#i was doing so well but now there's the lighting to contend with. never lit a multi-room cell before

[yourtrustyvault13canteen]

suffering and dying because i need to finish my l38 suite mod (and maybe my novac mod) before i start a new fnv playthrough. but maybe i will just start another fo1 playthrough instead

[stormyjane7]

Darling, Would You Like to Have My Child?

Summary:

Astarion finds out he can actually have children. Would you agree to bear them?

TW: Breeding Oral Sex, Sex Vaginal, Sex,Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Smut I've been busy over on Ao3 but I forget to bring it over here! So I'm catching up. Enjoy!

Read On Ao3

Before the death of your former master, you would have never been able to entertain the thought of having a true lover. You only had fleeting nights of so called passion before bringing your victim before him to kill. Now that he was dead, the netherbrain almost gone, you start to think of the future and what that meant for you.

You think about one recent night on your adventure that you had with her. You knew in that moment that you would fight for this love that had bloomed on the battlefield.

She stops you before you lean in to bite into a new spot along their shoulder. You always tried to take new spots not to mar their beautiful skin.

“Astarion,” She whimpers out, “You can bite in the same spot. I want to wear your mark. To show the world I’m yours.”

You smile at how much she had worked her way into your cold, dead heart and gave you life again. Because of this, tonight, you wanted to get started on the next stage of your new life. You had rented out a private room at an inn that your other companions were not at. A place that would allow for each room to be cast in silence so no sound could break through the walls. It was perfect.

You had set the room up before bringing Tav over. On a table you put potions, stored blood bottles, few scrolls of lessor restoration, and a few books you were going to show them to get your idea across easier. You were nervous about a possible rejection, but you’d still try for having a good night either way. You both deserved it.

When you finally bring her in, you make sure to cover her eyes so that it’s a bit of a surprise. You click the silence spell into place after letting her see the room. Her face was beautifully lit from the candles you had going and had a bit of questioning wonder when she eyed the table.

“Just what have you been up to Astarion, my love?”

“Well come over and see.” You lift the book up and hand it over to her. She reads the title ‘The Curse of the Vampyr’ and recognized it as one of the many books found on your journey so far. “I marked a spot in there for you to read.”

She found the tabbed pages easily and started to read outloud.

“We thankfully live in a world where most vampyr kill or turn their victims. If it were not so, many a damphyr would walk this world in the dark shadows of life. Any vampire or spawn can create such a creature. It could walk amongst us with in the light, eat with us, and yet still crave blood at differing times. Our world could crumble if this was allowed.”

She looks up at you with curious eyes. “Does this mean you’re actually able to make someone,...me.., pregnant?”

“It does indeed my dear. You don’t have to lose that desire of having children now it seems.” You grin and wave toward the bed. “Would you like to start trying? I would love nothing more than to see how beautiful you are carrying my child.”

Even in the candle light you can see how she flushes from head to toe. Her heart is racing and a small smell of her arousal hits your nose. You walk toward her to pull her close to you. “Just think of the little pitter patter of feet in the morning running to us. How they would call out to you for love and comfort. Your beauty as a mother would know no bounds, my sweet.”

She sets the book down on the table and looks at the other items there. You can tell she’s contemplating all options laid before her.

“We still have tadpoles to contend with. Do you think I’d be okay?”

“If you were to get pregnant now, just know I would do everything in my power to protect you. I am also sure our friends would do the same. They love you almost as much as I do.”

She closes her eyes, again weighing this as thoroughly as she can. I can see the delight in them when she finally opens again.

“Well, we can certainly try! Even if nothing sticks tonight the practice will be fun.”

With her words of consent, you scoop her up in your arms with a squeak from her and take her over to the bed. You laid her down gently and started removing your shirt. You then slowly unbutton her blouse letting it fall open to expose her breast. You reach out with both hands and cup her softness and give each nipple a softly firm pinch. The moan she gives you further hardens your now weeping cock. She lifts herself up so that she can take off her blouse fully and starts to undo the laces to her trousers. You hook your fingers into the waistband of them and her smalls to take them both off in a single motion. She laid back down and looked up at you with so much adoration in her eyes.

“Gods you’re beautiful.” You mutter it like a prayer as if she herself was a goddess.

You kneel on the floor and pull her to the edge of the bed. Hooking her legs over your shoulder you lick the slit in front of you. Her hips buck at the touch, you can tell she’s already wet from desire. Running a finger up and down her you say, “I love how just the small amount can make you wet for me. To see you ache and tremble for me is such a sight.”

Your mouth descends on her clit making her mewl loudly. Slowly you insert your finger into her warmth, lavishing her insides with a come hither motion. You add another finger and continue your ministrations till you feel her come close to the edge of an orgasm. You let go of her clit with a small pop sound.

“Oh gods, please don’t stop!”

“Needy little pup. You’ll get there soon enough but I want you to cum around my cock so that you milk me for all you can.” You remove your trousers and smalls fast as you too were inpatient. Your cock is glistening with precum. With her still on the bed you walk forward and pull her legs around you, with a free hand you stroke your own cock and slide it up and down in her slick. You make sure to rub her clit with the tip, making her trash under you.

Before she can say anything to hurry you along, you slowly push into her. Her head falls back as you push all the way til your hips are meeting hers. You start rolling your hips into her.

“Look at me,” you commanded, “I want you to watch as I thrust into you.” You melt as she looks up at you and then down at where your bodies meet. Her moans start getting louder. You move a hand down to her front, circling her clit.

“That’s it. Be a good girl for me and cum. Take my seed.” A few more thrusts and she was coming undone under you. Her orgasm threw you into your own making you throw your head back with a low growl. You keep pumping till you knew for sure you were done and pull out.

“I can’t say it enough. Gods you’re beautiful. All full of my seed. Look at you, such a beautiful mess.” You scoot her back a bit on the bed and grab a pillow.

“Now we’re gunna put this under your hips. Gotta keep that in there.” You place the pillow under her hips and give her ass a playful smack. “You rest and I’m going to recharge with the potions and blood. I am not going tot to stop fucking you till the morning. You will walk out of here bearing my child if I can do anything to help it.”

You both smile at each other at the thought. To continue the attempts through the night. She will be so full of you. What a lovely and beautiful mess her cunt is going to be when you’re done with her.

[jhuzen]

recess [m.reader]

the zhongli contender :D also did i mention i’m dropping these things to thank you all for 200 followers? so sweet, so nice :”)

𖦹 oral (reader receiving), throat fucking sigh, zhongli being in denial but coming around quick, zhongli being thirsty

Zhongli wonders what happened to the good little boy that he looked forward into seeing these past two years. He wonders what happened to you? The sweet young man that always greeted him eagerly in the humble abode of your personal study as he prepared for your lessons on that day.

Zhongli wonders what went wrong as he gazed into your cruel eyes that lit up with mirth, watching him with so much amusement. Zhongli wonders what happened to him when he started to cave into your sudden whims despite his protests earlier about your bold proposition.

Zhongli wonders just how weak his will was as his drool dripped down to his chin, resigned into your hold as your hand caressed his chin while your thumb slowly rubbed onto his tongue. His knees were numb already as he knelt to the carpeted floors of your personal study — place meant for him to impart his wisdom to you as your mentor, now tainted with the coercion you’ve done to him.

He was to blame as well, fully caving into your actions.

His jaw had hurt and felt heavy, opened for far too long, and while he could just close it up and maybe bite off your thumb as punishment, the lust that swirled in his golden eyes. The dignity within him slowly being tucked away as the look of a respectable mentor admired by many young men slowly crumbled with his utterly debauched visage.

This is wrong, his superego echoes with much conviction. You are this young man’s mentor! You were hired by the governor to only teach his son! And Zhongli agreed, only that the way his heart thudded hard against his ribcage and the way his slacks suddenly felt uncomfortably tight was a point of contention against his rational mind’s arguments.

“Hoh? Look at you, Master Zhongli, already so, so ruined. I barely did anything to you,” your smirk was cruel yet alluring, and Zhongli yet again has to wonder if it was the one that did him in. The reason why he’s in this position. “We ought to be careful now, it’s not ideal to find the governor’s son engaging in an… amorous congress with the great mentor of Liyue.”

He whimpered so pathetically at your words. Anyone could walk in. And it was not a far-fetched idea to entertain. Often do your maids come to check in on you, bringing snacks, and if Zhongli wasn’t mistaken, you’re a good half hour away from an afternoon tea break. He quivered as the urge to pull away and stop never came. He knew that he has to but he simply just can’t.

His eyes widened as you stood up, unbuckling the belt of your trousers and letting your semi-hard cock free. He almost fainted as your alluring scent flooded his senses. You were his dear student and yet here he was, begging to even get a taste of you. He was breathless as he looked up at you with unabashed plea much after a debate with his dignity before finally sealing it away for the meantime.

With your cock in your hand, you let him indulge his little high as your cock smacked against his cheek lightly. Your foot slowly making its way onto his clothed crotch, a quiet gasp left his lips when your shoe made contact with his length, nearly buckling over in weakness at your actions. This was slowly doing his head in but he pursued.

Zhongli may be your mentor, but he still was just a man. A man that yearned for something, and you gladly offered it to him so thoughtfully despite the way your eyes seem to light up with glee with every insult you hurl at him (that he enjoyed with guilt and shame).

“Come now, Master Zhongli, be a dear and open up, hm?”

For once, you were the one in command and Zhongli bent to your will, his jaw slackened at this point, ready to take in something far bigger than just your thumb.

He could barely quench his thirst as your cock slowly entered his mouth, Zhongli’s cheeks hollowed with every inch that you slid in and he almost lost his mind the moment the tip of your cockhead hit the back of his throat.

A satisfied grunt left you as his throat’s vibrations from his moan were felt by your sensitive cockhead. But before you could even stuff his throat any further, you pulled back, knees buckling at the sensation. Archons, your mentor’s mouth felt too good, too experienced for someone who said he wasn’t too big on the act of intimacy. Though you only dispelled your doubts when you felt a needy suck around the head of your erection, looking down on Zhongli’s eager eyes.

“Have at it then, Master Zhongli,” you permitted the older man with a grin, finding it endearing that your once respected mentor is now reduced to a cock hungry whore. “Go to town, why don’t you? Your throat must be parched from all the lessons we went through today.”

His eagerness shot up and his reluctance was no longer seen as his nimble hands grasped at the base of your cock, wrapping his lips around the head and slowly taking you in by a few inches.

You threw your head back at the feeling of his tongue swirling around the head, his expert tongue suddenly prodding at your sensitive slit before taking more and more of you in like a trained harlot. The wet noises suddenly engulfing your study, coupled with your mentor’s muted mewls and your soft and quiet grunts.

Zhongli absolutely worshipped your cock with his mouth, not even once letting up as the feeling of addiction nestled itself into the dark corner’s of his mind. He would moan at every chance that your cock would hit the back of his throat, only to run back to square one and suckle on your cockhead like a babe, hungry for its mother’s milk.

You supposed you weren’t too far off, especially with the hungry look in Zhongli’s eyes that you could clearly see as you pushed back his fringe, raking your fingers through his soft and silky hair.

You only have Eros to thank as you experienced the nirvana that your mentor was slowly but surely bringing to you, with the way his head slowly bobbed, tongue flat on the underside of your cock, gazing up at you with so much need and attraction. You absolutely loved the way your beloved mentor’s eyes slowly shaping into deluded hearts as he continued to suck you off with so much vigor.

With your hands on his hair, you couldn’t resist to give his soft tresses a gentle tug, shivering at the feeling of his throat’s vibration. You threw away the last chains of restraint as you pulled him in, shoving your cock inside deeper.

Zhongli’s eyes were soon filled with tears as he gagged on your cock, feeling the way his own throat close up around your head so tightly. He could almost feel your cock making an imprint from his neck, barely grasping at the straws of sanity as his trembling hands left your cock and caressed his own throat, feeling the way your cock continued to bulge against his throat.

His eyes closed in pure utter bliss as he felt his own cock twitch, so painfully erect and pressed against his stomach, begging for release, to be touched by you.

But you were young and reckless, and focused on your own pleasure, finally thrusting your hips at such a brutal face and force as you fucked his mouth into oblivion. Soft hisses and moans left your lips, as both hands curled and tugged at your teacher’s hair. You were cruel in your self-pleasure, only treating him as a toy for you to relieve yourself with, not as the respectable mentor you’ve had for all these years.

Zhongli’s moans were muffled, hand still on his neck while the other flew to grip on your muscled thighs, a soft plea for you to finally give him what he deserves.

You chased your orgasm as your thrusts became off with rhythm, sloppy and yet still so full of vigor, your vision whitening as you reach your climax, spending yourself down on your poor mentor’s throat so generously. You almost quivered at the pleasure, eyes closing shut, as you completely missed the way your mentor gazed at you as if you were a god.

Your sweet nectar was nothing short of an ambrosia now to Zhongli, swallowing every drop of your cum with little to no waste. He always finishes his meal, especially when it was given to him so generously by his favorite student.

[bumblesimagines]

