#look out for the companion piece tomorrow!

[morning-star-joy]

half asleep, half awake

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader, ASHWAH Universe

Summary: Every time Joel Miller realizes he loves you. Every time he wants to tell you, and the time he does.

Warnings: Brief smut (unprotected p in v, possessiveness, creampie), brief reference to canon-typical violence, longing, Joel can’t communicate his feelings until he can, lots and lots of love. Multiple specific references to the main series. Joel's POV.

A/N: I’ve gotten asked a few times when Joel realizes he loves Reader in this series, and the inspiration hit me the other day to write out my answer to it. Because it could be one scene, but so many before, and so many after when he wants to say it. I miss these two and I love these two and I hope that this little companion piece to the fic makes somebody as happy as I was to write them again!

Wordcount: 1.8k

gorgeous dividers by @saradika

Important: Please read this post and how to help Palestine.

The first time Joel feels it—really feels it, settled into his bones with an undeniable weight, tugging at his heart with an unimaginable lightness—is the night of his 57th birthday.

Months of staying out of his bedroom, of keeping you off his bed, dissolve into a forgotten time the moment you tug the glass of whiskey from his hand.

Move over, you’d said, making room for yourself amongst the place where he laid his head every night. You finish off the drink, take the rest of the poison he’d been diluting his veins with to drown out the pain of all he’d lost, and settle next to him.

He thinks he wants to see you there every night.

You ask him things like his favorite fucking color, things that don’t matter. Not to him, not to you—but you ask anyway. You meet his eyes readily, open and honest and searching his soul for the same old breaks in your own, and he feels it.

You hold his hand, and it fits there. You would fit into his side too, he muses, if he pulled you in.

He wants to pull you in. He wants you in ways nobody’s ever had you—he knows they haven’t, can feel the trepidation in your soul when he looks at you for too long, or lets his touches linger.

You’ll fuck him like there’s no tomorrow, because maybe there isn’t, but you won’t let him hold you tender. Not that he’s tried, but he knows you. Not everything about you, but enough.

And that night, there’s more. More to you, wounds open and pain spilling out, and it looks like his own. It is his own.

I should probably go, you say when it’s become too much, and he feels the urge to ask you to stay.

Joel asks if you want a drink instead, because he’s an idiot, and you say he’s had too much, because you’re right.

He watches from his window as you walk home under the streetlights for once instead of sticking to the darkness, and though he won’t call it what it is, he knows it’s love.

Joel’s loved you longer than that, though. Somehow he knows it, but he can’t place when.

In front of his fireplace, maybe. You’re shivering from god knows how long you had spent in the rain, in the graveyard, in your own mourning. Broken, and he wants to find each piece of you that you’ve lost and put you back together.

Or at least hold you tight enough that you feel okay again. He just knows that he misses your damn smirk, your fucking laugh, and maybe that was love too.

Or maybe it’s when he wants you to be his, his, his only. When he wants to erase the image of that man’s hand on your back with his own on your skin, fingertips digging into your hips and pulling them back to slap against his.

Maybe it’s the skirt of a temptress bunched up around your waist, each desperate thrust of his cock into your needy cunt, dripping and squeezing as you say, moan, scream his name, his, his.

Maybe it’s when you’re half-naked after, admitting you don’t know what the fuck this is, don’t understand what it’s become, and he doesn’t know either. But it’s something delicate. Maybe it’s love then.

Maybe it’s love on the bathroom floor when he realizes you’re the first friend he’s made in years.

Maybe it’s love when he wants to kill every single bastard raider who took you from him, wants to tear them apart with his bare hands and make them bleed and bleed for how much blood they’d taken from you. Precious blood, blood that kept you alive, kept you snarky and angry and wrapped around him each time he took as much pleasure from you as he gave back.

Or it’s Halloween, the bright lights, loud music, and clothes of a bygone era. None of it real until Maria shoves the truth of the matter into his face. She tells him he’s an idiot and just what it all means, what you mean to everyone, and to him, and he finally accepts it.

That’s the first night he has you in his bed. The first night he sees all of you, feels all of you, skin against skin, and you come again, and again, and again. It’s not enough, he needs to keep feeling it, needs you to fall apart in his hands so he can put you back together. A single thread he weaves through you and tugs with each ripple of pleasure, pulling you apart again with each clench of your cunt around his cock, until you pull it from him too.

You fall asleep in a matter of minutes after. Lips parted, and he wished he could watch them swell after a kiss, but you were still holding back.

So he settles for his palm on your cheek, stroking the scar that he still doesn’t know how you got, and feels so much longing, so much love when you sink into his sheets, wrapped up in his favorite color that you knew because you cared to ask. Settled by just the touch of him.

Joel thinks you tried to say something that night, but he’ll never know what. He does know what he wants to say, but he holds back. He’d wait for you, even if you never wanted this too. He’d be whatever you did want him to be.

Time passes in a blur after that, as you tangle yourselves together in ways he never would’ve once thought possible. He doesn’t move, and you lean into him. He doesn’t move, just lets you come to him, too scared you’ll run away again if he holds you too tight, or at all.

Then that night. A meal shared with the family you’d found. He tries to go home alone after, and you chase after him, hold him tight, and he knows. He knows what he feels, and he knows you feel it too.

He doesn’t have to say it, but he wants to. Night after night he wants to, the more that you settle and the more that you’re his. The more that he is yours.

You kiss him, finally—or he kisses you, he can’t remember which. And it says it all.

Still, the words are trapped in his throat as his home truly becomes yours.

His body had already been your home for a year.

His heart, for longer than he would ever know.

But his house. Four walls that didn’t mean anything, not really, not until you lived within them and your sister’s art was on the mantle, your photograph of your parents was in your room that was his room, all your mugs in the kitchen and his coffee was your coffee—he needs to tell you.

He tries to every morning, in his kitchen with your cups of coffee—or tea, with complaints falling from both his mouth and yours if you were out of your preferred beverage. He doesn’t, but he knows you can taste it in the drink he brews for you, perfected to your liking.

He tries to before every patrol, in case somebody takes you from him again. He doesn’t, but he knows you can see it when his eyes seek yours, when he gives you a nod and a lingering gaze before you’re out of the gates and on your way. He knows you can feel it when you both get home, his arms wrapped around you tight and the tension seeping from his body when you’re pressed to him.

He tries to every night, but it’s lost on his tongue every time it slides into your mouth. He knows you know with every kiss, every thrust of his hips from where he’d found a home nestled between your thighs, spilling himself into you as you welcomed him in and made the most beautiful music every time.

You’re comfortable in bed months after the holidays, after that first kiss. Winter is warming into spring, the air feels like starting again, and he tries to tell you.

You’d been reading when he crawled into bed behind you after a shower. His face buried into your neck, each drop of water onto your skin so cold it makes you shiver. But your nails dig into his forearm when it wraps around your waist, the book tumbling from your fingers as you grasp at the nightstand with each drag of his pulsing cock inside your tight heat.

The lamp on the nightstand rattles with each thrust, sending waves of warm light flashing across the room. He’s mesmerized each time it washes across your face, pinched in the familiar climb for pleasure you trusted him to guide you through. He mouths at the scar on your cheek, caressing with lips and tongue as you gasp his name.

You’re so beautiful. His moon, his heart, his home, his everything.

Joel wants to tell you when you come, your eyes fluttering open and seeking his. Seeking that connection between you, as hungry as you are reverent, and he doesn’t deserve it, that undying loyalty. But you think the same for yourself, so what did either of you know, besides what this was.

Love, and he wants to say it. Wants to say he loves you when each flutter of your pussy around him sends him spiraling into an orgasm, a blissful moment of release he now only ever associated with you.

Half asleep after, you’re content, the warm light of the steadied lamp caressing your skin as he cleans it. You know what he wants to say, he thinks. Your eyes are heavy and lazily watching as he kisses the inside of your thigh, peppers his love up your body to your lips.

Half awake, Joel watches you reach for him, pulling him down into a soft caress of your lips against his, with more tenderness either of you ever thought you were capable of.

He won’t say it. You know he won’t.

But you know he will. Someday.

And that one morning amongst many that belong to just you and him, when you ask about other lives, when he realizes you’d want him in more than just this one—in every one—he says it.

You say it back, and everything is right.

When you ask him when he first felt it, he tells you the truth; that he hadn’t felt it just yet on that snowy street a year ago, but a part of him always knew he would love you.

And now, Joel knew he always would.

[aerynwrites]

Remember

Halsin x gn!Reader

A/N: thank you for the request @sabersandsnipers! I had so much fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy! See the request here.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: kissing, love confessions, miscommunication, drunk reader, drunk confessions, morning hangovers/blurry memory, Halsin being a gentleman 🥰

The campfire burns brightly in the night, heating your already heated cheeks.

You all finally came across some good wine, pilfered from a wine cellar in a small abandoned town. Astarion practically melted as he read the labels. Practically glaring at you when you asked him what was so special.

“These are vintage darling. Practically liquid gold compared to the piss we’ve been drinking.”

Your other companions had happily helped tote crates of the stuff back to camp then, excited to finally indulge in the best, for once.

And it is the best. The best you’ve ever had for sure. At least in recent memory.

The wine is rich and decadent, passing your lips without that unpleasant burn the cheap stuff gives. It’s sweet and slides down easily - maybe a little too easily.

It turns your brain to figurative mush, your limbs starting to feel heavy despite the uncontrollable giggles slipping past your lips as Karlach acts out another one of her battle stories.

Your inhibitions have started to slip, especially those tied to your tongue. Because along with your giggles you’re unable to stop your flirtatious rambling to the druid sitting beside you at the fire. He is also taking part in the festivities, albeit more cautiously, only having had a single glass to your…

Well…you don’t know how many.

Another giggle slips past your lips as you lean into the man at your side, watching as Karlach flops down onto the ground in a reenactment of her downing an enemy. Wyll goes to help her up but is also unsteady on his feet and soon joins her in the dirt, both of them howling in laughter.

Halsin lets out a laugh of his own at their antics and you can’t stop the smile that tugs at your numb lips.

“I like your laugh,” you say, turning to look up at Halsin.

The man is taller than you even sitting down, so when he looks down to you, pieces of his hair fall forward into his face.

“My laugh?” He asks, a smile splitting his lips as he most likely finds enjoyment in your inebriated state.

You nod, leaning forward once more to rest your forehead against his chest, abandoning your goblet in favor of wrapping the man in a weak embrace.

“I just like you,” your words are slurred as you slump more into the larger man’s embrace. “And you smell good.”

Halsins chest rumbles with laughter beneath your cheek and it just further adds to the buzzing beneath your skin, even more so when you feel his hands grasp your arms gently.

Yet another thing you notice about him. His hands are calloused, roughened with years of using a weapon and tending the land and communing with nature. But he’s so…gentle. His smile, his words, his laugh, his entire being just screams safety.

It’s what draws you to him no matter how much you try to stay away. Which isn’t very much considering he has slowly started to reciprocate your attraction.

At least…you hope.

“I think it’s high time for you to get some rest,” Halsin says, moving to stand from his seat and guide you to do the same.

“What?” You ask, the world spinning slightly as you get to your feet. “But I’m having fun!”

The words are slurred as Halsin slips an arm around around your waist to steady you, slowly leading you away from the fire. You don’t miss the various whistles and hoots from your other companions as he does so.

Halsin smiles, not that you see it as you focus on putting one foot in front of the other as he leads you.

“I know you were, but it will be an ill-fated day tomorrow if you continue to drink.”

Despite your drunken state you recognize the wisdom in his words.

“You’re probably right, but -“ you pause as you struggle to take in your surroundings before you realize you’re being led away from your tent.

“Wait, my tent is that way,” you emphasize by pointing a staggering finger in the vague direction of your tent, a movement that causes your feet to twist up beneath you.

You would have fallen if it weren’t for the druid at your side stopping to catch you before opting to lift you into his arms instead.

“I know where your tent is located, but my tent is far closer.”

You hum in response, your head lolling backwards, eyes meeting the stars above you.

“I can walk, you know.”

Halsin laughs at this, shifting to support your head as he draws closer to his tent. “Your earlier attempts would disprove that statement.”

You pout your lip at him as he finally ducks into his tent. “You’re mean,” you say plainly.

“I apologize, little one.”

His words hold little apology but you don’t point it out as he finally lowers you to your feet, helping as you try to steady yourself. Only when he pulls away do you finally look up at him, and you take the moment of silence to take in the man before you.

He’s still smiling down at you, all while watching to make sure you keep your feet. His brows furrow slightly with every uneasy shift of your body, his hands tightening where they rest on your hips.

Without thinking you reach up, placing uncoordinated fingers against the scars that run over his brow. He stills at this, eyes widening for a moment before fluttering closed as you trail your fingers down. Your hand cups his cheek now, thumb running over where the scar ends just below his lips.

Lips you want nothing more than to kiss right now.

His eyes open then, as if sensing your questioning stare. You’ve both drifted closer to one another during this silent moment, your chests brushing together as you look up at him.

“Halsin?”

“Yes, my heart?”

Your breath stutters in your chest at the new nickname, and you can smell the faint scent of wine on his breath as he speaks.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words fall into silence, and you can practically feel the tension in the air dissipate as Halsin’s eyes close tightly, a sigh falling from his lips as he steps away from you slightly.

Your drunken mind moves before he speaks, making you stumble over your words.

“Oh that’s - I understand. I shouldn’t have asked, that was - I’m sorry I-“

Before you can ramble any further, Halsin has your face cradled in his hands, green eyes capturing your own.

“You misunderstand,” he tells you, thumbs brushing your cheek bones lightly. “I have wanted to kiss you, to touch you for longer than you can imagine,” he admits, eyes softening. “But I do not wish for our first kiss, our first coming together to be in the midst of a wine induced haze.”

He smiles.

“I want you to remember this, and I’m afraid in this state, you may wake tomorrow with no memory of tonight.” He moves to push a stray piece of hair from your face as one hand settles at the junction of your neck and shoulder. “I do not want to lose a moment with you.”

His words ease the anxiety roiling in your belly, and you find it in you to nod. The sentiment increases the heat in your cheeks once again.

Halsin smiles at your ascent, and gently leads you to bed. His bed roll is set up on top of a pile of furs which cradle your body perfectly where you all but flop onto it. Your earlier statement of not being tired is quickly erased as your eyelids begin to shut, sleep tugging at your mind as you settle into the soft bed.

The last thing you remember before slumber takes you is the feeling of warm hands trailing your arms before something soft covers you and one brief thought.

He feels the same.

——————

A pounding headache is what eventually wakes you from your slumber. Your mouth is dry, tongue laying thick in your mouth as you try and fail to swallow and wet your mouth. Your eyelids feel filled with sand as you peel them open, only to be met with darkness. The only light is from the sun seeping into the tent in thin slivers from the slightly parted tent flap.

You notice multiple things at once. First being that you’re not in your tent, but in Halsins. The second being the smattering of blurry memories from last night.

Oh Gods…I basically threw myself at him!

You remember that vaguely, asking to kiss him, and then the rest is…foggy. You remember him turning you down and then not much else afterwards.

Pushing yourself up on shaky arms you try to take in your surroundings, letting out a small sigh when you see Halsin isn’t in the tent with you. You can avoid embarrassment just a little longer, at least.

You quickly grab your shoes that you see at the end of the bedroll and after making sure the coast is clear you make your way across camp in the early morning light to your own tent.

The next few hours pass in a blur if periodic sleep and the eventuality of the camp stirring to life around you. A rude reminder that you can’t avoid a certain druid forever.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Karlach's voice pierces the air as she pokes her head into your tent. “Can you take firewood duty? We’re running low.”

You nod quickly. You might not be able to avoid the inevitable but…maybe a little longer.

————

The woods are quiet, this time of day, morning starting to give way to midday as you wander through the trees, gathering suitable logs for camp.

However, the tranquility of nature gives your mind time to wander back to last night, desperately trying to force memories to light. But no matter how hard you try, nothing new comes to light. Just you embarrassing yourself in front of the man who’s captured your affections.

You sigh, before gasping as the toe of your boot catches on an exposed root, your thoughts distracting you from your surroundings. The wood in your arms teeters precariously and just about falls to the forest floor before you feel two strong hands steady you.

“You look as if you could use some help,” a familiar voice says, and your stomach flips as Halsin comes to stand in front of you, smiling down at you. “Here.”

He reaches out to take the wood from you before you can protest, the pile that nearly filled your arms looking tiny against his larger frame.

You want to become defensive, but stop yourself before you can snap. Your anger is misdirected to him when you’re really upset with yourself.

You give the man a small smile. “Thank you,” you say before gesturing back towards camp. “I think that should be enough for now, we can head back.”

Halsin just nods before moving in step beside you as you both make the short trek back to camp. Neither of you speak at first - you too anxious to bring anything up and Halsin is probably too polite to do the same.

At least you thought.

“You were gone from my tent when I arrive back from a hunt this morning,” he says simply. An observation. Yet it feels like an accusation, or at least a question. But you almost feel like you can hear…disappointment in his words. Hurt.

You don’t look at him, embarrassment blooming in your chest again. You shrug. “I just…figured I’d save us both the awkward embarrassment.”

You’re at the edge of camp now, and you stop next to the dwindling wood pile and start unloading pieces from Halsin arms onto the ground.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you finally say, avoiding his gaze still. “I shouldn’t have drank so much and I definitely shouldn’t have put you on the spot and I just thought that if I left this morning it would save you from having to turn me down again and-“

The last piece of wood falls from your hands as you fumble over your words, but a steadying hand quickly reaches out to grab your own before you can move to pick it up again.

Finally, you turn to look at Halsin, and you’re taken aback to see…amusement twinkling In his eyes, his lips tugging up into a small grin.

“So you do not remember last night?” He asks, head tilting to the side slightly.

You shake your head, frowning. “I mean I don’t - I remember some of it. I remember asking to - to kiss you…” you cringe slightly at the hazy memory. “And then I remember you pulling away and-“

Before you can ramble any further, callused hands cup your cheeks and soft lips capture your own.

A memory comes to you then, as if Halsins touch alone makes it resurface. You remember what you thought was his rejection, then his confession, then his kind words after.

“I want you to remember this.”

He didn’t reject you. He returns your affections, and has for some time now it seems.

You finally kiss him back, your hands falling to his waist and gripping the fabric of his shirt in your hands. He pulls you closer then, lips moving against yours in a way that screams desperation. He’s been holding back for so long, and so have you.

But not anymore.

