaning up your home.

Scara loved sleeping with fluffy pillows and many blankets. The days when he would come visit you he’d immediately go to your room and pass out on your bed. Sometimes he’d wake up from his naps and silently pull at your clothes leading you to the bed, to tired to realize how coy he was. No matter how much he loved wrapping himself with the blankets and pillows, he loved snuggling next to you the most.

Headaches weren’t common for you, but with the amount of times you had to sit down due to your pounding head made you think otherwise. Your mind was hazy, it felt like there were little holes in your mind here and there, but the more you thought about those missing memories the more they just, magically fixed themselves. Maybe you should sit down for a little longer, maybe for the whole day.

You had eventually left the house, your plan to rest had backfired as everything you looked at in your home had only brought you more pain, so instead, you decided to go out. Your stroll though inazuma was peaceful, with no cloud in site and a fresh breeze you felt free. You continued your leisurely walk all the way to to the city, soon the sound of people and the smell of food reached you. Walking past the many stalls you stop by one, your head starting to hurt even more. The stall was selling dango, along with a sweet drink called dango milk. Although both looked delectable, your for some reason couldn’t bring yourself to buy any. Your head begins to hurt even more and you groan.

You loved the sugary sweet smell of dango, it was a warm delight you would eat once in a while. Once you had tried to coax scara into trying the chewy snack, but he only scoffed at you claiming he didn’t like how they would get stuck in his teeth, he then explains how hard it is to get out and how easier I’d be to just not eat it, you think about it before you agree. It was hard having it stuck in your teeth. You giggle, finishing your treat by yourself, opting to find something else for Scara, something he’d definitely like.

Why wouldn’t your head stop hurting? You wanted so badly for it to stop, it hurt, it hurt so so much. You stumble back to your abode, opening the door, you knew your headache wouldn’t get better once you got home, hell you left your house because of the headaches it gave you! But you didn’t really care, you just wanted something soft to lay on. Closing the door you notice something on the floor. A small white tassel the ends of it fading to a dark purple. What is this? Who does this belong to? Why is it here? You pick it up clearly it doesn’t belong to you, the tassel is soft it looks like it could match that plushy you found early that day. You stumble again, your vision begins to blur, quickly you make your way to your bed bumping into chairs and walls along the way. Throwing the neatly folded covers off your bed you lay down clutching your arms digging your nails into your flesh. You begged for sleep desperately.

The last time you had seen scara was when he declared his trip to sumeru. You questioned his choices and he replied with a “tut” you giggled, angry as he was you couldn’t help but notice how cute he looked with his his bottom lip stuck out. He looks over at you, before explaining his plan, while you could only stare in concern. You voiced your displeasure with his idea as soon as he finished, he scoffed again, but this time he wasn’t pouting, he was biting his lips. You two went back and forth for a while, then he stood up. Standing up with him you grab his arm,

“Are you sure?”

That was your only question to him before he violently pulled his arm out of your hand, you try to grab it with your other arm but he moves away causing you to grab the tassel hanging on his shirt ripping it off. He looked at you one more time sadness and anger swirling in his eyes. Then he leaves. You haven’t seen him ever since.

You woke up the next day, your headache gone, you throw off your singular blanket, stepping onto the cold floor, you turn around to make your bed. Placing the pillow and blanket back in place. You feel something missing from your bed, but that though quickly disappears and you forget. Walking to the kitchen you prepare a light breakfast, before heading out into the city. Passing by the multitude of shops you stop by one, a dango stall, smiling you purchase a sweet snack nibbling at the chewy treat. You never minded how the dango would stick to your teeth.

-

Fun fact I haven’t played the new quest yet

[moonlight0934]

Loneliness

Bruce likes to sit down at the Batcomputer, closing his eyes as he imagines the sounds of laughter from Dick first, then Jason. Now it’s quiet, it’s like they were never even there. Everywhere he looks, he sees things that make him think of his children, but he still can’t seem to find any proof of what he lost.

Then one day a child approaches him, tells him that he’s going too far. That he’s hurting people, including himself. He has dark hair, intelligent eyes, and a determined face though Bruce can’t see most of it. He doesn’t look as happy, or as carefree as Bruce’s children would. The way they would smile, and their faces would light up.

He blows the kid off without paying any attention to who he is, or what he’s saying. He goes home to drink for a while before passing out on his bed. Bruce doesn’t see the kid for a few days, almost long enough to stop thinking about him, but then he walks down the stairs to a small black haired boy sitting at his dining room table.

He feels his heart start to hurt when it takes him a second to realize that it’s not Jason this time. He walks over, planning on demanding why the child is here, but as soon as Bruce gets closer, the kid looks up at him. They stare at each other for a minute while Bruce tries to figure out where he knows this kid from, then it hits him.

“You’re Janet and Jack’s kid. What are you doing at my house?”

“Hello Mr. Wayne.”

Alfred appears in the doorway.

“What is this kid doing here at eight in the morning?” Bruce demands, his voice cracking.

“My name is Tim.”

Bruce feels like he probably knew that in the back of his mind, but he ignores that, because he doesn’t care what the kid’s name is.

“I don’t care. Why don’t you go ahead and head home?”

“But there’s something that I need to talk to you about.”

Alfred opens his mouth to cut in, but Bruce beats him to the punch.