The Sun and Moon

Part 5

Request: Yes or No

~~~

“What of Lady Florence? I’ve heard she’s quite the dancer.”

“Yes, Lady Florence is an exceptional dancer. However, she’s not a great conversationalist. All she spoke about was Lady Whistledown and last season's gossip.” 

“And Miss Jane?”

“She’s lovely, but her mother is...” Trailing off, (Y/N) smiled at his mother as she exhaled deeply and nodded knowingly. Returning his attention to the sky, (Y/N) took in the colors of the sunset. The sky had already darkened into a dark shade of blue but pinks and oranges surrounded the sun as it kissed the land goodbye. Perhaps his favorite subject. One many overlooked.

“You’ve been rejecting ladies faster than Lord Bridgerton, (Y/N),” Henry muttered quietly. “It appears his.. fastidiousness has rubbed off on you.”

“Oh, please, Father.” Laughing softly, (Y/N) shook his head. “I am not nearly as difficult as Anthony.” Henry smiled at the sound of his sons’ amusement and shared a glance with his wife, offering her a smile and gently taking her hand in his. 

The brightly lit building came into view, as did the many families entering. Lady Danbury truly never disappointed when she hosted. With the building being mainly built with glass, (Y/N) had a good view of everything inside; from the families to the decorations. Everything looked magnificent. 

Exiting the carriage, (Y/N) offered Lucy his arm and she gladly took it, delicately lifting her dress as she stepped out of the carriage. Releasing a soft sigh, she addressed her son with a smile. 

“Ready, my dearest?” She asked, giving his arm the softest of squeezes. Her eyes searched his and she smiled once more when he nodded. (Y/N) walked forward, keeping a slow pace in order to take everything in. Upon entering, (Y/N) couldn’t resist the smile from appearing.

“Spectacular as always.” Lucy breathed, the lights bouncing off her dark eyes and making them appear lighter than their normal color. “Wouldn’t expect less from Lady Danbury.”

Gentlemen and ladies had already gathered to dance, conversations flowing from each pair, though some seemed more forced than others. Mamas stood on the sidelines, eagerly watching their daughters with hopeful eyes, praying their daughters found a good match. There were few fathers around, the ones present either there to supervise or to talk business.

“Now, I do hope you take to the floor this season.” Lucy tugged at his arm and narrowed her eyes at him playfully. Chuckling softly, the young painter pulled away from his mother and slipped past the people gathered. He took a glass from one of the servants, taking a sip of the lemonade and watching the couples dance.

“A little bird told me you’re searching for a wife. Are you trying to take the ladies from Anthony?”

“I assure you, Benedict, this painter is no match for the Viscount.” (Y/N) turned his head to address his friend with a smile. Benedict hummed, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he smiled.

“How could you be so sure? You’re quite the charmer.”

Raising his brows, (Y/N) turned to look over the crowd once more before spotting Anthony, completely crowded by eager ladies and mamas. The rather helpless Viscount could only ward them off by assuring them he’d dance with them. Taking a lady's hand, he escaped onto the dancefloor with her in tow.

“Well, Benedict, do you see anyone flocking to me like that?”

“At least you're polite with the ladies. Anthony questions them extensively and offends them before running off to the next one.” Benedict exhaled and shook his head. “At this rate, he’ll end up going through all the ladies of the ton and not marry a single one.”

“I have faith in him.” 

“I certainly do not.” (Y/N) shook his head at Benedicts' response, turning back toward the dancefloor and watching Anthony attempt to dance with the young lady. From the hard look on his face and the occasional wince, it seemed she wouldn’t be a contender for Viscountess. In the midst of the dance, he forced a smile and stepped away, hurrying away from the dancefloor to avoid the rest of the young women.

“See?” Benedict grinned. “By the end of the season, he’ll have left a trail of bruised egos and broken hearts.” 

“And what about you, Benedict? Are you searching for your beloved as well?” (Y/N) asked, swallowing the last of his lemonade and setting the empty cup on a tray as a servant passed by. Benedict blew a raspberry and shook his head. 

“Not yet.” He responded. “I’d like to focus on art for now.”

“Well, when the time does come, I’ll be sure to help you find the right one.” (Y/N) cooed softly and Benedict hummed, a genuine smile appearing on his face. His eyes softened and he placed his hand on (Y/N)s’ arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve you.” He spoke quietly.

“You’re a good man, Benedict. A talented one at that.” (Y/N) assured him and smiled. “Albeit obnoxious at times-”

“That’ll be the last time I’m nice to you. ” Benedict scoffed playfully and retracted his arm, lips forming a pout. 

Smiling, he continued, “But you are the greatest friend one could ask for, Benedict.” The Bridgertons’ shoulders lowered and he exhaled through his nose, eyes twinkling with happiness.

“I’ll go check on Anthony and make sure he hasn’t been swarmed again.” (Y/N) laughed and stepped away from Benedict, heading in the direction he’d seen Anthony go in. The servants posted outside opened the door for him and he stepped out, hearing two irritated voices going at one another.

“You take issue with my requirements?” Anthonys’ voice. Instantly recognizable and filled with a hint of surprise. However, (Y/N) didn’t recognize the voice that followed after. 

“I take issue with any man who views women as mere chattels and breeding stock!” (Y/N) sharply inhaled at the woman's words and he walked forward, going down the few steps and turning his head to get a good view of the situation. A lady, possibly not much older than (Y/N), stood infront of Anthony with a look of frustration and borderline disgust. 

“None of that was meant for yo-”

“Viscount Bridgerton, yes? When you manage to find this paragon of virtue, whatever makes you think she will accept your suit? Are the young ladies of London truly so easily won by a pleasing smile and absolutely nothing more?” A grin pulled at the tips of (Y/N)s lips. A lady with opinions who wasn’t afraid to speak them. Quite intriguing. Eloise would certainly be thrilled to hear about her.

“Your character is as deficient as your horsemanship. I shall bid you good night.” The woman spat, glowering as she brushed past Anthony. Her eyes found (Y/N)s and she stopped, lips parting. He could practically hear the thoughts racing in her head. (Y/N) raised his hand and lowered his head to show he wasn’t interested in reprimanding her for speaking to Anthony in such a way.

“He needed to hear that, My Lady.” (Y/N) smiled and stepped aside for her to head back inside. Her eyes widened at his words but she nodded and glared back toward Anthony one final time before heading inside, nodding her head once more as she walked past (Y/N). 

When the doors shut, Anthony attempted to speak, “(Y/N)-”

“Please tell me you didn’t say that, infront of a lady no less.”

“Those weren’t my exact words, but-”

“Anthony, my goodness!” (Y/N) gave him an exasperated look. “If you truly desire to find a wife then you mustn’t insult the women of the ton!”

“I do not desire-” Anthony cut himself off, quickly shutting his mouth and clenching his jaw. His eyes shut and he ran his fingers over his forehead, facing away from him.

With a frown on his face, (Y/N) took a step closer to him and raised his hand, gently grasping Anthonys’ bicep. His fingers tightened slightly and he felt Anthony tense under his touch. Inhaling, he tugged on his arm to get his attention. When Anthony finally looked back at him, (Y/N) offered him a small smile.

“You know I’m here if you ever wish to speak of your burdens, Anthony. That’s what friends are for.”

“Yes... Friends..” (Y/N) was his friend, Anthony reminded himself. He couldn’t court the painter, even if he plagued his thoughts every waking hour. 

“Thank you, (Y/N).” Anthony swallowed. But friends didn’t think of each other like that. They didn’t yearn for their touch or wonder what kissing the other would feel like. No, friends didn’t do that. So, why did Anthony wish for those things?

“I do hope you’ll apologize to her. It’s the least she deserves.”

“She eavesdropped.”

“She overheard something you shouldn’t have said, to begin with, Anthony.” Dropping his hand and sighing, (Y/N) turned back towards the building and watched the people inside. From the outside looking in. It'd always been how he felt at these events. 

“Something on your mind?” Anthony asked softly and took another step towards the painter. The light from inside was bright enough to illuminate some of the outside areas, casting a glow on (Y/N). He looked angelic. "You can tell me of your burdens too, you know."

"Mine are silly compared to yours, Anthony." (Y/N) responded solemnly. "You have enough to worry about."

"From my understanding, it's what friends do. Listen in times of need." Anthony smiled as he spoke, feeling himself inch closer to the painter until their fingers nearly brushed against each other. (Y/N) laughed and raised his hand to his face when a small snort slipped out. The sound alone made Anthonys' smile widen, watching the tip of (Y/N)s' ears turn a soft red. 

Clearing his throat, (Y/N) gave Anthony a pleased smile. "So you have been listening."

"I'll have you know I was an excellent student. I excelled in my studies. I cannot say the same for most others here."

"But oh so arrogant." (Y/N) said teasingly, tsking softly and shaking his head at Anthony. "It is one thing to be proud of your accomplishments, it is another to be arrogant about them, Anthony." 

Anthonys' gaze lowered to the ground as he thought about his words. He supposed he could come off as a rather arrogant man. But, from the looks of things, most people didn't appear to mind. (Y/N) had been joking, he knew that from his tone, but did he dislike it? Anthony didn't like the thought of (Y/N) disliking him. "Do you truly think I'm arrogant? Is it... bad?"

(Y/N)s' smile softened considerably. "Oh, Anthony." He cooed and chuckled, unaware of the butterflies that erupted in Anthonys' stomach. "I think you can be arrogant at times, but you've got good qualities that show themselves more. Whether you believe it or not, you are a good person and I'm glad I met you." 

"Thank you."

"Anytime."

                ꕤ         ꕤ       ꕤ       ꕤ       ꕤ       ꕤ

(Y/N) dragged his pencil down the paper, retracing the lines a few more times. The sketch was rough and he’d barely even begun it, but even so, it resembled his dear friend; Lord Anthony Bridgerton. Anthony proved to be quite the subject to draw, but (Y/N) doubted he could ever sit still enough for him to draw him. So, (Y/N) chose to do it from memory. (Y/N) couldn't resist, especially with the clear skies above.

“I remember when you were just a boy.” Lifting his head, (Y/N) watched as his father settled down beside him on the bench, raising a brow at his words.

“You must’ve been around six or seven and already showing an interest in art. Do you remember the first drawing you brought us? A sketch of your dear mother. It shared no resemblance and yet...” Inhaling deeply, Henry smiled to himself as he stared out at the yard, lost in the memory. 

“I had been so proud. My little boy shared my passion and whilst it was horribly drawn,” Henry chuckled to himself. “It was perfect in your eyes so we never disagreed. You’ve always been like that... Seeing the perfections instead of flaws.”

“Where are you going with this, Father? I sense a fatherly lecture coming.” (Y/N) teased lightly but he braced himself mentally. His father had a knack for being sentimental at times but he knew him. He had something on his mind. Something distracting him.

“I trust your judgment, (Y/N). I truly do. You know right from wrong, you can practically smell lies, and yet... I feel as if you lose all common sense when it comes to love.”

“Most people do, Father.”

“It frightens me, (Y/N),” Henry revealed softly, quietly. “Love is dangerous for people like us.”

Pursing his lips, (Y/N) lowered his gaze to his sketch and sighed, closing the sketchbook and setting it aside. “If this is about-”

“I have been telling you this since you first showed interest in men for a reason. Trusting the wrong people, loving the wrong people... It could spell disaster for us, (Y/N). Not would the family's image be at stake, but our lives as well. This world is not kind to people like us. I trust Benedict as much as you but the Viscount? He's a traditional man.”

“Anthony and I are friends, Father. He does not see me like that.”

“It’s not only that, (Y/N)... I- I would hate to see you hurt.” (Y/N) felt his heart twist as Henry’s eyes watered. His father faced him and reached out to gently cup his cheek.

“You have such a warm heart, (Y/N). You have so much love and kindness to give. Many people do not deserve such things. They’ll take your heart and crush it without even blinking. It is why I am so hesitant on this friendship with Lord Bridgerton. Benedict shares your warmth, your curiosity, and he understands. Anthony's a serious man, (Y/N). Rejection from him would be...” Henry gently took (Y/N)s hands in his and squeezed them. 

“Find someone warm... Not someone who will eclipse you, my son.” 

“Father, Anthony has been nothing but kind to me.” (Y/N) spoke gently. “Anthony may seem cold and arrogant and self-absorbed... but he’s loving and caring. He cares dearly for his family. He would light himself ablaze if it meant keeping them warm. I do not have... feelings for him. But if I did, I know to keep him at arm's length. A man like him needs a wife and children. I cannot give him that. But I can give him my friendship and somebody to lean on when he falters.”

“Are you certain you do not have feelings for him?”

“I’m certain. I can assure you, I care for him as much as I care for Benedict. He sees me as merely a friend, Father.”

              ꕤ         ꕤ       ꕤ       ꕤ       ꕤ       ꕤ

“Will Mr. Granville be in attendance?”

“Why do you care, Brother? You’re here to find your bride, aren’t you? Surely, you can do that without him.” Benedict stared intently at his brother as he spoke. The way Anthony acted, appearing almost dependent on (Y/N)s approval and presence, had arose suspicion in his younger brother. Anthony cleared his throat and glanced at him, clasping his hands behind his back.

“I care because...” Anthony trailed off, eyes flickering from guest to guest as he racked his brain for a reason. Why did he care? He had plenty of friends that he drank and spoke with. There were many lords he’d known for years and yet... None of them made his mood lift like (Y/N). 

“Because he is a painter! He’s got an eye for beauty, does he not?” Anthony finally answered, turning to look at Benedict with a satisfied smile. Benedicts’ brow lifted and he released an unconvinced hum that made Anthony frown.

“What?” 

“Brother, I’ve been thinking-”

“Bridgertons!” Benedict watched his brothers' eyes light up at the sound of (Y/N)s’ voice, a smile appearing on the Viscounts' face as he turned around to greet him.

"I was beginning to wonder where you were, (Y/N)." Anthony instinctively moved closer to (Y/N), something that didn't go unnoticed by his brother. Shutting his mouth, Benedict turned to face the painter and greeted him with a nod.

“Mother’s making me attend all the events this season.” (Y/N) sighed softly, doing a once over of the room, gaze lingering on Her Majesty. Benedict licked his lips, getting an idea that would surely confirm his suspicions. 

“Has anyone caught your eye as of yet? Anthony should know, of course, I wouldn’t wish to see both of you fight over the same lady.” Benedict turned his attention onto his brother fully and soaked in his reaction. Anthonys’ mood considerably dampened; his brief happiness replaced with a bitter frown and hardened eyes.

“Ah, well.. I suppose someone did but I’m afraid I never caught her name.” (Y/N) revealed. “However, I’m not too keen on courting anyone this season. I just wish to please my mother and at least give the ladies a chance.”

“Wish I could have the same luxury.” Anthony piped up, eyes searching for his mother amongst the many guests. “But, I’ve already promised Mother I’d wed by the end of the season.”

“You’re a Bridgerton, Anthony. Love has probably been staring you in the face this whole time and you just haven’t realized because you’re blinded by stress and duty.” (Y/N) raised his brows at the Lord and earned a heavy sigh in return. 

“How right you are, (Y/N),” Benedict muttered with a chuckle, scratching the bridge of his nose.

“What was that, Brother?” Anthony turned to look at Benedict curiously but his younger brother waved him off. Before Anthony could prod him further, their attention shifted to Her Majesty as a fanfare played signaling she had finally chosen the seasons diamond.

“Your presence is noted, and your queen most appreciative. Allow it to now be my honor to present to you the season’s diamond.” The queen's voice echoed through the silent room. (Y/N) looked toward Anthony, taking note of his reaction. The eldest Bridgerton looked eager, eyes staring intensely at the queen while she let the silence hang over the crowd for dramatic effect. Whispers rippled through the crowd as mamas and ladies readied themselves to be potentially called.

“Miss Edwina Sharma.” The queen announced, staring directly at her diamond for the season. (Y/N) followed her gaze, seeing the crowd part to reveal the newly crowned diamond. Edwina was a young lady with a youthful face. She appeared to be on the shorter side, with curly hair pulled back into a delicate bun and glowing skin. She had kind dark eyes and a beautiful smile.

“She looks lovely.” (Y/N) spoke softly, glancing back at his friend. “Be kind to her, will you?”

“I’m always kind,” Anthony spoke breathily, tearing his eyes away from Edwina to look at him with furrowed brows and a small pout. He stared into (Y/N)s’ eyes, lips parting as he raked his eyes over his friends' features. Did (Y/N) always look this handsome? Perhaps it was the lighting-

“Anthony?” When he spoke, Anthonys’ gaze dropped onto his lips.

“Yes?”

“The diamond.” 

“Yes, right.” Anthony snapped his head away from the painter and weaved his way through the crowd, reaching Edwina in no time and gaining a dance with her easily once his title was mentioned.

As they danced, Anthony seemed more and more pleased with Edwina. He conversed with her more than he had with other ladies. It seemed like Her Majesty had picked well. Edwina already had an adoring look in her eye as she stared at Anthony.

“They seem lovely together.”

“Do they?” Benedict rubbed his chin with a gloved finger. “Well, he hasn’t offended her yet.”

“I’m sure they’ll wed in no time.” (Y/N) ignored Benedicts' comment and smiled, turning to look at Benedict only to find him staring right back at him. 

“What?” 

Benedict simply smiled and took a step closer. “Would you fancy getting some fresh air?” He asked quietly. A question that didn’t need to be whispered. Curiosity gripped (Y/N) like a newborn babe would its mother and he nodded, following Benedict to the nearest doorway, only for a figure to make a beeline towards them.

“And where are you two headed off to?”

“Ah, Brother, how is the diamond?” Benedict questioned, whirling around to face his brother with a large grin. Anthony eyed him curiously, taking a glance back at Edwina and her family.

“Lovely,” Anthony answered him before looking at (Y/N), awaiting the answer to his question. 

“We-”

“Shouldn’t you be getting to know Miss Edwina, Brother?” Benedict questioned and inched closer to the painter, his brother mimicking his actions and giving him a questionable look.

“I have all season for that.”

“Do you? What if she finds another gentleman?” Benedict tilted his head innocently. Anthony scoffed and turned his body, raising a hand to motion at the gentlemen present. 

“Four gentlemen approached her, she chose me to dance with first.”

“Oh, well, I’m sure that did wonders for your ego.” 

“Perhaps if-”

“I’m going home.” (Y/N) announced before the brothers could continue their childish yet amusing bickering. Anthony blinked and frowned, the smallest of pouts forming as he studied his friend.

“But you just got here.”

“And I am exhausted, Anthony. I worked on a painting before coming here and I’m afraid my arms are rather sore. I’d like to get home and rest.” (Y/N) explained with an apologetic smile. Anthonys’ shoulders deflated but he nodded in understanding, eyes looking him over before he met his gaze.

“Then please, hurry home. If you need anything, let me know.” 

“Very kind of you, Anthony.” (Y/N) responded, giving the two a smile before slipping through the exit and disappearing from sight. Anthony stared after him before pursing his lips.

“Should I have walked him to his carriage?” He asked his brother quietly.

“He’s not a child, Anthony.” Benedict chuckled and faced his brother. "But, this is quite fascinating."

"What is?" 

"You'll see." Benedict cooed and giggled, letting out a pleased sigh. 

"Are you feeling well, Brother? You've been acting odd." Anthony muttered and shook his head at his brothers' antics, turning away from the door and watching Edwina Sharma. She'd been what he had been searching for since the start of the season. And yet as his brother posed a single question, he felt conflicted.

"You've got your diamond, Anthony. What will you do now?"

[afreakingdork]

Reader stan here, happy to see more and more people are recognizing reader's impeccable rizz!! /lh

Ah but also..Donnie scrapping someone off the contending list just because in his eyes, she's not in reader's good graces. What a DORK.

And not to ramble but GOSH, reader is such a good influence to most, if not, every person they've come across in this fic. It didn't even cross my mind that Donnie would be apprehensive of being poisoned until Reader did AND made the point of eating first.

I enjoy these two so so much, I initially enjoyed them because I *love* a tinge of co-dependency and 'ride-or die', but overtime I also came to appreciate just how mature their love became.

That kind of love that's mellowed down and though it's not *exciting* perhaps, it's part of everyday life now and they've just become so comfortable around eachother.

As someone who's arospec but at the same time, a hopeless romance enjoyer, I used to be disillusioned and scared of that stage of love because I thought of it as being the end where you've grown bored of eachother. Now I realize it's not boredom, it's simple contentment with the other and damn, I see the light now!!

ANYWAYS SORRY FOR RAMBLING AND GETTING A LIL EMOTIONAL THERE, it's a testament of how freaking amazing of a writer you are!! Do you plan on ever making original novels??

Reader stan!!

Reader could have told Donnie they didn't like Ingis' clothes and Donnie would have dumped them off the list on even that 🤭

What's funny is I never intended and I still don't intend to make reader out to be some magical person. They're only prowess is the sea of all these dumb-dumbs is that they have the boldness to be honest above all else. It's their curse and gets them into so many scrapes, but there's such a power to being able to blurt out to someone something truly from the heart. It has such a power on this bunch precisely because they've struggled for so long with a lack of honesty and communication. Donnie has learned long and hard throughout the series that he needs to be upfront and honest and him heading in that direction is starting to take affect as well even though reader as a batting average that far exceeds his own!

There's something about 'healthy' or maybe 'chosen' co-dependency that I love so much! If both parties want it, is it really so bad to spend all your time together? I've had a ton of friends who've felt the same, you just need to be ready and honest when you no longer want to be that way!

Not to wax my experience here because I am quite single and in reality have very little experience, but I think your fears are founded, it's just how you react when you reach that stage. If you don't let yourself get complacent it's totally fine! You don't need puppy love to continue a relationship. There's nothing wrong with that initial spark going out, because it's lit a candle! Tend to the flame and you'll reap the light rewards! I subscribe to the Justin McElroy way to relationships: always strive to give 60/40. If both partners strive to do more than neither will feel left out. Also it's literally impossible for you to both give that much! As long as you make an effort for your loved one, that's what's going to shine through.

But like also don't strive if they don't! You do gotta watch yourself first and foremost!

Not a babble at all! Thank you for writing in!!! I do have my own original story planned, more than a decade in the making! It will see the light of day some day!

[terrence-silver]

what would 80s silver, compared to old man silver, do if beloved left him ? just for a little while to show him if he makes the same mistake again theyre gone for good.

Leaving Terry in the 80's?

Leaving Terry in any decade?