Yet he pulls away all too soon, leaving you breathless and wide eyed as you look up at him, still gripping onto him as if you’re afraid he’ll disappear if he steps away.

“I don’t think I could have forgotten a kiss like that,” you say, voice soft.

Halsin laughs, a quiet chuckle as his thumb runs soothingly over your cheekbone.

“I will not forget this moment either,” he assures. “But I did not want to risk losing it to the haze of last evening. These things are better enjoyed with a clear mind.”

You can’t help but laugh, despite the seriousness of his words. “You’re not wrong in that,” you say, reaching up to trace gentle fingers over the scars on his brow.

Another memory flickers to mind and you smile as you watch Halsins eyes flutter closed, just like they did last night.

“Halsin,” his name is a whisper on your lips.

He smiles, eyes blinking open once more. “Yes, my heart?”

Gods that nickname.

“Can I kiss you?”

He pulls you closer, nose brushing your own. “You never have to ask, little one. My heart is yours.”

And then his lips are on yours again, and you're silently glad he made you wait. Because he was right.

You don’t want to lose a moment with him, either.

[amjustagirl]

title: to rebuild a home pairing: kuroo x f! reader genre: angst / fluff, post timeskip! wc: 6.8k m.list

a/n: companion piece to the original love knows not its depth, from kuroo's perspective.

Kuroo Tetsuro is doing alright. 

He’s deftly juggling the roles life has handed him. His tenth wedding anniversary is coming up. He’s gotten a nice pair of earrings and a reservation at Tokyo’s hottest omakase for you to celebrate. The girls are doing nicely at school - Aiko’s grades are excellent, and Fumiko’s not gotten into any schoolyard fights unlike Bokuto’s trio of sons. His bosses seem happy with him too, paving the way for him to climb the corporate ladder rung by rung. He’s earned each promotion by burning days in the office, nights in the izakayas schmoozing with his bosses, but it’s worth it, even if it admittedly comes at the expense of being with you and the girls. 

It’s a sacrifice he has to make so he can provide you with the fairytale life he’s always promised you. Not that you’ve ever complained about the trade-off.  

“She’s the best wife and mom I could’ve asked for”, he tells Kenma, when the former setter asks about you. “I don’t know how she does it.” 

Kenma frowns. “You make her sound like a video game character.” 

“That’s cos she’s amazing -”

“Kinda sucks that she pretty much has to juggle a full time job and the kids on her own most of the time.”

“She manages perfectly well”, Kuroo enthuses, oblivious to the barb in his friend’s words. “By the time I get home, the girls are in bed, the house is clean, and there’s even a lunch box packed for me each day. She’s a rockstar at work too - should be up for a promotion next financial year.” 

“Huh”, Kenma sniffs. “I wonder when she gets a break.” 

Kuroo’s too distracted by the round of beers that’s delivered to his table to think deeply about his best friend’s apprehension. When he stumbles through the front door that night, he finds you crouched over the coffee table, frantically typing at your laptop. As expected, the girls are in bed, there’s nothing out of place. 

“All good?” he asks you in passing, his mind already filing the tasks on his plate for tomorrow - organising a publicity event jointly held by the JVA and Bouncing Ball Corporation to introduce new national team members, reviewing the proposed budget for this year’s international competitions, popping by the under-19 team to see if there are indeed any promising candidates - he’s already one foot in the bedroom, ready to call it a night. 

He doesn’t notice the violets blooming under your eyes. 

“Mm.” You don’t look up. “Have a good night.”  

Kruoo Tetsuro thinks he’s doing alright. 

Bokuto Kotaro, for some reason, doesn’t think so. “Mitsuki said you’re lucky you’re not married to her cos she’ll skin you alive”, he informs him, as if Kuroo shares his love for women capable of chomping his head off in one bite.

Maybe the Bokutos operate on a different metric - because yes, they’re the model of egalitarianism with Mitsuki the high powered general counsel for Kenma’s Bouncing Ball Corporation (based on his referral, he likes to add, cos’ it’s funny to watch Mitsuki growl) and Kotaro the part time coach, full time stay at home dad to his wolfpack of sons, but that doesn’t mean his marriage is on the rocks. 

As a child, he was the unwitting witness to his parents’ fights, which culminated in his mother walking out of the door, his father crying over a thick stack of divorce papers. His grandparents took him in, gave him stability and love and comfort but he swore to himself he’s never going to put his daughters through that. 

Sure, it’s been a while since you’ve had a night to yourself. The last time he remembers you taking time away from the girls was to go out for dinner with him to celebrate his latest promotion - his conscience stings a little that he can’t remember the last time you’ve taken a break from everything you’ve been doing for him and the girls, but he’ll make it up to you once he has time. You always understand. 

Still, just to be sure, he checks in on you again. 

“You alright?”, he reaches for your hand, when he climbs into bed that night. 

You’re lying in bed. He should find it odd that you’re still awake at this time of the night, staring up at the ceiling as if there’s something to be found there, but he falls asleep in the slow seconds, doesn't hear your response. When he wakes, you’ve already taken the girls to school. He gets himself ready for work, loops his tie around his neck, grabs his briefcase and the bento you’ve so lovingly packed for him, and hops on the train. He runs through his routine like clockwork, but there’s a niggling feeling that he’s missed something important, possibly something to do with you. 

Did you say something to him last night? 

It doesn’t matter. He makes a mental note to purchase a spa day for you - but that’s promptly forgotten when he’s greeted by a flood of emails and an invitation from his boss to go out for drinks that night. 

Kuroo still thinks he’s doing alright. 

“You’re lucky”, his boss toasts him. “Your wife doesn’t complain like mine when I go out drinking, even though I tell her I need to do it for work.” 

“She’s an angel”, Kuroo replies, quietly bursting with pride. “Never complains.” 

“Lucky man”, his boss says. “My wife is such a nag.” 

He misses the last train home that night, drops you a text not to wait up and stumbles around Shibuya trying to find a cab. It must be a busy night because by the time he manages to flag down one, it’s three a.m. and his head is pounding from the excess of alcohol and lack of solid food and water. He fumbles with his keys, almost falls through his front door when the lock gives way. “Tadaima”, he says out of habit, too-loudly, before his stomach lurches and he has to make a mad dash for the kitchen sink. 

“Tetsuro?” 

He wants to respond, but he’s too busy emptying out the contents of his stomach. He shouldn’t have woken you up. He shouldn’t greet you with a mess for you to clean up. He shouldn’t lean so heavily on you that you stagger beneath his weight. 

He shouldn’t do all of that yet he does so anyway. You tuck him, a grown man, into bed.

Tomorrow, he’ll apologise. Tomorrow, he’ll make it up to you. 

Tomorrow comes. He wakes up. 

You’re gone. 

Kuroo Tetsuro is not alright.

He’s ashamed to admit that he doesn’t even notice you’ve taken off until it’s way past lunch when your mother drops him a text to ask if he’s picking up the girls or if he intends to leave them with her overnight. 

“What d’you mean?” he texts her, confused.  

His heart stops when your mother responds to say you dropped off the girls at her place without much of an explanation, an overnight bag slung over your shoulder. You don’t pick up your phones, his calls going straight to voicemail. For the first time in forever, he sheepishly asks his boss for urgent leave from work so he can rush home to figure out what’s going on. 

You always take your laptop with you, but it’s sitting at home. He knows it’s an invasion of privacy, but he types in your password (his birthday), and your web browser reveals a booking for a ryokan in Hakone, where the both of you honeymooned almost a decade ago. It’s an hour away by train, far too much time for him to sit and stew in his thoughts. He wonders if you’ve become sick of your life with him, whether you’ve found someone new, and by the time he’s reached the ryokan and charmed the receptionist to let him into your room, he’s teetering on the edge of giving into his frustration, entertaining thoughts about yelling at you for being so goddamned irresponsible, cos how could you just walk out on him and the girls -

Until you walk in, thankfully alone. 

It strikes him that it’s the most refreshed he’s seen you look in a very, very long time. Your cheeks are glowing, your eyes sparkle, and there’s a spring in your step that he hasn’t seen since you’ve had the girls. 

Still, he can’t help but remain a little peeved. “I’ve been calling you all afternoon”, he informs you. “I was worried.” 

He immediately regrets his words as he watches the light die in your eyes. 

“Were you?”, you ask, as if you were addressing a stranger. “Really?” 

“Of course”, he frowns, slowly getting up to approach you, concerned when you start to sway. “You’re my wife and the mother of our girls, of course I care.” 

Laughter spills from your lips, an undercurrent of bitterness and contempt that’s threatening to drag you under before his very eyes. “If you really cared, you’d have noticed that your wife is broken”, you tell him between gasps, your shoulders caving in. “I tried fixing myself with a break, but you can’t even give me that.”  

He’s starting to realise that things aren’t alright at all. You flinch when he takes a step towards you, an action which stabs him clean through his heart because he’s your husband, your Tetsuro, your person. Tea, then, a neutral offering that manages to calm you down enough to take a seat, even if you’re still shaking, falling to pieces while laughing, laughing -

“Tell me what’s wrong”, he begs. “Tell me what I can do to fix you.” 

You take a sip of tea. It’s hot enough to burn you, but you don’t seem to notice. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Tetsuro.” 

“Don’t say that”, he snaps, his inner child recoiling because he can’t bear to have his girls go through what he went through, wondering if it was his fault, his very existence that caused his parents to split up. “The girls and I need you -” 

You don’t seem to hear him. 

“Princess”, he falls back on his pet name for you, rusty from lack of use. “Come back to me.” 

You’re unmoved, your eyes unseeing, deaf to his pleas. Sip after sip, you gulp down scalding tea, each action jerky, mechanical. Frozen, in an impenetrable placidness that he can’t read. You’re sitting right in front of him but you’re not really there at all.    

“Let’s talk when you’re back home”, he finally says. “Have a good break.” 

The immature little boy that still lives in his psyche is still unconvinced that it’s a bad idea to drag you back home with him posthaste, but you asked for a break, and it’s the least he can give to you.

You allow him to roll out your futon for you, to swaddle you in layers of blankets as if that would keep you from falling apart any further. As he kisses your forehead to bid you goodnight and goodbye, he feels the brittleness of your bones, the thinness of your skin beneath his palms and he spends the hour-long train ride home wondering how he managed to look away long enough for you to turn into a shadow of your past self.   

He goes straight to your mother’s house to retrieve the girls. As penance, he stands at the front door, head bowed, letting your mother yell at him in front of the neighbours for being a useless husband and an irresponsible father. After all, he deserves every word she flings in his face. He’s just thankful that she doesn’t ream him out in front of the girls. 

“Where’s mama?” Fumiko mumbles half asleep into his neck. “Want mama.”

He cradles her closer. “She’ll be home tomorrow”, he tells her, hoping with every fibre of his being that that does not turn out to be a lie. Aiko, older and wiser, just stays quiet, so he forces a smile on his face for her sake.  

Kuroo Tetsuro is far from okay.

The strain of the day wears on him and he’s sure there are burning emails in his inbox for him to firefight, but there’s a long list of chores to be done in your absence. The girls’ school bags need to be packed (in the case of five year old Fumiko) or checked (for ten year old Aiko), their uniforms to be laid out, the laundry sorted and folded. He barely gets any sleep before he has to hop out of bed to throw together a cold breakfast of milk and cereal that makes Fumiko burst into tears and Aiko’s face droops. By the time he shuffles his two cranky children out of the house and into their respective schools, he’s late for work. 

He meets Bokuto and Kenma for lunch since there’s no lunch bento waiting for him in the fridge, though he regrets the decision to leave the refuge of his work desk for the boardroom of Bouncing Ball Corporation when Mitsuki joins them and, sharp-eyed as ever, sinks her talons into him. 

“You look like shit”, she says to him as a greeting. 

“Thanks”, he grounds out. The girls demanded he work their hair into the neat braids they insisted you always do, so bedhead would have to do for him today. 

“I’ve never seen you without hair gel before”, Bokuto marvels. “You look weird.” 

“I had a crap morning, okay”, he snaps, biting the head off the karaage fish in his store bought bento, which he resents for tasting worse than those you usually make for him. “So I’m sorry if I look slightly less than presentable -” 

“You look like a man whose wife just left him - “ 

Mitsuki’s just stepped right on the wound he’s tried to keep hidden, festering and bleeding beneath his skin, so like an animal lashing out when it’s hurt, Kuroo slaps the table with both palms and snarls. 

“Don’t - don’t fucking say that, okay? She’s just taking a break. She’ll come home.”

He can’t stand to see the shock and pity on his closest friends’ faces. “She’s coming home today”, he repeats softly, almost to himself, as if he’s little Fumiko in need of reassurance that the person she needs most in the world hasn’t just abandoned her. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

Perhaps it’s the maturity that comes with fatherhood, because Bokuto is the first to react. “That’s right, you’re gonna be okay”, he soothes, pulling Kuroo into his seat. “Kenma’s gonna call your boss and tell him that you’re gonna spend the rest of the afternoon here to plan some event - “

“Sponsorship for the Under-19 team, done”, Kenma snaps his phone shut.

“Guys, I’m fine - ” 

“Pretending everything’s okay isn’t going to help.” 

Kuroo deflates. “Thanks, Kenma.” 

Shelving his worthless pride to lay bare the situation he’s found himself in, that by neglecting his duties as a husband and father, he’s forced you to the brink of a mental breakdown, bad enough that you’ve left him - temporarily, he hopes. In the span of a few hours, he’s already found himself at his wit’s end, struggling to handle both the demands of the kids and his job, something that he realises he’s left you to bear, alone. 

“But I can’t figure out why she didn’t just tell me she was feeling overwhelmed”, he says, pulling at a fraying thread in his shirt. “I would’ve listened. I would’ve done better.” 

“She shouldn’t have to tell you to do your part”, Mitsuki waves away Bokuto’s desperate gesture for her not to kick a man when he’s already down. 

“But I didn’t know -” 

“Y’know, I really can’t stand men like you. You guys are amazing at work, able to anticipate your bosses’ and clients’ needs. At this point, you don’t even need to be told by your bosses  to jump, you don’t even ask your clients ‘how high’ - yet, for some reason, you manage to turn off your brain the minute you walk in through the front door at home.”

 “Maybe I should ask her for a list of things I can help her with -” 

Bokuto claps his hand over Mitsuki’s mouth. “Ehhh..you might not wanna finish your sentence or Mitsuki might really bite your head off.” 

Kuroo winces, snapping his mouth shut. 

“Maybe you can think of it in a different way”, Bokuto says. “Instead of ‘helping’ her - cos that’s just placing the mental burden on her - at least, I think that’s the term Mitsuki-chan used when she explained it to me -” the affronted lawyer nods begrudgingly, and beaming, he continues - “you gotta do your half of the work!”

“Level up”, Kenma provides, rather unhelpfully.

“Open your eyes and use your brain”, Mitsuki says bluntly, rolling her eyes, though her tone is less sharp.

“Where do I start?” Kuroo asks. 

Step one. 

He picks the girls up from his mother in law’s place, bears with the lecture that’s awaiting him, and sheepishly asks them what their mama usually feeds them for dinner and breakfast, making a mental note of it. Tonight, he’ll cheat by feeding them gyudon at Sukiya, but he drops by the supermarket to procure the ingredients he needs for tomorrow’s breakfast and a bouquet of pink roses, even though he knows it’s probably too little, too late. He counts himself lucky that Fumiko loves bathtime, only needing supervision to wash and dry her hair, and Aiko’s responsible enough to work through her homework without prompting, but he’s still exhausted by the time they both head to bed. 

His job doesn’t end there. Running through the checklist Mitsuki begrudgingly allowed Bokuto to give him, he surveys the apartment, comparing it against the mental image of how everything was before you left it. Toys scattered, to be put back in place. Dust on floor, to be vacuumed up. A heap of laundry in the basket, to be hung, dried, ironed. 

Just as he finishes all these tasks, the front door swing opens. 

“Tadaima”, you call out, voice hushed. 

He nearly trips over his feet in his haste to relieve you of your luggage, usher you into a seat by the kitchen counter. “Okaerie”, he breathes, 

“The girls?” you ask. 

He’ll buy Bokuto lunch next time. “I picked them up from your mom”, he responds. “Don’t wake them up, I just put them to bed.” 

You peek into their rooms nonetheless. “Thanks”, you say, heading next to the fridge. “By the way, I’ll pay you back for the hotel room from my own money, don’t worry.” 

That’s the last thing on his mind. Besides, his sin is being a neglectful husband, not a miser. “It’s fine, I’ll cover it”, he scratches his head, embarrassed that you’re even bringing it up. “I should’ve realised you needed a break.” 

That makes you frown, but you accept anyway. He watches you stack bread, eggs, ham, cheese, and it strikes him that you’re already worrying about the girls’ breakfast when you look as if you haven’t even had your own dinner. 

“You haven’t had dinner?” he asks. 

You reply carelessly that you’ve had a bento on the train back. You don’t even bother to look at him. 

“I’ll take the girls in the mornings from now”, he tells you. “Sleep in and take a break.” 

That gets your attention. 

“Really?”

He plasters a confident smirk on his face to reassure you that he’s got it all in hand. 

“Oh”, you’re adorable when you’re confused, but he hates that he’s given you reason to doubt him. “Wake me up if you need my help?” 

“I won’t”, he promises. 

It’s time for him to level up.  

Step two. 

He’s not going to lie to himself that he finds it difficult to do even half of what you used to do. Taking over the responsibility of wrangling the girls out of bed and into school, coming home early enough for dinner with you, that requires him to have hard conversations with his boss about not being able to go out for drinks or come in early anymore which probably hurts his chances for his next promotion, forces him to give up an hour or two of sleep, but it’s worth it if it allows you to heal. 

“Don’t expect a gold star for your efforts”, Mitsuki warned him. “It’s just what you should’ve been doing before, so it’s time for you to go above and beyond.” 

He takes her words to heart. You deserve to go to work well-rested, to wind down at night with a hot bath. He’ll buy a robot vacuum and pour over its manual that’s thicker than a textbook, do laundry loads while hopping on and off conference calls, wrestle the iron to press down his own shirts. 

You seem baffled by the sudden shift in the winds, but he just pretends everything is normal. Business as usual. Things are just as they should’ve been. 

In his next push to right his wrongs, he organises a Saturday dinner date with you. The girls are packed off with your mother, he makes the reservation, books the cab, compliments your dress. He asks you about your work (tiring), your boss (a micro-manager), the books you’ve read recently (nada, zilch). In the uphill battle to keep the conversation from being stilted, he makes a fatal mistake. 