“No, you don’t. The only reason my family is involved with yours at all is business, and you’re far too young for that. You should just head home, and tell your parents to call me if they need something in the future.”

Tim stands up, his vibrant blue eyes locked on Bruce. Bruce is taken back by how intelligent this child looks, how his calculating eyes stare right through Bruce. His children never used to look at him like that, but they also acted like children, and this kid gives off the feeling that he hasn’t had much of a childhood.

“No, I need to speak to you about something else. It doesn’t have anything to do with my parent’s business. So if you’d give me a few minutes of your time, Mr. Wayne, I feel like what I have to say is pretty important.”

Bruce wants to say no, to climb back into bed and cry while Jason haunts him. Instead he nods, not really able to deny this child any longer, though he’s not sure why. He ends up regretting it immediately when Tim starts talking.

Somehow he ends up with another child in the cave with him, almost like a reminder of what he had, but not quite. This child is quieter. He watches everything, but usually doesn’t comment, or speak up unless he feels like he needs to. Bruce starts teaching him, and he’s a much quicker study than Dick or Jason were. Tim is smarter, and he picks up on the detective aspect of their job easier. He’s not as athletically gifted, and he doesn’t put muscle on as fast, but he’s learning how to win despite his size.

He’s fourteen, and he’s already willing to do whatever Bruce asks, even if it’s completely ridiculous. He’s aware that stalking the kid’s every movement, restricting what he eats, and laying into him for every small little thing isn’t fair, but he wants Tim to go away. Bruce wants him to quit, he never wants to see him again.

Instead Tim shows up for training, gets beat up, and comes back the next day despite his bruises. Somehow having Tim around makes him feel even more lonely, because he can’t get close to him. He can’t let another child into his heart otherwise it’ll get wrecked, and he can’t do that again right now, maybe not ever again.

Tim, unlike him, is calm, steady, and thoughtful. Eventually, Father’s Day rolls around, and Bruce doesn’t even get out of bed. Normally Tim is having to force him to sleep, but he can’t even move that morning. It’s almost ten when there’s a soft rap on his door. He ignores it, hoping that Alfred will just go away. It normally works, but this time his door opens.

Tim steps in, carefully holding a tray with food on it. There’s a cup of coffee, french toast, and an already peeled orange. Bruce blinks tears out of his eyes as he sits up slightly. He regards Tim like he’s a bomb, but Tim keeps a blank expression.

“I thought you might be hungry. You haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.”

He steps closer, kicking the door mostly closed. He leaves it open just a crack like he might have to make a quick getaway.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You should probably try to eat something. I also brought you coffee. I’ll just leave it on your nightstand here in case you change your mind.”

He walks closer, and Bruce feels himself getting angry.

How dare this child try to make me breakfast today of all days? What the hell is wrong with him? Does he not realize that the people who hold that right are gone?

Before he can think about it, or even comprehend what he’s doing, he smacks the tray out of Tim’s hands before he can set it down. Coffee splashes up Tim’s arm and hand, and the food is thrown to the floor.

“Shit!” Tim exclaims as the hot coffee burns his skin.

Bruce just stares at him, not really sure what he was thinking, or what he’s going to do now.

“Shit, ok. It’s fine.” He gets quiet for a minute, obviously composing himself. Then he says in a calmer tone, “You need to eat though so I’m going to bring something up when I grab the cleaning supplies. You’re going to act like an adult this time and not throw it on the floor.”

Bruce stays shock still, watching Tim as he heads out the door. He comes back a few minutes later with cleaning supplies tucked under one arm and a plate in his hands. It’s all cold food, which makes sense since Bruce just threw hot coffee on him. He can see the burns starting to form on Tim’s arm and hand, but he looks away quickly. He never would have done that to Jason, but Jason is gone, and that’s why he’s alone. Bruce watches as Tim sets the plate on the nightstand, then cleans the floor.

“I’m going to ask Alfred to help me with my hand, so we’ll be busy for a few minutes. At least the next fifteen, but if you need anything after that, just let me know. I’ll be around for the rest of the day.”

Bruce frowns hard.

“You should leave.”

“Mhhm, sure. I’ll be downstairs.”

He disappears through the doorway, and Bruce drops back down into bed. It’s quiet again, though he isn’t sure which is worse. So, instead he decides to just get some more sleep so he doesn’t have to deal with everything. He glances at the plate one last time before turning over, and closing his eyes.

[randomperson99sworld]

Hope

~ Chapter 3 ~

Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester save a young woman —Natalie Johnson, from a coven of witches who are after her deceased grandmothers spell book. At first Dean doesn’t trust her, will he ever? Natalie is just simply a woman who gets roped up in the supernatural world from a mistake her grandmother made.

Pairing: Dean x OC

Warning: Age gap, slow burn, smut (in later chapters), language, gore.

Word Count:1,732

A/N: What do we think of Natalie so far? Happy reading! ♥️

A week passed and she had convinced Dean to take her to her apartment to grab some of her belongings. She'd been cooped up in the bunker for weeks, tired of wearing Sam's oversized clothes and desperately missing her own essentials.

"Dean, seriously, I just need to go get some of my stuff," Natalie had said, standing in front of him with her arms crossed. "I've been wearing Sam's clothes for weeks. I need my own things—clothes, shoes, my laptop, all of it."