Said this a hundred times before but I really doubt you can if he doesn't want you to, regardless of the mistakes and missteps that took place --- he is the type to follow someone to the ends of the world and he has the resources and connections to pull it off too. Not to mention the tenacity. Terry Silver doesn't need to be a Billionaire with a worldwide network and near infinite resources to get back what belongs to him when he has so much intact willpower and the penchant of extreme possession. But, of course, money's simply always a plus. Private jetting to where beloved is? Following them? Stalking them? Hiring others to watch them? Bribing officials to detain them at leisure? Sabotaging them to eclipse and curve their movements? Rigging their apartments? Utilizing cameras? Eavesdropping devices? Tampering with their employment prospects, even from afar? Tampering with their finances, their livelihood? Those of their loved ones? Using their close acquittances and friends as fodder for blackmail? Covertly hurting people to get to them. Ensuring nothing and nobody is protected from him? Kidnapping them? Being the shadowy silhouette in the arm chair in the darkness of their living room at night when beloved feels safest and most secure that they've outran him and the danger he imposes and clicking on the light, there Terry is, smiling at them, lit cigar hanging from his mouth? Shark-like grin and all? You really thought you could get away from me, huh? He'd say. Thing is, there's no escape if he doesn't specifically want to give beloved escape as a rare extension of his mercy.

And Terry isn't the most merciful person.

Known fact.

He can dismiss meaningless, disposable token individuals with cold, mercenary leisure and acquire new people and new drones all the same with just as much emotional distance, but when someone truly matters, Terry Silver goes the other extreme. Should he step on and break both of beloved's legs? Is that what they want? To provoke him so he'd literally incapacitate them and ensure they can rely only on him? Those are his legs on his beloved, but if push comes to shove...he can and will damage what belongs to him and then proceed nursing it back to health only if it meant he can keep them dependent and by his side.

Do they want painkillers?

Something to relieve that infamous 'ow'?

They should promise to never run and again. Swear it.

He actually rather relishes them when they're so weak and whimpering.

Terry is ironically infinitely gentle like this, a spider with a precious little fly caught in his web, as he hurts beloved some more, a tender, slow sadist --- measured, in control and calculated, here to punish them and reminder how he felt like when they left him and this is just a molecule of the sensation he too contended with. Don't you know how much he drank? How much coke he snorted up his nose? How finely he bled his fists when you ran? How he sought to train every fibre of weakness out of his system with rigorous training and sweating? Well, now you'll experience it too and you'll understand. You'll experience him.

He loves you.

If he didn't, he wouldn't pursue you and you'd be so terribly and awfully free.

But, you'll never be free again --- not truly.

Is he cruel? Does such a thing even exist in nature?

Is the female of a Black Widow cruel when she devours her mate?

Or is it merely how things ought to be?

Naturally, even if he lets beloved go, on his own terms and conditions, naturally, and I'll the words 'letting go' very loosely and with a million quotation marks, it is simply always the calm before the storm. Terry going into figurative brumation. And his brumation can take weeks, a month, years or even decades --- depends how much he feels he strategically needs it and it can include everything and anything from reinvention, a change in bearing, a change in fashion, a change in company, in lifestyle, in the way he presents himself, in a million masks, but in the end, even if half a lifetime has passed and beloved feels they've long since moved on from the nightmare that is his love and devotion, Terry can always return to get back what has always belonged to him even if everything indicated so far that he has moved on. There is, really, no such thing as moving on from adoration for Terry Silver. Not with love. There is no letting go from actual love. No break ups. No divorces. No annulments. The taint of it never goes away, it merely changes shapes and forms. He'd rather impale both himself and beloved on a sword and die pinned on each other than ever contemplate actually setting them genuinely free.

[mochiimiiki]

| Be my valentines |

[zhongli, Venti, Childe, Xiao, Kaeya, Diluc x F!reader]

Here’s the scenario:

You’re alone on valentine’s day, probably thinking of your own problems and not paying close attention to the festivities of this new event. That is until he approaches you.

You’re standing alone in Liyue harbour. Watching the people of Liyue busy themselves down below. It was easy to distinguish the couples from the singles, as they all seemed to flock together.

You don’t notice the geo archon approaching until he clears his throat.

To which you’re obliged to spin around and face your contender, to your surprise you’re met with a familiar simple smile. A smile in which the last few months you had grown accustomed to.

You countered back with your own cheerful smile, eyes squinting against the sunlight as wrinkles formed around your eyes.

Your expression was priceless to the archon. Something that he would gladly die laying his eyes upon it for a final time.

Now unbeknownst to you Zhongli had made it his mission to confess his feelings to you, afterall Zhongli new all of Liyue’s history and he new today was a day of not only couples celebrating but of confessions.

The archon pulled a magnificent bouquet of glaze lilies out from behind him. He watched as your eyes lit up in twinkles and you gladly accepted his gift.

Clearing his throat he begun. “Y/N in the last few months we have spent together I have found myself growing rather... attached persay.”

“I was wondering if you would do me the honours of—”

“Yes!” You cheered, cutting himself off mid sentence.

“You didn’t even allow me to formally ask, it’s not official until I do so.” This grandpa and contracts I tell you.

Anyways in the end he officially asked you to be his girlfriend to which you joyously accepted and you spent the rest of the day together, showering each other in love.

Troubles long forgotten.

You’re actually relaxing in mond as you listen to your little bard friend play. He’s singing and dancing about making children laugh and couples smile.

He sings and tells tales of romances from long ago, how they fought to be with one another and died to stay together.

The talk of romances and relationships has you sighing, you had wanted to ask Venti to be your valentine but had cowered out at the last minute. Kaeya (your friend) had tried to convince you to continue, but unfortunately there’s no way to sway a stubborn mind.

Venti jumps over to you and plops himself down beside you. Leaning up against you which in turn cause a ferocious blush to spread across your cheeks, you spin away praying he missed it.

He didn’t of course.

Venti hums quietly to himself before finally piping up. “You know Y/N you’re so troublesome, I’d dare say more so than me!”

“No i’m not Venti!”

“You are so! You go about acting like you’re fine when there’s a question youve been dying to ask me all day, you can’t deny it I see through your lies.”

He booped you on the nose as your face snapped back to meet his turquoise gaze. HE KNEW?!

Venti whispered into your ear. “Kaeya told me, and yes. I’ll be your valentine.” He hummed sweetly before jumping up and singing once more.

You’d kill Kaeya if you ever saw him again, although he did get you your valentines so you couldn’t be too mad at him...

no you were defo mad and totally hit him as venti cheered you on

in the end you and Venti spent a wonderful day together singing and dancing and falling more madly in love than ever before, to top it off the two of you watched the stars from his statue.

Where you may or may not have shared a first kiss.

Childe didn’t actually formally ask you to be his valentines but he had seen your troubled expression earlier and big brother instincts took place.

He had grabbed your hand and said “Girlie let’s have a little fun, shall we?”

And so the two of you spent the day together, running from stall to stall eating fine Liyue cuisine.

Playing festive valentine games and winning each one, you know how Childe is hes in it to win it no other way.

It was the end of the day when the two of you had found a spot not far from Liyue, but far enough to be alone.

There you two sat alone, well actually with a giant bear Childe had won for you.

This time you spoke up first. “Childe... I wanted to ask you and I know valentine’s day is basically over but... would you be my valentine?”

Childe was taken aback. “Ojou-chan...” He began. “Wasn’t that what we were doing all day?”

hold up. WHAT??

“No way! Childe that wasn’t- did you think that was a date?”

“THAT WASN’T A DATE?!”

It took awhile to explain but he finally realised that no it wasn’t a date. Ngl he was disappointed but then realised you asked him out anyways so he cheered up fast.

Please he’s just a child someone explain to him you have to formally ask these things...

Okay please this man. “I have no interest in mortal festivities.”

He doesn’t. He really doesn’t. So lowkey like Childe you’re going to have to bring it up.

You go to Wangshu inn in hopes he hasn’t gone off to fight demons and as luck would have it he hasn’t!

You go up to his floor and see him staring across the endless Dihua marshas. In the golden light of the evening they’re actually something to marvel at.

You clear your throat in an attempt to get his attention.

He acknowledges your presence with a grunt and a, “What now?”

Nervously you step forwards and begin. “I made you almond tofu! A-and some chocolates... of course you don’t have to accept them but they’re for you so here!”

Xiao turns to face you. And unlike your expectations of having him meet you angrily at disturbing his peace hes actually surprised, shocked even. A mortal has never prepared him any kind of delicacy before.

Never mind that and chocolates. He isn’t oblivious to what you’re trying to do and he’s well accustomed to the ways of the Liyue people.

He knows exactly what he’s doing when he accepts them from you.

“I’m not very good with words... but if you want me to be your valentine you didn’t have to go through all the trouble. I may not care for mortal festivities but... I care for you.”

please marry me.

HOHOHO Kaeya.

Kaeya knows what he’s doing better than anyone in the seven counties of Teyvat. He has it all planned out.

Meet you in the morning with chocolates and a bouquet of flowers and then bring you to his favourite restaurant for some of mond’s finest cuisine and then he’ll take you out of the city where the two of you can watch the stars while sipping on dandelion wine.

However, the moment he sees you standing at the fountain centered in mond he’s for once at a loss for words.

You were utterly breath taking, a sight that he wished to savour like a fabulous glass of a 60 year old bottle of death afternoon wine.

You turned around and spotted Kaeya, waving him over. For a moment he forgot himself and actually stood staring. Before realising he wasn’t frozen in place and ran over to you.

Kaeya grinned his usual charismatic smile and handed you chocolates and calla lilies.

“I was wondering perchance, if this fine lady would do me the honours of accompanying me on such a romantic holiday?”

With a charming grin and honey laced words who could say no? Of course you were madly in love with this man so you accepted within a heartbeat.

Believe me when I say, Kaeya knows how to treat a woman. And that’s like a queen.

You went to visit him at Dawn Winery. He said he was too busy with work to come up to mond so you wanted to surprise him with a little gift; a box of chocolates prepared especially.

Like Xiao and Childe you were going to have to make the move with someone like Diluc. He didn’t care so much as for physical displays of affection and while he always took initiative love was a foreign language to him and so he didn’t know where to begin.

His butler let you in and you headed straight over to his office, knocking on his door.

“come in.” You heard the familiar low raspiness of his voice, a telltale sign he was overworking himself.

Upon entering you presented the chocolates with a proud smile. Almost immediately he got up from his seat and went over to greet you.

“I never expected to see you here Y/N but may I say you have made my day... and oh? What’s this?”

“Chocolates Diluc. I made them for you and I was uh... actually wondering something.”

He took them from your hands with a smile. He knew what you wanted to ask and yet he longed for you to speak the words.

“What is it Y/N?”

“Would you... be my valentine?”

Diluc’s smile grew, it was wider than you had ever seen it and it even seemed like a childish manour danced in his eyes.

He carefully embraced you and planted a kiss to your forehead sighing in pure bliss.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

[spiltscribbles]

Prompt: Pro Athlete Sirius because that my and Remus' kink

~Notes: OMFG VICTOrIA!!!! I FUCKING SCREECHED!!!! lkadfjlaksdgjoiaejfalskdgjioeugisfkldshg Yes tis my kink as well!!! And then I saw this from Nonny and worlds collided and BOOM! I hope you like this my love<3<3 You incredibly talented sugarplum!!! TBH I want to write a thousand more things in this AU XD

.-

FROM THIS LIST  |  Send Me A Prompt!💜 | A REBLOG MEANS THE GALAXY!!💜

.-

When Remus was young— surrounded by the light breeze of the Welsh coast and the harmony of birds chirping in the distance— he would follow his mother to their small garden behind their cottage  at the cusp of twilight as his father cooked their supper, and he’d watch as she laid flat all sorts of newspapers written in French and Arabic and English, watch as she brought her red pen against the ink and marked the articles with underlines and shorthand he wouldn’t understand for years still.

He asked her once, when he was barely eight years old, why she bothered to keep up with so many different publications, why she read the same story penned by countless perspectives when all the facts stayed the same at the end of the day. And he remembers how she had let out a quick, shrill of a laugh, tossing back her golden head while sucking in a puff from the bubbling hookah she had set up besides her— a habit she acquired from her Algerian, refugee parents, and one that became synonymous to those late nights in Remus’s eyes.

“Facts can be wielded to someone’s personal vendettas, Remus John,” she had crooned in that adoring way of hers whenever she spoke to him— honey eyes that were the same color and shape to Remus’s own flashing alight and their matching smiles going crooked in her stunningly beautiful face. 

“Oh.” Remus had replied, still confused as all get out but was perfectly fine with just holding his small vigil, watching her beneath moonlight and the soft glow of their outdoors lamps, as he listened to the shuffling of papers while she commenced this odd quirk. 

It’s a decade and a half later—  as his editor for the Phoenix, a small, but bustling online editorial that plans on dethroning the likes of Politico and Vox in only a matter of years, scans his latest findings on the corrupt boosters linked to MP Avery from Leeds— when Remus thinks he suddenly understands what his mother, with her keen eyes and pixelated air, had meant by facts in how they can be colored differently simply by the words surrounding them. And he wonders if one day soon, one of his bylines will join her little stack of stories, if she’ll be proud of him even if she says as much even now, when he’s a lost twenty-something stumbling through life in the capitol and barely making it as is, between his actual job and the gig he has at the coffee shop nearest his dingy flat he shares with three other blokes.

“Mmm, this is good, Lupin,” Dorcas declares after what feels like an eon, dropping her long, dark legs from where they were lounging leisurely on her desk and scuffs out her cigarette in a pretty, glass ashtray. “Send it over to Flores to look into deeper, maybe it’ll corroborate the info she’s already gotten from her sources.”

Remus feels himself bristle, hopes that it doesn’t show, that his face stays passive as he contends, “I think I should at least help her write the expose, I’m the one who got this bombshell.”

“That’s not how it works, sweets,” Dorcas toots, tossing back her dark head of curls as she rises, perching on the corner of her desk delicately and looking down, straight into his gaze. “I know it’s frustrating, but you’re fresh blood. barely six months here, but Alice has been with us for years. This is her baby, and we’re just here to nurture it.”

“So I’ll have to wait another ten months, at least,  to get the same treatment?” He argues in an admittedly petulant way, making Dorcas laugh endearingly, and Remus is suddenly,  searingly reminded of his age, and how he’s the youngest staffer that this London based news outlet has on hand. 

“C’mon, love, it won’t be that long for someone as sharp as you, just be patient, and don’t try to pull a Zoe Barnes on us, yeah? You’re far too pretty to clean up on the rails of  the tube.” Dorcas tousles a hand into his dark tawny curls, and Remus holds back the roll to his eyes that he feels willing up inside of him as he stands fully.

“Thanks Cas.”

She smiles beatifically, and throws him a wink. “You’re joining Emmy for the report tomorrow on those United footballers and their fundraiser for the hospital, yeah?”

“Bright and early,” Remus replies, still feels a bit miffed that he was chosen to write up the charity function, considering he doesn’t know a lick about football and doesn’t really get on with anyone who does. But Caradoc— their typical sports reporter— is out sick with the flew, so it’s on him. “I’ll have it on your desk early enough so it’ll be published by tea time.”

“Good man,” Dorcas says in thanks, picking up her crowing cellphone before waving him off.

Remus isn’t all that surprised when he strides out of the office only to find Benjy Fenwick sitting against the opposite wall, knees pressed to his chest and quickly scrambling up when he catches sight of Remus. Sometimes it’s impossible to believe that the bespectacled man in front of him is one of the top editors for the Phoenix, that he’s a regular corespondent for places like the BBC or CNN— that his rebukes against the piss poor inquiries waged during PMQs have become more anticipated than the sessions themselves. Remus tends to forget all of that when he sees him like this, messy haired and wearing a graphic T-shirt with some marvel superhero embossed on the front. “Wotcher Remus.”

“Hiya Remus says, smiling softly and rocking back on his heels. “You wanted to talk to the sergeant then?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no. I didn’t want to talk to Dorcas, I just— Erm, I know you were showing her that stuff you got from that intern, Pettigrew, and i know you were chafed about not getting any opportunity here so—“ He trails off, scratching the back of his head and studying a point over Remus’s shoulder, and it’s all too endearing, and Remus is so beyond thankful he’s made such a good friend here.

“No cigar,” he says in answer to the unspoken question, shrugging noncommittally even if he feels like shit over it.

Benjy nods, face contrite in a way that tells Remus he never thought it would’ve went otherwise. “I’m sorry, that’s bollocks.”

“’S whatever,” Remus shrugs off the apology, begins walking down the hall and straightening his report to hand over to Alice. 

“Ah,, erm. We can get a drink, yeah? In commiseration,” Benjy offers, and Remus stilts only for a beat before continuing the twisting trail to where Alice is set up with the more senior members on staff. And he feels only sorta bad about wanting to refuse. He knows that if he says yes, it’ll mean something different to Benjy than it does him, that he’ll probably take it as Remus finally giving into his pestering and deciding to actually go out with him, even if he’s refuted the other four times he’s asked as much. Remus’s simply just too busy trying to get a footing in this city, and trying to figure out where he’s suppose to go from here, and what he’s suppose to do. And yes, Benjy is cute— a complete Seth Cohen archetype. And he’s sweet and smart and funny enough. But Remus is really not in the mood for doing the whole flowers and wine and candle lit dinners shtick, had gotten enough of that while still with his university boyfriend. And yeah, he’s only just turned 24, but he already feels too old and too jaded for that sort of puppy love— even if Benjy’s got a good decade and some change on him.

Probably sensing his hesitation, Benjy is quick to rectify the offer. “I’ll ask Mary, and Fabian too, and a few others. We can make a night of it, just some drinks on a Friday after work.”

Stalling by the last turn to Alice’s desk, Remus looks at him from over his shoulder, and sort of hates himself for being such a soft hearted fuck sometimes. “Yeah Benj, sounds nice. Just let me know on the group chat, yeah?”

Benjy grins, much more genuine than his awkward quirk of the lips from earlier. “Yeah, good call, I’ll let the others know pronto.”

“Aces,” Remus says, tosses him a obligatory thumbs-up before finding an expectant looking Alice who’s tapping her foot impatiently.

Yeah, today is so bloody shit.

.-

Surprisingly, the round of drinks turns to another and then a third and fourth and Remus is currently nursing his fifth mango margarita on Benjy’s tab, and he actually feels lighter than he has since taking the job at Phoenix, feels bright and bubbling and like absolutely nothing could be wrong as long as he’s got this drink in his grasp and he’s sitting with the handful of reporters and photographers from the office that don’t all have sticks up their asses. It’s fun, it’s good. So obviously it couldn’t have lasted.

Mary is currently cackling about her Uber driver from last night who asked her all sorts of well meaning, but incredibly dense questions about her hijab— a freshly poured glass of coke in one hand, while the other is tangled into her girlfriend Emmy’s. And From his left Remus can hear Fabian ribbing Frank on his crush on Alice, while Benjy scoots intermittently closer as they watch Kingsley and Marlene sparring over something to do with a Kardashian or TikTok trend or whatever the fuck else— The guy has resilience, Remus has to give Benjy that.

“Right, who’s buying next?” Marlene asks, abrasive as ever while scrolling through her phone, ostensively finding something to prove her point against the managing editor.

“Reckon it’s my turn,” Benjy crows, standing up smoothly and glancing down at Remus with a nervous sort of half grin.

“Just a water for me, ta. I need to sober up,” Remus tells him, feels proud that he didn’t even slur slightly. Benjy bobs his head understandingly, and Remus turns to ask Marlene about her latest tinder hookup which always is a good laugh, but then he catches on it. On the sound of the pub’s doors flinging open, followed by a raucous crowd of athletic looking guys probably only a bit older than he is, clambering indoors. 

They’re all so very sixth-form, broad grins and slapping each other’s shoulders with jeers, topped off with loud, bark like laughter that makes it obvious to Remus that these wankers think that they’re some sort of group of gods amongst men, roaming around like everyone should fall to their feet and offer everything they have. It makes Remus roll his eyes so far back that it feels like he might’ve sprained them. They just give off this exhausting aura that reminds him of a past boyfriend in tenth year who was on the footie team and who’s favorite activity was either making Remus feel lucky enough to go out with someone so popular, or dragging him around like some sort of bloody trophy.

To put it nicely, Remus sorta hates them on sight. So when he sees one of the tossers— regrettably the brightest of the lot who’s all pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste in an objectively infuriating matter— swivels up to the barkeep and jostles Benjy on his way, well Remus doesn’t hesitate to dart forwards to tell him off.

“Oi, watch where you’re going, yeah?”

Benjy and the bloke who looks like he might moonlight as a model for Calvin briefs for when he’s not lounging in a yacht off the Tuscany coast, both turn to him at the same time. Benjy looking abashed, and the aforementioned tosser preening like the cat who’s just caught a canary.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t see you there,” he says in a delightfully deep tenner, giving Remus an appreciative once over, and Remus absolutely despises how the action makes him feel both thrilled and irritated. “Trust and believe, I wouldn’t have looked away if I saw you.”

“Not me, arse.” Remus spits back, refuses to pay any credence to how his cheeks have begun to flush. “You bumped into my mate right there, the one with the tray of loggers.”

The tosser darts his almost molten gray eyes over to Benjy for a sparing second before he laser focusses back onto Remus, the most phony expression of contrition all over his face. “Sorry to your friend,” he says the descriptor like a joke that no one else is in on. “Let me buy you a drink in sorry for the one I made slim here spill.”

Remus is officially unimpressed, hopes that his flat tone gets it across. “You’re an arse.”

“You’re mouthy,” he retorts, looks like it’s something he greatly appreciates— delights over even. 

“Ah, ’s fine Remus, really. I’ll just bring these back and get us a new glass.”

“Listen to slim, Remus, he’s got the right idea.” The tosser hurriedly interjects, strutting close enough to him that he makes it so Remus has to tip his head back just slightly so not to drop his gaze. “I’m Black, Sirius Black, just to get the pleasantries out of the way.” His leer tells Remus that the name should probably evoke some response of aw into Remus, but all it does is make him sound so egregiously pretentious that Remus wants to smack his own bloody head against a dry wall and stay in the hole until this ruddy Sirius bloke leaves him the hell alone.