“We can make it work if you want to quit your job and stay home full time with the children.” 

In his mind, that was a reasonable suggestion to make since you seem to hate your job and boss with a fiery passion. But you stare at him wide-eyed, your initial confusion hardening into anger. 

“Did the guys at work tell you it’s easier to have a housewife instead of a working wife? Are you saying this because you don’t think I’m a good enough mother to our girls?” 

You don’t give him a chance to backpedal, shooting a sarcastic apology for being selfish enough to refuse to be reliant on him, so he just slumps back in his chair in defeat. 

“I just want you to be happy”, he murmurs. “Forget I ever said that.” 

Step three. 

To figure out step three, he schedules an emergency lunch meeting on Monday. The troops convene in Kenma’s boardroom to listen to his sorry tale with Mitsuki in charge of the post–battle analysis. 

“And remind me again, where did you two meet?” 

His face lights up at the memory of his first meeting with you. “Finance 102”, he replies. “We used to be academic rivals turned teammates after I convinced her I was smart enough for her to work with on projects.”

“What made you fall in love with her?” 

“As much as I hate it, I have to admit she’s probably smarter than me”, he says, though the fond smile that creeps onto his face betrays the fact that he loves that about you. “She’s just - her, she’s headstrong and funny. Did I tell you how she tried to stab me with her fork when I stole food off her plate -” 

“Only a million times”, Kenma interjects. 

“She’s always been independent and ambitious, with big dreams and an even bigger heart.” 

“Well”, Mitsuki says, adopting the mildest tone she’s used on him this month. “Does that sound like a woman who’d choose to stay home and depend on her husband? Not that there’s anything wrong with being a stay-at-home parent - Koutaro makes my career possible, and I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have him as my husband.”

“Babyyyyy.” Bokuto bawls, looking at MItsuki as if she hangs the moon in the sky. 

Gross. Kenma seems to agree. “Let’s get back to Kuroo’s failing marriage”,

“So I shouldn’t bring up the suggestion that she quit her job again?” 

His three person council shake their heads in unison. “Just keep what you’re doing”, Bokuto pipes up. “Sounds like you’re already doing the right things! Just gotta keep making sure she’s not holding up the sky herself.” 

He can do that. 

“And maybe talk to her?”, Kenma offers.

That’s the suggestion that he wants to dismiss right off the bat because he’s too much of a coward to even face the possibility that you might leave him. He doesn’t want to become his dad so he resolves to keep his head down and continue pushing ahead with his efforts to prove to you that he can be the husband you deserve, so you won’t wake up one day and decide to walk out on him again. 

But his subconscious fears force his nightmares into overdrive. Dreams of packed bags and stacks of divorce papers makes him yelp loud enough for you to roll over and shake him awake. He’s a terrible husband for disturbing your sleep, but in his sleep-dazed state of confusion he just sinks back into the pillow, exhaling a sigh of relief. 

“Thank the gods you haven’t left.” 

“Why would I leave?”, you mumble, turning away again. “It’s my home, isn’t it.” 

He sits up, rubs the nightmares away from his eyes. “I was afraid you left me.” 

The silence nearly suffocates him. The sudden need to know exactly where you stand eats away at him and he crawls towards you. “Are you going to leave me”, he asks, praying to all the gods in the universe that you’ll reassure him otherwise. 

His heart breaks anew when he hears a small sob, buried in the bedclothes. “I don’t know, Tetsuro”, you finally say. “I’m tired of being alone in a marriage when it’s supposed to be us working together.” 

“I’m sorry.” There’s nothing much he can say. 

A broken whisper. “I’m tired”, you exhale. “I think I deserve better.”

“I’ll make it better”, he promises. 

He will. He will. 

Kuroo Tetsuro is trying his best. 

He takes a cooking class on the weekends to learn how to prepare bento boxes that are nutritious and easy on the wallet. He takes over the ferrying of Fumiko to her swimming lessons, work on Aiko’s art projects with her. He hires a part time cleaner to pick up the deep cleaning, so you and he have time to take the girls out on weekend outings instead of spending all day on a week’s worth of cumulated chores. A dishwasher appears in the house. He makes it a game for he and the girls to load and unload dishware each night. 

“There’s a networking wine night for finance next Wednesday”, he tells you casually. “I’ll make sure to be home so you can go, if you want.” 

You goggle at him. 

“Go schmooze so the world knows you’re as amazing as I know you are.” 

You trust him enough to leave the girls behind in his care and go. He counts that as a win. 

Some nights he still can’t get home in time for dinner, but he always makes sure he’s home in time for a bedtime story and a goodnight kiss. Aiko avers that at the grand old age of ten, she doesn’t need her papa to tuck her to bed anymore, but she sidles into Fumiko’s room everynight and sits in the corner of her little sister’s bed as the littler girl listens to his tall tales. 

“I met a princess when I was eighteen”, he says with a grin when he notices you listening in. “Instead of a crown, she armed herself with a fork, ready to cut down anyone who’d cross her.” 

His heart skips a beat when he hears your voice from the doorway. “Don’t be dramatic”, you interrupt, a small smile growing on your face. “You were trying to steal my food and didn’t stop ‘til I stabbed you.” 

Fumiko huffs, unhappy that her story’s being interrupted, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from you. “You left it on the table, princess. I consider that fair game.” 

“Let ‘to-san tell the story, ka’san.” Aiko grumbles. 

He savours your laughter. It tastes better than the finest wine. 

“I can’t believe I have to fly all the way to Italy just to meet Kageyama-kun”, he huffs. “At least Hinata is meeting us there, I’ll revolt if I had to go up to Brazil as well.” 

“You know it can’t be helped”, you reply. “The promotional activities planned need your presence, and it’s only for a week.” 

“Will you be okay when I’m gone?” 

His fears melt away when you hand him his suitcase, a flask of his favourite tea. “I’ve always managed fine. Nothing’s changed.” 

His little monsters, realising that he’s about to leave, decide to launch a synchronised attack on him. Aiko throws herself at him in a bear hug. Fumiko yanks at his sleeve demanding a thousand kisses. 

“Yes, well. I’ll be home soon. Please wait for me” he says to you when the girls finally release him. The expression on your face is unreadable, but you don’t pull away when he takes the liberty of taking your hand in his. 

He feels your heartbeat accelerates. You glance up at him, almost shy. “I’ll see you soon.” 

He’s so tempted to call his boss and pretend that he’s too ill to get on that damned flight, but he’s pretty sure that would get him fired. Instead, he calls you and the girls every day, and brings home a luggage full of presents for all of you. 

When he’s home, he celebrates by putting on the frilliest pink apron he’s ever seen (courtesy of Yaku, who sent it to him all the way from Moscow as a joke) and throwing an elaborate takoyaki party, replete with customised toppings - octopus, cheese and shrimp, which the girls enjoyed even if he burnt the first batch and had to call Fukunaga frantically for tips to rescue the rest. It turns out to be such a success that he makes it a weekly event. Okonomiyaki is next, which he flips with expert confidence on a hot plate to the applause of you and the girls. 

“Itadakimasu”, you clap your hands together. “It tastes good.” 

He nearly melts into his pan. “Thank you”, he replies. “It means a lot, coming from you.” 

His nights are still plagued by nightmares.

Things are better with you, he likes to think. The violets beneath your eyes are replaced by roses in your cheeks. He hears you humming about the house again. You pick up reading again,  the shelves in the house start to groan under the weight of books belonging to the girls and you. You’re as eager as the girls to go on the next adventure, whether it be a summer night out in the park with sparklers, or a nerf gun battle at home on rainy days. 

Still, he doesn’t know for sure what he’s doing is enough for you and he’s too much of a coward to check. So he’ll wake up almost every night, fumble in the dark just to make sure you’re there. 

You’re there, until you aren’t. 

It’s three in the morning. The space beside him is cold and empty. 

He throws off the blankets, trips on his bed slippers. He crashes through into the living room and oh, there you are - sitting at the dining table, typing furiously at your laptop while mouthing off to yourself about the ridiculous demands your client makes. 

“What’s wrong?” you frown. 

He walks towards you, trying to discern that you’re real, you’re there, not some trick of the light.. 

“You’re - you’re still here.” 

You nod slowly, eyeing him strangely. “My boss called and asked me to send out an urgent email. I was just about to go back to bed.” 

He exhales, tries to force his trembling heart back into his chest. He thinks he’s doing a good job trying to act nonchalant, smoothing back his frazzled mane of hair, but you see right through him as you always do. 

“Tetsuro”, you say slowly. “Is everything alright? 

The truth tumbles out of his mouth. “I thought you were gone.” 

Then he hangs his head, looks at his feet, afraid that he’ll only see rejection in your eyes. He’s a pathetic failure of a husband who has a decade’s worth of sins to make up for, and there’s no justification for him to selfishly to seek your absolution. 

It comes anyway, in the form of soft hands pulling him forward. 

“I’m here”, you say, pulling him into your embrace, letting him rest his heavy head in your lap.

He doesn’t allow himself to sink into your warmth. “Are you happier now? Are things better for you?” 

“Yes”, he hears you say. The tension he’s been carrying around these few months lifts. “Thank you, Tetsuro. I appreciate it. I really do. You don’t have to work yourself to death - that’s never what I was asking for. If you’re tired -”

He shakes his head at your suggestion. He’s got a long way yet before he earns any reprieve. 

“Tetsuro -” 

He sits up abruptly, takes your hands in his. 

“Promise you won’t leave me”, he pleads. “I know you’ve had to carry what must’ve felt like the weight of the entire world on your own, and I don’t have any excuse for that.”

“You don’t”, you agree. 

He accepts the blow but he takes comfort that you don’t pull away. “I know that now. I know now how fucking hard it was to do it all alone.”

“It was hard. It was so, so hard, Tetsuro. I became numb to the pain. I don’t think I was functioning, I haven’t been for a while. For a long, long while.” 

“I’m sorry”, his voice cracks. 

“I know.”  You cup his face in your hands, offers him comfort he doesn’t deserve. “That’s a chapter of our marriage that’s past, that can’t be unwritten. But the past few months have been different. You’ve shown me that you’ve changed.” 

The first glimmer of sunlight after a long, dark winter. Hope blooms with your smile. 

“I think”, you say. “I think we can make this work again.” 

He stares at you, dumbstruck. Then the fact that you’re giving him another chance dawns upon him, and he crashes forward to rest his head on your shoulder, unashamed to cry tears of relief. 

“Thank you”, he exhales brokenly. “I won’t fuck this up again, I promise.”

You press a kiss to his forehead, curl up trustingly in his arms. “Don’t thank me”, you laugh. “Thank yourself for making me believe in you.” 

 He drinks up each drop of your affection, falls asleep in the cradle of your arms. 

“Is this what flirting is like?” 

He wakes up to Aiko’s impertinent question, her hands on hips looking distinctly unimpressed at finding her parents asleep on the sofa, entwined together. 

“Who taught you that word?” Kuroo asks, aghast that his ten year old daughter even recognises the existence of the opposite gender. 

Aiko sticks her tongue at him, and he’s too distracted by Fumiko taking a flying leap onto the sofa with them, chattering a thousand miles an hour about what’s for breakfast and whether they can go to the zoo this afternoon - though he pins his suspicions on Bokuto’s trio of sons. 

“Monsters”, he says. “Can’t even give your to-san a break to snuggle up to your pretty ka’san.” 

The girls shriek in dismay - Aiko, at being a witness to further gross displays of affection between her parents, Fumiko, at being called a monster despite being a self-proclaimed princess. You prod at the soft flesh between his ribs. 

“Don’t be mean”, you admonish him. 

He sniffs, taking the chance to draw you closer. “I’m cranky in the mornings unless I get a morning kiss.” 

You snort, swatting at him. “You make it sound as if kisses contain caffeine.” 

The girls giggle, but he protests. 

“Full of nonsense”, you tease, but you kiss him, again and again and again. 

Things settle into a steady, sustainable pace. 

You refuse to allow him to bear the weight of the household on his back alone. There are frank conversations to be had about what each of you can realistically handle without burning out. He leads the charge in the mornings, whipping up breakfast with the aid of his two sous chefs, building an expertise in braiding and french twists that could possibly allow him to moonlight as a hairstylist. You, on the other hand, take charge of evening pick-ups, cooking dinners, supervising homework and art projects until he comes home and tags you out. 

Chores are evenly split. He doesn’t allow you to assume the mental load of organising the household by yourself. “We both have a degree in business management”, he likes to remind you, because he now knows that remembering to run errands, scheduling appointments - all of this is work too. 

You force him to take breaks. If you get to relax with your friends, so should he. “If you get too stressed, you’ll lose your hair and we can’t have that.” He yelps when he imagines himself bald and obediently complies when you call Kenma up, talk him into getting him and Bokuto and Akaashi (when he’s feeling less morose about his singlehood) to go for a round of pick up volleyball. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself”, you note wryly when he returns home crowing about how he stuffed an Olympic player with a kill block. 

“I did”, he replies, catching your hips to pull you in, cheekily ignoring your complaints that he’s sweaty. “But I enjoy coming home to you even more.”

“Gross”, you grumble, but you seem content to remain in his arms. 

It’s another small moment he treasures. Life, he learns, is made of moments, both big and small. He’d made the mistake of only focusing on the big ones - graduation, playing at nationals, the day he was lucky enough to marry you, each of his daughter’s birthdays. Now, though, he cherishes each moment, each second he has with you and the girls, no matter how little, no matter how small. 

He likes to come into the bathroom each night, leaning his elbow on the edge of the bathtub as you chat to him about your day, luxuriating in the bath he drew for you. You and he take turns to complain about life’s inconveniences as you clear emails once the girls have gone off to bed- colleagues who shirk their work, bosses who nitpick overmuch, washing everything down with steaming cups of herbal tea. 

“Are you happy?”, he asks you, night after night. 

“Mm”, you say with an impish grin. “I’d be happier if you let me put my toes on your calves.” 

“They’re freezing”, he groans but scoots over anyway. “Better?” 

“Much better”, you hum, content. “Life is good.”

He’s not remiss in planning the big moments too. 

A year passes quickly to your wedding anniversary. He packs your suitcase, books the train tickets and whisks you back to the ryokan in Hakone, though this time he upgrades you both to their largest suite. “I feel like a princess!” you exclaim, twirling about the room. 

Your happiness is worth every yen he spent. 

You spend the day strolling down avenues lined with cherry blossoms, Mount Fuji looming in the backdrop, the evening exchanging heated kisses in the private onsen he booked. You’re older now, with laughter lines creased into your forehead, grey streaks in your hair, but you’re still the same girl he fell in love with all those years ago. 

“And you couldn’t wait ‘til we got back to our room?” you smack him. 

He also loves how there’s fire burning bright in your eyes, the way it always used to. “You kissed me first!” 

“You kissed me second!” 

“I don’t hear you complaining”, he cackles. 

You try to shush him, to no avail, as he draws the attention of everyone around him.

“What a happy couple”, an obaa-san remarks out loud. “They must be newlyweds.”  

Well, she’s not wrong. You’re as radiant as you were fifteen years ago, his spring bride, but he’s an old man doddering on, hopefully with his edges sanded off with time. “Just your regular old, married couple”, he chortles when you’re safely back in the room. 

“A happily married couple”, you reply, serenely sipping your tea. “That obaa-san definitely got that part right.” 

There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t swallow. “Are you happy?” he manages to ask anyway. 

“With you?” Your smile is warm, bright. Always.”

Both of you are doing alright.

a/n: it's been a while, hasn't it. i've been alright - how are you guys doing?

[silassinclair]

Yandere Wild West Outlaw x Reader

CW// Possession, Obsession, Yandere Behavior, Jealousy, Suggestive Content, Gaslighting, Maddox has a housewife fetish (16+)

Masterlist

When Maddox first saw you hiding in your wardrobe after having killed your Father he was shocked to see such a pretty woman inside. He knew your Father had a daughter but he didn't know she'd be a fierce and beautiful young woman.

Maddox knew he had to have you. No way was he going to leave you in this bumfuck town in the middle of no where. You're too valuable.

He ties you up and takes you away from your hometown. You're his now so he's taking you with him wherever he goes. Having a pretty little accessory like you will give him bragging rights after all.

He takes you to saloons while he plays cards with his buddies. Has you sit still and look pretty on his lap while he drinks and plays. His friends say dirty things about you. Commenting on how submissive you are for Maddox. Maddox eats their comments up like a full course meal.

"You boys wish you had this fine piece of ass. But she's mine."

When you're at his temporary house he has you play housewife. You cook his food, clean his laundry, and most importantly you take him like a good girl and let him use you to pleasure himself.

"You like that yeah? You don't? Then shut your pretty little mouth n' take it anyway. Don't make me mad now."

But over the course of a few months and after spending more time with you he sees you less as an object to brag about and more as a companion. He sees you everyday so of course he develops feelings. Feelings he denies of course.

"You think cus' I'm being nice lately you can just skip doin' laundry? Well you've been a good girl this week so I'll let it slide... But you're doin' it tomorrow! No excuses!"

Maddox takes you to the saloon with him again as usual. This time the sexual comments his friends say make him see red. He draws his gun and shoots them all dead where they sit.

"I should have never let em' say that vulgar shit bout' you. Shoulda never let you in that shithole in the first fuckin' place. C'mon, we're goin' home."

Fucks you gently this time and prioritizes your pleasure over his. You're so cute mewling beneath him. Praises you instead of degrades you.

"You can take it princess, c'mon! Don't tell me to slowdown when I can feel how good you feel on me. Yeah that’s it, good girl. Doin’ so good for me… Ya’ feel divine~"

He slowly starts bringing you into town less often. When you ask why you can't come with him he simply says that you're safer at home.

A month goes by and you're tired of being holed up in his house. So you take the risk and leave while he's taking his afternoon nap.

Bad Choice….

"You thought you could leave me?! Baby I love ya', I really do but sometimes you're real fuckin' stupid."

Locks the doors, windows, and always has his eye on you. When he has to go out he keeps you tied to the bed by the ankle.

Every night he holds you close to him. He's a light sleeper, he'll feel if you move and try to escape him. If that happens he'll embrace you in a nearly bone crushing hug.

He’ll wrestle with you if you try and fight him, but he’ll never strike you. He’d never do that after seeing the abuse his Mother endured from her customers at the brothel.

Comes home one day with two golden rings. He wears one and forces the other onto your ring finger. It's a perfect fit.

"You're my wife now and I'm your husband. You'll address me as such, got it?"

No wedding, no priest, no judge, no documentation. He says you're his wife now and that's that.