Dean was leaning against the Impala, shaking his head. "And you want me to take you back to your apartment, with that witch still out there? That's a terrible idea, Nat."

"I'll be quick," Natalie insisted. "In and out. I just... I need some semblance of normalcy, you know? And I'm driving myself back."

Dean had shot her a skeptical look. "Not a chance. You don't know where that witch is hiding. For all we know, she could be watching your place."

But Natalie had been determined. "I'll be fine. You'll be right behind me, and I'll pack light. Just enough to hold me over until it's safe to go back."

Reluctantly, Dean had agreed, but he'd made it clear that he wasn't happy about it. The entire time they were at her apartment, he had been on high alert, eyes scanning the street and the surrounding buildings, looking for any sign of trouble.

Natalie had quickly packed a few clothes, some shoes, and the essentials she couldn't live without. The process didn't take long, and soon she had loaded up her car, ready to drive back to the bunker.

Dean had insisted on following her the whole way, staying close behind her car as she drove. Even though she'd gotten what she needed, she could see the tension in his posture, the way he gripped the wheel of the Impala when they finally made it back to the bunker safely.

Dean Winchester had always been an ass—he knew it, and he owned it. But sometimes, when Natalie was working tirelessly at her laptop, helping with research or hacking into some obscure database, he couldn't help but be reminded of someone else: Charlie.

The memory of Charlie Bradbury still stung, even after all these years. Her death had taken a toll on both brothers, a wound that never quite healed. She had been more than just a friend; she'd been family. And now, every time Natalie threw out some snarky remark or effortlessly hacked her way into classified files, Dean saw a flicker of Charlie's vibrant spirit. He didn't say it aloud—he never would—but it gnawed at him. She reminds him of Charlie.

Still, that didn't mean he'd stop being a pain in her ass. It was his default mode.

But Natalie? She didn't seem to mind much. After weeks in the bunker, she'd grown used to Dean's gruffness, his eye rolls, and his constant muttering about "geeks." She could tell, though, that underneath the rough exterior, Dean was a good guy—a man who had been through too much, but who would go to hell and back (literally) for the people he cared about.

And if she could help make their lives a little easier? Well, that was fine with her.

Later that day, Natalie was deep into her second cup of coffee when Sam walked into the war room, a tablet in hand and a look of grim determination on his face.

"So," he began, sitting across from Natalie. "We've got a new case."

Dean wandered in, wiping grease from his hands after another morning working on the Impala. "Great. What's killing people now?"

Sam pulled up the details on his tablet and turned it toward Natalie and Dean. "An artifact. It just got delivered to the Museum of Natural History in Kansas City. It's from an ancient tribe that scientists dug up years ago, but here's the thing—wherever this artifact goes, people die."

Natalie squinted at the screen, scanning the information. "What kind of artifact are we talking about?"

"A ceremonial mask," Sam explained, scrolling through the images. "Belongs to a tribe that was believed to practice dark magic. When scientists uncovered the burial site, they took the artifacts, including this mask. Since then, it's been passed around to different collectors and museums. And every time, there's a string of mysterious deaths. Accidents, murders, unexplained illnesses. Now it's in Kansas City."

Dean shook his head. "People never learn, do they? Just leave the creepy cursed crap in the ground where it belongs."

"Yeah, well, now it's our problem," Sam said, glancing at Natalie. "We'll need all hands on deck. You stay back and help us with remote access again. We'll need you to monitor the museum's security systems and keep an eye on any digital chatter about the artifact."

Natalie nodded, already mentally preparing for another long night in front of her laptop. "Got it. If that thing is causing death wherever it goes, I'll be able to track anything weird in the surrounding areas, too. People post about strange stuff online all the time."

Dean folded his arms, leaning against the table. "So, what? We're gonna waltz in, grab the cursed mask, and torch it?"

"That's the plan," Sam said, though his tone suggested it wouldn't be that easy. "But we'll need to be careful. This thing's been killing people for centuries. We don't know what kind of power it holds."

Dean huffed. "When do we ever?"

As the brothers headed to the museum, Natalie stayed back in the bunker, once again manning her setup of multiple screens and monitoring systems. She had hacked into the museum's security system within minutes, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she bypassed firewalls with ease. Cameras, floor plans, and employee schedules popped up on her screens, giving her full access to everything she needed to help the brothers navigate the place.

"Okay, you're in," Natalie's voice crackled through the comms. "I've got access to all the cameras. The artifact is in the east wing, in a restricted section of the museum. I'll guide you through."

Dean's voice came through the earpiece, tinged with his usual sarcasm. "Yeah, yeah. Just make sure we don't trip any alarms, geek."

Natalie smirked, rolling her eyes as she leaned back in her chair. "I got you covered. Just try not to touch anything else in there that could be cursed."

Sam and Dean moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridors of the museum, with Natalie's voice guiding them as they approached the east wing. The museum was closed for the night, but they knew security would still be tight.

"Alright, there's a guard making his rounds near the entrance to the east wing," Natalie said through the comms. "You've got about 30 seconds to get past him while he's turning the corner."

Dean, crouching behind a display case, whispered, "We're moving. Don't let him spot us, Nat."

The brothers slipped past the guard just as Natalie had predicted, and soon they were standing in front of the glass display case that housed the mask. The artifact itself was eerie—carved from dark wood, with hollow eye sockets that seemed to watch them as they approached.