“Good for you,” he says instead of all of that, and spots Sirius’s friends from behind Sirius chuckling and elbowing one another. Evidently this is a line the tosser uses frequently, and Remus is pleased that he might be one of the first who aren’t at all impressed by the grandiose way he introduced himself.

“Hah, you know I’m use to the pretty ones playing hard to get, but I’m really feeling here that you’re not exactly liking my company, love.”

Remus sucks in a frustrated breath through his nose, shouldering past Sirius and taking the tray of drinks from Benjy before storming back to their table where the others have begun openly gawping at the scene— Marlene outright squawking with Fabian just as Remus takes his seat.

“Don’t,” Remus warns them all as he silently says fuck off to the water and instead gargles down one of the loggers. And if he has to steadfastly not turn around for the rest of the night towards where he can feel Sirius’s gaze burning into his back— well then so be it.

.-

The next morning, Remus has to puke twice into the toilet, and gulps down three aspirins just to stave off his bloody hangover from the night before where he decided that getting properly sloshed would prove as a good technique to not end up making out with Sirius in some dark corner— or regrettably the backseat of his car. And if he does still remember flashes of ranting to him about how insufferable preppy, rich boys actually are while Sirius gazed at him endeared— well Remus just decides to purge it out along with the stomach acid. It’s not like he’ll ever see the douche again.

.-

He meets Arthur— one of the accountants who also helps out by taking photos for more low key news stories— outside the hospital where the conference will be taking place with the Manchester United team. There was a scrimmage that they all played with some of the kids in the cancer ward that occurred at around eight in the ruddy morning, but thankfully Remus didn’t have to show up until an hour later when the team presented their big shiny check, to the big, shiny hospital. 

However, Arthur has been here for hours, so he’s beyond chirpy and looks like he’s downed three cups of espresso as he chatters on about his son Percy starting secondary school, and his eldest, Bill, getting an award for his reading prowess, and all the strange craving his wife has been having throughout her pregnancy with the twins they’re expecting any week now. And Remus loves Arthur, he does— one of the sweetest folks he’s ever met— but God, his head is still thrumming from those misguided tequila shots and he really just wants to get his three quotes, and write up the story so he can find refuge back in his sheets.

While Arthur has moved to talking about his wife, Molly’s, plans to open up a daycare in their refurnished garage, Remus scans his eyes over the familiar face of reporters from other outlets who look just as bored as him, and then to the stage where a woman in a sharply pressed suit is ushering for the group of football stars to join her, so that the conference can finally fucking begin. 

And Remus thinks that their faces are sorta familiar, probably from all the publicity they get on the telly— but then he freezes as he stops at one of them with dark brown skin, and thick rimmed spectacles— and he suddenly can hear him chatting about his redheaded girlfriend and drunkenly declaring that she’ll be the mother of his children some day soon. So he completely expects it when his stomach drops as he moves his glance just a bit to the right, being struck by pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste, made all the more infuriating by the tight kit he’s got on and the blazing number twelve splayed against his chest.

And fuck.

Remus runs through about a dozen scenarios in which he can make a discrete, or not so discrete exit before he notices him, but in tandem to his spiraling thoughts, the wanker actually looks forwards, and like a creepy metal detector, his quick silver gaze pinpoints onto Remus.

They stare at one another for a beat before his smirk goes wolfish, and he runs a hand through his artfully tousled hair in a way that practically screams, fancy meeting you here. And holy fuck he looks so mouth watteringly attractive with that faint film of sweat running down his neck, and how his smile pulls slightly more to the left, and how he’s looking at Remus like he’s his birthday and Christmas presents all rolled into one.

Remus suddenly hates everything— but most of all hates Sirius, and how bloody fit he is.

“Oh, you’re a fan then?” 

Starting, Remus shifts around slightly so that he’s facing Arthur completely. “Pardon?”

“Sirius Black I mean, you’re a fan?” Arthur asks in that abrasively congenial and intensely scrutinizing way that he treats everything. “I mean he’s a great player, but I know you don’t really watch. So I bet it’s all that charity work he does, yeah?”

“Charity work?” Remus echos, feeling like a floundering fish.

“Truly some amazing stuff.” Arthur pontificates, rubbing a hand against his jaw as he tips his head back. “I mean obviously I’m partial to the fundraising for Reporters Without Borders, but of course the things he does with the more impoverished kids is great. And I know Molly likes his very outspoken posts about being anti war and his annual live streams to earn money for refugees in those war torn nations, like the last one he did for Syria?”

“Oh—“ Remus says, feeling like his head is being overrun by a fountain of new information.

“Yes well, you don’t usually see athletes get into the thick of it with political issues, but I reckon he never really minded. I mean the fact he’s the first football star from United to have come out without any fanfare really proved that. Oh, I think they’re starting, I should probably get some photos before Dorcas gives me a tongue lashing.”

And as quick as the flash of his camera’s lends, Arthur is using his considerable height to get to a more advantageous spot towards the front, and leaves Remus in the dust, as if he hasn’t just obliterated his every assumption of Sirius from after that initial meeting.

And unbidden, the words his mother had told him so many years ago, about facts and how they can color a situation just simply based off the person who’s speaking them— flood to the forefront of his mind.

“Fucking hell,” Remus mutters lowly, gets jostled by Greengrass, a hawkish reporter from a rivaling publication who always has on the most wickedly sharp acrylic nails, and perfectly quaffed curls— as she waves around her certification to speak her inquiry.

“My question is for Potter,” she announces when the woman leading the event, McGonagall, points her way. “And I was wondering how early you boys have to rise for training during the season? And how intense the sessions are that Coach Hooch puts you guys through?”

Potter, the one with the redheaded girlfriend that Remus heard so much about last night between his ranting at Sirius, parts his lips, but it’s not his voice that ends up reverberating through the outdoors space. Instead, it’s Sirius, who’s shouldering him with a goading air, obviously expecting his comment to have only ended up in Potter’s ear and not caught by the mike.

“I wonder if Lupin will let me wake up with’m so he can let me get some real training done before practices, eh?”

And just as soon as his words pitter off, the entire crowd drops to a hush— quiet enough so that they could probably hear it if a pen dropped. 

Sirius’s handsome face— strong jawline, and broad but sharp cheekbones, and a long, narrow nose— goes suddenly ashen, and he flashes over to Remus as if he’s terrified that he’ll bite his face off.

God, what an idiot.

With a long suffering sigh, Remus plucks out the microphone from a slack faced Greengrass’s hand. “We can discuss the regimen afterwards, Black. Just meet me by the front doors and let your mate answer the bloody question.”

Everyone around them falls into laughter that’s caught between uncomfortable chuckles and amazingly amused cackling, but the only person Remus is paying any mind is Sirius, and how he seems to have gone absolutely incandescent, nodding electrically before miming the zip of his lips and gesturing for Potter to carry on.

Jesus help him, Remus has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

.-

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Jung Hoseok and the Magic to Happiness | 04

; Hufflepuff Teacher!Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst, future smut

; Word Count: 5.2k

; Synopsis: An unexpected issue with your Ministry of Magic job leads to you taking the role of Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts. It’s here that you meet your best friend’s younger brother for the first time in years, the Hufflepuff Head of House, Jung Hoseok. While you contend with seeing him once again, Hoseok tries to show you that he’s very much a man and no longer the gangly teenager you once knew.

; A/N: I swear, it’s so hard getting back into writing because I’m permanently convinced that everything I write is bad lol. If you enjoy reading this, please let me know by leaving me an ask or writing a comment on a reblog! I appreciate all the comments I get and it helps to inspire me on <3

Last Chapter ; Next Chapter

-

The Winter Solstice Ball was a newer tradition at Hogwarts. Before the Battle of Hogwarts, there hadn’t been anything resembling the ball that would happen. The closest you knew of was the Yule Ball, but that only occurred whenever there was a Tri-Wizard Tournament. 

Something that hadn’t occurred since the unfortunate events of 1994, when poor Cedric Diggory had been murdered by the dark wizard Voldemort. As expected, it had been mutually agreed that the tournament should no longer continue to ensure there could never be another event like Diggory’s death.

Admittedly, that had been a rather unique set of circumstances. The inclusion of the wizard, Harry Potter, in the Tournament had been arranged by dark wizards on the behest of Voldemort, meaning that Diggory’s death had been even more tragic as he wasn’t meant to be there. 

In an attempt to bring more cheer to what should be a happy holiday, Hogwarts had started the Winter Solstice Ball tradition. Unlike the Yule Ball, all years were invited to attend and it also wasn’t on Christmas Day. Instead, it was held on the last day of term and was just a fun event for everyone to enjoy and let off some steam after their first semester back.

You’d always enjoyed it as a student; feeling like a grownup during the first few years and using it as a great way to flirt with boys when you were older. There hadn’t been a year that you hadn’t loved going to it.

It felt a little odd this time though as you were attending as a professor, which meant you had the job of chaperoning all the excited students for the evening. As such, you were excited for an entirely different reason as you would get to watch the First Year’s experience of the ball.

The House Elves had gone all out when decorating the Great Hall today, bringing the feeling of winter inside and taking your breath away. Standing by the open doors, you look around cavernous space with wide eyes and a bright smile. Chaeyoung was next to you, a dress of starlight gracing her body and highlighting just how beautiful she is.

You’d already complimented her as soon as you’d spotted her, admiring the elegant design of her dress and how the tiny crystals are sewn into the fabric reminded you so much of sunlight hitting frost on a winter’s day. Her long black hair was curled into soft waves with her fringe pinned away from her face with a delicate snowflake.

Where she was all light and ice, you were the sumptuous darkness of winter. Your dress was a sumptuous royal blue around your chest which slowly blended into deep midnight by your feet, a shawl of the lightest chiffon in a dark blue around your shoulders. Silver glinted occasionally, threads of it woven through the fabric of your dress and adding a little sparkle alongside the dainty silver necklace around your neck.

The two of you made a striking pair and the combination of a full face of beautiful makeup combined with the jaw-dropping dress made you feel like the prettiest girl in the room. Whether that was true or not, you didn’t care.

The hall itself matched the colour scheme of you both with long swathes of gauzy fabric in rich lavender, crisp white and shimmering silver decorating the tall windows and streaming from the ceiling. Tonight, the ceiling had been enchanted to show clouds backlit by a full moon and tiny flakes of snow fell. They didn’t reach the ground though, melting away a few metres away from the tallest person in the room.

Candles lit the room in all corners, hovering in the air and situated around the room and the tables. A large open space in the centre of the hall was reserved for dancing while a raised section before it hosted the musical entertainment for the night. Small tables surrounded the floor, each only big enough for six people and with white cloths embroidered with tiny snowflakes in silver.

Platters piled high with finger foods dotted the tables alongside empty goblets and jugs of pumpkin juice and butterbeer. A few of the ghosts that haunted Hogwarts floated through the tables, greeting the formally dressed students with cheer and getting into a few conversations with some of them.

Already the hall was filling nicely, students greeting you happily as they rushed inside to meet up with friends and a few of them had already begun to dance. Some of them danced together, trying to figure out how to ballroom dance with the typical awkwardness of teenagers discovering their hormones, and others danced in friend groups. The latter seemed to just be having fun, shaking their bodies wildly to the beat of the music.

“I remember doing that.” Gesturing towards a group of mixed house Fourth Years, you grin at Chaeyoung before chuckling at the memory of dancing like that with Jisoo, Robert and Candace. That had been your ‘group’ of loyal friends throughout your years at Hogwarts, though only Jisoo had remained a close friend once you’d all left.

“Merlin...me too. I had no rhythm back then. Still don’t. Dancing is not for me.” Chuckling, you lean into her and push until she staggers away from you a little before returning the gesture. Glancing around the hall, you note the more introverted people sitting at the tables and sipping at drinks. They don’t seem to be uncomfortable but you resolve to check up on them throughout the night to make sure they’re okay.

“One thing I do love about working with such handsome men here? They make the ball so much better to enjoy.” Chaeyoung hums over the top of her goblet of butterbeer, her refined brows rising in amusement as she looks across the hall. Following her gaze, you have to hide a smile as you take in the sight of some of Hogwarts most eligible bachelor professors and how well they smarten up.

Park Jimin is standing next to Kim Taehyung, his silver hair styled even more elegantly than normal while his dress robes look to have been perfectly tailored to his slim body. A white bow tie adorns his neck and he’s smiling at whatever Taehyung had told him. The Gryffindor Head has his usual boxy smile and you note that he scrubs up just as nicely. Together, they make a lethal pair in terms of looks.

“Now, now,” You muse lightly, looking over to Chaeyoung with mischief on your face. “We’re here to chaperone, not to swoon over good looking men like the teenagers we teach.”

A derisive snort is the only response she gives you, but you see that she’s not taken her eyes off the two younger men. Idly, you wonder which would make the perfect partner for her. You’d consider Taehyung to be a good candidate as their fun-loving natures would get on well, but there’s something about Jimin that makes you think he’d be an even better pick.

She wouldn’t even have to change her last name.

Any more thoughts you have on the subject vanish when the newest professor walks through the door. Black hair made darker from some kind of styling gel is swept up from his forehead, a strand or two falling stubbornly and giving him an almost charming appearance. Deep black robes sweep from his shoulders, covering up a suit that highlights his body in all the right ways.

Unlike Jimin and Taehyung, his outfit was completely black and you swallowed instinctively as you let your eyes run down his frame. Hoseok pauses at the doorway, pink lips moving as he talks to Nayeon, the divination professor. She looks pretty in a floaty dress of bubblegum pink and fizzing lilac, her smile genuine and eyes sparkling as she looks up at him.

Lips twisting, you turn away from the sight and don’t even notice the way Chaeyoung is watching you closely, her lips turning up in a smile she tries to hide. Looking away from you, she catches Seokjin’s questioning expression across the hall and nods at him subtly, enjoying the way the astronomy professor gets a determined look on his face.

“Speaking of men who are too beautiful to be real, Jung Hoseok always looks so good at these events. How is a man like that allowed to even exist?” There’s a breathy note to Chaeyoung’s voice, causing you to frown at her a little before looking back over in his direction. 

Nayeon is still standing there, a forlorn expression gracing her face as she watches Hoseok move away from her. It’s only then that you realise he’s walking towards you, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. Confusingly, you’re a little unsure of what to do or how to act.

Not when he’s looking like that. This is not the shy and awkward Hoseok with his dress robes too big for him, the only memory you have of him at the Winter Solstice Ball. He couldn’t be any further from that teenager and you don’t know how to handle that.

Especially when he gives you that breathtaking smile, his cheeks rising and dimpling while his dark eyes shine in delight. You should’ve known the Jung genes would result in him growing into an attractive man; his sister was one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen.

“Y/N, Chaeyoung,” He bows his head to you both, that smile just as prominent and you nod back to him a little awkwardly. “You both look beautiful tonight. Winter is personified with your colours, it’s nice.” 

For a moment, you’re a little lost for words on how to respond to him. You couldn’t recall the last time you’d been so casually complimented, especially from a man. A man as attractive as him. It causes you to swallow wrong and you cough loudly, pressing a hand to your throat.

“Thanks, you’re looking pretty fine yourself tonight,” Chaeyoung teases him, causing that smile to become a little more bashful. “Anyway, I’m going to leave you two alone for a moment, okay? I need to go talk to Seokjin about something.”

You watch her go with wide eyes, noting with suspicion that she’s moving a little faster than you’d expect and you wonder if she’s up to something. But then you realise that you’re being left alone with Hoseok, who’s casually looking you up and down while you’re attention is elsewhere.

It’s only when he catches your eye when you look back, a brow raised, that he realises you’ve caught him. Hoseok turns his head quickly, probably giving himself whiplash and you have to hide the snort at the soft blush on his cheeks.

He may be all grown up now, but he still reminded you of that shy boy who never quite knew how to talk to you.

Reaching out, you poke at his chest and grin at him.

“She’s right, you are looking good tonight. Cleaned up very well.” Hoseok gives you a droll stare and you laugh, feeling any awkwardness rushing away as you both fall into the easy-going nature of your friendship.

The rest of the evening goes by in much the same manner with the two of you separating on occasion to handle issues with students or just to do a walk around. Apart from that though, you both end up spending more time with each other than with anyone else. Conversation flows easily like a fast-moving river and you find yourself laughing more than you have in a while.

You only have to break up one fight between two young boys; the culmination of weeks of tension between the two finally bubbling over. It starts with raised voices before escalating to blows, resulting in you escorting the two to Madame Pomfrey to check for any injuries. After that, you leave them in the hands of Park Jimin to discipline them given their house.

When you get back, you look around for Hoseok or Chaeyoung. You can’t see either of them, causing you to take up a place at the back against the wall to observe for any fallout from the fight. Thankfully, the mood seems to have picked up and you wonder if that’s got anything to do with the more upbeat music that’s being played.

It was never nice watching your students get into fights with each other or lose friendships, but you knew that was part of growing up. The thing about teenagers, and kids, was that they were incredibly resilient. You did not doubt that they would both be back to being friends within a week or so.

“All sorted?” Comes a deep voice to the right, the sound closer than you expected and causing you to jump slightly. Turning to look, you note that Hoseok has turned up out of nowhere and you relax at the sight of his familiar face.

“Yeah, no injuries to each other apart from wounded pride and friendships.” That causes Hoseok to snort and roll his eyes, leaning back against the wall alongside you. Suddenly, you recall how many times Jisoo complained of having to comfort her brother when he’d had yet another fight during his tenure at Hogwarts.

“I’m sure you know all about that, Mr Jung. I remember Jisoo having to deal with you. You were shy but a firecracker.” He sighs deeply and you lean into him, giggling as you regale him with some of the tales she’d told you. Thankfully, he takes it all with his usual good nature and you end up segueing into other memories of your time at Hogwarts.

The exams and the studying, the professors back then and your favourite subjects. It’s something he already knows as you’ve both discussed it previously, but he indulges you and listens amiably while keeping an eye out.

You’re stopped though when he suddenly interrupts you, straightening slightly.

“Would you like to dance? There’s not as many people out there now and you haven’t danced once tonight.” His question is abrupt, causing you to falter in your conversation. Narrowing your eyes, you look him over closely and wonder if he’s being serious. And you conclude that he is.

Looking over at the dance floor, you contemplate for a moment and chew your lip before nodding. Now it’s your turn to feel shy, avoiding his gaze and trying not to catch the eye of anyone else in the hall as he leads you carefully to the floor. 

There’s probably a few statues in the British Museum that are less stiff than you as you turn to him, feeling his hand as he settles it on your lower back. You’re hyper-aware of that hand; how hot it feels against you even with the fabric of the dress between you. But that pales in comparison to the feel of his hand against your own, the way he holds it almost tenderly.

Logically, you know that he’s doing that because that’s how you’re supposed to dance like this. A light touch, but it makes you feel a little strange. You’re not sure why it makes you feel like that and you find yourself staring at his long fingers, wondering if he kept up the piano he’d been taught when younger.

The music leads you both in the dance, each beat dictating where you move and you’re vaguely aware of the students dancing around you. None of them are staring or looking confused as there had been many professors who had danced together tonight. But you couldn’t help but feel like this dance was a little different.

This was the closest you’d ever been to Hoseok and his body is so close to your own that you can physically feel the heat coming from him. Every breath you take brings the smell of him into your nose, the familiar mix of rich wood and lemongrass that is so, undeniably Hoseok. And underlying all that is the smell that’s unique to him.

“Is this okay?” He asks quietly and you stare at the black button-up covering his chest, avoiding his gaze given how close the two of you are. It’s probably not the best thing to do when you realise that shirt is straining a little and you can see the outline of his torso from the light of the nearby candles.

Swallowing hard, you look over his shoulder and try to ignore the sudden knowledge that Hoseok is buff beneath his clothes. Which doesn’t help, because you find your eye trailing down his chest as you consider. It’s only when you reach his belt buckle that you suddenly look away, taking a deep breath and wondering what was wrong with you.

You’d had one too many butterbeers tonight or something, which was a terrible excuse as it had such little alcohol content that it didn’t even matter. This was Jisoo’s brother, her little brother. Not someone you should be thinking about half-naked.

Right?

Finally, though, you register his question and nod quickly in response. You’re not sure that you can talk to him without saying something inappropriate as your brain isn’t working very well right now. Not when you’re so confused about...well everything.

“Are you sure? You’ve gone a little weird. Quiet.” Hoseok murmurs, his voice low to avoid any of the students overhearing it. Sighing, you stand a little straighter before looking at him directly and giving him a firm smile. It takes a little more effort than you’d like to push away those errant thoughts but you do so.

“Fine, just worried about those students. I hate seeing their friendship ruined and them angry at each other, you know?” It’s not a lie as you are still concerned about them, but he doesn’t need to know everything going on in your head. Which is why you’re thankful when he nods slowly before spinning you around.