"There's names engraved inside the rings.? That's just the name of the jeweler I got it from... Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

You two never get to settle down. You hop from one abandoned home to the other. After all he needs to always be on the run from the law. It's a stressful but exhilarating lifestyle. Danger lurks at every corner.

Loves calling you by his last name. Though your last name is still legally L/n; Maddox says that since you’re his wife you have his last name. After all you two are wearing the rings to prove it!

"Thank you for the meal Mrs. Graves, God you're perfect. Where have you been all my life?"

He adores your body. Doesn't matter what body type you have. Chub? He's kneading it with his hands while he praises you like the goddess you are. Insecure about how the outline of your ribcage is visible? He traces his fingers down to your tummy and then goes even lower... He can't keep his hands off.

Favorite thing to do is hug you from behind and just press your backside against him while you do chores. It feels so domestic and it makes him feel like he isn’t a wanted criminal for a moment.

Kisses? He loves to kiss you! His favorite spots are your ankles, tummy, and forehead. And your lips ofc!

Whenever you have to slip your stockings on he swats your hands away and does it. He’ll pull them up sensually and slowly, trailing kisses from your ankle up to your thigh as he does so.

“Your skin’s so soft princess, just wanna take a bite. You’ll let me right?”

He loves animals. His horse Jasper is his best friend. Jasper won't let anyone ride him except for you and Maddox. Anyone else gets thrown off and stomped on.

Since this is the 1800’s people don’t really bathe as often. But Maddox is different. He can’t stand having grime on him for too long after you called him stinky once. So now he bathes more often than most. And you bathe with him too. You have no choice in the matter.

“Mmm love it when you wash my hair sweetheart… Ya’ fingers feel like heaven..”

Maddox is a tough guy. He's taken bullets, stabs, you name it. He even survived a hanging once. If anything happens to you he'll fight God himself just to keep you safe. Even if it costs him his life.

"GET YA' MEATHOOKS OFF MY WIFE YOU FUCKIN' ANIMALS!"

Tells you he loves you everyday. And if you don't say it back? Well he'll just bug you until you say it. After your "marriage" he doesn't really punish you anymore. You’re his partner for life, you deserve the world.

Respects women. His Mother worked in a brothel so he witnessed how men mistreated women. He could never do that to you... Even though he did early in your relationship. But he'll never admit that! Bring it up and he'll call you crazy.

"Sweetheart I never harmed a hair on your head, quit talkin' nonsense."

Teaches you how to fire a gun just in case. Hopefully you'll never have to use the skill though.

Spoils you whenever he can. Maddox has a decent amount of money but it's still pretty tight. Buying you things isn't an option because being on the run means you need to have minimal baggage. So he treats you to dinners and cute little dates.

Overtime you get used to this life. You forget he ever even killed your old man.

Anyone is free to request anything! Don't be shy! I'm hyperfixiating on this oc so I'll happily write anything for him. As long as it isn't blatant NSFW :-)

[thatfreshi]

Can I request Astarion x reader and he drinks from u when your standing and your legs buckle and you start to collapse from the blood loss but he catches you and Carries you to your bedroll and takes care of you?

Forgive me if it's rough, still trying to figure out the speech patterns!

Recommended Song: Ivy - SALES

It usually wasn’t often that Astarion asked to feed on you. Sadly, resources have been scarce, wild animals included. Anytime Lae’zel is out scouting she tries to bring something back for him, but to no avail. Recently, he had been asking quite often, and there is always an air of guilt in his question. 

“I’m sorry to ask my love, I just worry the others will see me differently, if I were to feed on one of them.”

It’s not as if your other companions aren’t aware of his situation, or the fact that you have to satiate him every once in a while. You think he simply feels like a burden, having to ask people for the very thing that sustains him. He just feels a little less like a burden when he asks you.

“Of course dear, no need to be sorry.”

You’ve gotten used to how this goes, as you’ve been travelling together for quite some time, and you and Astarion got smitten rather quickly. He’s always quite gentle, even if it does hurt at first. Instead of sitting down however, you continue working on stitching up a piece of your sleep-wear. With powerful magic from the likes of Gale and Shadowheart, you think such minute things could be fixed easily, but alas, they still require a realistic solution.

While you’re busy putting to work the simple stitch he taught you, Astarion moves to drink, wrapping you in a warm embrace. Many would think that the act of being drained of your own blood would be, well, terrifying, but something about it is quite intimate, heartwarming even. You don’t even really think about how your veins start running cold, how you start to feel much worse than normal. Then, you’re on the ground, needle and thread along with you. 

“Darling! I apologize, I should’ve had you lie down first, I should’ve-” 

He cuts off his own words as he scrambles to think. You’re still not fully there, but you want to tell him you’re fine. Sadly, eyes can’t always tell all. Even your parasite seems too drained to connect with him. When you regain some of your senses, you see that Astarion has brought you back to your bedroll, muttering something to himself, pacing the tent.

“I could’ve waited, I would’ve been fine. I-”

He pauses, realizing you’ve started to stir.

“Tav, darling, are you alright?”

You try sitting up, and he quickly moves to support your back, wrapping his arm around you waist.

“Yeah… yeah I’m okay.”

“I apologize, I knew it was a risk to feed on you again so soon. I put you in a terrible position, asking you like that.”

You reach to put your hand over his.

“No, it’s alright. I’ve become so nonchalant about it, I should’ve been much more considerate of the circumstances.”

He’s silent, trying to find another way to blame himself. The truth is, both of you were quite tired from the recent adventuring, and weren’t thinking straight. 

“I’ll tell them all we should stay at camp for another day. Or perhaps they can journey back to the Grove and we can stay for another evening.”

You tighten your grasp on his hand until he finally make eye contact with you.

“Astarion, it’s fine, truly. I’ll be fine tomorrow, come morning.”

You smile at him, despite the nausea caught in your throat. He feels bad enough, no use in making it worse. 

“Here, come lie with me.”

You meet the ground once again, and he joins you shortly after. He still has that look, that dreary mist across his eyes. Instead of trying to tell him in words, you nestle into his side, wrapping yourself around him, a way of saying ‘I still love you, no matter what.’ He leaves a kiss on your forehead, and finally lets the tension go. You close your eyes soon after, exhausted. Astarion never tells you, but he stayed awake and by your side the entire night, unmoving, just in case.

[cottonlemonade]

Accidental Confession

word count: 1228 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Nishinoya x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: spoilers

request: watching Goosebumps, having caramel popcorn while dressed as a pirate (accidental confession) with Noya || fluffy, accidental confession with Noya

Noya leaned closer to the bowl and took a deep, happy sniff of the soup. It was pouring outside and originally he wanted to meet a few new friends to go fishing again but as adventurous as he was, he didn’t feel like catching a cold along with the fish. So, he resigned himself to sitting in the small restaurant he found a few days ago, enjoying a slow afternoon with you and his latest travel companion, Saruta. The little seaside town he had settled in for the time being was a narrow one like someone had pushed a bunch of houses as close to the shore as possible to save space. No building was higher than two stories, a stark contrast to the many impressive metropoles he had seen during his world tour so far. He usually never spent more than a week in one place. He wanted to see as much as possible after all before his sense of duty - as well as his parents - called him back to Japan. But here, in this tiny hamlet with nothing to do after 6 p.m., Noya stayed for almost a whole month now. And all because he met you the minute he stepped off the ferry. Much like his high school self he definitely still believed in love at first sight, however, the more he got to know you, the quicker he realized that none of what he had ever experienced with anyone in Miyagi came even close to how he felt about you.

You were daring and witty, strong and beautiful and if he could have proposed to you on that first night he would have. But if he learned anything in school that stuck it was that his previous approaches to flirting and dating weren’t exactly well-received and often described as “coming on too strong”. And since he didn’t want to mess up his chances under any circumstances, he resigned himself to pining and made a pact with himself instead. To pad his funds a bit he had joined some oyster shuckers and decided that once he found a pearl he’d confess. Unfortunately, he grossly overestimated how long it would take him to find one and chickened out immediately when a tiny pinkish thing rolled into his palm on the second day. Soon enough he carried around a small handful of them in an empty TicTac container. They weren’t worth much, all being roughly the size and shape of a corn of sushi rice but a local girl who was selling self-made jewelry turned them into a necklace in exchange for him manning her stall while she went to grab lunch.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, leaving the two young men behind. Noya already knew what was coming before his friend even started.

“Hope you realize, I feel myself age while I‘m waiting for you to make a move.“, Saruta said.

“I‘ll do it soon.“, Noya replied automatically as he looked at his almost empty bowl, considering ordering seconds.

The other raised a highly doubtful brow, “Now, where have I heard this before? Oh yeah. You, last week. Come on, it‘s not that deep. If she likes you back, great, if not, you just move on and will forget about her in no time.“

Noya glared at him, making Saruta raise his hands in defense, “Look, you have the necklace ready, it‘s her birthday tomorrow, probably some stars are aligning as well, just do it.“

“Right, I meant to ask you about something.” Noya reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavily crumpled piece of paper.

“What’s that?”

His friend smoothed out the note and skimmed the short text.

“Well, what does it look like?”

“Birthday wishes - but I’m not seeing any kind of confession here.”

Noya ignored him.

“Could you translate it for me?”

“Why? She knows Japanese.”

“I know, but I wanna do it in her native language and you’re the only one I can ask.”

“Have you heard of the internet?”, Saruta asked sarcastically, pushing the paper back across the table.

Noya waved him off. “I don’t trust online translations to make it sound natural. Plus, no program is gonna correct my pronunciation, hm?” He batted his eyes pleadingly and with pointed fingers gently slid the note to Saruta once again.

“Fine. But you’re paying for dessert.”

In all his time at school, Noya had never studied as hard as he did that night. Huddled together in the cramped hostel room they shared with 10 other guys, Noya and Saruta went through the note again and again until the latter threatened to smother Noya with a pillow if he repeated the words in his presence one more time.

The following morning the former libero made sure to dress in his best (aka cleanest) clothes and hurried to meet you outside at the pier as previously agreed.

His steps slowed when he spotted your chubby silhouette waiting. The morning air was icy even without much wind. Seagulls cawed sleepily as they patrolled the shore. The sun was just beginning to rise, coloring the horizon in tones of lavender and gold.

Noya reached into his jacket to double-check that the necklace and cheat sheet for his birthday wishes were in place.

“Y/n!”, he called and you turned around, giving him the most arresting smile.

“Yuu! Not gonna lie, I thought you overslept.”

“Not today.”, he laughed nervously and joined you at the railing that separated the street from the beach.

“I wasn’t sure why you wanted to meet so early but…”, you pointed towards the sun steadily climbing over the calm waves, “this is gorgeous.”

“Yeah…”, he said, most definitely not paying attention to the sunrise in the slightest.

When you caught him staring, he cleared his throat and pulled the little tule bag containing the necklace from his pocket. He held it out to you.

“For you.”, he added unnecessarily.

“Oh, thank you so much! You didn’t have to get me anything.”, you beamed at him and the cold October morning suddenly felt a whole lot warmer.

He took a deep breath and although stumbling over a few words here and there he recited his short speech.

“Happy birthday! I need you to know that from the moment I saw you, I knew I was in love. I can’t stop thinking about you and if you’ll have me, I’d love to be your boyfriend.”

Your jaw dropped, then you began to blush and finally you clutched his gift to your heart when he finished.

“I really like you, too!”, you replied in Japanese. Noya stiffened and his heart pounded in his ears.

“You what?”

“I really like you, too!”, you said again, a little quieter but still carrying the same enthusiasm, “And I’d love to be with you.”

The realization dawned in time with the sun. He didn’t know whether to kill Saruta or kiss him. It should have been obvious from that smile he gave him before bed.

With trembling fingers, he helped you put on the necklace, the different hues of the pearls shimmering in the golden gray morning light.

You hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and closed the gap between you for your first kiss.

In every photo he took on his travels from this day on you were by his side, necklace and all.

a/n: That necklace 100% made an appearance on your wedding photo, too.

request for @mikayla1117

Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to finally write for him! Also thank you so much for your kind words 🥹 I hope you enjoyed it!

for requests see here

[reobsessed]

Guiding My Heart

Pairing: Tav X Astarion, Reader X Astarion. Gender neutral. Content/Content Warning: Panic attacks, anxiety, fluff, hurt, comfort, kissing, 2200 words. Summary: You'd finally made it to Baldur's Gate, unfortunately the city overwhelmed you in ways you hadn't considered possible. Astarion finds you panic stricken, hiding beneath a bridge. He does his best to comfort you and guide you through the sunset streets back to camp. Author's Note: Hi guys thank you so much for the love on my last fic! Wanted to do a comfort anxiety fic, so please bear in mind panic attacks are depicted in here. Thank you again to Suri for the wonderful reads and edits!

The chance to regain your bearings never came, as you were flushed down the street by a torrent of people. You watched with garbled breaths as your companions navigated them easily, all while you were pushed back further.

Heart pumping, nerve tingling desperation took hold of you; the kind you’d only ever felt during the heat of battle. It was fight or flight, as you ducked into a bricked out dead end.

Were you dying? Your chest pounded and ached as though you were dying. Upon examining yourself, there was scarcely a wound to be seen. Checking yourself over for injuries only heightened your fear. What if it was poison? 

The numbing weakness in your legs grew, you clutched the wall for support. 

“Darling, darling? Whatever is the matter?” The sweet words of your lover filled the hollow of the underpass. 

You could only respond in the form of irregular gasps. Fingers, slender and cold, held steadfast to your waist. You gave up control and allowed them to lower you onto a nearby crate. He crouched down beside you and pried your balled up fist away from your heart, replacing your hand with his own. 

“Did something frighten you, my dear?” His forehead crinkled with concern, before being undercut by an attempt at humour. “I’ve only ever heard it beat that fast for me, but I suspect this time I’m not the cause.” He shot you a reassuring smile, belied by a tremble in his voice.

“Started panicking. Don’t know why,” you choked.

He looked at you sympathetically, before rising to his feet. “Won’t be a moment my dear, stay here.” And with that he ran off, back the way you came. You could hear murmurings outside. Those of your partner’s hurried reassurance and that of your companions, voices raised with concern and inquisition.

The voices began to die down, as did the palpitations in your heart. Astarion rounded the corner back towards you, but slowed his approach upon seeing your distress. He moved gracefully and feline, as if you were prey not to be disturbed.

You looked behind him worriedly, but were relieved when none of your other companions followed behind. They didn’t need to see you like this. You didn’t want them to see you like this. Ideally you didn’t want anybody here, but if it were to be anyone you were glad it was him.

“Now then.” He crouched down beside you, dabbing your forehead with a frilled cloth. Cooling relief washed over you as he held the palm of his hand against your temple.

“Feels good,” you sighed, leaning into his touch.

“Ah yes, I thought that might help. You’re terribly warm.”

His gentle touch and the soothing cadence of his voice were enough to calm you, but the unpleasant tingle of your limbs persisted, as did your erratic breathing.

“Sorry for all of this, Astarion.”

“For what?” he mumbled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me. You only just got back, you finally get to see it in daylight and I’m ruining it.”

“Don’t be silly! We’re hardly leaving tomorrow. I’ll have plenty of time to wander the sunlit streets.” 

Despite his reassurance, your eyes began to well. Something about the rise in his tone unsettled you and like a toddler crying over their parent’s temper, you began to sob.

“Shit,” he muttered, looking around desperately; his face an entanglement of hurt and bewilderment. “I didn’t mean to upset you, my darling.” His hands clamped over yours, desperate to provide you with any sort of comfort. “Did I do something wrong?”

You tried to speak, but all that came out were incoherent whimpers. He looked at you with panic stricken eyes, hands still holding firmly onto yours.

This wasn’t fair, he didn't know how to deal with this sort of thing. You were supposed to support him, you-

“My love.” He looked at you sincerely, a slight smile gracing his lips; one of those rare, genuine smiles, few ever got to see. “Let’s stay here a little while longer.” He planted a tender kiss on the corner of your mouth and held you close.

Tears of a new source began to flow and there was no holding them back. His fingers curled around yours; you were drowning and they were your anchor. You tried to wipe away your tears, but he wouldn’t let you.

“Gods, darling, no. Think of all that dirt and those… fluids- from your enemies I mean, not yours.” He pulled another handkerchief from his pocket (did this man just have an endless supply?) and gently, he dabbed at your eyes and cheeks.

“Thank you,” you sniffled.

“There we are.” He looked you up and down, appreciating his work. “All cleaned up! Shame about your makeup, but nothing we can’t fix.”

Red soreness blazed across your cheeks and seared your eyes with swollen intensity. A quick glance into a nearby puddle revealed the inky smear that enveloped your eyes. Gods, what a sight you were and yet he looked at you with such affection.

You lamented his hands detaching from yours, until they returned to your thigh, stroking soothing circles up and down your leg. Lodged deep within the pulsating heart of the city, you'd finally found your pocket of serenity. Unfortunately your respite was short lived as adolescent bellows converged on your hiding spot.

Astarion’s ears twitched in their direction and his face warped from one of contentment to bitter irritation.

“Oi, oi hanging out under a bridge.”

“Like a couple of lovesick trolls.”

You rolled your eyes at their childish remarks. Astarion, however, lacked the patience needed when dealing with youths. He shot them a glare so piercing, it silenced them in an instant. He was a stray cat, territorial and fierce. A non-existent hiss threatened them from the shadows and like a pair of puppies, they whimpered and scurried out of view.

“Was that really necessary?” you laughed hoarsely. 

“What? You can’t honestly expect me to sit here listening to children babbling on.”

You stifled your laughter. “You’re such an old man. You used to be like that too, you know?”

“I’ll have you know, I was never the sort.”

“I sometimes wonder about that myself,” he laughed bitterly, changing the subject. “Are you feeling better now, love?”

“Hmm, I wonder what kind of child you were.”

You closed your eyes and nodded. “We need to get back to the others.” You rose to your feet and Astarion joined you, a supportive hand on your lower back.

“Very well then, I’ll lead the way.” His fingers locked with yours as he led you back into the sunlight. He lit up literally and figuratively, his skin beaming like a pearl in the warm light and his mouth curling into a soft smile. He was truly in his element. “Which route would you prefer? We have the scenic back alleys of Baldur’s Gate and the even more picturesque sewers down below.”

“We can go the normal way. I don’t think I’ll subject you to the sewers just yet.” You smirked knowingly. Your adventure would lead you down into the sewers eventually, why wouldn’t it?