Dean grimaced. "That thing's definitely bad news."

Sam reached for his lockpick set, but before he could get to work, Natalie's voice came through again. "Guys, I'm getting some weird readings. Heat signatures... but not human. Something's moving toward you, fast."

Dean glanced around, his hand moving instinctively to his gun. "Great. What now?"

Suddenly, the room grew cold, and shadows seemed to shift unnaturally around them. The mask's hollow eyes began to glow faintly, a sickly green light emanating from within.

"Get the mask and move," Natalie urged through the earpiece, her voice tense. "Something's wrong. It's reacting to you being there."

Sam quickly picked the lock on the display case, his fingers moving swiftly. He grabbed the mask, wrapping it in cloth to prevent any direct contact. As soon as he lifted it, the lights in the museum flickered, and a low, ominous whisper filled the air.

"Dean, we need to go—now!" Sam urged, backing away as the temperature continued to drop.

"On it!" Dean grabbed his machete, watching as dark, humanoid figures materialized from the shadows, their forms twisted and unnatural. "Great. Ghosts and a cursed mask. What a night."

The brothers fought their way through the spectral entities, each swing of Dean's machete dispersing the ghostly figures momentarily. With the mask in hand, they raced back toward the exit, the museum's alarms suddenly blaring.

"Guys, security's been triggered!" Natalie called out, her fingers typing frantically as she tried to disable the alarms remotely. "You've got less than a minute before the guards swarm that wing. Get out of there!"

Dean cursed under his breath as they bolted down the hall. "I knew we should've just burned this place down."

Hours later, after the mask had been safely stashed away for proper disposal, Dean and Sam returned to the bunker, looking exhausted but triumphant. Natalie was still at her laptop, having stayed up to make sure they got out safely.

"Well?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as they trudged into the war room. "How was your haunted museum adventure?"

"Ghosts. Cursed masks. Almost got arrested," Dean muttered, collapsing into a chair. "Same old, same old."

Sam, on the other hand, smiled at her. "You were a big help tonight, Natalie. We couldn't have done it without you."

Natalie grinned, leaning back. "Glad to hear it. Though, if we're being honest, I'd rather not have to hack into another museum's security system anytime soon."

Dean glanced over at her, and for once, his tone wasn't entirely snarky. "You did good tonight, Nat. Real good."

Natalie blinked in surprise. It wasn't exactly a glowing compliment, but coming from Dean, it was practically a rave review.

She smiled faintly. "Thanks, Dean. Maybe you'll start trusting me after all."

Dean just smirked, grabbing a beer from the fridge. "Don't push your luck."

As the night wound down, and the brothers finally let themselves relax for a moment, Natalie realized something important. She might still be a stranger in this world of monsters and magic, but she was becoming part of the team.

And that? That was something she could live with.

[autisticlancemcclain]

prev chapter

———

Seven in the morning on September 8th, the mourning doves gently cooing as the sun rises, the walk to the minivan is as silent as a graveyard.

“C’mon, guys,” Luis tries, but not that hard. “Let’s try for a good year, okay?”

To her credit, Veronica does her best to muster up a smile. Marco manages a nod.

Rachel does nothing. She hasn’t so much as spoken a word since the accident.

The half-hour drive to where everyone needs to do is completely silent. Luis tries initially to put on the radio, but he hears Marco’s sharp inhale when he averts his eyes from the road to change the station and stops immediately.

It’s been three months since Mamá and Papá passed. Sometimes Luis feels like none of them are ever going to be okay again.

Rachel and Marco are dropped off first.

“Remember to check in with your guidance counsellors,” Veronica says. “Luis and I talked to them last week. They’re aware of the…situation.”

Not that it did much. They’d made an appointment to talk to the school administration as soon as the high school opened, just before classes started, but they’d made it to the office and neither of them knew what to say. ‘Hey, there’s a very good chance that both of these kids are going to have extreme drops in performance or even fail because they both just lost their parents in one night?’ No, of course not. ‘Please be aware that Rachel has regular panic attacks at the sounds of car horns and brakes squealing, and that Marco sometimes just gets up and leaves and you don’t hear from him again for hours?’ Probably, but still. How the hell were they even supposed to breach the subject? Luis and Veronica aren’t fucking guardians. They’re barely even legal adults. Hell, neither of them can fucking drink, yet!

But there was no one else to do it. So they mumbled their way through an explanation — parents dead, kids traumatized, go easy — and high-tailed it the hell out of there. Both of them have been hanging up the phone whenever the school calls.

“Love you guys,” Luis says as they wrench open the side door and hop out of the van, slinging their backpacks on behind them. Veronica repeats the sentiment. Marco mumbles something in return, Rachel says nothing, and then they’re both off.

Before they can fade completely out of sight, Veronica calls Marco’s name.

“Watch out for your sister.”

Marco hesitates for a moment, eyes shining like broken glass, and then he nods. He turns back around without another word and disappears into the crowded mass of teenagers.

“We knew today was going to be rough,” Luis mutters, starting the car and carefully navigating out of the parking lot. “We expected this. That’s what all the parenting books said.”

Veronica’s silent for a long moment.

“Doesn’t make it any easier.”