“They’ll be okay. I’ve been doing this job long enough to know that they’ll be back to being friends sooner rather than later. They’ve already got some of that testosterone out by punching each other, which I’d rather they didn’t do but Jimin will talk it out with them. Don’t worry too much, they’ll be fine.” It’s sweet how considerate he’s being and you can hear how genuine he is in his voice. 

You don’t get to say anything else though as the tempo increases when the song switches over, causing Hoseok to twirl you away from him with a laugh. All around you the dances start to get a little more energetic and you can’t help but shriek with joy as he matches the student’s enthusiasm, listening to them as they cheer at two of their professors getting involved in the frivolities.

Neither of you notices the way Seokjin and Chaeyoung watch you both closely before smirking at each other.

-

Glancing around the room, you note how most of the students had already left and gone to bed for the night. The clock had struck midnight a while ago and you had to press a hand to your mouth as you yawned, turning your head away to be polite. A few remaining students were still dancing on the floor but even as you watched, some of them started to walk towards the exit.

Looking over at Chaeyoung, you caught her eye with a wave and smiled with relief when she nodded and made a shooing gesture. Turning to Hoseok, you tried to hide another yawn and almost giggled when you saw that he’d caught one from you, his mouth wide as he didn’t even try to hide it.

“I think we can go now. Chaeyoung gestured that we can leave so I think they’re going to hustle the last students to bed. Something which I’m also very excited to do because I feel like I’ve been awake for two days right now.” Blinking and almost trying to stretch your eyelids by widening them as far as you could, you almost missed the way Hoseok laughed at your antics.

“Tired? It’s not even two in the morning, I expected better of you.” He teases, gently pushing his elbow into your arm before avoiding your hand as you try to swat him. You’d admit that he looked a lot more awake than you did, which you’d say wasn’t fair but you don’t think you’ve ever truly seen him look tired.

“Well, you’re still young and spry. You’ll learn when you get to my age.” Moving off towards the doors of the Great Hall, you grab a tiny triangular sandwich from one of the remaining platters on a table as you pass by.

Light pressure on the small of your back causes you to arch slightly, your chest moving forward and you tilt your head to look at your companion. There’s no expression on Hoseok’s face, nothing to indicate he’s affected by touching you and you frown slightly as you wonder why it’s affecting you.

“You’re not old, I don’t know why you keep thinking that.” He murmurs, voice deep and quiet.

Neither of you says anything more for a few minutes, instead just walking quietly through the hallways. It’s a comfortable silence and you muse for a moment on how much you’ve come to enjoy spending time with him. You would happily say that he was your closest friend here at Hogwarts; something you would’ve never thought would happen when you were studying here and he was just your best friend’s little brother.

That makes you think of how defensive he always gets whenever you, or anyone else, seems to imply that you’re old. Huffing out a laugh, you bite your lip as you contemplate that for a second. Maybe he doesn’t like the implication that you, and by extension, his sister, are considered ‘older’ by the students. Or that he’s also approaching thirty.

The student’s opinions have never bothered you as they think anyone over the age of twenty is old. Nor have you been concerned overall, given the extended lifespan that witches had compared to muggles. You were finally feeling content with your career and your life, something you attested partly to growing older and becoming more at ease with yourself.

But he always got so defensive of it, so maybe he was concerned about himself.

“You don’t have to keep defending my age, you know,” Apparently you were going to query this with him and you blamed the butterbeer for loosening up your tongue. “I’m okay with it, honestly. Which means I’m okay with joking about it.”

Hoseok stiffened slightly and you spotted his expression looking a little uneasy. Frowning, you placed a hand on his arm and pulled him to a stop. Your quarters were only a few corridors away now and the two of you were given a warm glow from the candles lit nearby. 

“I’m not defending...I mean, okay maybe I am. I just...I don’t want you to feel like it’s an issue.” Now you’re giving him an amused look, lip quirked up on one side as you try to hold in a small giggle.

“It’s not an issue. Have I made it seem like it was?” Tilting your head, you watch as his eyes dart across your face in an almost shy manner.

“No...well, not in the way you might think,” He looks uncomfortable and you’re about to tell him it’s okay, that he doesn’t have to continue but he does so before you get the chance to speak. “I’m just made every aware of our age difference. You know, the whole ‘you’re her best friend’s little brother’ thing.”

“Hey, I don’t do that, do I?” Now you’re a little concerned.

“No, not really. Not for a while anyway. You did when you first got here but I understood that. We hadn’t met in a while and everyone was curious about how we knew each other. But now...I don’t even know what I’m talking about. Honestly, it’s not important. You’re right.” Hoseok’s babbling a bit but you decide to let him change the conversation. You’re not entirely sure why it truly bothers him, but you’re not going to press it anyway. He deserves to have his feelings and they don’t need to be analysed.

“Okay-” Before you can say anything else, you hear the quiet chiming of bells and frown in confusion. The sound echoes a little in the empty corridor, simultaneously creepy and also ethereal. 

Hoseok looks around as well, his brow knitted in confusion before he suddenly spots something about you both. Following him, you note the odd plant that’s grown from the ceiling out of nowhere. The green branches are still growing and you note with interest the small white berries that seem to be forming and familiar leaf shapes appear at the end of each branch.

A red ribbon is delicately wrapped around the stems and you see the little golden bells that let out tiny chimes as they rock from side to side in a non-existent breeze. Now you’re the one frowning as you look around you both, trying to spot who’d set a mistletoe charm to grow when someone walked beneath it.

“Mistletoe?” Hosek whispers, reaching up with one hand in an attempt to touch it. He can’t reach it and you sigh, shaking your head and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Someone has thought it’d be funny to put mistletoe charms around the castle for the ball. Certainly adds to the Christmas spirit. I’ve seen these popping up all night above couples on the dance floor. I think it’s a seasonal Weasley thing, seems like something they’d sell to annoy people.”

The mistletoe is suddenly snowing, letting tiny snowflakes drift to the ground around you both and leaving fluffy snow to settle on Hoseok’s hair and dress robes. How very romantic, you muse to yourself.

“Does it just disappear on its own after a while?” He asks, running his fingers through his hair to try and get rid of some of the snow. Smiling at him, you gently brush at his shoulders only to decide it’s a losing battle as more snow lands.

“Nope. You gotta kiss, that’s the whole point of mistletoe, right? Otherwise, it follows you around.” Hoseok sighs deeply and rolls his eyes.

“Of course it does. Definitely a Weasley thing.”

Looking back up at the mistletoe, and having to blink to avoid getting snowflakes in your eyes, you purse your lips before looking back at Hoseok. You’d long since come to terms with the fact that you find him attractive; anyone with eyes can see that. But you hadn’t planned on doing anything about it, not given who he was and who his sister was to you.

His words from earlier play through your mind though, and you wonder if he hates having to constantly know he’s given the best friend’s little brother status. Even now, months after you’d arrived and you considered him a friend, you knew that there were still people who thought of that as the most defining characteristic of your friendship.

Letting out a little sigh, you straighten your shoulders before reaching out and taking hold of his dress robes. Fuck it, you’re not one to waste a perfect chance.

Pulling him closer, you watch as his eyes dart to yours and widen when he realises that you’re moving towards him as well. And then those same eyes flick to your lips, the movement so fast that you’d almost miss it if it wasn’t for the fact that he did again only seconds later. 

Combined with the zero resistance he was giving, you came to the solid conclusion that he wasn’t going to reject you. Not when you were giving him plenty of time and reason to back out if he wanted to.

Tilting your head to him, you felt his warm breath as it caressed your face, the smell of butterbeer strong. And then your lips are pressed together, neither of you sure who made the final move and neither of you gives a damn at that exact moment. 

The pressure of your lips against each other is gentle at first, almost hesitant as both of you try to figure out where to go from here. All that was required was a kiss, which was what you were both doing right now. But you didn’t quite want to let him go just yet, not when you knew he probably had so much more to offer.

Shifting, you manoeuvred your way into a position that made the kiss a little more personal and no longer like two teenagers who’d never kissed in their life. Letting go of his robes, your arms move to wrap around his neck and you run your fingers through his hair, enjoying how soft the black strands feel against your fingers.

A quiet noise leaves Hoseok, his arms sliding around your waist to pull you a little closer to him while he kisses you more forcefully than before. It feels...you can’t even find the words to describe how it feels, only knowing that you’re not entirely sure you want him to stop.

Any hesitation has disappeared between you both and you simply lose yourself to the delightful feeling of Jung Hoseok against your lips, against your body and how he feels under your fingertips. It’s only when he moves a little further, his tongue asking for entrance to fire up the kiss even more, that you suddenly come to your senses.

Pushing back from him, you stare with wide eyes and only just realise that the bells have stopped. A glance up shows the mistletoe is gone and you breathe a little heavily, not realising that you’d kissed him that forcefully until now. Hoseok looks just as out of breath with an odd look in his eyes that you can’t quite figure out.

Licking at your lips, and trying to ignore the knowledge that you could probably taste him right now, you run your hands down the front of your dress robes before giving him a slightly awkward smile. Coughing, you turn your eyes away from the strangely intense gaze he’s giving you.

“Erm, well it’s gone now. So...we’re not gonna be followed by mistletoe anymore,” Playing with your fingers, you wonder if you made a very bad decision tonight. “I, erm, I’m gonna go to bed now. It’s late and...well...yeah. Thank you, for walking me here and spending time with me, you know, dancing and all that. It was nice, I had a good time and thank you. Yeah, I already thanked you. Err...get to bed safely, okay? I mean, I…” 

Hoseok reaches out and takes hold of your nervous hands. It makes you jump nervously, but he just gives a reassuring smile while rubbing the back of your hands with his thumbs.

“Y/N...it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. Go to sleep and have good dreams.” There’s no annoyance in his voice, no anger or outrage that you’ve gone from initiating that kiss to acting very strange in only seconds. 

“Yeah...I...you too. You too.” Frowning as you walked away from him, you wondered what in Merlin’s beard you’d just done.

[one-boring-person]

Ghost From The Past. (Part 1/2)

Lee Christmas (The Expendables) x reader

Warnings: war, death, injury, gun use, swearing

Context: Barney needs to hire someone new, and the newest contender is a familiar face for Lee.

A/n: this is gonna be a short two-parter that no one's gonna read, but I've had the idea for days now, so enjoy!

Masterlist

Part Two

"Remind me why I have to come with you on this?" Lee complains for the millionth time that night, leaning back against Barney's truck as he does so. 

"You offered, remember?" Barney rolls his eyes, long past grinning at the Brit's impatience, his own starting to make itself known as he takes a drag of his cigar. The contact is late. Again.

"Like a twat, yeah." His companion grumbles, pulling a knife from his pocket and spinning it over his hand, watching it irritatedly.

Barney doesn't reply, scanning the darkened parking lot around them for signs of life, finding the single lit lamppost in the centre oddly eerie. It casts a circle of pale light out onto the chipped tarmac, leaving the surrounding area shrouded in shadow, making it far too dangerous for the mercenary's tastes. Internally, he's glad he's got Lee with him, trusting him to have his back should the client turn out to be a dud, which is not entirely unlikely. 

A week or so ago, he'd gotten a call from a guy, someone called Gatz, informing him of a job that needed doing, over in the Middle East somewhere. The pay sounded good, and the team were bored out of their minds from lack of work, so Barney accepted the offer, only to find that he was, in fact, a man down. Immediately, he'd started looking for possible new candidates, roaming the country for anyone who could fill the position for one job, dismissing most of them as he met them, finding them all too cocky and self assured. He wanted someone good and efficient, not a show off. Finally, an old friend of his got in contact, with a person in mind for him to meet. Reluctantly, he'd agreed to meet them, and here they are. Waiting in an abandoned car park for their new team mate to arrive with the contact.

"This guy always late?" Lee complains again, drawing an exasperated groan from Barney.

"No. D'you ever stop moaning? It's a real pain in the ass to listen to." He responds, pulling on his cigar again.

"You know me well enough by now, Barn." His friend grins briefly, slapping his shoulder. 

The two are interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up into the empty parking lot, the tyres crunching over the loose asphalt at the other end, headlights flashing brightly in the darkness. Both men tense up, straightening from their positions as they wait for the vehicle to settle, the engine cutting out as the blinkers darken again, Lee's hand never stopping in its actions, the knife still twisting in his grip. Watching closely, they observe as a figure climbs out of the car, followed by a second, smaller silhouette, both obscured by the darkness. The two figures start to walk towards the light, the smaller slightly behind the larger, head twisting this way and that. 

Barney and Lee follow suit, approaching the other two with caution, ready to move if things go awry, the latter a half-step behind the former. 

It takes a minute or two, but eventually, both pairs of people step into the light, their faces now stark in the pale illumination. Two of them stop still, staring at each other. 

Neither of them move, eyes fixed on each other, muscles tensed as their expressions fight to find a suitable emotion. Nothing happens for a long minute, Barney and the contact soon becoming very confused.

For Lee and (Y/n), however, the world has stopped.

*

Eerie silence follows the two soldiers as they step carefully down the hallway, boots silent on the dusty floor. One faces up the corridor, M-16 levelled at the opposite end, whilst the other deftly moves backwards, weapon at the ready as they keep their backs touching, finding solace in the proximity, as they have done in every mission so far. 

It's hot in the building, as it always is in this country, leaving them both sweating beneath their fatigues, though they ignore it, having been taught to do so as part of their rigorous Special Forces training. Neither move to wipe it away, keeping their hands pressed to their firearms stoically, none of the inner turmoil visible through their focused expressions, eyes hardened against emotional leakage and so against revealing their true mentality to any captor. If they were to look at each other, however, they'd both know exactly how the other is feeling, the two having worked together for so long now that they can read each other like books, allowing them to function near perfectly. 

The leader of the two stops suddenly, head snapping towards a low sound to his left, hand reaching round to tap his comrade's leg gently. She comes to a halt, waiting patiently for him to make his next move. 

Silently, Lee waits, muscles tense as he listens closely to the surroundings, finding yet more silence to overwhelm his own, making him rethink his decision to stop. Signalling to (Y/n), he moves off again, stepping quietly over a pile of rubble conveniently placed in the centre of the hallway, which he knows full well contains the means to an intruder's end. Thankfully, his partner notices it, too, easily missing the concealed landmine as she mimics his every step, gun lifted to her shoulder now. An odd feeling has settled into her body as she follows Lee, her spine prickling uncomfortably now. 

With practiced ease, they move round a corner, entering what used to be a lobby, where they fall into a side-on position, still back to back as they scan the broad area. 

"I have a really bad feeling." (Y/n) quietly whispers to Lee, finger twitching over the trigger.

"Yeah, me too." He replies, leaning his head back so he can look her in the eye, "Kicking myself for not bringing my helmet now."

(Y/n) chuckles dryly, pressing her back firmer against his, finding comfort in how close he is.

"Me too. Why d'you think the Major made us leave them behind?" 

"Fucked if I knew." Lee shrugs, head snapping round again, clearly having heard something.

Instinctively, she falls to one knee in front of his legs, M-16 levelled at the source of the sound. He leans over her, his own gun ready as they fluidly fall into position, practice and experience having made them into a well-oiled machine. 

After a moment, a familiar figure steps through a far door, revealing himself to them.

"Major?" Lee calls out, weapon lowering slightly.

(Y/n) copies him, moving to stand again.

The soldier raises a hand, his face cast in a dusky light, his smirk now clear to them. (Y/n)'s pulse picks up at this: that never means anything good. Frowning, she readies her gun again, glancing around the room, only now aware of the sheer volume of hiding places around us, the puzzle pieces starting to fall into place. 

"It's a trap…" She mutters, too late.

A bullet tears through Lee, throwing him to the floor, blood spraying from his shoulder as he goes. Calling out his name, (Y/n) turns to Lee, only to have to duck as gunfire explodes around her, pelting the walls behind her. Her instincts kick in, and she stands again, M-16 raised and spewing bullets out at the room around her, a few finding their targets as she rotates on the spot, standing over Lee, hoping to protect him. Pain erupts in her thigh as a bullet penetrates it, a strangled grunt of pain escaping her as she falls to one knee, still firing wildly. Screaming in fury, (Y/n) throws the gun in a wide circle, hoping it'll do something. 

Another bullet hits her, followed by another, and another, and another. Riddled with wounds, she falls to the floor beside Lee, panting heavily as blood pours from her mouth. Vision failing her, she glances over at her partner, who has enough consciousness left to watch her through blurry eyes as she is dragged off by an enemy soldier. 

He tries to move after her, but a foot on his back keeps him still, a familiar voice telling him to keep quiet, before the butt of a gun is smashed over his head, knocking him out cold.

*

Lee's heart is in his mouth as he stares at the woman standing across from him, his eyes wide as he takes in the heart-wrenchingly familiar face. There are scars that he doesn't remember crisscrossing her beautiful features, and her jaw is marred by horrendous burn marks, but it's still her. The knowledge is enough to shock him into silence. 

Across from him, Barney watches him with a slow realisation, his eyes flicking between the woman and the mercenary he knows so well. Vaguely, he remembers a drunk Lee babbling about an old friend, someone he wishes he could've helped and saved, someone he lost to Al-Qaeda back when he was still SAS. The Brit never spoke about his time in Afghanistan, and subsequently his reason for being discharged, but Barney knows enough to realise that this is going to be a painful meeting for him.

With that in mind, Barney makes sure the conversation is a short one, hiring this candidate with very little hesitance, trusting Lee's choice in team member now as he introduces himself to the equally shell-shocked veteran. She's eager to start with him, and introduces herself to him as (Y/n), giving no surname.

Two days later, and she's on the plane with the rest of the boys, neither her nor Lee speaking to each other.

[liddolwhynot2000]

Unprecedented Reactions: Part 2

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Summary: He likes you, scratch that, he's more then half way in love with you. And if you keep this up, he's not sure he can control himself and keep these feeling bottled up for much longer.

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Pairings: Levi/Reader

Genre: Romance, longing, Soldier!Reader, Levi deserves happiness

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Please read part 1 to understand this better => Unprecedented Reactions

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Growing up in the underground, Levi had learned a very different way to navigate life then normal people did. If you stole a loaf of bread and got caught, you got beat up and starved. If you pick pocketed and didn't get much, you should have picked your target better. If you played nice and thought for anyone but yourself, be prepared to be used and discarded.

When Kenny had left him to fend for himself, Levi had survived on his own just fine. In order to not get caught stealing food, he ran faster. To pick pocket well, his sharp eyes picked out whose pockets had more in them. He didn't make any friends, didn't let anyone join him, so there was never any need to worry about getting stabbed in the back.

Until he met Farlan.

Farlan had been an exception to all his rules, an addition to his life that he hadn't anticipated. Levi had been nervous of course, and not very trusting at the start. But the man had won him over, and secured a soft spot that Levi didn't think his heart even had.

Farlan had not just been his friend, but his brother. The man he only had to look at to ask for a solution to their problems, the man who made jokes that had him hiding smiles, who didn't hesitate a second in defending him from everyone in that hell hole.

He had accepted their brotherhood, feeling a little anxious, but mostly at peace with his decision. And then he had met Isabel.

Sweet, kind Isabel. She had just been a starved, homeless kid when he had found her. His heart hadn't been able to accept the idea of just leaving her there, of walking past her and ignoring her like he forced himself to with all the others. Farlan had only smiled at him when he brought her home and had given her some bread. It had been his way of saying he agreed with Levi's decision.

Since then, they had been a trio. They'd wreak havoc in the underground together, working hard to sustain themselves. Levi, knowing his superior strength, took up more work. He didn't mind it, feeling more safe ensuring their well being with his own hands.

It eventually became a pattern, of leaving it all to him. Sometimes it made him feel pressured, most of the time he pressured them to keep it up. He was too nervous, too scared that he would lose his self made family if he didn't protect them.

His worries hadn't been for nothing, his fears of losing them hadn't been unfounded. Unfortunately, his own actions had been the root cause of it.

If only he hadn't insisted that they believe in him. If only he had kept them close and hadn't gone off on his own. Farlan would be alive right now, and so would Isabel. Had Levi not pushed them to pick, his family would be safe and sound, with him.

Instead, here he was, lying in bed, covered in blankets, and unable to to do anything but mourn.

He would never be the same again, for he would never have his family back. All the positive emotions he had accessed in the years of being with them, had died, leaving behind a shell of a man.

It was like the candle lighting up the room had been shut off by wind. One strong breeze cut off the entire light source, leaving all the darkness in the room what it needed to thrive and spread. Levi didn't think that candle could ever be lit up again, that he could ever experience care for another human being again.

It felt like his heart had been effectively killed.

And that's when he heard the door open.

____________________________________

He heard you put down the tray, but could tell you hadn't immediately left after. You were still there, staring at him perhaps. Probably ridiculing him for his depression, like he could tell everyone else was.