With a guiding hand he led you away from the dark alleyways and into the teeming streets. You did your best to suppress your rising panic. You focused on the prevailing scraps of nature: trickling water, rustling leaves and the painless cry of birds up above. Astarion, on the other hand, had been suspiciously quiet. You noticed how his eyes lit up with delight, as he stared across the street.

“What’s over there?” you asked.

“Huh? Oh, you mean that.” He pulled you in closer; one hand wrapped around your waist, the other still clasped in yours. He pointed across the street. “I’ve always wanted to visit the florist’s over there. The flowers have the most delightful fragrances.”

“How come you’ve never- ah.” You trailed off sadly, already knowing the answer.

“They always close before sundown. It’s rather unfortunate Cazador never let me bring anything home other than victims. A bouquet of flowers could have done wonders for that tacky little entranceway.”

“Well, we could always go together.”

“As much as I’d love to tour the city with you, you’ve had a long day. Let’s get you back to camp first, hm?”

“Okay, we’ll come back some other time.” You said, making a mental note of the store’s exact location.

The sun began to retreat, lost to the shadows of the upper city. There was no quieting of the streets, as the fading light gave way to an influx of people; those departing their homes and businesses, ready for whatever nightly activities they had planned. Astarion held you near to him, skillfully threading you past any who came too close. 

While you had no intention of stopping, a prominent display of cakes and pastries caught your eye. You ground to a halt, dragging Astarion with you. Unnatural hues of reds, pinks, greens and blues peered at you from behind the glass, like rows of infernal eyes. Their construction was intricate and put the very store they were displayed in to shame.

“Quite darling aren’t they?” he said, standing beside you.

“They’re pretty. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted something so beautiful.”

“Speak for yourself,” he replied fondly, looking through the glass; his reflection non-existent, as he looked between you and the cakes. “A sweet treat for my sweet treat.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah, we should really be getting back.”

The sun had almost fully set, your surroundings becoming a drab greyscale of abandonment. As you got further and further away the sounds of the city began to fade, muffled behind crumbling properties and streaming waters. It was peaceful, walking together in comfortable silence, firmly attached to one another.

“I could get used to this, you know? Strolling through derelict back alleys with you by my side,” Astarion mused. 

“I’d like that. Wouldn’t mind a change of scenery though, a bit more greenery perhaps.”

Astarion coughed nervously, turning to face you. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to talk about what happened earlier?”

“I don’t- I don’t really know what there is to say,” you stammered in response.

“It’s alright, we’ll work through it together. We always do.” He flashed you a resolute smile.

“You don’t think it’s a little pathetic freaking out over nothing?” 

“The city can be quite overwhelming, I suppose. Not that I would know, I’ve lived here for hundreds of years.” Just like him to humble brag. “I’ve done my fair share of ‘freaking out’ on our little adventure, far be it for me to judge you.”

You wrapped your arms around him, hiding your face in the fabric of his armour. “Yeah, I guess I’m just not used to it. Sorry, again.”

“Oh stop it.” He returned the gesture and held you in his arms. You stood together silent in the moonlight, rocking against one another, all while steely waters lapped against the canal wall.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been anywhere so… populated. I feel trapped, like a rat almost.”

He gave you a once over. “Well you certainly don’t look rodent like. The taste is significantly better, I might add.”

“I wish I was a rat, then I could just run and hide in a nice wall.”

He hummed in contemplation. “I know it might be odd for me to be the one saying this, but perhaps running away isn’t the best option? We’ve faced all our problems head on so far, surely this is no different?”

You buried your face back into his chest, your agreement coming out as a muffled groan. “But what if it happens again? What if it happens while we’re doing something important?”

He rested his chin atop your head, arms still encircling your waist. “I’ll be with you, so you don’t need to worry.” He pulled back to look you in the eyes. “Just don’t stray too far from me, okay?” His tone was steady and confident, but there was a desperate and needy look in his eyes. A far worse person could take advantage of such adoration. You couldn’t let that happen, you’d never let anyone use him ever again.

You cupped his face in your hands, doing your best to look as sincere as possible within the eyes that reflected you. “I’m not going anywhere. Especially not while Cazador’s still alive.”

Satisfied with this answer, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was firm and tender, a silent act to seal the promise between you both.

“Right, we should get back before one of them burns the entire camp down,” you said looking off into the distance concernedly.

“Always a possibility when you’re not around.”

The hearty chatter and crackling fire were a welcoming sight, as you approached camp. None of the others had noticed the two of you yet and you were determined to have one last moment alone with your lover. Feeling at ease, you asked him one final question.

“Astarion?”

“Yes, my sweet?”

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?” You grinned sheepishly, lips brushing against his.

[sugarandspicewriting]

The World We Knew (Over and Over)

Summary: You are a musician serving the royal family in the golden kingdom. You follow thistle as he descends into madness.

Warnings: 1.6k words. Thistle gets a little toxic as the fic progresses. Mentions of Thistle's self harm tendencies. Angst ending :(

A/N: You've heard of enemies to lovers now get ready for lovers to not really enemies but the vibes are off now. I don't actually know if Thistle had to leave the castle to learn magic I but for the sake of the fic he did.

It all began with giggles trailing after you through the palace halls.

Your acceptance into the King's court had been unceremonious; your parents had served the royal family as musicians, and from a young age, it had been your dream to join them in performing. Prince Delgal took a particular liking to your music, often calling for your performances. Yet, it seemed someone else was more eager to hear you play.

"What do you want to hear from her, Thistle?" Delgal teased, his eyes twinkling mischievously as they landed on the elf always by his side. Thistle would invariably blush, stammering in response, "You called her! I can’t tell her what to do!"

You were familiar with Thistle, often spotting him in the prince's company. Sometimes, he would even smile and wave at you before retreating, dragging a laughing Delgal along with him.

And so, the persistent snickers of the prince and his elfin companion became a soundtrack to your days within the castle.

—--------------------

When Thistle finds a rare moment to slip away, he often visits your room at night. Despite the openness of your feelings for each other, he remains bashful and reserved. He twists his braid nervously until you understand he wants you to undo it for him.

 While you brush his hair, you observe the pieces of him that have found their way to your space. His lyre, propped up in a corner, a silent witness to the melodies he plays for you. Spare hair ties scattered around, remnants of his occasional absent-minded gestures. The bandages you bought were placed on the dresser for when he bites his thumb too hard in his worry for the Prince. His upcoming wedding seems to weigh heavily on his mind. Sometimes you wish he would ease his worries, if only for a moment.

But in this quiet moment, he’s slumped in your lap, and you take the chance to place his hair on one side of his head and brush your lips to his ear. He doesn’t respond but you see both his ears turn crimson, and you stifle a laugh. Better to not make him grumpy.

—-----------------

The wedding is tomorrow and Thistle can’t seem to find any peace. 

You could tell by the way he’s been darting around all day, obsessing over every detail. Still, it surprises you when he appears at your door in the dead of night, a trembling candle in his hand. The flickering flame casts shadows on his anxious face. You watch the flame sway in the air for a moment before looking at his face. 

Without a word, you draw him inside and envelop him in your arms. He murmurs something about security concerns into the curve of your neck, and you stroke his hair soothingly, hushing his worries.

Gently, you take the candle from him and put it on the nightstand, then drag him over to your bed and help him down on the mattress. He flopped down and you crawled over him to get to the other side of the bed. 

“You can stay here tonight. I love you.” you say softly.

As usual, he didn't say it back, but you were willing to wait. 

You blow out the candle, casting the room back into darkness.

Barely a minute passes ,and you feel him crawl over to you and wrap his arms around you and bury his face in your hair. It’s a rare display of vulnerability from him, a testament to the weight of his concerns.

You place your hands over his, gently rubbing your thumb over his skin. “I love you too,” he whispers into the quiet darkness.

—--------------------------------

Things are different now.

Prince Delgal ascends to the throne after his father's tragic death, and he insists that Thistle learn magic to protect him. 

The only reason you got to wish him goodbye is because you walked in his room to find him 

"You're leaving already?" you ask quietly, unable to mask the concern in your voice.

"The sooner I leave, the better. When I return, I'll be able to keep Delgal safe," Thistle replies, his tone strained with determination.

"And you. You too," he adds after a pause, as though remembering your presence.

You feel like an afterthought, overshadowed by the weight of the recent events and the king's legacy. Uncertain of what to say, you watch silently as Thistle finishes packing.

When he grabs his bag and heads towards the castle exit, he doesn't invite you to follow. But you do, driven by an unspoken need to be near him, to understand what he's going through.

Before he leaves you manage to get one last hug from him. It’s the first time he’s touched you in weeks.

“You’ll write to me?” You ask. Mercifully he loosely wraps his arm around your waist.

“Of course.” Thistle replies, though his voice lacks its usual warmth.

He parts with you and his farewell to Delgal is filled with concern and lingering goodbyes. You pretend not to notice the underlying tension, the unraveling edges of his composure.

—----------------------------

Everything is different when he comes back. 

He smiles more than he was but something is strange about it.You get to see him more, but nights that were once filled with soft touches and words are filled with one sided conversation about magic and the dungeon under the kingdom. He fidgets incessantly, unable to sit still long enough for you to even brush his hair. His words about power and protection wash over you, their meaning lost, but the intensity in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine. 

Still, he's here. He cares enough to share his thoughts, not just about the King's safety, but about everything that consumes his mind. Despite the concerned glances exchanged between you and Delgal at the dinner table, despite the moments when his grip on your arms tightens uncomfortably during his rants, you smile and nod, supportive of his ideas.

When he eventually leaves your side, you find yourself tracing the crescent-shaped marks on your skin left by his fingers. You remember the days when he would look away before summoning the courage to hold your hand.

—------------------------

You could leave the room if you really wanted to; no one would stop you. But the fear in Yaad’s eyes would always draw you back.

It had been ages since Thistle’s last visit, taking a momentary break on his fruitless search for Delgal. No one expected you to remain locked within the castle for eternity. In his absence, you were granted momentary freedom around the kingdom. Yet, straying from his expectations risked unsettling him. Not being where he would expect you to be when he came back could prove disastrous.

You picked at the Minotaur meat brought to your room, a gesture more habitual than necessary. Like the kingdom’s residents, you no longer needed sustenance. Yaad had arranged this meal at the request of recent visitors, hopeful they might end the reign of the Mad Mage.

The Mad Mage hardly sounded like a fitting name for the Thistle you once knew. Yet, time had woven madness into his every thought and action.When he had locked you all in the dungeon and cursed you with immortality you hardly recognized him The same eyes that once captivated you with warmth now held a terror you couldn’t bear to face. Thistle was the Lord of the dungeon, and he would forever keep you trapped in his perfect kingdom like rats in a cage. 

He would visit as he did in youth—sitting in your lap, requesting hair fixes, strumming his lyre in fleeting moments of joy, or sobbing in your embrace, tormented by Delgal’s absence. 

The villagers never got to see this side of him- the emotional side. It was never a side he was keen on sharing with most people. It used to make you feel special.

A familiar bell chimed, a gift from Thistle before he resumed his search for Delgal—a bell signaling his return to the realm.

As the bell on the wall rang, its faint chime echoing through the cold stone chamber, Thistle's return stirred a mix of emotions in you. You watched the heavy door creak open, revealing his figure silhouetted against the dim torchlight of the corridor beyond. 

"Thistle," you greeted softly, the name tasting bitter on your tongue yet wrapped in the sweetness of memories long past.

"I've returned," he murmured, his voice a fragile thread of the man he once was.

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. His touch, when he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face, was gentle yet tinged with an unsettling intensity. In that moment, you saw glimpses of the Thistle you had loved, a soul now lost in the labyrinth of his own making.

"I've missed you," he whispered, his voice cracking with a raw vulnerability that pierced through the shadows of the room.

And though the weight of his madness bore down upon your heart, you found solace in the fragments of his former self that still lingered. You reached out, hesitantly at first, and took his hand in yours. It was cold and trembling, a stark reminder of all that had been lost between you.

As the bell's echo faded into the silence, you knew that despite the darkness that had consumed him, a part of Thistle remained tethered to you. Locked in this eternal dance of captivity and fleeting connection, you found a fragile kind of peace in the depths of his broken mind.

[bullet-prooflove]

Chibs

1.lipstick

2.cuffs

3.patch

4. Church table (the giant table with the engraving)

This did not go the way I expected...

Companion piece to Gunpower & Lead

Tagging: @anime-weeb-4-life @Kishie8 @nu1freakshow @darqchilddaydreamz @Just-a-girl-who-wrytes

Chibs doesn’t expect to find you at the table, the one they use for Church. You’re sitting in his seat, your gaze focused on the wooden carving etched into the centre. You look like a queen, lost in thought, pondering a problem.

It’s rare that you enter this space, despite being matriarch. Your battlefield is the courtroom, you leave club business to them unless they require legal expertise. He’s been gone a couple days, on a trip down to Santo Padre, the calls between the two of you have been sparse. He’d thought that you were caught up in one of your cases but now he can see it’s something else, something much more problematic.

“Alright love?” He asks as he strips off his gloves from the ride, tucking them into the back pocket in his jeans. His leans over, his lips brushing over the apple of your cheek so that he doesn’t smear your lipstick.

“They found some bones out in the woods a few days ago.” You tell him, your fingertips rapping lightly on the surface of the table. “There’s a rumour that it had a metal plate in it’s left arm.”

The air seems to leave the room and his chest constricts. He sits down in Tig’s seat, clasping his hands together in front of him. That body you’re talking about, it’s your ex-husband, the one you killed because he almost killed you. He’d had the prospects take care of the disposal, Ratboy and Miles before the two of them were patched in. He doesn’t understand, the body should have been cremated…

Then he remembers the scandal a couple of months later, the cremator had been broken and Skeeter had been storing the bodies out back. He’d tried burying a couple in the beginning he’d told the police when the discovery was made but it had become too much work when they kept piling up. It’s why they’d stopped using him.

Your ex, he must have been one of them.

“In the next few days they’re going to identify the body and then they’re going to come knocking on our door.” You tell him, adjusting the cuffs of your silk blouse. “I’ve started to put my affairs in order,  the house and everything else has been transferred into your name…”

“Lassie…” He begins, reaching for you and you squeeze his hand tightly in yours.

“This is the way it has to be.” You say quietly. “If I don’t go in and make a confession, it’ll come down on the club and we can’t have that. You were just cleaning up my mess.”

It feels like he’s burning alive, like someone has tipped a can of petrol over his entire body and lit a match. The agony of this decision it sears through his entire body, he wants to argue, to fight but he can see the resignation in you, he knows it would be like screaming into the wind.

You have to do this, for him, for the club because this thing, it could take them all down.

“When?” He says finally, his voice barely more than a rasp.

“Tomorrow.” You tell him and he knows that you’re giving him one last night together before they take you away in cuffs. “I’ll make my confession to David Hale tomorrow.”

Love Chibs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[moonstruckme]

OOOOO I didn’t realize you wrote for steddie x R!!! Can I request your version of what would happen if reader came down with a nasty stomach bug from work and our boys tried to take care of her only to end up with it themselves? (Totally not projecting my own unfortunate current demise 🫠)

Thanks for requesting lovely! Feel better <3

cw: mentions of nausea, stomach pain, not eating due to illness

poly!Steddie x fem!reader ♡ 759 words

“Poor little lovebug.” You’ve given up on trying to deter Eddie as he sets his lips to your temple, cuddling close, but you and Steve exchange a look. 

The other boy rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to take care of both of you,” he says. You all know it’s an empty threat. “If you get yourself sick, you’re on your own.” 

“I’m helping,” Eddie argues, lips meandering down to your neck. You inhale softly as the muscles in your abdomen spasm painfully, and his hands are there in a second, pressing over the sore spot like it’s a wound he can stopper. “What’re you doing, Harrington? She doesn’t want your lame toast.” 

Steve softens. “She’s gotta eat something, though.” He looks to you, almost apologetic as he says, “It’s toast or cheerios, honey. Unless you think you can stomach something more.” 

You shake your head, snuggling into Eddie. He makes a happy sound, adjusting his position to tuck you under his chin and get you more securely in his arms. You’re sick of being sick. It’s only day one of the stomach flu several of your coworkers have said they didn’t get over for three days, and you’re well and truly fed up with it. Fed up with being nauseous and achy and alternately too hot or too cold. 

Steve had discovered upon his early-morning search that there’s not one thermometer between the three of you and has been debating going to the store to get one, but says he’s reluctant to leave you in the hands of the most inept caretaker possible (your very sweet and loving boyfriend). Eddie is ambivalent; he says you don’t need a thermometer anyway, because his lips are the best gauge there is (he keeps pressing them to your forehead and making sizzling noises, which Steve only found funny the first time but entertains you and Eddie to no end).

Eddie fully gives over to your self-indulgent tendencies in not eating, but Steve is watching you with a dissatisfied little furrow between his brows. He crouches by the bed, feeling your face with one hand and reaching for the nightstand with the other. 

“At least have some gatorade, then,” he capitulates, holding the bottle out toward you. “You’ve gotta stay hydrated.” 

You feel guilty and sit up. Eddie protests at your moving, but Steve gives you a smile as you drink. 

“You’re really a ton of help,” he snarks at Eddie, though he reaches down, carding a hand through his boyfriend’s curls. 

“I’m just succumbing to my fate.” Eddie shrugs. “I’m gonna be sick tomorrow, may as well start acting like it now.” 

“It’s not as fun as it looks,” you say between sips, then regret it. Your face heats as both boys’ expressions turn pitying. 

Eddie wraps a hand around your hip, squeezing lovingly, and Steve says, “I know, honey. You wanna nap for a while? We’ll give your stomach a chance to settle before we try with the toast again.” 

You nod and let Eddie wrestle you back down onto the mattress, pulling you snugly against him. “Think of it this way—at least soon, you’ll have a companion in your misery.” 

And by the next morning, you do. But it’s not Eddie. 

“Toast,” Eddie begs, shoving the piece of bread forward like he’s jousting with it. “C’mon, baby, just a few bites.” 

Steve groans, crossing his arms over his head. “Later,” he bargains. “I can’t do it right now.” 

Eddie looks to you desperately. “Did you finish your water?”

“Mhm.” You give the empty bottle a little shake as proof, and your boyfriend sighs in relief. 

“Good girl.” He bends over you, stamping his lips to your forehead firmly. “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

You hum and reach for his hand, but Steve grabs you, turning you around and hugging you to his chest possessively. You’re more than alright with this, nuzzling his stubble while he splays a hand on your back. 