It takes them a little farther to get where Veronica needs to go. Her apprenticeship is entirely dependant on whether or not she can find a welder willing to take her on — it’s 2003, for fuck’s sake, it shouldn’t be that hard, but some people suck. Some people will be completely incapable of seeing her as valuable as she is, and they won’t even bother. It’s a shit reality, and frustrating as hell, but it’s their best bet for money in the long run. Veronica’s always been good with her hands, and with Luis already eating up funds in tuition and God knows how much savings they have left with Mamá and Papá gone, Veronica working as she’s learning is their best bet. The trades pay well, too, and they’ve got three more kids to save up for.

Luis swallows the lump in his throat. Marco has always wanted to go to Juliard.

How the fuck are they gonna afford that?

“Drop me off here,” Veronica says, pointing at a shop just down the road. Luis slows to a stop in front of it, peering through the windshield.

“…That place?” he asks skeptically. “You sure?”

If it weren’t for the two people arguing just inside the garage doors, Luis would assume the shop is abandoned. The sign’s paint is so faded and scuffed up that it’s impossible to read, and several windows are boarded up. The walls are more graffiti than brick.

“I looked it up online,” Veronica explains. “They don’t have a website, but I found a couple blogs mentioning it. Apparently it’s the most competent shop in town, and it’s run by a woman.” She shoots him a small smile, grabbing her bag and opening the passenger door. “I’ll be fine, you big loser. Or have you forgotten that I’ve kicked your ass in every fight we’ve ever had?”

Luis snorts. He has not forgotten. He’s pretty sure he has minor brain damage from the time Veronica slammed his head into a side table when they were fighting over a girl in middle school (who didn’t like either of them, go figure).

“Believe me, asshole. I didn’t forget. Keep your cell on, though, okay? Call me if things get weird. I’ll be here, you know I will.”

She smiles at him again, and seeing some genuine happiness and excitement bleed into her expression for the first time in months is more relieving than Luis has the words for.

“I will, Luis. Now get lost. You’re gonna be late for class.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He waits until she’s inside the shop and talking to who he assumes is the owner before carefully peeling off, mindful of the early morning traffic around him. Once he’s well on his way and a little more comfortable behind the wheel, he adjusts his rearview mirror slightly to see the baby seat strapped tightly in the back.

“You and me, now, huh, Lance?”

Lance grins at him around the thumb he’s got stuffed in his mouth, babbling happily.

“Yeah, that’s right, buddy. You’re going to be the first college-educated baby, because we sure as shit cannot afford daycare.” He grimaces. “Sorry. I shouldn’t say shit around you. The parenting books say you pick up on bad language and are more likely to be using it when you’re older.”

Lance does not seem to be too terribly offended, continuing to stare back at Luis through the mirror, brown eyes big and wide and knowing.

The parenting books say that he will have just barely gained a sense of self and awareness in July — 7 months — but Lance has always appeared so knowing. He’s ten months old, now, and sometimes Luis is convinced he already knows how to speak in full sentences and just doesn’t feel like it.

Babies grow at their own rate, Mamá had said years ago, when Luis asked why Rachel wasn’t walking yet. She’ll get there, mijo. Don’t worry your pretty head about all those milestones your textbooks tell you about.

It hurts to remember her words. Even now, months after the accident, thinking of his parents makes something like bile rise up in his throat.

But he’s never known anyone wiser than his mother. And certainly no parents better than his own, so he might as well get used to thinking about them.

He pulls into the first available parking spot he sees, in what has to be a fifteen minute walk at least to the main buildings on campus.

Oh, well.

He turns off the car, running through the checklist in his head — windows up, lights off, no check engine light, keys in pocket, seatbelt off — before getting out and opening the back door.

“Alright, Lancey-pants. You ready to come sit through Calculus III with me? Huh? Yeah, I bet you are, you little nerd. Let’s go.”

Lance’s carseat is big and clunky and heavy most of all, and combined with the diaper bag and his own backpack he feels like a fucking packhorse. He feels like a freak, too, with all the stares and giggles from other students he walks by.

He swallows, ignoring the burning of his cheeks, and walks on.

He just barely makes it to his class on time, sliding into one of the only available seats just as the lecturer starts speaking. He keeps Lance strapped in his carseat, rocking him gently with his foot as he takes out his notepad. He prays that Lance falls asleep so that he can get through the next couple hours without incident.

“…and hopefully you’ve all read the first chapter of your textbooks, and we can dive right in…”

———

They almost make it.

They get so close.

For the first two hours of the lecture, everything is fine. Luis is paying as much attention as he can, scrawling down notes to keep up with his rapidly-speaking professor. Every so often someone shoots him a dirty look when Lance says something in baby-talk, but they can fuck right off. Lance is being an angel, by baby standards. He’s almost completely silent, brown eyes wide as he observes the world around him, vastly different from the home he’s been confined to for the entirety of the summer. Any sound from him is no louder than the occasional whisper of any confused students. He’s fine.

And then the sniffling starts.

Luis isn’t quite sure what sets him off. He made sure to feed him just before they left, so he shouldn’t need anything else for another two hours. He’s obviously not sleepy. It might be a diaper thing, but Luis doubts it. He took care of that before he left, too.

Regardless, Lance begins to sniffle, and then he begins to cry, and no amount of desperate shushing and cooing from Luis does anything before Lance truly begins to wail.

Like a scene from a nightmare, the professor stops what she’s doing. Every eye in the classroom turns to him.