It ignited a fury in him, an anger he had felt leave his body once he had butchered that titan to pieces. He suddenly wanted to be violent, to destroy everything that crossed his path. Anything that could serve as outlet for his grief. Just as he thought to get out of the blankets and confront whoever had dared to enter his room-he heard the door shut.

Levi sits up, frowning. His hair is all over the place and his uniform direly needed to be cleaned. But he didn't care, he wanted to know why you had dared to enter his room. What gave you the right. He didn't care that you had come to give him food, he just wanted to pick a fight.

Throwing the covers off of him, he ignored the voice in his head that chimed at him to clean his shit up. But he would do that later. Right now, his hands were itching to unleash violence on something. Or rather, someone.

He followed you out, noting that you were a female. His stealth abilities were top notch-a novice like you couldn't even hope to notice him, walking along like nothing was happening.

You paused, and Levi stopped short, thinking he had been found out. He didn't bother to hide himself, after all, he was here to face you. His eyebrows furrowed as he distinctly heard a few male voices chattering.

‘H-Hey did you see that midget from the underground?’

Levi tensed, having a good idea of where this was going. He couldn't help noticing the way you had done the same.

'Yeah. You see the nerve he has, locking himself up in that room like he’s actually mourning. That fucker didn’t even join for the cause.'

He frowned, so what if he hadn't joined the suicidal corps for their cause. Isabel and Farlan had been alive, just like any other person. They had loved and cared for him, and he had done the same for them. Only ungrateful surface dwellers would think he had no right to mourn his friends.

It made his fist clench. You were the furthest thing from his mind now, these men would be the fight he needed ot sate his blood lust.

'Let’s.. Let’s teach that midget a lesson. I bet he’s putting it on. He’s just scum from the underground, he doesn’t even belong here.’

Levi was long accustomed to being called words like that. He fucking hoped they would approach him to 'teach a lesson.' As they all decided they would 'counsel' him on the death of his friends, Levi wanted to laugh. The underground and the surface really did have the same type of scum on it.

Their voices got louder as they approached, and Levi prpeared himself to kick their asses to hell and back-

--Only for you to grab one of the mens arms and smash him against the wall.

Confused, he kept himself out of sight, watching as you took on all three of them. He couldn't understand why you were doing this. Were you like him, frustrated and needing a way to let loose? It made sense, those drunk ass men were good target practice. But he couldn't help feeling that there was more to this.

'Have a little compassion you jerks! He just lost his friends!'

You were defending him? Him? The scum of the underground? Against your precious cormades? Levi could feel the fight in him dying out, being replaced by emotions he had thought that he would never feel again.

'If anyone of you dares to approach him, I swear I'll get the Commander on your asses!'

You were holding one of them in a choke hold, confident that they couldn't overwhelm you.

Levi was in awe of you, watching you lecture and beat up the men that planned on attacking him. The last time someone had defended him like this was Farl-

His breath seized, and he closed his eyes, feeling an abundance of emotions he just couldn't identify. He couldn't word them out, not today.

But he knew he felt grateful to you.

Once he was sure you wouldn't get hurt, he went back to his room. He took the soup and the bread from the tray you had left, and began to eat, allowing himself to not think about anything.

Unbeknownst to him, the candle flickered back on.

____________________________________

He takes note of you after that, his eyes seeking you out whenever you were in vicinity. He's accepted his role in the corps, his responsibility as a soldier, but he can't help gravitating towards you.

You remind him of Farlan, but it's different. Farlan had wanted to be his friend, but you? You came to his defense, solely out of the kindness of your heart. You want nothing in exchange.

You don't boast about it, don't flaunt it, not to him or anyone else. If Levi hadn't seen you defend him with his own eyes, he would have never found out about it. Those men don't even look in his direction, not after what you did to them.

He feels curious about you, and allows himself to keep you in his radar.

He settles into his job well, climbing the ranks quicker then he thought he would. But Levi is quick to realise why--there just aren't enough people in the Corps. They need him, and if it means having to put aside their reservations about his origins, then so be it.

It makes his day a little better to watch Erwin sweat over keeping him around. He doesn't plan to leave, but it's nice getting a little special treatment. Especially all the free tea he gets.

He doesn't know how to approach you, and even if he did, he has no idea of what to say. Should he tell you he knows what you did? Thank you for it?

He's not used to making friends, so he doesn't know how to be friends with you. Rather, he contends himself with watching you from afar, keeping an eye out for you just in case.

You're a strong, capable soldier, and it brings him a little relief to know that. As his time in the survey Corps piles up, Levi notices how easily some of his comrades get slaughtered. How helpless he is to stop it all.

He selfishly celebrates your safe return from each expedition in his mind.

He can't help noticing you, how kind you are. You put everyone around you at ease, making jokes. He remembers the first time you talked to him, how flustered he had felt afterwards.

'Levi I'm beginning to think the walls were built to protect the titans from you. Not us from them.'

Everyone had laughed, and Levi had felt heat creep up his cheeks at it. It had launched an entire debacle of comrades lauding his strength, one he hadn't been able to shut down. Everyone had been too drunk to be scared of him, and he had been too lost in his thoughts about you to be terrifying enough.

____________________________________

His following interactions with you are cordial and meaningful at the same time. Ranging from drinking tea together, to practicing with your gear at the same time.

Even though he can't quite explain it, he finds himself making exceptions for you. You're not that good at cleaning, just average, but he doesn't have the heart to scold you for it like with everyone else. He finds himself turning a blind eye to it, blaming your mess on others and letting you off the hook.

It doesn't make much sense on his part, but it happens without him even planning it. There's just something about you that makes him automatically nicer. Levi doesn't question it much, instead opting to simply follow his gut instincts without regrets.

He's too tired of having to think on the battle field, feeling exhausted in his efforts to keep everyone alive. Being around you has a powerful effect on him- for just being your vicinity makes him feel at peace.

Maybe it's because he just misses his friends, and has latched on to you. Or maybe he's too worried about the others still judging his background, thus making him cling to you, the only person he knows doesn't give a damn.

Or maybe it's just that he's very much interested in you- and it's so foreign that he can tell it's not just friendship.

Friendship was when he wanted to help Farlan not die carrying crates that are too heavy for him. He's sure it's not him snatching them away before you even look at them.

Friendship is being okay with his friends talking to other people, not feeling possessive about the low lives who flirt with you. It's certainly not imagining different ways to teach them how to keep their hands to themselves.

Friendship should be being okay with the bare minimum physical affection, not day dreaming being wrapped up in your arms, wondering about how soft they would feel.

He's got a good idea of what he's feeling, but he doesn't have enough nerve to verbalise it. Doesn't have the required courage needed to look you in the eye and say it.

He needs a push, and not the literal one Hange tries to give him everytime she catches him staring at you. He knows he should at least admit what he feels about you in his own mind, but he just can't.

Until he does.

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Ever since he's accepted his position in the survey corps, Levi has made it mission to give it his all. Every order is carried out swiftly, every action is conducted with purpose. He's devoted himself to his job-- no one could link the brash underground thug to the man he is now.

And he likes it that way.

The job isn't easy, of course, especially with all the losses incurred on every expedition. He feels grief for every life lost outside the walls, inwardly chastising himself for not being there, even though he knows its out of his hands.

His hands itch with the urge to do something for his fallen cormades, who gave up their lives to help them succeed. Their young, bright expressions flash in mind, because he was fond of them. He wonders what he can do to honour them, and comes up with two methods.

One, he begins to take their wings of freedom insignia off their dead bodies, keeping them safe and sound for their loved ones. To him, it's proof that they were alive.

Two, he starts making them special graves. It's a laborious task, especially on his own, but he wants to do it. He has to do it, if only to give himself and everyone a way to talk to them, to tell them that they're remembered, even in their deaths.

It's one day he's in the midst of his self assigned mission that you stumble upon him.

He notices you from the corner of his eye, wondering what you think of what's upto. He pretends not to notice the smile you flash his way, knowing that it'll be harder to hold back his blush if he dwells on you too long.

You walk away, and he finds himself slightly dissapointed. He figured you'd at least try to talk to him a little, but shoves his thoughts aside. However he finds himself pleasantly surprised when you return just a few moments later, with a shovel in your hand.

As you flash him a grin and begin to dig as well, he barely manages to take his eyes off of you. Returning to his own task, he finally admits it to himself.

He likes you, scratch that, he's more then half way in love with you. And if you keep this up, he's not sure he can control himself and keep these feeling bottled up for much longer.

He's not sure he can stay away from you for much longer, and a part of him is aching for that time to come.

Now that's he's admitted it to himself, he wonders if he can admit it you.

____________________________________

The most notable moment he has with you is, unfortunately, when he saves you from a titan. He had hoped that he would never have to see you in this situation, but when has he ever gotten what he hopes for?

He manages to save you in the nick of time, and he's sure he's going to have nightmares about it. You almost falling into a titans mouth, your expression frozen in terror. It's something he'll remember in his darkest moments, a scene right out of his worst fears.

He can't bring himself to keep his distance after saving you, wanting to ensure that you're not injured in anyway. He knows his grip is more delicate then usual, his eyes are more worried then expressionless. But he can't help it.

You mean more to Levi then you think, more then he can even comprehend himself.

He's a little giddy, like a cadet with a crush on his senior, when he finds out your horse isn't there. It means you have to ride on his horse with him, the idea of which makes him feel shy and a little more excited then it should.

You fall asleep on the way back, your head resting on his chest. He doesn't have the heart to wake you up, to the point he sneaks you past everyone in the formation and gently lays you down in the cart. He covers you with his cloak and eyes your peaceful expression, heart sorely wishing for things he's never known he wanted.

There's an urge to brush the strands of hair on your face, he tries to resist it at first but ultimately gives in. His hands are stiff, and he's alert, worried you might wake up. But the moment he manages to brush them aside, he hurriedly moves away from you.

His heart is beating too fast, and he doesn't know how to calm it down.

He's doesn't think he even wants to.

____________________________________

Dream do come true-especially in Levi's case. He's dreamt of all of his friends dying, and life has served accordingly. Every worst case scenerio that has ever invaded his mind, has the tendency to be brought to life.

It stings really, the injustice of it all. But he knows better then to complain-like always, he makes peace with the situation, and moves on. He refuses to look back and cry, knowing he'll end up in drowning in regrets if he does. He braces himself for the future--likely to be a very dark and bleak one.

He never, in hold widest dreams, expected one of his deeply desired dreams to come true.

He's been digging deep inside himself, trying to find the needed courage to approach you with romantic intentions. To let you know his hearts desires. But so far he's achieved nothing.

So when you approach him one night, eyes unable to look into his own, he's on the edge. He overthinks, expects you to reject him. You probably noticed him pathetically staring at you, and no doubt decided that he needs to be put in his place. He knows he deserves it, after all, what right does a man like him have to even think about someone as pure as you?

He braces himself to be brutally turned down, what he doesn't expect is the words that tumble out of your mouth.

'I.. I'm in l-love with you.'

The words are stuttered, with a red blush spread across your cheeks. He stares at you for a few seconds, mentally commanding your eyes to meet his. When they don't, he takes action with such confidence that he surprises himself.

His hands move to grasp your wrists, and he pulls you closer to him. He rests his forehead against yours, finally managing to get you to look him in the eyes.

Levi smiles, a sight that only you would have the pleasure of seeing for the rest of your life. He chuckles a little, moving even closer to you.

Dreams really do come true in his case. Sometimes, even the good ones.

____________________________________

A/N: Ta dah! Heyooo here's the part 2! I hope y'all enjoyed this. My asks are open so ask awayyy. Till next time 💕

[asweetprologue]

so hard to say (so easy to do)

This is a follow-up to this fic I did for my halftober series, but can be read as a standalone! This is a whump fic, but all torture mentioned is fairly mild and there is a happy ending. A few people wanted a sequel so I’m finally able to oblige!  ao3

tw: hand trauma including broken fingers and mention of cutting near and around the forearms. 

***

He can’t remember how long he’s been here. 

Days? A week, maybe? It could have been months, and Jaskier’s not entirely sure he would notice the difference. Time began blending together so quickly after the first few sessions. The cell they are keeping him in is makeshift, once some kind of storage room in the dilapidated keep that the Nilfgaardians have occupied. It’s temporary, and so is his capture. One way or another. He will be disposed of the second they no longer find him useful. 

It’s a bit of a cat and mouse game. If he weren’t so thoroughly bruised, deep down in his core, he might be a little proud of how he’s led them along. They come every day, a few times, he’s not sure; there are no windows in his hasty prison. They never remove him from the chair he’s strapped to, and he’s been given only water, twice. He’s beyond hunger, his empty stomach just another point of pain alongside his other injuries. There are two men who work on him, one in what he assumes is the morning and one in the evening. They come in shifts. During the first few days - hours? weeks? - they would leave after he passed out, and he would be allowed to rest for a little while. Now they usually stay for a while, teasing him in and out of consciousness with wicked little hooks and blades. He faints too often for it to bring him any lasting peace. 

It’s a difficult thing to want to draw out, but draw it out he does. They ask him where the witcher has gone, and he tells them he won’t say, won’t give up his secrets (as if he has any). When they move to breaking his fingers, he tells them that he knows a few places, some towns that Geralt might be hiding out in, which he knows are safe to speak of. He tells them about witcher caches that he knows are long looted, old ruins where experiments past took place, unspoken but harmless truths. 

He never tells them the biggest truth: he has no idea where Geralt is. That way lies death, he’s certain. 

When he’s not entertaining Nilfgaard’s finest, he focuses on making plans of escape. None of them are particularly grand, or seem likely to work. Jaskier has gotten himself out of plenty of trouble in years past, but there’s not much one man can do against a full legion of soldiers. If he could get out of his bindings, he might be able to make it through the halls of the keep and sneak past the guards, but it’s a big if. It was a stronger contender in the early hours of his captivity, but now he doubts if he could even stand up for long. Weariness and pain have made his bones brittle, liable to crack at the slightest provocation. He fears if he tried to run he would do more damage than the Nilfgaards already have. 

He’s not sure if he’s thinking clearly. 

He doesn’t think about Geralt at all. He tries not to think about Geralt. 

He dreams of him, though. When he faints from the pain or exhaustion or thirst, he doesn’t dream, but a few times he’s managed to fall into a fitful sleep. In the dark of the cell he dreams of calloused hands and smiling, golden eyes. The worst is when he dreams that he’s woken up by Geralt’s side in their small camp, warm and content, only to wake again to the cold, damp dungeon. The smell of it chokes him, iron and piss and mold, and he gags on bile when he has nothing in his stomach to throw up. He sits in the dark, alone, his broken fingers throbbing along with his pulse as it rushes through his ears, every cut and bruise aching in the chill air. For a long while he just breathes, wishing so desperately to be held that he feels like nothing more than a child. 

They come for him again the next morning. Or night, he doesn’t know, can’t tell. The torch burns his eyes, and he closes them tightly to avoid one pain he doesn't have to endure. It’s better if he doesn’t look, anyways. 

In his brief glimpse of his tormentor, Jaskier could tell that the torturer this time is the thin man. His counterpart is huge, with shockingly broad shoulders and big, meaty, uncoordinated hands. Most of the bruises are from the big one, who prefers to slam his fist into Jaskier’s ribs when he doesn’t hear what he wants to. In his brief and endless time here, Jaskier has learned that he prefers the meat man. The thin man who stands before him now is a surgeon, precise and accurate in all his movements. His fingers are long and thin, and they reach so easily inside to pluck at Jaskier’s delicate veins and nerves. In a strange way, Jaskier can almost appreciate it, one artist to another. The human body is an instrument to the thin man, and the music he makes is pain. 

He can hear the sound of a cloth, rubbing across a smooth surface. It reminds him of Geralt, wiping down his blades with old silk, who he will not think of in this moment. Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, trying to will his mind into stillness. He’s not any good at this, not really. He can talk around the issue, sure, draw it out as much as he likes, keep them guessing. Jaskier would never let a single unintentional detail slip, this he knows in the depths of his being, past the music and charm and frivolousness. Nothing could make him betray Geralt and Ciri. He could run the Nilfgaardians round in circles for years if he wanted to. 

But he isn’t good with pain. 

This time the first knife to pierce his skin isn’t even preceded by a question. It comes with little fanfare, slicing into the pad of one of his twisted fingers in what Jaskier knows is a painfully intentional line. Exactly as big and deep as it needs to be to hurt him how the thin man wants it to. It burns against the swollen skin, already too sensitive. Jaskier lets out a slow breath, trying to brace himself for the rest. 

“I will no longer ask,” the thin man says. His voice is soft, with the almost musical lit of someone from near Toussaint. He always sounds breathy, like he’s been walking too quickly up a flight of stairs. “You know the question.”

Jaskier nods jerkily. He won’t speak for a while. He needs to draw it out, perhaps find a way to barter for some water or food. Information in exchange for things that might make his existence more bearable. Who knows how long it will be before - 

No. Don’t think it. 

The thin man hums and begins his work. 

Jaskier fades, coming back to himself only when the pain becomes the worst. He passes out a few times, but he finds no reprieve. The thin man waits for him when he wakes, and begins again. Jaskier doesn’t even know what he’s doing anymore. All he knows is that his skin has been replaced with fire. 

They haven’t even started working on his face yet, but the thin man had made some chilling comments about his eyes. Jaskier hopes they have time yet before that. 

He’s gritting his teeth through a particularly deep incision on the inside of his forearm - just shallow enough not to be dangerous, but wide enough to sting - when the door to the room shatters inwards. 

The chair that he’s in was bolted to the floor, which he expects is the only reason he doesn’t go flying backwards. As it is, his head rocks back from the blast and knocks into the wood, and he’s too dizzy from blood loss and dehydration and maybe a slight concussion to register what happens next. There’s some shouting, and a spray of something warm and salty across his face. A brilliant light, and then darkness. 

He keeps his eyes closed until he feels hands on his cheeks. When he opens them, he is met with gold, gold, gold. 

Geralt is here. 

“Melitele, that took you long enough,” he says, and then he passes out. 

***

When he wakes, there’s no pain. 

He sits up and winces, amending that thought. There is, most definitely, some pain. It crackles along his ribs and his joints, aching, but it’s dulled. He’s lying in a small room, warm wooden logs forming the wall next to his small cot. A fire crackles merrily away on the far side of the little cottage, basic cooking implements hanging above it. A table sits underneath a window to his left, where he can just barely make out a thin line of blue sky above a dense treeline. His bed is covered in rough, simple cotton sheets; the room is warm enough that it needs no quilt. When he lifts them warily to assess the damage, his torso is wrapped in fine linens, the kind Geralt likes to keep in their packs for when jobs go south. Three of his fingers are heavily wrapped as well, bound together to keep them stiff and straight. He fumbles as he picks up the still mug of water he finds on the little shelf beside the cot, and he drinks so quickly he nearly drops it on the floor. 

He’s so focused on the critical task of getting water from the mug into his mouth without spilling it all on the sheets that he almost doesn’t notice the front door opening. When he does, he jumps - can’t help it, suddenly filled with a bright spot of panic. It fades into sheer relief when he sees the slight silhouette and the faint, nearly white hair backlit by the late afternoon sun. Ciri stares at him, holding a wide, flat bowl against her hip while propping the door open with one hand. Suddenly the bowl goes clattering to the floor, dandelion greens falling in a floral carpet as she launches herself across the room at him.

“We were so fucking worried about you!” she says, throwing her arms around his shoulders. Jaskier laughs, the sound of it coming out rough but no less joyful for it. He lifts his sore arms to hug her back, ignoring the way it pulls at his healing injuries. 

“Now what would your father say if he heard you using such language?” he asks. One hand lifts up to card gently through her hair. Ciri pulls back a bit, and he tucks a stray piece of it behind her ear as she glares at him. Her green eyes are covered in a film of tears, but he won’t mention it. His eyes are burning a bit as well. 

“You know I only learned it from him,” she says, “and you. I’m angry with you. And him. You made us leave you behind.” She’s so young, he thinks, even with everything she’s been through. It makes something in his chest compress and expand at once. It’s a strange feeling, but not a bad one. 

“I know. I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it, mostly. “I didn’t want to. But I would do it again, to protect you. Both of you.”

A stray tear slips down her cheek. “You were so hurt,” she croaks. She takes a few breaths through her nose, biting the inside of her lip. “When they brought you back, Geralt was so quiet. Not like normal quiet, but like, like people get when they don’t want to talk about how bad it is. I’m sorry. It’s my fault.” She looks bereaved, guilt twisting her young features, and Jaskier can’t stand it. 

“No,” he says, firmly, as much authority in his voice as he can muster with it still raw from hours of screaming. “It was my choice, Ciri. The fact that people want to hurt you doesn’t make it your fault. I will always choose to protect you. Always.” He reaches out his free hand to take hers, squeezing it tightly. “You would do the same for me, Lioness.”