“You know what? Fuck you, Harrington.” Eddie slaps the piece of toast on Steve’s shoulder and leaves it there. “Can’t believe you’d fucking do this to me. That better be gone when I get back.” 

“Where are you going?” Steve asks, smugness evident in his tone. 

“To get a fucking thermometer!” 

Steve’s chuckle rumbles through the both of you, and you smile against his neck. 

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you tell him. 

“Yeah, I don’t know what you were talking about.” He kisses your cheek, his lips as warm as your skin. “This is tons of fun.”

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Hi so I wanted to request something I just thought of if that’s okay! A little meet cute story from season 4 where reader is the midwife who helped deliver Henry and her and Reid meet in the hospital and just hit it off🥺

this is so cute! this strays a lot from the plot of the episode because i haven't watched it forever and don't feel like it lmao

The Lanky Guy in Room 603

She wasn't sure if the long, lanky man curled up in the uncomfortable chair was Jennifer's brother or husband. He looked young; with a blemish-free baby face and a mop of soft brown hair. She could tell it had a slight curl to it and she had to resist an urge to tuck the stray pieces that fanned out behind his ear. Perhaps it was because she spent her days and nights caring for expecting parents, she just couldn't help but want to care for the sleeping man.

Jennifer was watching television, a pained look on her face as she held her round belly.

"You said it would be today," Jennifer groaned, the pain of labor evident on her face, "It's almost tomorrow."

Y/N sat on the stool beside Jennifer's bed, "I know I did, honey." She pressed a damp cloth to Jennifer sweaty face, attempting to cool down her body temperature. "But it seems like this little baby's got a mind of their own."

"Just like her mother."

The voice came from behind her. The sleep man, now not sleeping, unfolded himself from his pretzel-like position on the chair. He joints popped as he stretched his legs. Y/N noticed his socks were patterned. His left foot donned socks with gray tabby cats and a navy blue background. His right foot donned pumpkins on a lavender background.

Jennifer smiled, thanking Y/N for the damp cloth, as her companion checked her vitals. He peered at the numbers, probably attempting to decipher their meanings regarding his wife's health.

"Your wife is perfectly healthy, sir. You''ll have a healthy, sweet, baby within the next day. I'm sure of it."

Jennifer chuckled, "He's not my husband. Spencer's my....."

"Co-worker. Very proud godfather of her soon to be born baby girl?" Spencer injected, still reading the vitals.

"I'm concerned about JJ's vitals. Are you sure that her lab work is updated? It needs to reflect the high stress nature of her job. And her blood pressure? It was last checked thirteen minutes and twenty seven seconds ago. And does the satellite birth center have enough blood in the bank. On average a laboring mother may loose about...."

"Spence," Jennifer, or JJ as the man named Spencer called her, "I'm going to be just fine. The baby is going to be just fine. Please don't harass the midwife. Or I'll have to switch you out for Penny instead."

"You know if you wanted to get stuff done, you should've picked Hotch or Emily," Spencer countered, "I'm just going to be a nervous wreck."

"You're going to be fine. And think of it as practice for when your wife is pregnant. You'll be a pro by the time that rolls around."

Spencer chuckled dryly. His cheeks blushed crimson as he checked the clock. "It's now been fourteen minutes and thirty four seconds." He whispered under his breath.

"Are you and your wife expecting as well? It kinda smart for her to send you here for a dry run?" Y/N commented, making light talk with Jennifer and Spencer. Through her couple of years a midwife, she learned that many laboring parents and their companions need to have their minds occupied.

"N-no, no wife," Spencer said, his lips formed a tight smile as he looked at Y/N and then back to Jennifer, "We have a very time consuming job. Dating is hard. And family life is even harder. It’s common for many families in the BAU to end with divorce between the two partners.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Spence,” Jennifer quipped as a wave of labor pains came over her.

“I don’t mean you and Will,” Spencer backtracked, “You’re not even married to him.”

Jennifer rolled her eyes at Spencer, and Y/N got the sense that the Spencer and Jennifer shared a sibling-like relationship. It made sense, she supposed as she watched Spencer continuously checked Jennifer’s vitals. He hovered like a mother hen, but made no attempt at physical contact like the husbands usually did.

“Distract her,” Y/N whispered to Spencer, “And don’t talk about how her marriage is statistically likely to end in divorce. That’s not the way to comfort a mom that’s about to push a 8 pound baby out of her vagina.”

Spencer shut his mouth quickly, returning to Jennifer’s side. As Y/N walked out of the room, she noted that the soon to be godfather asked her if she needed anything.

***

“Y/N!” Nurse Lorraine said from her perch. “That tall kid from Room 603, the one that looks like he’s about to faint? He’s looking for you.”

Room 603? Y/N checked her chats, shuffling through the pile of laboring parents.

Ah! That would be Jennifer Jareau. And her very eager friend/co-worker/godfather of her child.

“Oh, Spencer? He’s a sweetheart. Trying to help her. He could teach those husbands a thing or too.” Y/N said, as she typed away at her computer.

“He’s not the husband?” Lorraine questioned, her tone making Y/N stop typing.

“What are you doing, Lo?” Y/N sighed with exasperation. “You’re meddling. And it’s not a cute look, I’m afraid.”

“It’s been how long since that idiot of a man dumped you for his unpaid intern? Todd? Taylor? What was his name again?”

“Tyler. He was an ass. I don’t think I’m ready to get myself back out there. He really did a number on me.” Y/N lamented. She took a sip of her third coffee of the day. It was a distraction from tearing up or worse, actually crying in front of Lorraine, the hardass nurse who makes Attendings cry.

“Y/N, honey,” Lorraine sighed, “Don’t waste your youth or your beauty on someone who doesn’t deserve it. I’m not saying that man in 603 deserves you, but he’s holding his coworker’s hand as she’s delivering a baby that’s not his. All because her boyfriend is stuck at work in New Orleans. He’s a good man. And he’s looking for you. And he blushed when he asked for you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at Lorraine’s gossipy tendencies. “How do you know all that? I’ve been with him all day and I hardly can get him to tell me his name. Beside the snide comments about me not checking the vitals enough.”

“See! He’s protective over people he cares about, even if talking to the gorgeous nurse terrifies him. I can lock you two in the supply close if you’d like. I mean the piles and piles of extra large padsicles and bed pens aren’t very romantic, but maybe romance isn’t what you need right now.” Lorraine quipped.

Ignoring Lorraine, “I’m going to see what he wants from me.” Y/N said, recoiling because she knew Lorraine would twist her words into some sort of sexual innuendo.

“Go get’em, Tiger!” Lorraine called from the Nurse’s Station with a mischievous glint in her eye.

***

“Spencer?” Y/N whispered, noting that Jennifer was sleeping in her bed, “Nurse Lorraine said you wanted to speak to me.”

Even in the dark room, minus the glow of equipment monitoring Jennifer, Y/N could see his light blush. He was cute. She thought that before Lorraine even broached the subject. She though that when she silently wondered if he was Jennifer’s husband or not.

He was cute. Handsome, even.

Spencer couldn’t be more than 26 or 27. He had brown eyes that were kind and warm. Spencer looked gentle, and that was evident by the easy way he cared for Jennifer.

“I wanted to make sure I was doing it right,” Spencer confessed, “I’m not really good with all this,” he waved his hand around the room to show what he meant, “My mind can only focus on the possibilities of what can go wrong. I’m not cut out for this.”

“For what being a companion? A godfather? Spencer, Jennifer clearly cares for you and wants you in her baby’s life. She sees that you’re kind and caring and gentle.”

Spencer cracked a smile, warming Y/N heart. She hated it. Yet she liked it. And that only made her hate it more.

“Thanks.” Spencer said, taking a sip of his probably now cold coffee.

“You know there’s an excellent microwave in the nurse’s lounge room. Lorraine bullies enough attendings that I can totally sneak you in there to warm up your coffee.” Y/N offered, “Jennifer needs sleep. It’s the best thing for her right now. Besides, I can teach you how to swaddle a baby and change a diaper.”

“I know how to deliver a baby,” Spencer said, “It’s a lot messier than I thought.” He said with a shiver.

“Are you in healthcare?” Y/N asked they walked to the nurse’s lounge. It was so late that most of the families were either sleeping, in labor, or being discharged. “You certainly know a lot about medicine. And for the record we do have plenty of blood in stock. But we’re looking for donors every third Tuesday if the month.”

“Not technically. Well, not the doctor you’re thinking of at least. I have three PhDs. In mathematics, chemistry, and psychology. It’s….a lot I know,” He offered a small smile, “People either think I’m like some super genius or a freak. But not. I’m just….me.”

“Well I happen to think that you’re pretty awesome just being you. I can’t technically say it, but you and Jennifer are my favorites of the night. So it’s only my duty as a L&D nurse to make sure you are the best baby swaddling godfather in the metro area.”

“Now that’s quite the title to live up to. Do we use real babies or dolls to practice?” Spencer inquired.

Y/N giggled as she reached into the supply closet, “I’m in the business of delivering babies. Not kidnapping them, Dr. Spencer……?”

“Reid.”

“Reid.” She nodded, handing him a baby doll to practice with. “If it was twelve hours earlier I would be making you wrap my burrito to practice.”

“I think I’m going to equally as bad as wrapping a burrito as I would be a baby.” He confessed.

“Fear not, young grasshopper, your teacher is here.” Y/N teased, grabbing Spencer by the arm to the table where she ate lunch every day with Lorraine and Hector, her favorite to nurses on the floor.

She laid out a blanket and a baby on the table as her and Spencer stood side by side. “So fold the corner of the blanket down for the baby’s head to rest. And the you gently lay the baby down. Now wrap over the left triangle to the baby’s middle.” She watched as he followed expertly, “Good! Now fold up the little triangle at the baby’s feet. Make sure it’s snug, but not too tight.”

“It’s easier than it looks,” Spencer said as he folded the last part of the blanket and held up a swaddled baby doll.

“Now try when it when a baby is screaming at you and you’ve been on your feet for ten hours.”

“I’ll sit to my day job,” Spencer joked, “But call me if you ever need a swaddling partner.”

Y/N’s face heated at the thought of calling Spencer, of talking to him beyond this night when he friend was about to give birth.

“Where did you learn how to deliver a baby?” She asked, hoping to divert the conversation.

“I read about it.” Spencer replied.

“In college? Did you take a human biology class on pregnancy as well?”

“Uh, no,” Spencer said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “I read about it. I read it today when JJ was getting admitted.”

“Getting admitted takes like 30 minutes? How on Earth did you read about human delivery in 30 minutes?” Y/N asked with awe on her face.

“Actually, it took 31 minutes and twelve seconds. Which is 2 minutes and 39 seconds faster than the average,” He blushed when Y/N raised eyes meant his comment only added to her questions, not answered them, “I have a very good memory. And I can read fast.” He explained.

“Oh,” Y/N said, taking out two mugs from the cabinet, “that explains the three PhDs and how you hounded me about vitals before. You’re brilliant. And a very good friend.”

“I don’t get brilliant often. Genius, yes. Freak, yes. Strange, yes. But brilliant isn’t usually reserved for me. I think my quirks out weigh my strengths and thus that changes how I’m perceived.”

“Well, I don’t see a freak or a stranger,” Y/N told him, “I see a man who’s probably 6’3” that crammed himself into a tiny plastic chair and has been fetching ice chips and throwing down with the toughest nurse to get his friend a blanket. That’s not a freak. Or a weirdo. Or anything besides a good, gentle, kind man. I don’t really know you, but it’s my job to watch people here. I watch all these husbands who don’t dote on their wives as they push a whole baby out of their bodies. They complain to them about how long it took to find parking, or that they had to pay 10 bucks for a decent cup of coffee at the cafe, or that the chairs hurt their back. I haven’t heard you say that once. You’re good, Spencer. There’s a reason Jennifer wants you to be her baby’s godfather.”

Stunned, Spencer’s lip twitched into what resembled a smile. He bit his lip as his eyes scanned the room.

“Thank you,” Spencer whispered, “it means more than you know.”

“Good. You seem like the kind of person that deserves to hear good things. And plus, I’m sure your wife or girlfriend will be very happy you spent the night learning how to swaddle babies and change diapers.”

“Uh, I’m not committed to anyone.” Spencer corrected, the blush returned to his face, this time it crawled all the way up to his ears. It only increased his cuteness as it increased the way Y/N’s heart pumped blood. Her nervous system was on overdrive and she hasn’t even touched the man. Yet there was something about him that drew him to her.

“Oh, seeing someone casually and don’t want to freak her out?” Y/N offered. “Because I will admit that’s not what you want to say to the girl you have a situationship with.”

“A situationship?” Spencer questioned, shaking his head. “Never mind. I’m not seeing anyone casually or otherwise. It’s never been my strong suit.”

“Seriously?” Y/N said, pouring her coffee and Spencer a cup, “That’s very surprising.”

“Why?” Spencer asked, accepting the coffee with a tight lipped smile.

“Not to cross any professional boundaries, but you’re literally what most girls look for when they want a partner. Especially one that they want to you know,” she gestured to the baby doll on the table, “settle down with. You’re husband material.”

“Husband material?” Spencer asked, clearly beyond confusion. It was like it was his first time hearing that he was desirable to women. An overwhelming urge to tell him just how desirable he was to her overcame Y/N.

She fought it hard.

“You know,” she started, “you’ve got a great job, nice and normal friends, you’re close friends with a woman, but there’s zero sexual tension between the two of you. That means a lot to girls. It means that you can see women as whole people.”

“What else would I see them as?” Spencer questioned aloud. “They’re people. Not props or conquests.”

Y/N threw her hands up in surrender as if she finally has given up. “See, you’re like perfect. Not to mention you’re very nice to look at.”

Spencer gulped a big sip of coffee, but the burning liquid spewed out all over him and the table. Y/N dodged it, spending nearly three years getting out of the way of mysterious liquids from all different patients had certainly paid off.

“Sorry, sorry, god that was embarrassing,” Spencer lamented. “I hope I didn’t get it all over you.” He apologized.

Holding in a giggle, Y/N waved off his fears. “Don’t worry. You’re just fine, Spencer.”

In more ways than one, she thought silently to herself.

“I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. It’s highly unprofessional of me to comment on your appearance.”

No matter how attractive she finds him.

Spencer’s face melted as she apologized. “No!” He practically yelled. “Don’t think that. Please don’t think that. I didn’t mind it at all. It’s just, I’m not used to hearing it. Especially from women that are like you.”

“Like me?”

“Smart. Hardworking. Kind. Funny. Beautiful.” Spencer confessed.

The last one hit a certain part of her heart that went pang. Tyler never called her beautiful. He would call her hot and sexy, but not beautiful. But maybe once he did. But he said she “looked beautiful” not that she was beautiful.

There was a difference between looking beautiful and being beautiful. And she was looking right at it.

“Spencer,” Y/N whispered. “Once Jennifer is discharged from L&D could I maybe take you out on a date?“

Spencer nodded, and she swore she could see his eyes light up at the possibility of something between them.

“Sure. Isn’t there a blood donation clinic next week?” He smiled and took a sip of his coffee, “I promise I won’t spew coffee all over you when you compliment me again,”

***

Tagging people who are active But please reblog and comment if you stumble across this. It’s a great way we can show our love :)

@reidsbookclub @boldlyvoid @foxy-eva @candlesandsoftrain @radiant-reid

[dira333]

Out of Order, once more - Gaara x Reader

Companion Piece to "Of forgotten Anniversaries and unexpected gifts" for @mytanuki-kun

There is usually an order to these things.

First, you get to know each other, then you decide to get married and on the day of your wedding, you move in with each other.

Simple steps. Steps you always thought you’d follow.

Somehow, though, you went the other way.

You knew you’d be marrying Gaara before you even met him. 

It was either marrying him or killing him and you’d heard too much good about him to go for his life.

And judging by the letters he sent, he had the same thought. 

Still, you’d thought yourself a little cooler, a little less affected by a man, even one as handsome as Gaara.

-

You know you’re a goner the moment you set eyes on him.

His hair is the most brilliant shade of red, like the sun when it sets at night.

His skin is pale against it, like the white marble your father imported for your sixteenth birthday and his eyes, now resting on you, remind you of the pale green jade your mother passed on to you when you became a woman.

He’s beautiful, there’s no doubt there. 

His guard grins smugly at his side, his face made unrecognizable by dark purple face paint. 

He mutters something to the Kazekage, his voice too low to hear it, but you’re too nosy not to know how to read lips.

“You lucky guy.” 

You wait for a reaction, anything in those pale green eyes that could tell you that he agrees. Instead, he walks over, back straight, lips pulled into something that could be a smile one day.

“My lady,” he goes down on one knee as if he’s never done anything else, pressing cool lips against the back of your hand. “I’m at your service.”

-

The wind is cool at this late hour, blowing your hair out of your eyes as you watch the sun set in the distance, it’s red reminding you of a certain someone.

“I was looking for you,” Gaara’s voice is low, barely audible. You don’t turn around, just pull your silken scarf a little tighter around you, let it drop from the pillow to your right so he can sit.

You imagine Suna to be like him, beautiful and quiet, shimmering with heat. The capital of the Land of Wind is nothing if not remarkable, even in plain clothes and dirt-smeared cheeks.

“Will you miss it?” Gaara asks as he settles. His eyes are not on the horizon but on you. 

You wonder what he sees.

You’re the prettiest woman in your village simply because you must be. 

Besides, wearing a dress made of woven gold and diamonds would make everyone pretty. 

“Do you regret it?” He asks now, pale green eyes sharp as they observe you.

“No,” you tell him, resting your hand on the pillow next to his. 

You long to hold him, to be held by him, to fling yourself into his arms without having to ask for it first.

But his Jutsu is different from anything you’ve ever known. 

“Do you regret it?” You ask when he doesn’t take your hand. His gaze softens as if you’ve just polished the edges of his jade-stone eyes. 

“No,” he promises and lifts your hand to press a kiss to the back of it.

You wonder if he remembers your first meeting. If he feels just as caught in your presence as you do in his, like a moon who’s just found the planet he will never stop orbiting.

It’s the day of your wedding and tomorrow he’ll leave for Suna again.

It’s the day of your wedding and he’ll leave you behind tomorrow.

You get up from your pillows, turn your back to the dying sun.

“Come to bed?” You ask.

Maybe everything will make more sense in the morning.

But you don’t think anything could make more sense than it does at night when the paleness of his skin reflects the moonlight and his hair runs like water through your hands.

And your home has never felt more like a cage as the day he leaves.

-

Suna is nothing and everything like you’ve imagined it to be.