“Is everything all right?” the professor asks.

“Fine,” Luis chokes out. He doesn’t even take the time to gather up his bag, he just scoops Lance from his seat and flees as quickly as he can. Hopefully he can come back for his stuff when the lecture ends.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Luis soothes, gently bouncing an inconsolable Lance as he walks the campus grounds. Numerous people give him nasty or pitying looks as they walk by, but Luis ignores them. They’re not his concern right now. “What’s wrong, huh? You miss your parents? Me too, sweetheart. Fuck.”

Lance gets like this, sometimes. He just cries and cries, like his heart is breaking. Veronica thinks his heart is a little broken, and he needs time to heal, like the rest of them.

“It’s okay, Lancito. Let it out. Let it out.”

By the time he sees his class file out of the lecture hall, Lance has finally calmed down to hiccups and sniffles.

“Let’s go get our stuff, yeah?”

Luis tries to slip back inside as inconspicuously as possible, making a beeline for his seat and is relieved to find his stuff untouched. Thank God.

Lance protests when he tries to rebuckle him in the carseat, so he just dumps all his books into the seat and holds Lance instead. It’s fine. If Lance wants to be held, he can hold him. It’s the first day of classes, after all, so he probably won’t miss too much, note-wise —

“Excuse me, young man.”

Luis startles at the voice, whipping around to face whoever’s approaching. His professor stands a few feet away from him, straight-backed and tall, orange saree almost reaching the ground. Luis turns to face her, setting down the carseat and holding out one hand.

“I’m so sorry for interrupting the lecture earlier, Professor. I’m Luis Sanchez.”

“Sarah Lee,” she says. “And no need to apologize.” She smiles kindly, letting go of Luis’ hand and extending hers out to Lance. “And you, little one? What’s your name.”

Lance giggles. He doesn’t remove his hand from his mouth — thankfully — but leans forward to bat his head gently against her hand.

“This is Lance.” Luis pokes him in the stomach, making him giggle again. “He’s noisy. I wouldn’t usually bring him to class, I swear, but I had no other option and I already paid tuition —”

“Walk with me,” Professor Lee interrupts, and then she’s out the lecture hall without so much as a glance behind her. Luis frantically throws the rest of his stuff into the carseat and scrambles to follow her. She doesn’t speak again until they reach the campus gardens — the projects of fourth year environmental science students.

“You’re nineteen, yes? Twenty?”

“Twenty,” Luis affirms.

She hums. “Thirty years ago, I was in your exact situation.” She leans forward and plucks a sprig of mint from the garden, holding it towards Lance. “Good for digestion,” she explains, at Luis’ wary look. “And soothing the mind.” Luis nods once, and she hands it to Lance, who immediately shoves it in his mouth. He makes a face initially, but seems to decide that he likes it, gnawing on it slowly.

“You were in my situation?” Luis prompts. This is…not what he expected, but he’s so lost and the professor is speaking so kindly that Luis is willing to take any helping hand, at this point. Plus, Lance seems to like her, so.

“Yes,” she continues. “Twenty years old, freshly married with a newborn baby, desperately trying to get my degree so I didn’t throw away everything my mother sacrificed to get me where I was. Not an easy task.”

“Oh.” Luis feels horrible for misleading her. “Lance isn’t…he’s not mine. He’s my brother. My parents —” his voice cracks — “my parents passed, early this summer. I have no one else to watch him. My other siblings can’t take him right now and it’s not ideal, but I figured university has other adults, you know? People will be mature about it. I just — I dunno. It’s — I’m sorry if I implied our situations were the same. I can’t imagine what you had to go through.”

“Luis,” she says gently. She stops, facing him fully. “I am so, so sorry for your loss.” She considers him carefully. “You are carrying a lot on your shoulders right now, child. You don’t need to carry unwarranted guilt, as well. True, our situations are not identical, but they are very similar, no?“

“I guess,” Luis says weakly.

“I’m trying to offer my help, child,” Professor Lee says, reaching out and squeezing his hands. “Just like I was helped when I needed it. Accept it.”

Luis shudders, then nods. This is almost too good to be true, and he’s in no place to refute it. He’s not sure exactly what she’s offering, but anything is better than dragging poor Lance to class every day and hoping for the best.

“Good. Now, thankfully there are much better systems in place now than there were in the seventies. Did you know the university offers on-campus childcare for reduced rates, to help train the student educators? Come. Let me show you where to sign up.”

[saphirered]

hi! i loved your partner in crime fic for vax, do you think you could do another part? its so good ❤️❤️

This turned into some tooth rotting fluff. Hope you enjoy! 😘

Vax has not slept all night. Sleep would not find him but not for his usual reasons. No nightmares haunt him, neither do intrusive thoughts or at least no negative ones. Despite of his lack of sleep he is not tired. He’s wide awake and buzzing. He can’t seem to sit still. He has to fiddle with something; the button of his shirt, his daggers, the braids beads in his hair, his own fingers. He has to be in constant motion to get rid of these jitters. He feels alive in a way he’s not felt in a very long time. He feels like the missing part of him is just within reach. It is. You are. He’s meeting you for lunch. He hasn’t seen you in years and while he dared not dream he always wished your paths would cross again. He thought about how that meeting might go and compared to how your first meeting in years went, he could never have imagined. It was perfect. Everything was perfect. Though far too much time passed between your last goodbye and your reunion and it ached his heart more than he’d like to admit, when you’re there it feels as if not a day has passed at all. Everything feels so much easier, so unburdened and so natural, he longs for more and so the mere thought of you, of seeing you again this afternoon, it fills him with energy and joy. Some might say it’s entirely out of character for him. 