She nods shakily, and squeezes his hand back. He knows this isn’t the last time he’ll have to say it, but that’s alright. He’ll say it again. 

Ciri wipes her eyes quickly and pulls away. “I need to get Geralt. He’s been… not good. He needs to know you’re awake.” She stands up, rushing over to the door and righting her upended bowl, saving what she can of the greens. Jaskier takes a moment to arrange himself on the bed a bit, shuffling around until he’s more comfortable.

“Not good how?” he asks. Ciri shoots him a look. 

“Not good as in worried, of course. We all have. Even Yennefer. She stayed with you the entire first day you were back. It’s been -”

The door slams open again, this time revealing a panting Geralt. His hair is down around his face, looking slightly damp. He has on only a loose gray shirt over an old pair of trousers, the ones with a rip in the knee that Jaskier had told him to throw out but he’d insisted were good for at least one more season. Jaskier had been meaning to patch it up for a few weeks now. He’s so fucking beautiful Jaskier could cry.

“I was fishing,” Geralt says. He’s staring at Jaskier with wide eyes, one hand still on the door handle. 

Ciri says, “Um. I’m going to find Yennefer,” and slips out the door under Geralt’s arm. Geralt doesn’t even seem to see her. 

The door falls shut behind her, but Geralt seems rooted in place, staring at Jaskier with an expression that’s wide open and raw. It lands on Jaskier’s skin like a balm, tracing over every visible wound with desperate attention. 

“Well,” Jaskier says finally, “I’m not going to bite you.”

Geralt makes a hurt noise, and suddenly he’s across the room, crowding into Jaskier’s space. He hovers beside the bed, curved over Jaskier’s propped up form with his hands inches away from bandaged shoulders. He hesitates. Jaskier can’t stand it. 

“I didn’t get tortured for however long for you not to hug me once I’m rescued,” he snaps. “I’m not going to break.”

Geralt laughs, but it’s so strangled Jaskier isn’t actually sure it isn’t a sob, and then Geralt finally leans into him. His fingers come up to cradle Jaskier’s skull, holding onto the back of his neck like he really might fragment apart at too harsh a touch. His other arm circles around Jaskier’s chest until he can feel a warm palm spread along the base of his spine, anchoring him. Jaskier sighs, feeling the last of the tension leave him as he collapses against Geralt’s sturdy form. One wet strand of white hair tickles his cheek where he’s pressed against Geralt’s neck. 

“Four days,” Geralt says, so soft Jaskier might not have heard it if he didn’t half feel it through the rumble of Geralt’s ribcage. 

“Four days?” Jaskier repeats, turning it into a question. 

“How long they had you.” A hot breath leaves him in a long sigh, tickling Jaskier’s eartip. “Didn’t know if we’d find you in time.”

“I should have let Yennefer put that tracking spell on me all those years ago,” Jaskier says, aiming for light. Geralt just squeezes him a bit tighter, enough that it stings a little, before he eases off a bit. He doesn't let go. 

“She’ll do one as soon as she’s able,” Geralt says. “Used a lot of energy, healing you.”

“Exceptional job she did,” Jaskier says, soothing his nose along the line of Geralt’s throat. “My, ah. Well. Does she know if my - Any prognosis on, ah -”

“Your fingers will be fine,” Geralt says, bringing the hand on Jaskier’s neck down to cradle his bandaged fingers. “Yennefer said they’re mostly healed already, but she’s keeping them wrapped so you don’t aggravate them.”

Jaskier sighs in relief. “Well thank small mercies and powerful mages for that. How long am I bedridden for? I’m taking two days at least off of whatever orders Yennefer has given, knowing her she’s added an extra week just to keep me ‘out of trouble’ as she would describe it. I’ll not sit around a moment more than -”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupts. He pulls back, looking serious, almost grave. But his eyes are full of something else, something that makes Jaskier’s words catch and halt in his throat. 

“Yes, dear heart?” he prompts. Geralt closes his eyes. 

“I love you,” he says, soft and breathless. He opens his eyes suddenly, pupils blown wide as he meets Jaskier’s gaze. An expression that Jaskier has seen so, so many times steals across his features - scared, but determined. His witcher is a very brave man. “I’m in love with you. I didn’t know if I’d get to - if you would be -”

Jaskier reaches up to catch Geralt’s cheek in his wrapped palm, and Geralt’s eyelids flutter like he wants to close them, but he doesn’t. He stays looking at Jaskier, drinking him in as Jaskier is doing in return. His eyes are two spots of honey in the warm light of the fire and the afternoon sun spilling into the room. Jaskier leans forward and presses their lips together. His are too dry, and Geralt’s are a bit chapped. He bites them when he’s nervous, or worried. It’s also the most brilliant kiss Jaskier’s ever had - it feels like the relief of coming to a familiar place after a long time on the road, where you know the people and the food is good and everyone knows your songs. It’s cheerful fires in silver blue campsites, blankets shared on cold nights on the journey north, buttercups and dandelions braided into snow white hair. It’s coming home, the only way Jaskier has ever really known how. 

He pulls away, letting their foreheads fall together, just breathing in the space between them. Geralt smells like Roach, and fresh spring water, and lilac. “I know, sweetheart. I love you too.”

Geralt smiles at him, really smiles, beautiful and relieved. Ciri’s voice comes to them through the window, excited and drawing nearer, interwoven with a smoother tone that Jaskier remembers from hazy half wakeful moments. Yennefer will want to check on his wounds, will lecture them on getting distracted and ruining her hard work, but she will also smile and it will touch her eyes like it didn’t used to. But for the next few seconds, it’s just the two of them, and once again the moment feels unhurried and infinite. So he leans back in to kiss him again and steals Geralt’s quiet huff of a laugh to keep within his own mouth, and for a moment that’s everything there is. 

[lillotte17]

Bird Nest

Continuation of my post-canon drabble things!! Who is ready for some Emotional Whiplash?!

~

Domesticity is not something that Zhou Zishu has much experience with.

Even before becoming the Four Seasons’ Manor Lord and the Leader of the Window of Heaven, his family had always kept servants. He has never been like Jing BeiYuan, who seems to like nothing more than luxuriating amidst finery, but he has never had to concern himself with the everyday tasks of cooking and cleaning and doing laundry, either. He knows how to look after himself well enough, when he has to, but his standards of ‘well enough’ are not especially high. He was always content to make do with the things on hand, and wait for his fortunes to shift towards something better. Or to simply drown himself in wine until the state of his surroundings and his body no longer mattered.

It has never bothered him before, but in these last few days spent in the cold dusty ruin of the World’s Armory with Lao Wen, he is beginning to notice the gaping holes of his inadequacies.

He does not know how to take care of someone.

He knows how to protect someone, how to fight off enemies and hide from pursuit and outmaneuver any opposition. He knows how to treat a simple wound or a fever when someone is suffering. He knows how to care about someone, but after words of affirmation and patience and physical intimacy, he is at something of a loss.

When they had been staying at the Four Seasons Manor with Chengling, he could wave off the fact that he was not doing most of the mundane work of keeping them all fed and healthy because he had a disciple to train and poison burning through his veins, and later, an injured shoulder to contend with. He had focused more on their defenses, and taking stock of their food and medical stores. Making sure that the secrets of the Manor had remained hidden and safe, so that Chengling could inherit them once he was ready.

But now the Manor is gone, and there is only the mountain and the armory and Lao Wen, and Zhou Zishu…is not entirely sure what to do with himself.

The first three or four days had been lost to fear and grief, clinging to Wen Kexing’s limp body and pouring as much of his internal force into him as he could before slumping over in exhaustion. Once he had come back to him from the brink of death, the two days following had been surrendered to hands and mouths and ravenous devotions. They had spent most of their time in various stages of undress, lounging about on the random assortments of tattered mats and blankets they had made into their bed, neither one willing to venture far from the other’s line of sight.

The fifth or sixth day finally had Lao Wen declaring that he felt grimy past the point of endurance, and sent him puttering about the maze of bookshelves and farming equipment in search of the tools to shape the armory into a livable space. Rong Xuan and his friends had come here to train, so there were still some useful things here and there. A few chipped bowls and a dusty teapot. A moldering wash basin that is not yet beyond salvation and a small stew pot with a rusting handle. He had swept and bustled and rearranged things in nearly a frenzy, and Zhou Zishu had not done much more than keep him company and carry and few things when he was bidden.

It had taken the better part of the day, but now they have a dining area, a cozy nook in a well-lit corner for reading and writing, and even a few battered screens set up for privacy while bathing or changing clothes, if they feel so inclined. It nearly feels like a home, even if everything they have is in some state of disrepair. They heat enough water to wash themselves, tend to their outer robes as best they can, and sit down to their first meal of ice and snow in nothing but blankets. It is not especially filling, but then again, their bodies do not seem to feel hunger as they did before, either.

Wen Kexing seems buoyant with his successes, his damp snowy hair glistening in the soft light of their little table lamp.

“How long do you suppose it will take the others to come dig us out?” he asks.

“It is hard to say just how bad the avalanche was from in here,” Zishu hums thoughtfully, “Even if they find the markers you left and follow you here, I am afraid it will take a few weeks at the very least. Transporting large amounts of men and equipment through the mountains is slow going even in good weather.”

He smirks at him.

“Why? Are you sick of me already?”

“Impossible,” Wen Kexing laughs with a dismissive wave of his hand, grinning from ear to ear. “It was more of a practical concern. If we are trapped in here for months, we might survive it well enough, but there is no telling what state we will be in without access to any sort of grooming tools. The old monster did not exactly tell me what to expect if the technique succeeded. Will our hair keep growing? What about our fingernails? Are we going to look like horrible mountain beasts by the time they finally come for us? Your poor dumb disciple will start crying in fear again.”

“Chengling will cry when he sees us no matter what we look like,” Zhou Zishu sighs, exasperated yet fond. “But I would assume that since our bodies are no longer using food to fuel themselves in the typical sense, that our metabolisms have slowed, or possibly even stopped. Even if our hair and nails keep growing, it will likely be some time before we become terrifying.”

“Hm,” Lao Wen nods in acceptance, “What will we do about keeping clean, though? Luckily, we do not have to concern ourselves too much with dirty dishes, but what about our clothes? What about ourselves? Water can only do so much on its own.”

“I did not expect you to be this squeamish about a little dirt,” Zishu chuckles.

“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing says flatly, “It is hardly going to be ‘a little dirt’ after several weeks. You should know by now that to touch and be touched by you is one of my life’s dearest delights, but if you truly intend to forego soap and cleanliness for an entire month or more, I am not sharing a bed with you. For sleeping, or anything else.”

Zhou Zishu arches a brow at him in disbelief.

“Would you care to know how long it had been since I had a bath when we first met?”

“Just because I could tell you were beautiful beneath all of that filth does not mean I was willing to bed you before you got a chance to wash yourself,” Lao Wen huffs, “I do have standards.”

Zishu makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, but his expression is still doubtful.

“Ah well,” Wen Kexing sighs, deciding to sidestep the obvious but unspoken opinion about what his standards are, or lack thereof, “There must be something in here we can use. Maybe there are stores of rice in with the grain and farming supplies. I doubt it would be safe to eat, but if we cook it, the water leftover might still be good for washing… And Rong Xuan was married. Perhaps his wife left something behind.”

“Perhaps you mother did.”

Lao Wen tenses in reflexive discomfort, as he still does at any mention of his past, but then the moment passes and he smiles.

“I doubt my parents would have come here very often,” he tells him softly. “They supported the idea of the armory, but neither of them were that invested in becoming martial masters themselves. They wanted to heal people. But…it would be nice, if we found something of them here. If they left something behind that we could use to make a life together.”

“You are good at this,” Zhou Zishu compliments him sincerely, gesturing to the living space they have already arranged, “I never would have thought this place could feel even half this hospitable. You did a good job with our manor too, before it was destroyed. Chengling barely knows how to boil water, so I know you must have helped him with more than you claimed. The Valley Master is truly a man of many hidden talents.”

“I was only the leader of the ghosts for eight years,” Wen Kexing reminds him, bitterness seeping into his smile, “Even if the old chief favored me for my ruthlessness, I was still more of a servant or a slave than a ward. If I am good at building a life from ruins now, it is because I was never given an option to do otherwise.”

“Lao Wen, I-”

He holds up a hand to halt his apology.

“You do not have to be sorry,” he says, “Not for what happened, and not for making me talk about it either. We have eternity to share together, so I imagine all of our old wounds will eventually be dragged out into the sunlight at some point. It is not the easiest thing to discuss, but…I want to tell you. I want to tell you everything.”

Zhou Zishu puts his hand over his on the tabletop, squeezing his fingers in reassurance.

“There is no rush,” he reminds him, “As you said; we have time. I will be here, and I will listen when you are ready.”

He chuckles softly.

“Of course, those things are easier to talk about while enjoying a jar of wine together, like we used to,” Zishu sighs wistfully, “Of all the things we are going to give up for this life, that might be the most difficult for me to part with.”

“But Ah Xu, we brought the sweetest wine with us!” Wen Kexing grins, leaning towards him over the table.

“…You mean in your flask?” Zhou Zishu blinks at him frowningly, “We cannot drink it anymore, even if you brought some.”

“I have been drinking this wine every day,” Lao Wen insists, eyes curving upwards as his smile deepens, mischievous and extremely self-satisfied. “This is a taste I would not sacrifice for anything.”

Zishu’s brows furrow in consternation, sensing a ruse, but not certain what the endgame could be yet.

“…Do you not want to know where the wine is?” Wen Kexing asks sweetly.

“If I ask, will it end this silly game any faster?”

“Hm, perhaps. That is entirely up to you.”

“…Where is it?” Zhou Zishu huffs out with a grumble, looking terribly put-upon.

“Here!” Lao Wen exclaims happily, placing one long finger directly against Zishu’s lips.

Zhou Zishu catches his hand on instinct, fighting a losing battle with the urge to roll his eyes.

“You are utterly preposterous.” He informs him evenly.

“I am also hopelessly charming and completely inescapable,” Wen Kexing agrees without the slightest hint of shame. He moves his finger to lightly trace one corner of Zhou Zishu’s mouth. “You, on the other hand, are both delicious and intoxicating. If were not trapped inside, I would whisk you out beneath the moonlight and drink you in until both of us were dizzy with sensation.”

“Do these types of brazen declarations actually work on people?” Zishu wonders.

“They worked on you,” Wen Kexing points out with a shrug, still smiling like a fool.

Zhou Zishu lets out long-suffering sigh, seemingly defeated, but he meets Lao Wen’s gaze without hesitation. A few heartbeats pass, and he turns his head slightly, just enough to brush the barest whisper of a kiss across the tip of the finger still hovering near his cheek. He smiles at the surprised silence that follows, pulling the hand in his grip closer to him, deciding to press a kiss into its palm as well.

Wen Kexing’s eyes on him are molten.

Zhou Zishu laughs.

“Well, I think we both know what works on you.”

“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing exhales his name with a stuttering breath, a thread of supplication weaving through his voice.

Zishu’s expression softens exponentially.

“Alright.”

~

Zhou Zishu wakes up the next morning with a mild soreness that is becoming typical. His freshly rinsed clothes from the day before are folded neatly near the bed, along with their battered little washbasin and a damp handkerchief so he can wipe himself down before dressing. Wen Kexing is sitting at the narrow table in their reading nook, the sun sifting in through the high windows painting him with sweeps of warm golden light. His hair is still unbound, softening the angles of his face as he pours over the open book in front of him. A comb is loosely clasped within his left hand, seemingly forgotten.

Zishu takes the time to admire the scene in silence. He thinks again about what it means to take care of someone. To make a life from the ground up with nothing but your bare hands and your sincerity. To build a home within the walls of someone else’s heart.

He is still not certain he knows how to go about it, but no one said that the first step had to be the largest one.

It takes him a few minutes to quietly sweep away the traces of sweat and other things from the night before and pull his robe on. He is certain that Wen Kexing must have noticed, but he seems to be engrossed with his reading. Without waiting for acknowledgment or invitation, he pads across the room to pluck the wooden comb from Lao Wen’s elegant fingers.

“You won’t be able to read properly with your hair falling in your eyes like that.” He says it more brusquely than he meant to. His mouth twitches downward briefly in discontentment. That was not how he wanted to begin this.

For his own part, Wen Kexing simply turns his head slightly to blink up at him, a mix of warmth and mild surprise on his face.

“Are you offering to help me look pretty, Ah Xu?”

“You hardly need my help with that.”

Lao Wen shifts in his seat a little, as though he is so pleased with the compliment that he cannot quite hold it in.

“By all means,” he tells him, trying and failing to hold back a wide curling smile, “If you want to touch me anywhere, I would be that last person to stop you.”

Zhou Zihsu laughs.

“This I already know,” he says, leaning over to poke at one of the round mouth-shaped bruises along the side of Lao Wen’s throat.

Wen Kexing hisses and pulls a face as Zishu moves to sit behind him.

“And here I thought you were going to be tender with me,” he quips lightly.

Zhou Zishu stills for a moment, a portion of Lao Wen’s silvery hair already gathered in his left hand. He fiddles with the comb and stares and the shoulders of the man in front of him. His expression slides back towards uncertainty.

“I am.” He says finally. Wen Kexing reaches back and pats his knee. He can tell that he is smiling by the tilt of his head, and somehow it seems to ease the tension back out of his shoulders.

Without another word between them, he beings carefully running the comb through Lao Wen’s hair. He does his best to be gentle, but there are a few places with some especially stubborn tangles. Wen Kexing makes a low pained sound as he tries to pull the teeth of the comb through them, and Zhou Zishu pauses once again.

“Have you ever combed someone else’s hair before?” Wen Kexing wonders.

“…No,” Zhou Zishu confesses.

“Not even your shidi’s?” Wen Kexing presses, sounding surprised, “Didn’t you raise him once our master passed? Qin Jiuxiao was still too young to look after himself at the time, was he not?”

“We had servants at the Four Seasons Manor,” Zishu reminds him, “I was the new leader of a struggling sect. I was not going to spend time doing something that could easily be allocated to a maid. I helped him with his studies and I trained him in martial arts. He came to me with his troubles, but the more mundane chores of childrearing were handled by other people. I had too many other things to look after to go out of my way to make sure he was groomed every morning.”

“It was not a condemnation,” Wen Kexing says softly.

“I know.” He sighs.

“Do you wish you could have done more for him, now?”

“I…don’t know,” Zhou Zishu admits, “I don’t know if there was any more I could have done for him even if I wanted to. I was only sixteen when I became responsible for him. I barely knew how to run our sect, let alone how to be someone’s father figure. As his older brother, it was my job to keep him out of trouble, so that is what I tried to do. He had a good heart. A pure heart -like Chengling- and he was just as silly. I tried to make sure he never got his hands dirty the way I had to. We used to dream of the day the Window of Heaven would no longer be needed, and we would wander the jianghu together. Maybe, if that had happened, we might have had the chance for more moments like this.”

His hand trembles slightly and he tugs the comb harder than intended.

“Ai,” Wen Kexing winces, “Start closer to the bottom. It will be easier to get rid of the knots higher up once the ends are free of tangles.”

“Mn,” he acknowledges. “Sorry.”

He glances down at the comb in his hand. A crisp bouquet of carved wooden flowers in a dark cherry lacquer. Almost violet. He runs his thumb over it thoughtfully.

“Did you find this in the armory?” he asks, “It’s a woman’s comb, isn’t it?”

“Ah, no, I brought it with me,” Lao Wen says. His tone is casual, but almost abnormally so. Zishu squints down at the comb again to see if there is anything peculiar about it. But it just looks like a comb.

“Did it belong to your mother?” Zhou Zishu hazards a guess. “I thought the only thing you managed to take with you when the ghosts came was the hairpin.”

“…It belongs to Ah Xiang.”

Oh.

“When she was little, I would help her get dressed and do her hair up in the ugliest little buns you ever saw,” Wen Kexing continues in something of a daze, “I am sure I pulled her hair so many times, but she never complained. She was too scared I would throw her out. When she got a bit older, she would scold me when her braids were sloppy, but she wouldn’t let any of the girls from the department of the unfaithful do them, either. She only wanted me, and to this day I don’t know why.”

By this time Zhou Zishu has managed to tie back a portion of Lao Wen’s hair so it is no longer falling in his eyes. He thinks about attempting the usual little twist he wears it in, but it is already a bit crooked as it is and he suspects that would be beyond his abilities. He smooths the hair back from his forehead one last time, gently pulling a few strands loose at the sides to frame his face the way he likes it.

“She loved you.” He tells him quietly.

“I loved her, too.”

“I know.” He squeezes his shoulder.

“I found the comb in with my things when I woke up after…after…” Wen Kexing’s breathing becomes erratic, and Zhou Zishu wraps him up in his arms, pulling him back against his chest. Kexing refuses to meet his eyes, but he eventually seems to calm himself, reaching up and holding onto Zishu’s wrists for dear life. “I don’t know if there was some sort of mix up in the rush to leave Ghost Valley, or if Ah Xiang left it for me on purpose. Maybe she thought it would give her an excuse to come back, if she wanted. Maybe she just wanted me to remember all those early mornings when I used to do her hair for her. Or maybe… Maybe she thought I would forget her if she didn’t leave something behind.”

“She knew that she was going to miss you,” Zhou Zishu says, pressing a kiss into the crown of his head, “She wanted to make sure that you would miss her, too.”

A child takes after their parent, after all.

“I…was not as nice to her as I could have been,” Wen Kexing says thickly, “At first, it was because it was too dangerous. If the other ghosts knew she was precious to me, they would go after her as soon as it looked like I might be any sort of threat to them. I had to keep her at a distance to keep her safe. But later… Later on, I think I just forgot how to be kind to someone. And so, I was always making her worried that I would throw her away…”

“She knew,” Zhou Zishu soothes, “She knew your intentions. Who else could know you better?”

“You know me better,” Lao Wen sighs. “She was a bit too silly to understand me completely. Her heart was better than mine. She deserved better than me.”

“You raised her well.”

“Not well enough.”