The streets are dirty, a city baked into the sand, the sun burning mercilessly from the sky.

But Gaara waits for you at the gates, burning red hair disheveled from the wind, like a sunset waving at you from the distance.

Everything about him screams freedom and you feel it too, despite the guards watching every single one of your movements, every word from your lips.

You wish you could slip inside unseen, wear the plainest clothes, dirt smeared across your face. Instead, you have to carry the weight of golden chains around your shoulders, a name and a reputation almost too heavy to uphold.

“Princess”, you’d been called back home. “Lady Kazekage” after your marriage.

But Gaara calls you “love” like he’s never called you anything else and you wonder if it has always been your name, just hidden behind meaningless words before.

-

You’ve been married for seven months before you set foot in Sunagakure before you officially move in with him.

Much too late for your taste, much too early if you’d ask your parents.

He kisses your temple before crossing the doorstep, puts your jewels next to his sharpened Kunai, and smiles when you can’t help but fawn at your toothbrushes sharing a cup.

There’s usually an order to these things.

But you’d take all those things out of order again if it meant you’d get to marry Gaara.

[creampuffqueen]

i'm glad i get forever to see where you went

Yangvik Week Day 3: Angst

Summary: As Yangchen gets older, she starts to forget.

Word Count: 4092

TW: memory loss, grief, hurt with only a little comfort

(will be posted to ao3 later)

~~~~

As Yangchen gets older, she starts to forget. 

It starts slowly. So slowly that, for a while, Kavik doesn’t notice.

They’re retired now, out of the game for good. The world is at peace, a possibility neither of them could have imagined in their youth. Disputes are resolved. Treaties were written and are being followed. Yangchen has done her job as well as she possibly can, and now she and her closest companion get to delight in living out a simple, quiet life in the comfort of their home, nestled in the foothills surrounding the Eastern Air Temple.

Their days are easy, their nights are peaceful. They grow most of their food now, and so they spend hours in the garden, bringing forth life from the soil. Yangchen meditates often, Kavik reads to his heart’s content. The most excitement they get is a stray lemur or two flying down from the temple to follow the Avatar around, perching on her shoulders and chirping in her ears. 

Despite the peace they now experience, Yangchen’s struggle with her past lives is far from eased. Though at this point, it’s a struggle they are used to. When she cries out in the night Kavik pulls her closer, the rhythm of his heart soothing her back to sleep. When she speaks in a voice that is not her own Kavik doesn’t panic, instead simply talking to her, acting a new persona if needed, until she is able to return to herself. 

These are the struggles they are used to. This new struggle, however, comes as a surprise. 

Kavik watches the woman he loves as she works in the garden. She sings to herself as she digs, voice a bit scratchy and out of practice but no less beautiful because of it. A flying lemur chitters from her shoulder, digging its tiny hands into her gray hair, grooming her like it would one of its kits.

The lemur tugs especially hard at a small piece of hair, and Kavik watches Yangchen’s face tighten in discomfort. She lifts a hand, dirt beneath her fingernails, to gently bat the creature away. “Pak, that’s too hard.”

Pak? Her childhood lemurs have been dead for many years. 

The lemur darts off her shoulder, taking off flying, and Yangchen goes back to the bulbs she’s burying. She begins to sing again, resuming her tune.

Kavik brushes off the strange interaction. A small lapse in memory is nothing to worry about. He steps into the garden to join his love in the dirt. 

—

Some days later, the two of them are sitting on a bench outside of their small cottage, enjoying the sunset and each others’ company. The evening sun blazes behind the hills, painting the sky in a hundred shades of orange. Kavik is working on a small carving, whittling away at a block of wood and watching the shape begin to form. He thinks it might end up a turtle-seal. Yangchen is curled against his side, feet tucked beneath her, enjoying a steaming mug of tea. 

“The airball tournament is coming up soon, isn’t it?” She asks lightly.

“It’s tomorrow,” Kavik affirms. Though they’ve retired in the East, the pair have made a habit of trekking up to the temple whenever there’s an airball competition happening - the looks on the nuns’ faces whenever they cheer ‘East side, least side!’ are always priceless. Somehow the girls on the teams seem to get younger every year. 

“That’ll be fun to watch.” She nestles closer, and Kavik pauses his carving to wrap his arm around her. Her gray eyes stare off into the distance, the glow of the setting sun illuminating her face. 

Kavik ignores the beauty of the sunset. The scenery before him is beautiful enough. 

Yangchen has aged so gracefully. Crows feet and smile lines have wrinkled her face, signs of a life well-lived. Her hair is entirely silver, still tied in the same braid as always. He supposes he could look past the signs of aging, if he wanted. Her expressions are identical to the way he first met her. 

But why would he want to? He’s had the privilege of seeing her grow into this; from sly, conniving teenager to wise, benevolent old woman. She’s still the same Yangchen, whether she’s spry and agile or with liver-spotted hands that shake when she’s too tired. 

“You’re staring at me,” Yangchen notes. She sips at her tea, eyes sliding from the horizon and over to his face. Even all these years later, he still feels a blooming warmth in his chest whenever she looks at him. 

“Can’t help it,” Kavik replies, leaning over to nuzzle her cheek. Yangchen leans into the touch, and when he pulls away she has a soft smile on her face that makes his heart swell. 

“Hey, what day is the airball tournament happening?”

Kavik blinks. “What do you mean? It’s tomorrow; I just said that.”

A flicker of confusion crosses Yangchen’s face. “I don’t remember you saying it.”

“Well, I did.”

She sips from her mug again, brow wrinkling. “I… guess I wasn’t listening too well. Sorry.”

“You’re probably tired,” Kavik says, filling in the confusion with the most logical explanation he can think of. “Let’s go to bed.”

Years ago, she would have fought him tooth and nail if he tried to tell her to get some sleep. Now, she just nods, standing slowly from the bench. Kavik leads her inside, and they get ready in quiet familiarity. 

They crawl into the bed side-by-side, Kavik holding Yangchen close to his chest. He tucks himself against her, the space between her neck and shoulder the perfect home for his chin. 

“Goodnight,” Yangchen whispers, extinguishing the few candles in the room with a wave of her hand. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Kavik replies, feeling the weight of the words in his very soul.

Sleep comes easily to her tonight, her breathing easing and giving way to gentle snores in a matter of minutes. She really must have been tired.

But for reasons he can’t explain, Kavik finds that sleep eludes him.

—

It gets worse. 

From the gardens, Kavik looks up as a shadow passes overhead. A sky bison.

They don’t get too many visitors out here, especially not these days. So his interest is piqued as the bison lands in the field and the figures sitting in its saddle become clear.

It’s Yangchen, being escorted by a younger nun who looks like she might keel over in awe. Clearly, she’s realized this isn’t just any old lady out for a stroll.

The Avatar leaps from the bison’s saddle, cushioning her fall with an expert air bubble. Kavik walks over to meet her.

“You’re back a bit early. What happened?” She’d planned today to make her way to bison fields, armed with a basket full of homemade dumplings to feed the nuns on herding duty. It’s calving season, and the nuns in charge of caring for the giant beasts are out from dawn til dusk every day. 

(The dumplings were made by Kavik. Even all these years later, she’s still hopeless in the kitchen. He supposes this knowledge would put a hole in the ‘grandmother-of-the-world’ persona she’s got going on now.)

“I’m fine,” She assures him before he can ask, “I just got a bit turned around while heading to the fields. Luckily, Sister Tsumi and her bison Nyima were there to come to my rescue.”

She gestures the the nun, still standing in her saddle. She looks on the verge of tears of joy. She’ll remember this day forever, the day she gave Avatar Yangchen herself a ride on her bison.

Kavik bows to the young woman, giving her thanks. But a bigger concern pricks at the back of his mind. “What do you mean, ‘turned around’?” The fields aren’t too far away. They visit often. How could she have gotten lost in such a short distance?

Yangchen shrugs. “Oh, I probably just miscounted the number of hills or something. I would have found my way eventually.”

“What about the dumpling basket? Is it still in the saddle?”

“Dumpling basket?”

Kavik frowns. “The dumplings? That you were taking to the fields? What happened to the basket?”

She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, shaking her head. “I - I don’t remember. I must have set it down somewhere along the way…”

“I’ll go search for it!” Tsumi pipes up, eager to help more. 

It really isn’t that important; it’s only a basket. But Kavik nods anyway, letting the young woman continue to assist. The bison takes off again, and Kavik leads his love back to their home, holding her close to his side. 

She isn’t herself that night. She calls him by a dozen different names in a dozen different voices, speaking of long-dead kings until the sun comes up. Kavik talks to her when he can, plays the parts when he needs. Eventually she falls into a fitful sleep, curled in his arms.

He wants to blame her earlier confusion on this. It’s been months since she’s disappeared from herself so fully; surely that must be the reason.

And yet, a small part of him won’t allow himself to. Yangchen remembers her past lives with such clarity. How is she struggling to remember her own?

—

Life continues on, though. The endless wheel of time won’t stop turning, even for the most powerful being in the world. 

Winter comes, snow falling over the hills and frosting the windows of their cottage. Kavik can feel the cold in every one of his aching joints.

Sometime in the mid-winter, Yangchen gets sick. Kavik wakes to find her burning with fever, shaking uncontrollably in his arms.

He does the best he can to heal her. He’s never quite had her raw power for it, but he’s honed his own talents rather well. Unfortunately, waterbending healing doesn’t do nearly as much for illnesses as it does for injuries. He helps reduce her fever and then sets about making some soup.

Days pass. She’s getting better; less coughing, less congestion, no more chills. They spend most of their time snuggled together on their bed, wrapped from head to toe in blankets to keep them warm as they chat, fondly recalling their adventures together. Kavik kisses her plenty, even though she tells him it’s unhygienic. If he was going to get sick he would have by now.

She was getting better. She was, Kavik swears it.

Then a crash wakes him in the middle of the night and he finds Yangchen awake, digging frantically through their small bookshelf.

“Yangchen?” He always calls her by name first, wanting to see if it’s really her speaking. Her eyes flash in acknowledgement but she still keeps searching, tossing book after book behind her.

“Kavik, where on earth did I put that ledger?”

“A ledger? We don’t have any.” They’re retired. Kavik hasn’t had to do any accounting in years.

“We do,” Yangchen insists. From his spot on the bed, he can see a faint sheen of sweat forming on her forehead. “I was just working on it last night. It has a record in it that I need to look at for my report to Feishan.”

His blood runs cold. “Yangchen, Feishan isn’t the Earth King anymore. His son is the king now. King Fihong. You’ve met him.”

She turns to look at him, confusion creasing her face. “What are you talking about?”

He stands to meet her, wincing as pain flares in his knees. He takes her gently by the arms. Her skin is on fire again.

“You’re not well, Yangchen. Come back to bed, I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“Bed?” She laughs. “Kavik, I haven’t got the time. The report needs to be sent out in the morning; I have to find that ledger.”

Kavik doesn’t know what to say to this. She knows him. She knows herself. But somehow, she doesn’t know where she is in time. 

He refuses to let himself panic. He can fix this the same way as always; he only has to play along. Shouldn’t playing himself be easier, anyway?

“The ledger can wait,” He tells her carefully. “Let’s sleep, and I’ll help you find it first thing in the morning. I promise.”

Her burning hand finds the side of his neck, feeling out his pulse. Kavik feels wrenched backwards in time.

Thankfully, she seems to decide he’s being truthful. “Alright. But you have to promise you’ll check over my numbers before I send it out. You know I make more mistakes when I’m rushing.”

He nods, bringing her over to the bed to help her in. “I will. Now let’s get some rest.”

She settles down as he holds her close. Kavik watches her every movement, a sinking feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. This has never happened to her before. 

Her fever breaks in the night, and in the morning she’s herself once more. She picks up the books from the floor one by one, replacing them carefully on the shelf. Kavik sees as her brows furrow in confusion at the mess.

She doesn’t remember anything from last night.

—

Kavik doesn’t know how to broach the subject, even as the forgetfulness grows worse. 

He knows that memory often gets worse with age. He’s certainly not as sharp as he used to be, either. 

Still, this seems to be something else. It’s almost daily, now. She loses her train of thought when speaking, trailing off until Kavik repeats her sentence and sparks her memory again. She forgets what she’s doing, leaving tasks half-finished and then wondering why they aren’t done. They hardly own any possessions but she still manages to misplace them. Kavik finds things put away where they don’t belong, and Yangchen doesn’t remember doing it.

Perhaps a part of him is just hoping they’ll adjust. She’s still Yangchen, whip-smart and compassionate and always ready with a quick remark. She’s still every bit the woman he fell in love with, just a bit more forgetful these days. They’ll get through it, surely. 

Jetsun is looming rather largely as of late. Nightmares about her sister seem to follow her constantly, and Kavik spends many nights listening to her cry, rubbing her back and whispering soothing words in her ear, doing whatever he can to ease the pain. Some mornings he jostles her awake when he gets up from the bed, and she responds with “Five more minutes, Jetsun, please.” When her eyes finally open she seems confused for a moment, as if expecting to see the inside of the Western Air Temple rather than their tiny cottage. 

Kavik doesn’t know how to help. The innermost workings of her mind have always been a mystery to him, even though he knows everything there is to know about her. 

He loves her, though. The world is always changing, and nothing is ever constant. The deepest truth that he knows in his life is this: He loves Yangchen with everything he has, for everything she is. 

He loves her. He squeezes her hand while she sleeps, finally at peace for a change, and hopes that it’s enough. 

—

Things come to a head, eventually. They always do. 

Kavik wakes up with a jolt from a dead sleep, sensing deep in his gut that something is not right. He glances beside him, feeling oddly panicked.

The bed is empty. Yangchen’s spot is cold. The front door of their cottage is wide open, wind whistling through the empty space. Her shoes lay, unworn, by the threshold. 

He heaves himself from the bed, but something in his back pinches, nearly sending him to his knees from the blossom of pain. He curses aloud, calling damnation upon the spirits and his old bones and everything else.

Kavik bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, giving him a different source of pain to focus on while he hobbles towards the door. The night is cold, with a promise of rain in the air. He can’t leave Yangchen out in this weather with no protection. 

Snagging a thick parka from the hook by the door nearly finishes him, back screaming in agony. He can feel the pain in his very blood. He won’t get far in this condition.

Still, he’s determined (‘to a foolish degree’, Yangchen likes to say). Next to the parka is Yangchen’s glider, worn from constant use. Kavik snatches it up to give himself something to lean against and gets moving. Yangchen will kill him for using her glider as a cane, but if she’s there to kill him at least it means she’ll be safe. 

Kavik would never call himself an excellent tracker, but somehow he manages to find her trail - freshly pressed grass, the indentations of bare feet. He follows, refusing to allow himself to feel the pain in his back, even as his legs shake with it. There are more important things right now. 

He crests over a small hill, and the sight before him makes him want to cry with relief. Yangchen is standing at the bottom, barefoot and smeared with mud, hands raised to the sky like she’s calling out to the universe itself. She’s okay.

Kavik almost tumbles down the hill in his haste, the wash of relief drowning out the rest of his pain. “Yangchen! There you are!”

She turns to face him. The moon illuminates her features and the shimmer of tear tracks on cheeks. Kavik is struck by just how frail she looks; paper-thin skin stretched too tight over her bones. She looks ready to fall apart.

Yangchen doesn’t answer his call, even as he comes to stand before her. She just stares, eyes clouded with emotions that Kavik can’t name. 

“I was so worried about you,” He tells her, taking a step closer.

“Worried?” She scoffs, and Kavik’s blood turns to ice. “Worried, Kavik, really?”

Reaching up to her face with an orange and yellow sleeve, Yangchen wipes away the remnants of her tears. More still pool in her eyes, threatening to drop at moment. “Were you worried about me you when chose to betray me?”

“I -” Kavik’s tongue feels too clumsy, lost for words for one of the few times in his life. He knows exactly what she’s reliving. Will another Avatar one day speak these same words, feeling Yangchen’s grief the same way she feels so manys’?

“I trusted you,” Yangchen whispers. She’s trembling. From the cold or from her pain, Kavik doesn’t know. “I was wrong about you.”

The cut runs just as deep the second time around. The pinched nerve in Kavik’s spine flares in pain, as if in response. He grimaces, leaning over his makeshift cane. 

“I’m so sorry, Yangchen.” It’s all he has to offer her. He wants to go to her, wrap her in his arms, kiss away her tears until she forgets she ever was in pain. But he can’t. All can do is apologize and hope his own heart holds together in the meantime. 

She takes a tentative step towards him, expression guarded. “How can I be sure you’re telling the truth? I can’t tell when you’re lying, Kavik.”

“I know you can’t. And I can’t make you trust me again.” Kavik blinks and realizes he’s started crying, too. “But let me walk you back. Please.”

He carefully steps forward, holding himself up with her glider. Yangchen is in arm’s reach. She puts one shaking hand out, wrapping it cautiously around the top of the glider. Her hand settles into the worn grip.

“Alright.” Something in her eyes goes blank, just for a moment. Then she blinks. Blinks again. Looks him over, observing his hunched figure and watery eyes. “You won the staff back. I thought it was going to be Iwashi’s forever.”

She’s suddenly much calmer, stepping closer to his side. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Kavik assures her. Taking the risk, he offers her the parka. “Keep your disguise on, okay? The others are waiting for us back at the safe house.”

She slides the warm clothing over her head with no complaint. “You had me going, you know. I really believed that you were going to lose.”

Kavik almost wants to laugh. Of course she still has the wherewithal to tease him. 

The hike back to the cottage somehow takes both days and seconds. Yangchen walks next to him, her hand still on the top of the glider. It makes it much harder for him to support himself with it, but he doesn’t dare push her hand off. By the time they get back she’s relaxed enough to bundle close to him once more, linking their arms together and helping him through the door. 

Kavik shuts the door behind them and collapses into the nearest chair, head spinning and back throbbing. His whole world feels upside down, and his mind is struggling to recalibrate.

Then, from the corner of the room, Yangchen speaks again. “Kavik? Are you alright? What are you doing out of bed?”

He looks over to her, his eyes blurring with pain. Somehow, some way, he can tell that it’s her again, her from the here and now. “I think I threw out my back chasing after you.”

She’s with him in a flash, glowing water already covering her hands. “Chasing after me? What are you talking about?” She pulls up his shirt to get access to his spine, spreading the water over him in the same motion. The pain begins to dissipate almost instantly, and Kavik is able to look her in the eye again.

“You weren’t in bed when I woke up. You left the house and walked out to the hills. I had to bring you back inside before you froze to death.”

She glances at the door. At herself, clothed in a parka she didn’t go to sleep in. “I - no, that’s not possible. Just now?”

“Just now.”

Her hands shake. The water stops glowing, spilling from his back and soaking his clothes. “I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay,” Kavik soothes, holding her hands in his. “Let’s go back to sleep. We can figure everything out in the morning.”

Still shaking, she doesn’t protest as Kavik, now able to walk without pain again, leads her over to the bed and helps her lay down. He kicks off his shoes and joins her, pulling her close.

“I don’t remember,” Yangchen breathes, so softly Kavik wonders if he’s meant to hear. “How can I not remember?”

He doesn’t have an answer for her.

Hands tighten in his shirt. Yangchen leans closer, voice cracking. “I’m frightened, Kavik.”

He is too. He wishes he wasn’t. He wishes he could be braver for her. 

“I know. So am I.” 

The dam breaks. Yangchen buries her face against his chest and sobs, tears soaking through the fabric of Kavik’s shirt. Kavik’s arms tighten around her as he cries too.

“I know I’m losing myself,” Yangchen chokes out between heaving breaths. “The threads in my mind are all tangled up. I can’t think straight. I can’t remember where I am. I’m terrified that one of these days I’ll forget about you, too.”

That fear has been looming in the back of Kavik’s mind as well. As much as it hurts, it almost feels good to hear it put to words.

Tears still streak down his cheeks as he cups Yangchen’s face in his hands. He lets her see him, all of him. Every fear and every worry. 

But he hopes that she can she can see the love, too.

“I’m not going to leave, Yangchen.” She sniffles, reaching up to hold her hand over his. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

She almost laughs at that; he can see the tiny quirk of her lips that proves it. Then her eyes turn misty again.

“I can’t promise that I’ll always know you.”

“So?” He strokes his thumbs over her cheekbones. “That doesn’t matter to me. What matters to me is you. That you’re safe, and well cared for.”

“Even if I don’t know who you are?”

“Even then.”

There’s nothing more to say, not right now. Yangchen asked him, many years ago, to stay by her side. Kavik won’t break his promise to her. 

He leans in, kissing away the tears that still fall from her eyes. “I love you.”

Yangchen nestles into his arms. When she speaks, Kavik knows that it’s her. “I love you too.”