Seeing you at that ball, or rather your illusions, your nimble fingers making bank and your keen eyes ever precise. He’d spot you from a mile away, just like you would him. To think Vax tried to get out of his attendance to the ball, he doesn’t dare think of what might have been had he succeeded or slipped into the shadows. He’d have been none the wiser. He’d not be pacing in his room deciding on his outfit and the place to go. He’d not have been fumbling with that jewelled necklace you gave him. “My treat” you’d said for your lunch date. He doesn’t want to get rid of that necklace. It’s the only thing that tells him this wasn’t some figment of his imagination for his mind to cope with a terribly dull evening, or worse a dream entirely. If this is a dream he doesn’t want to wake up. The gold and gems remind him that you’re real and this did happen and he is about to meet you soon. Another hour passes and he asks his sister for some gold instead. She asks too many questions. He gives too little answers. 

It didn’t take you much digging. Vox Machina; heroes of the realm. Everyone knew where they lived, their keep in Emon. It was no secret. Dragon slayers, saviours of Whitestone. You’d slept soundly after last night; with your pockets full of gold, your heart filled with warmth and your mind entirely engulfed by the rogue you thought you might never meet again when your lives separated. Your dreams were just that; filled with memories of the past, and some figments of what could be. You don’t think you’ve smiled this much in more time than you’d like to admit. You’ve felt the exhilarating thrill of a big heist and a prosperous job but no amount of adrenaline or satisfaction fills you with the thrill of reuniting with him again. Vax will forever hold a special place in your heart. It just happens to be the piece that makes you feel so alive. You are grateful for his return even if it leaves a little blow to your pride that even after all these years, he’s still able to see right through your disguises and deception. In reality you wouldn’t want it any other way. 

You embraced the dreams until it was time to get ready. You’d go out without your armour, without all the tools of your trade, save for some you could hide beneath your specially chosen attire. Pockets are a must. It’s stylish but not too fancy. It’s light and leaves for full range of movement in case you need to run and dive and jump and hide. You’ll have no trouble blending into any crowd. When you said you’d meet Vax for lunch and let him pick the place, you didn’t think to ask the occasion so you’d play it safe. You haven’t put this much thought in a look for anything other than a job that required it. It feels good to do so without that pressure and leaves you feeling giddy inside. It’s time to go and thus with a skip in your step you wander down to that keep in Emon. 

He didn’t notice you yet when you approached. He was too caught up in conversation with a gnome dressed in purples; Scanlan Shorthalt you’d learned because how could you not after the ball. You slow your step and stick to the shadows a bit more. Vax’ back is turned to you and the gnome doesn’t notice you until you step out of the shadows. To which his expression changes to a sly and charming one. He all but pushes Vax aside which results in him turning on his heels. You have no eyes for Scanlan and do not even hear his blatant flirt. You just stare into those dark eyes of your half-elf and smile. His lips are parted and he seems entirely caught off guard, as if the realisation only hit now, as if he only now perceived the previous events as true. You approach. 

“Hey there, stranger.” You say. Your voice makes him melt and forget his own name. You’re perfect. Your presence, your radiance, it's all just perfect. You are the epitome of perfect. He forgets to breathe until his friend hits him in the knee and pulls him back to reality. 

“Well aren’t you-“ The gnome begins but is cut off by Vax who quickly puts a hand over his mouth to silence him. Scanlan protests and his next words are muffled but Vax cares not because he notices how you cover a laugh behind your hand. 

“No we’re not doing this. Ow! Did you just-“ Scanlan bit his hand. The gnome bit his bloody hand! He lets go and shakes the shock more than pain as Scanlan reverts to his flirtatious twat self. What he didn’t expect was for you to step closer and take his hand between both of yours. You inspect the mark, though there barely is any in the first place and chuckle when you bring it to your lips and kiss it gently. 

“Better now?” You raise an eyebrow and earn an offended gasp from the gnome. You acknowledge him with a wink and by some miracle catches the hint which adjusts hit attitude. 

“I’m sure Vax feels much better now, if only for your presence, hopeless love sick puppy he is. You’re too good for him but okay I’ll relent and sing the songs of the heartbroken.” Vax softly kicks Scanlan as if to say ‘piss off’ and the gnome needs not be told twice but it would not be Scanlan Shorthalt if he did not sing some stupid song to prove a point. While Vax does not doubt your observational skills, he offers you his arm and guides you along the road, away from the singing bastard. 

“You don’t think I’m ready for a proper introduction yet? Think I’ll leave a bad impression? Think they won’t approve?” You laugh noting the speed of your walk. Vax slows down and so you do as well. Together arm in arm you walk. 

“It’s more I’m afraid you’ll be the one to run after meeting them.” He laughs and pushes aside the visual of you being introduced to his friends; his found family. He’d love to have you there. He’d love for you to meet them and be part of that collective. He’d love to keep you around but he also wants to be careful. He doesn’t want to push you or move too fast. And that aside, it’s probably best to make introductions slowly and one by one because let’s be real, Vox Machina can be a lot to deal with. At least you already know his sister who will definitely be upset with him for hoarding you for himself. She’ll also undoubtedly be looped in my Scanlan and be able to put together the pieces on her own. Another reason he wants to get away from the keep and into Emon proper. Less chances of her hunting the both of you down. 