They sit together in silence for a while, each lost in the memories of the children they could not save. There is grief, but there is understanding, too. The wordless empathy of touch. Zhou Zishu holds Wen Kexing in his arms and sees the ways their hurts fit together in perfect likeness. How just to know someone who knows him, someone with whom he freely shares his words and his space and his time without resentment or restraint, has allowed them both to become more of the people they had always wanted to be. And that…is a kind of caring, too.

Perhaps the most important kind.

The rest will come later.

“Lao Wen, I am afraid if you don’t get up, your hair will need combing again,” Zhou Zishu says after a long time has passed. He makes no move to relinquish his embrace, however.

“I’m not getting up,” Wen Kexing says stubbornly, “You can just comb my hair again for me later.”

“Oh?” Zhou Zishu laughs softly, “I thought I wasn’t very good at it.”

“You are not,” Lao Wen tells him bluntly, “But I’m spoiled now. You have to brush my hair for me every day.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

Zhou Zishu smiles, and holds him that much tighter.

“Alright.”

[justcourttee]

I love your sibling Jasonette so much!! If you don't mind, could you do Marinette's first meeting with the rest of the Batfam? Also, this is probably a stupid question but are the rest of the sibling Jasonette stories connected?

Not a stupid question at all! I wrote them so that if you read all of them, there are parallels so that they could be connected, but if people didn’t want to read all of them, they could also stand on their own :)

I also NEVER mind writing more sibling Jasonette ;) Hope you enjoy! @moonlitjiminie 

Family Game Night

“What if they don’t like me?”

Jason stopped in his tracks, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Is that even a real question that you’re asking me? I’m honestly offended right now that you would even think they had an option to not like you.”

He dramatically placed his hand over his heart as if her words had fatally wounded him earning a small giggle from the girl. Slinging his arm over her shoulder, she managed to breathe a small sigh of relief as they made their way up the long staircase.

Jason didn’t even bother knocking as he threw open the manor doors, effectively dragging her in with him.

“Master Jason, what a pleasure to see you attend family game night and with a guest in tow, how lovely.”

An older man stood in the foyer, his sly smile warming Marinette to the core instantly. Jason narrowed his eyes playfully at the man, a sly smile of his own tugging at his lips.

“Marinette, let me introduce you to the only sane person in this household. Mr. Alfred Pennyworth. He likes to pretend he’s just a humble butler, but we all know that he secretly runs the whole thing around here.”

Alfred bowed deeply to Marinette to which she could only curtsey in return.

“It’s a pleasure, sir. I am sorry for invading your family time. I was under the impression that my presence was a known factor tonight.” Her narrowed eyes shot to Jason who simply shrugged, his smirk as arrogant as ever.

“Nonsense, a friend of Master Jason is a friend to all. You are by far the most pleasant friend he has brought to this event.”

Marinette almost wanted to ask about the context of his remark, but something in her gut told her she really didn’t want to know.

“Please, follow me to the sitting room. The rest of the family has already arrived.”

They walked in a comfortable silence down the hall, Marinette nerves slightly frayed now knowing that nobody expected her appearance. Alfred pushed open two oak doors, revealing a brightly lit room filled with many laughing faces. When Jason said he had a lot of siblings, Marinette thought two or three. Nothing could have prepared her for this.

“Oh my god, Jason brought home a girl!”

Instantly all sounds in the room paused as many heads turned their attention to where Marinette stood in the doorway. Hesitantly, she raised her hand in greeting, a sheepish smile gracing her face.

“Everyone, this is Marinette, the legendary designer MDC, and my sister. She’s flown all the way from Paris to meet you losers for some reason so be nice.”

Marinette mumbled a quiet hello as a few smiles broke through the room welcoming her. Instantly, a blonde girl jumped up to drag her back to where she was previously sitting, ignoring Jason’s protests.

“You just have to play on my team tonight! Are you any good at Pictionary? I mean I’m not great, but I can say with utmost confidence that I can beat most of the people in this room.”

“That’s not true!” Marinette’s attention was split as one of the men started an argument with her as to who was the better pictionary-ist. She didn’t even notice when Jason had sat beside her, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

“The rude blonde is Stephanie Brown. She’s Timmy boys girlfriend, who would be the dead zombie looking kid over there.”

Marinette’s gaze followed to where Jason pointed, a small giggle escaping at his accurate description. The poor boy looked like he hasn’t gotten a good night's sleep a single day in his life. 

“The rude boy arguing with Stephanie would be Dick. He practically rivals your optimism except his happy go lucky actually disgusts me.”

The man paused from his argument, a horrified expression on his face.

“I like to think my optimism is a blessing.”

That earned a collective groan from the room to which he simply crossed his arms into a pout.

“Anyways, continuing, the redhead is Barbara Gordon-Grayson who unfortunately has trapped herself in the position of Dick’s wife. A tragedy really for such a beautiful woman, I mean she could’ve had me and instead she chose him? The world just isn’t right.”

Another protest came from Dick’s direction as he turned his pout into Barbara’s outstretched arms as her attempt to not laugh failed miserably.

“The one staring you down while trying to pretend he’s not interested at the same time would be your future husband Damian.”

Marinette felt her entire face flush red as she reached back slapping Jason in the stomach as hard as he could.

“Todd, I do not appreciate harassing this young woman. You are beneath her in status and beauty therefore you should not be allowed to get off with this insult to her self so easily.”

Damian stood from his spot, careful not to make eye contact with Marinette as he sped past her toward the room’s only exit. She wanted to call out and ask him to stay, but the pink on his cheeks caused her to pause. He probably was just as embarrassed as her and just needed some time to breathe.

“Jason, that was mean! Look at how flustered you made him!”

Jason simply laughed as he reached over to ruffle her hair.

“Trust me, he never gets ‘flustered’ that was all you.”

For the second time that night, Marinette felt her face flush.

“He’s right you know!” Her eyes turned back to the blonde from earlier who stared her down with a playful expression in her eyes. “Demon spawn definitely has a crush on you.”

The rest of the family took turns picking at her, taking jabs until she was sure there wasn’t one part of her that wasn’t bloodshot red.

“Alright, alright, give the girl some space. We want her to return eventually!”

Marinette smiled gratefully toward the dark-haired man.

“After all, I need to get to know my future daughter-in-law.”

She instantly regretted her friendly gesture as the room exploded once more, smiles and laughter filling the room. Why exactly had she let Jason talk her into this?

“Okay, okay, really though guys. It’s game night! Time to pick team captains.”

Stephanie’s devilish smile sent shivers through Marinette’s spine. It was purely chaotic, reminding her of another blonde that she had left behind.

“I vote Marinette and Jason, the ultimate sibling showdown!” Dick puffed out his chest as his voice mimicked what sounded suspiciously like a wrestling ref that her father loved to watch.

“I’m down, how about you princess?”

Marinette bit her lip as her eyes glanced around the room at their waiting faces. Her eyes caught sight of one brooding face that she couldn’t seem to pass by. He also seemed to be waiting, his eyes nervously glancing from her position to the door as if he might bolt at any moment.

“It’s game on Todd.”

They shook their hands defiantly, both wearing dangerous smirks. Maybe she could salvage her pride tonight; not just hers’ but Damian’s as well. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Ladies first.”

Marinette and Jason stood on opposite sides of the room, both watching each other with an intense look that came from their competitive natures. She scanned the eager faces of his family thoughtfully. She had no idea what any of them were good at, but she wanted to maintain appearance for the psych of it.

“Damian.”

Everybody broke out into smirks as they shared knowing looks. She didn’t bother to pay them any mind as the pink-cheeked boy rose to stand with her.

“Wrong move princess, demon spawn hates game night more than he likes to win. My first choice? Stephanie.”

The girl pumped her fist in the air as she joined Jason on his side. Marinette leaned toward where Damian stood, hiding half her face behind her hand.

“Time to strategize, who is my best bet?”

Damian stared at her with a bewildered expression.

“C’mon beau garçon, I need your help if we’re gonna kick Jason’s ass.”

He nodded slowly as if that were a perfectly reasonable excuse to kick into gear.

“Grayson is the leading contender if you wish to win tonight.”

Marinette nodded as she motioned for Dick to join them as well. Jason raised an eyebrow at her as he called over Tim, challenging her to pick from the remaining two.

“Okay Damian, Barbara or Bruce.”

He didn't bother responding as he pointed at his father, leaving the redhead to Jason’s team.

It was five hours of intense games, Alfred keeping score as an unaffiliated third party,( after all, they had all agreed that he was the fairest way to keep the games moving.) They all sat in anticipation while he tallied the scores. She couldn’t seem to calm her nerves as she stared at Jason’s cocky smirk.

Marinette felt a warmth brush by her kneecap. Instantly her head snapped to where a hand rested before her gaze reached back up to his face, a light red dusting across her cheeks. Immediately his hand retracted.

“I’m sorry if that was inappropriate, your knee was just bouncing anxiously from the corner of my eye and it was a slight bother.”

Marinette muttered out a small sorry before they both broke their gaze, the blush evident on both of their cheeks.

“And with a final score of 5-4, the winning team is… Miss Marinette!”

Her whole team jumped from the couch in excitement. Without thinking, she threw her arms around Damian’s neck. Realization crossed her face as she quickly retracted her hug, her entire face as red as could be. God, she hadn’t been this much of a blushing mess since she was thirteen.

They all chatted idly for a few minutes before Jason finally intercepted, insisting he had to get her back to her apartment before it got too late. The whole family waved her goodbye, minus one red-faced teen who instead handed her a small piece of paper as discreetly as he could, ignoring the taunts from his family behind his back.

As they drove back to her apartment, Marinette couldn’t hold her excitement anymore.

“I don’t know why you were warning me so much, I think I’m in love with your family Jason.”

His familiar smirk sat on his face as he turned into the apartment’s lot.

“I told you they were going to love you, and what do you know? I didn’t even have to give Damian your number, you two worked it out on your own. I truly believe they are planning out your wedding right now.”

Marinette shook her head as she reached over the console to hug Jason tightly before stepping out of the car. She wanted to deny accusations of what happened tonight, but she knew it would just fuel his picking.

Besides, even she couldn’t deny that she was excited for the next family game night and if she saw a certain Wayne there, well, that really wouldn’t be so bad.

Permanent Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava

[moxfirefly]

80. "Does he know about the baby?" For Donnie, please 😄💜💜

This wasn’t a very honorable move, was all Donatello could hear bouncing in his brain.

The ungodly echo sounded a lot like Leonardo too to boot.

It had been innocent, surely a Murphy’s Law scenario. He would never do this on his own, in fact this was a downright unfathomable scenario that Donnie would’ve never chosen to act as he did.

-Does he know about the baby?

The bold text message had flashed right on his work desk where his girlfriend had left her device on. Honestly Donnie’s eyes had scanned the device nonchalantly. He had only gone bug eyed because the simple text message, from your best friend, had really made him do a double take.

He had sat there in a stupor.

A baby?

A child?

Surely the two of you’s relationship was fairly new. There was still things to get to know about one another.

But how in the ever loving Darwin’s fuck had she neglected to mention a child?!

A whole ass human baby?!

“So are you feeling Mexican or Korean? I could literally kill for a ramen” Y/n had returned from the bathroom, hand already reaching for the her phone. The message seemed to go ignored in favor of her pulling up the postmates app.

“Um, well, whatever you’re in the mood for is fine love” Donnie wanted to ask, god he really wanted to ask but how could he bring up such sensitive information? What if you got mad that he had merely glanced at your phone by accident!

“You ok there professor?” You grinned, knowing how he enjoyed the nickname. Donnie shook himself and opted to smile back at you.

But the feeling persisted nevertheless.

______________

“I gotta talk to you” Y/n spoke timidly as the two of you sat in the garbage truck.

Donnie was doing the gentlemen deed of driving you home safely since it was late.

He felt his udon noodles rise up suddenly.

Donnie kept his gaze on the road but spared a glance at her. “Sure, shoot” Welp here it comes, he couldn’t help but think to himself.

“So, I had this ex I dated briefly” You looked out the window as the pedestrians walked by unaware of the residents in the truck. “He, well he turned out to be a dick it’s ancient history but he tried hurting someone I care about a lot and that was a big no for me” Donnie was at a stop light right now, he gave you a worried look.

“This little guy... he means the world to me Don” You took out your phone and scrolled. Assuming a picture was being looked up.

Donnie swallowed, well here it comes...

“His name is Vlad” You presented the phone to him.

Two thoughts went through Donnie’s brilliant mind.

1. That’s an odd name for a child but perhaps you had European family?

2. Why were you showing him a picture of a black cat?

The honking behind him pulled him from his haze. He made a left turned and found a spot to stop and assessed the situation.

“Wait, Vlad? You don’t have an actually baby?” Donnie’s stupefied glance made you chuckle. “He is my baby, I’ve had this little dude for 8 years now” Your voice was cracking up in laughter.

“You thought I had a kid? Like a human baby?” Now you couldn’t hold back the laughter. Donnie was still blinking, his brain had really short circuited. Your laugh was on full wheez mode by now, a few snorts escaping. That in itself caused Donnie to snort and start laughing along with you.

________________

The apartment lit up around the time that Donnie got to the fire escape. The click of the window lock being disengaged alerting him that he could enter. Y/n had already turned most of the lights on and was making her way to the bedroom. Donnie couldn’t help but blush, he had thought about that room quite often but they were nowhere near that conversation for now.

“So Donatello, I would like you to formally meet my son” Your giggles lit up your face in a way that Donnie couldn’t help but smile at. In your arms was a slinky and dark as night cat. The sounds of purring were loud and reminded him of a motor.

Y/n approached closer, the purring black mass in arms. “Vlad this is Donnie, Donnie this is Vlad” She scratched his chin, the felines big yellow eyes closing in contended joy. The large terrapin extended his hand in offering for the cat to smell, it’s wet little snout sniffing up a storm.

A minute of silence passed. Donnie hoping the cat wouldn’t outright neglect him resulting in his young romantic adventures perishing.

“He likes you, he usually hisses when he’s got a bad read of the person” Vlad soon was snuggling his cheek against Donnie’s large finger. “I guess I’m good people then? I don’t mean to sound rude but why was this such a big deal?” Donnie soon found himself scratching a furry chin.

“The guy I dated after my ex, he hated cats like it was a huge deal breaker for him and he basically told me if we were gonna be serious about one another I had to give Vlad away” Her eyes were solemn, voice filled with sadness. “He’s my best friend, I can’t do that to him, my ex boyfriend was mean to him always scaring him on purpose... I saw him kick Vlad one day and that was the last straw” Her eyes went wide when Donnie grabbed the cat and gently placed him in his arms.

“Hey there Vlad, I really really like your mom” Donnie cooed as the feline reached up to playfully grab at his hand. “You seem to like me and trust me, like you already too” You watched fascinated as the two played. “Mind if I continue to date her?” He looked at you when he asked the question, that sweet smile that won you over present on his handsome face.

“Knew you were special from day one” You leaned against his arm and continued to watch the two be playful with one another.

Well, Donnie always fancied himself a cat person anyways.

[swan--writes]

BJ’s V-Day

In which BJ fucks with reader’s chocolate, and reader is Upset.

It’s still Valentine’s Day in some places, right? Shut up. It’s been a busy day.

Warnings: food, swan-typical language

It started at the coffee shop. (Of course it did.)

You ordered the same coffee that you always did, from the same barista you always saw, but something was different that day. The coffee was darker and colder, and more viscous than usual. It was almost sour, and the way it sloshed around in the paper cup made your stomach churn. When you frowned at the barista who had made it, he gave you a too-wide grin and an unnerving wink. (His teeth were so pointy, was that normal?) You scurried out of the shop and onto the street of your small Connecticut town. You had not been back since.

That was only the first of February.

Next came the florist’s. You had been to the florist every week since you moved to this small town. It was cozy enough that you didn’t feel pressured to place a massive order, and you preferred small business flowers to the grocery store selection. And you loved fresh flowers. (Everybody has their thing, this was yours.)

Now, you would swear that when you chose your bouquet, it was beautiful. The blooms were fresh, the leaves were perky, and the roses were vibrant.

By the time the florist had packaged it for you, it was a red and black mess right out of an early My Chemical Romance music video. Great for art. Kitchen counters? Not as much.

Of course, you were too nice to say anything. You simply had to contend with half-dead roses, wilting on their stems. They were all blackened edges, wrinkled petals, and falling leaves. The florist gave you an even wider grin than the barista had, and you walked out even faster than you had the coffee shop.

It was only day four.

After the roses – which had only lasted two days in your house before the blooms fell dead away (literally) – was the truffles. This was almost your breaking point.

All of the convenience store chocolate was discounted for Valentine’s Day, just five days away now. It was on your way home from work, and you couldn’t force yourself to just drive past it. So, in you went, and there you bought, and then you went home. You had gone through the self-checkout, but one of the cashiers kept giving you sidelong looks.

At the convenience store, you had tried to ignore them, but they were all you could think about when you bit into the first truffle. The chocolate shell was mostly fine, if a touch bitter. The filling was dust. (Literal, actual dust.)

So, like any rational person, you spent the next fifteen minutes gagging over the sink, then grabbed a knife. You sliced clean through every single truffle. Most of them crumbled from the pressure of your knife, and all of them were the same. Truffle after truffle – two full boxes – were all filled with dust.

Well, all but one.

In the center of the second box, there was one truffle that did not crumble. It was densely packed with a thick, old piece of paper. The paper felt leathery between your fingers when you picked it out of the chocolate shell, almost like parchment.

When you saw what was written on it, you all but stabbed your knife through it.

Bad coffee? Okay. Dead flowers? Fine. But nobody fucked with your chocolate and remained in your good graces.

The next five days only upped the ante.

Your trusty diner somehow dropped every single Valentine’s Day éclair on the floor as soon as you arrived. Your supervisor lost her box of valentines before she could hand them out at your office. Your set of Valentine’s decorated mason jars somehow fell from your entertainment center and shattered when you walked by. (A good four feet away from the table, because that made complete sense.) But the final straw came on day fourteen, first thing on Valentine’s Day. (Of course it did.)

When you opened the door to take the trash out, you felt it knock something over. It was mostly dark outside, and you didn’t fully see what it was until you brought it inside. Once you were under proper lighting, you saw that you were holding a black teddy bear about the size of your torso.

When you shook the bear to make sure there was nothing inside, however, the head immediately twisted off and flew away to who knows where? A foul-smelling green slime began oozing from the severed neck. You shrieked and dropped the bear. Slime and wet dirt spilled onto your kitchen floor.

“Oh my--no, y’know what? Fine,” you groused. “Fine! I give up.” You backed away from the decapitated bear and stomped through the kitchen to your living room.

Your house was old, and you could hear the creaking of the floorboards underneath the banging of your steps. You could hear the sizzle of whatever the slime was doing to your kitchen floor. And you could hear the wind that kicked up when you spoke the words from the parchment you had found in your discount truffle.

“Beetlejuice!”

Something in the house groaned – a low, ominous sound.

“Beetlejuice.”

A layer of fog covered your windows. (Several layers.) It crept in at your window corners with a draft, and a gray murk. It nipped at your ankles, and leapt at your wrists, and seemed to amplify the sizzling in your kitchen.

You swallowed. “Beetlejuice!”

Lightning flashed. You closed your eyes, but it didn’t do much good. The wind whipped around you. You tried to turn your face against it, but it was everywhere and coming from all sides. Without thinking, you covered your ears and stumbled back a step.

Then, all at once, it stopped.

When you opened your eyes, you saw your demon boyfriend leaning on the doorjamb with his back to you. Beetlejuice gave a low whistle when he saw the teddy bear he had left you eating a hole in your floorboards.

“Damn babes, you’re gonna have to get someone out here to fix that.”

Rather than humor him, you glared at his back. His suit jacket was barely holding together, and you could see a long, thin strip of his shirt through it. “The mason jars? Really? You know I loved those.”

Without moving his feet, Beetlejuice’s head turned fully around to face you, nose wrinkled in a grimace. “Those cheap old things? C’mon baby, you can find a hundred of them at literally any Purgatory yard sale.” His eyes lit up. “In fact–”

“Oh no, I’ve had enough of that place. And hey, what have you been doing in town this month anyway? You said you’d be tied up until March.”

“Oh I was, sweet cheeks.” Beetlejuice waggled his eyebrows at you. You walked up to him and slapped his arm. “Whoa, babes!” The force of it seemed to radiate through his entire body. (Corpse?) His knees wobbled, his hips jostled, and you could swear you heard rattling from somewhere near his ribcage. “Easy! I’ve been doing a lot of strenuous physical activity this month.”

“Oh yeah? Fucking with me almost every day has been strenuous?”

“Hey, you coulda just summoned me when I asked you to.”

“You didn’t ask, you ruined my bargain-bin chocolate.”

“Oh, forgive me.” You rolled your eyes at his tone.

Beetlejuice turned around on his feet, facing you with his shoulders. Then he groaned, reached up, and spun his head around. “Whoa!” he cried. His head rotated a few times on his neck before finally coming to a stop.

When he brought his hands down again, Beetlejuice was holding the oozing teddy bear’s head. He held it out to you.

“I’m sorry for fucking with you all month.”

You gave him a look, but melted when you saw the pink creeping through the roots of his otherwise green hair. “Fine,” you conceded. “But you owe me.” Against your best self-preserving judgment, you took the stuffed head from him. A few clumps of wet dirt fell from the bottom where it was still severed and onto the floor. You kissed its cheek anyway, and only winced a little from its coldness.

Beetlejuice took the head back, flung it back over his shoulder, wrapped his arms around you, and dipped you. You gave a very undignified squeak that you would never admit to later.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, babes,” he growled.

“Happ--mmf!”

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