Together you wander the streets, sharing stories from your time apart. Many things have changed, even though it all feels the same, all these things just make him love you more. From the little details about your multiple prison escapes and heists to his mercenary work and dealings with the Slayer’s Take and Myriad. You did give him a good scolding for the latter. He appreciates your care. You point out all the mistakes in your flawed plans that got you caught. You laugh about it too. These stories you share with each other, they only nail home the fact you were able to pick up right where you left off. But for Vax it also leaves a lingering feeling. He’s missed so much, so much he wished he could have been part of. He mourns what could have been. What if you’d joined them? What if you came along on these adventures? Would you have been part of Vox Machina with them now? Would your lives have ended elsewhere? He can’t begin to imagine simply because none of it leads here to the now where you laugh at his poor attempts of a joke, and point out the valuables on some of the rich assholes wandering around claiming you’d do a better job at stealing them than him. 

You make it to the market square of the Cloudtop District. The city is lively and bustling. People go about their daily business as much as they are sneaking around. Especially here. The beauty of the upper class district is that it hides many treats of varying kinds from delicious foods to pouches full of coin and jewels aplenty but also the latest gossip and secrets. Now Vax doesn’t care much for the ongoings of the upper class, but he knows you took plenty of joy in it, whether valuable information to sell or exploit or simply because of the sheer ridiculousness of it. He’s had a good laugh with you in the past about the affairs of others and their terrible attempts at hiding them. Here is no different. He watches as your ears perk and your eyes shimmer like those damned gemstones these rich assholes care so much about. Walking by the vendors Vax picks up an array of snacks from savoury to sweet, cold to hot and some drinks too. Arms full you sit down at a bench in the square with perfect view of the people. 

“The best places here don’t have the best view for people like us. And I think the food out here is better too. We can go to a place we’d actually fit in after if you want. It’s every bit as rowdy and with plenty of gambling games to go around.” He explains and offers you some candied fruits. Your eyes spark with mischievous glee.

“Well I do love the sound of that.” You pop a piece of fruit in your mouth and inconspicuously point as you lean in closer to whisper. “Lady with the blue scarf.” Vax raises an eyebrow. 

“What about her?” Of course you notice something he doesn’t but then he takes a closer look and remembers what you taught him, the things to look out for. Fondly he smiles when he notices the lady’s clothes are plain but too well made for anyone of passible average standards even in this district and the way she moves, how she tries to stay out of sight but can’t be bothered to sneak around because of lack of skill or the mere thought of being spotted by acquaintances. Then he notes she seems particularly friendly with one of the merchants. Stays around and talks far longer than any customer, and wanders to come back around again every so often. Then there’s the way the merchant looks at her. He supposes it must be very much the same way Vax looks at you. 

“I think her spouse would pay handsomely for your expertise. Don’t you think?” He bumps your shoulder when you chuckle. You bump back and steal another piece of fruit but right from his grasp this time. 

“I was going to eat that.” Vax deadpans with the same fake exasperation he’s only reserved for his sister in the past years. He picks up another piece which you steal too, though you don’t eat it. Instead you bring it to his lips. He gives you a look but obliges and lets you feed the piece to him. 

“There there, all is well again. Now we’re even?” You tap his chest and he grabs your hand giving you a look only a thief catching onto a scam could. 

“You think stealing my food twice and giving back a piece makes us even?” You fake a pout and you hold each other’s gazes, waiting for the other to relent. You break first.

“Okay okay. Fine. I taught you too well.” You pull back your hand to cross your arms and raise your chin staring out front of you. Vax just kisses your cheek and turns your face back to him. He stares at you and whatever devious little plan you’d been cooking up, the one he can see in your eyes melts away as you just stare at him with such love and affection he cannot begin to fathom. You purse your lips ever so slightly. 

“Oh and now you want a kiss too?” Vax’ lips are frustratingly close yet not close enough. He keeps it that way much to your dismay. He’s playing with you. You suppose it’s fair game. 

“I can offer compensation.” You speak and the way you say it makes him melt but he doesn’t show it just yet. 

“I’m sure we can come to an understanding.” You uncross your arms, and let one hand slide up his chest and rest right over his sternum. “Won’t be cheap.” He adds when you once again try to lean in. 

“Name your price.” He doesn’t say another word and simply presses his lips to yours, soft at first in the sweetest most longing kiss you’ve ever had. The kiss turns slightly more feverish until you hear the clearing of some throats and a scoff and you can’t contain your giggles. You lean your forehead against his, cup his face and peck his lips once more. 

“So this place you had in mind? Is it less opposed to displays of affection?” You smile and Vax just gets up, offers you his hand and together you leave the Cloudtop far behind, ignorant of the looks you’re getting from the inquisitive assholes. You couldn’t care less and maybe they could learn a thing or two. Social stigmas be damned. You run to the streets onto your next adventure but not without diving into a side alley every so often to catch your breath and share another moment of privacy, as much as one can in Emon that is. Lunch is the furthest thing from your minds. Neither of you can be bothered to care.