~~~~

a/n: sorry

[littlelovelyra]

Now is not the time, nor the place.

Gale x FemTav/Reader(f)

Word count: ~1,914

Warnings: fluff(?) , Fingering, hand jobs, mouth stuff, kinda? C*m shot?

MINORS DNI

Disclaimer: I literally always put a disclaimer that I am by no means a writer, I just day dream a lot to escape my hectic work days and my somewhat chaotic life so I write down my day dreams and revisit them sometimes. Decided to publish them here so its easy for me to find. If it at least entertain one person thats a win for me :'D

Summary:

Having arrived at Last Light Inn several hours ago, your party convened and, following a discussion with Jaheira, reached a consensus to divide the patrol duties to ease the burden. Prior to this decision, after battling Kar'Niss,Gale openly confessed his physical attraction toward you only to immediately extinguish any flame that thought may have produced. Now, as chance would have it, both of you find yourselves on duty, strolling along the docks of Last Light Inn, having determined your partners through a draw of names. Suspicious. 

___________________________

“Now’s not the time nor place.” What. The. Fuck. Gale. Why even bother saying it at all? You curse the foolish wizard in your mind, focusing on the two small pouches placed in the middle of the table where you and your companions are seated, trying not to shoot daggers in his direction. You can feel his side glances as he looks at you.

“Well, as much as I love us sitting around and staring at one another—because who wouldn’t want to stare at me—who’s going to be the first to draw a name?” Astarion looks around the table, taking us all in. We’re all looking pretty tired, and no one wants to take the leap, fearing they might draw “first watch” from the second pouch after selecting their partner from the first.

“Oh gods above, fine, I’ll do it.” Astarion reaches his hand into the first pouch, retrieves a name, and then dips his hand into the second, pulling out a small piece of parchment. He clears his throat. “Well, Shadowheart, I guess you and I are taking tomorrow’s watch,” he says as a slow smirk spreads across his face. Lucky bastard, you think to yourself. As everyone else gathers the courage to draw, the order goes as follows:

Astarion / Shadowheart: Second Night

Karlach / Wyll: Third Night

Lae’Zel / Halsin: Fourth Night

You curse under your breath at the absolute joke that is your luck right now. Though, you feel luck might not have anything to do with it. You suspect Gale has somehow played his magic hand in this. You can practically feel his smugness vibrating across the table from you. As much as you care for him, these past few weeks have been confusing. From his reaction to the moment you shared in the Weave, to his dismissal at the tiefling party when you sought him out. He told you to go “enjoy the festivities,” which led you to a pretty little clearing with a vampire spawn—an experience you note never to repeat. Then, just before entering the Shadow-Cursed Lands, he received his charge from Mystra and accepted it without considering anyone else. To top it all off, he basically admitted his attraction to you and immediately shot it down. All this hot and cold behaviour has been giving you more headaches than the damn tadpole in your head. 

Releasing a soft sigh, you push yourself back from the table and stand up, eventually meeting his gaze. “Come on, Gale, we’re up first. Jaheira has assigned us to the dockside for our patrol.” You keep your tone cool and matter-of-fact. You will not make a fool of yourself chasing someone who clearly does not want to be chased. With all the chaos of dealing with the cultists, you have no time or energy for these petty games of the heart. He either wants you or he doesn’t, and it seems it’s the latter.

Gale follows you as you walk towards your quarters. As you reach your door, you look back at him. “Wait here, I need to change. These clothes are disgusting after killing that drider. I won’t be long. Maybe you should change too—it’s going to be a long night. Meet me back here in ten minutes.” Pressing your lips together awkwardly, you watch him hold your stare for a moment before giving a slight nod. He turns on his heel and heads toward the shared quarters. You’re grateful that your companions graciously agreed to give you the only private room in the Last Light Inn; gods know you need a bit of privacy to collect your thoughts.

In your room, you quickly change out of your clothes, wipe yourself down with a washcloth, redress, and braid your hair back. Looking in the mirror, you can see how tired you are from the journey. Closing your eyes, you mutter a short prayer to Selûne for the strength to get through the evening. A soft knock at the door catches your attention, and you cross the room to open it. Gale stands there with a fresh set of clothes, his hair now tamed, and even a bit of his beard trimmed. His eyes are as bright as ever, always seeming deep in thought, making you wonder what’s going on in his mind. “Stop it”, you think to yourself, “Now is not the time.”

You usher him out of the doorway and lead the way outside, down to the docks. You notice how close he is walking next to you, the silence is loud but every now and then his hand accidentally brushes up against yours and sends a soft shiver running up your arm. Again you wonder if he is using any magic to conjure up that effect on you. 

Walking to the edge of the dock, you scan the perimeter. Everything is quiet; it all seems as it should. You lean over the railing and glance at your reflection in the water, exhaling loudly. You stay there for a moment with your eyes shut, taking in the sounds of the flames softly flickering on the nearby torches and the occasional gentle splash of the water. It’s the most peaceful you’ve felt in a long time.

“Lost in thought?” Gale says as he places himself next to you, leaning down with his arms supporting him on the railing. You turn your head to face him and notice that his face is mere inches from yours. You linger there for a moment, your eyes scanning his face and finally your gaze falls to his lips, you wonder how they would feel pressed against yours. He catches your stare and the left side of his mouth pulls up into a soft smirk.

“Actually, I’m not thinking at all.” You say pushing yourself up you ready yourself to leave this side of the dock and continue your sweep of the area. As you turn to leave, Gale grabs your hand. You turn to him puzzled.

“Let’s stay a moment longer, shall we? It’s quiet, and nothing will happen if we take a few selfish moments for ourselves.” His thumb traces lazy circles on the back of your hand, releasing a flurry of butterflies in your stomach. You watch his gentle movements, marvelling at how hands so powerful can also be so tender. Your thoughts drift to how those very same hands might feel exploring your body, familiarising themselves with your secret places while bringing you to complete ecstasy. Your cheeks begin to flush at the mental image you have painted for yourself and it hasn’t gone unnoticed by him as he offers a soft clearing of his throat to pull your attention back to reality. 

“I meant every word I said, by the way.” He looks at you, expecting a response, but you're unsure what to say. Words elude you, so you remain silent, hoping he'll continue—and he does, simply because he’s Gale.

“I have never wanted you more than I do now. Seeing your cheeks flush just then only made my desire that much more uncontrollable. I keep waiting for the right moment to kiss you, to show you how much I want you. It has to be perfect—you deserve that. But perhaps, just for tonight, we can allow ourselves a bit of imperfection. Or an appetiser before the main course, if you will.”

He raises his hand and gently lifts your face towards his. Slowly, he lowers his lips to yours, tenderly moulding them to fit around yours. A soft whimper escapes your mouth, and you feel your knees shake as if they're about to give way to this moment. Sensing your thoughts, Gale places his other hand on your hip, steadying you and pulling you closer to him. Everything around you seems to disappear, and all that exists in this moment are the two of you, completely lost in each other's embrace.

As he starts to pull away, he leads you to the covered area of the dock—more private, secluded—and you see the intent in his stare. Slow he brings the two of you down onto the deck, gently he lowers you to your back while he positions himself above you. His lips come crashing down to yours once again but this time with urgency. He uses his free hand to roam its way under your clothes exploring your soft curves and taking his time familiarising himself with the shape of you. He delicately rubs the pad of his thumb over your peaked sensitive nipple which causes you to gasp at the sensation, heat pooling in your core. You shift your hips up towards him instinctively and he groans into your mouth while your tongues dance together. His hand slithering down, snaking its way to your heated centre. Slipping under your panties his fingers slide between your folds, you inhale sharply at the sensation. Gods above nothing in your fantasies even compare to what this feels like in real time. Gale lets out a low groan. “Mhm. You are so ready for me my love. I want that to be perfect so this will just have to do for now.” as he finishes his sentence he slides two of his fingers inside you and curls them upward. Slowly pumping them in and out while his kisses become frenzied.

Your hands go exploring on their own and you find him, hard and ready. You can feel it pulsing through his trousers. The growl that escapes his lips is inviting enough for you, reaching in as you pull his length out and begin stroking him tenderly at first and then more desperately as you feel him rocking his hips in time with your hand. His hand is still working inside you and the two of you become desperate as the pace picks up. You lift your shirt up exposing your breasts with your spare hand and he brings his head down as he sucks in the swollen peak of your breast. You can feel it, the two of you are so close. 

“Gale.. Gale.. I’m going to…” You're breathless now. You can’t get it out, your head is dizzying. 

He brings his mouth to your ear, his breath hot as he whispers;  “Let go. Cum for me”. 

That’s all it takes. Your whole body shatters around him as his name escapes your lips in pure unfiltered ecstasy. He comes undone seconds later, you feel a warm splash on your bare stomach and he brings his head down to rest his forehead on yours. Softly he kisses you again before you both straighten out your clothing and smooth your hair. Silently you sit there leaning into him on the deck looking out over the water. 

“I have a confession to make.” He says scattering kisses down your cheek.

“Mhmmm… Let me guess? You rigged the pouches somehow to be partnered with me tonight?” You say looking at him.

He flashes you a wicked smile and kisses you deeply as you both stand up to continue a sweep of the perimeter. You are on duty after all and now is not the time.. nor the place.

[festive]

Always n Forever ꕤ

a story in which, Morax has always had his eyes on you, one of Guizhong’s priestess — after a long battle and the succession of defending Guili plains, she allows him to have his way with you as a reward.

wc: 5.6k (sorry!)

contents+warnings: fem!reader, heavy breeding, mating presses, marking, overstimulation, cum eating, female!reader, monsterfucking, anal, vaginal penetration, use of aphrodisiacs, dubcon(?), size kink, slight spoilers(?), blowjobs, reincarnation. (This kinda follows the what if theory that Ningguang is the reincarnation of Guizhong.) HALF DRAGON ZHONGLI!

a/n: this has been sitting in my docs for about a month, posting it for @thicksimpx 🫶🏼 anyways, thank you to my beta readers: @manjiroscum @bubble4u & @gabzlovesu 💗

Men, women, children, and even adepti gather in the plains of Guili for this night of repose — gathering around the trees that were birthed from the earth while they sing songs of victory underneath the golden leaves as the gods sit high above.

“The Guili assembly has grown quite significantly,” Guizhong muses. There’s a smile on her face as she fondly watches the humans rejoice in victory below. Some of them were born here, while others sought refuge after losing their homes in the war — Guizhong loved them all the same. “And even though this victory is temporary, I wish all nights could be like this.”

And although Guizhong is talking, her companion, Morax, does not say anything. Instead, he takes a sip of his wine from his dish as he watches intently below — his gaze focused on the form of a woman, carefully stringing along her guzheng as children crowd around her.

From the corner of her eye, Guizhong catches a glimpse of Morax hunched over, his chin resting in his palms as he focuses on something other than her.

“Is there something on your mind? I’ve never seen you so focused,” Guizhong teases, taking a sip of her wine. “Or perhaps someone?”

Guizhong follows his gaze, and amongst the crowd of faces, she’s able to spot you. That’s when she pieces two and two together.

It doesn’t take a god to see the attraction that Morax has to you. It hasn’t gone unnoticed by Guizhong either, the way his eyes always search for you whenever he steps foot in her temple.

“Morax,” Guizhong sings as she rocks back and forth in her seat, the contents of her drink spilling from the dish. There’s an all-knowing look on her face.

Morax merely grunts, looking at her with a blank expression.

“Have you perhaps taken an interest in one of my maidens,” 

Morax doesn’t say anything. He’d rather not tell her how he’s been watching you for ages and how something about your softness moved even his war-hardened self, your kind deeds towards others never going unnoticed by the lord of geo. But Guizhong is not stupid — nothing gets past her crimson gaze.

Even Cloud Retainer muses beside the lord of dust. She shifts her attention towards the small adepti in her arms, the chubby horned child bouncing in glee.

“I can tell by the glint in your eyes, my old friend,” 

If Morax was the brawns behind Liyue, then it was without a doubt that Guizhong was the brains. He looks at her — his eyebrows furrowing.

“Am I really that easy to read,” Morax asks, earning a response from his peer.

“I’ve known you for centuries, Morax,”

Both gods watch from afar as you and the rest of Guizhong’s maidens pass out food to the others, the sound of laughter carrying through the air.

“You know, Morax. Humans’ lives are feeble. What’s a year to us is almost an eternity to humans.”

There’s a pregnant pause, Morax’s attention shifting back to your form in the distance.

“I am a god of war, not a god of love. I know nothing about the affairs of the heart,”

Guizhong sighs, thinking of ways to get the two of you together until it dawns on her. “I’ll have my daughters prepare for the night tomorrow. You will meet her in my shrine.”

Morax turns towards the ash-haired woman as he quirks a brow. She merely smiles in response. “Think of this as a reward, a temporary arrangement for the success of defending our lands.”

+

There’s a curtain of silence that befalls the room, not a single word uttered as you’re placed in front of an expensive vanity lined with costly jewels and desirable ores. You fidget in your seat, and the wooden stool beneath you creaks at the movement.

“My lady, must I really do this?” You ask with a slight edge to your tone, your eyes wandering nervously from your reflection in the mirror to her. 

An uneasy feeling bubbles in your stomach as you wait for Guizhong to answer — and if she could notice your change in demeanor, she did a great job at pretending she didn’t. But then again, she’s a god, and you’re a human. She could never understand the anxiety you’re feeling even if you were to voice your concerns. The divine being would never feel even an ounce of your uncertainty. Thus one of the pros of being a god, you think.

Guizhong drags the brush along your eyelid, perfectly lining your eyes as she carries the crimson shade of red across your skin. The after result gives you a charming but soft look.

“Relax, my child, everything will be alright,” Guizhong’s voice is soft. She dips the brush she was using into a sticky mixture before dipping it into the bowl that contains the red substance. Then, bringing it to your mouth, she traces it along your lips.

If your goddess said it’s going to be alright, then you suppose it’s best to trust her. After all, you owe her your life, considering she took you in after the providence was destroyed — gave you a status, fed you, and raised you like you were her own.

When Guizhong pulls away, you steal glances in the mirror, admiring her handiwork from every angle. She laughs when she catches you. “We’re not quite done yet,”

She walks away, and you can hear her rumbling with something, whatever it was, clanked and rattled. When she returned, she stood behind you — draping an expensive-looking necklace around your neck, the weight of it nearly causing your shoulders to slump.

But it was beautiful, a pure gold chain with noctilous jade and cor lapis decorating it, and even in the candle-lit room — those gems glimmered in the light.

“Wow,”

Guizhong hums, “hold still,” she holds another expensive piece of jewelry in her hands, this time a gold crested ornament. 

Weaving the ornament in your hair, Guizhong adjusts it to her liking — the decoration resting proudly on your head.

“And for the finishing touches, take these,”

The goddess smiles, tying a pouch around your wrist — you turn your head. “What’s this?”

“A fragrance pouch, it contains the petals of freshly bloomed flowers, and drenched in the essence that secretes from mist flower corollas,”

Sniffing your wrist to confirm, the aroma is intense and overwhelming. Although it’s pleasant, it’s almost enough to make you gag.

“And this?” You question, holding a clear pouch in your palm — the contents of it being a thick concoction of some sort.

“A salve,” Guizhong giggles, “consists of slime extractions, herbs, and water, don’t worry Morax will know how to use it,”

You nod, deciding to not pry further on what she meant by that.

“And before you go, drink this,”

Guizhong pushes a stone cup into your hands that holds a red liquid — the substance sloshing around the rim as she gestures for you to drink it.

You don’t question it, putting your utmost faith in your goddess; there’s a bitter taste that lingers on your tongue after you swallow down the drink — you assume it’s some medicine.

“Your beauty rivals even the divine,” Guizhong says, watching as you spin in the mirror, her hands ghosting over your waist.

You’re slightly embarrassed. The garments she picked out looked expensive, exotic even — were these really tailored just for you? A lowly priestess. The colors Guizhong hand-picked for you were gorgeous, complimenting your skin beautifully. Although you had wished the clothing wasn’t so revealing, the only thing covering your more sacred areas were the little undergarments that barely hid anything.

“May I ask you something,” Guizhong places her hands on your shoulders, her touch soft against your skin.

“What is it, my lady,” 

“Tell me, what do you think of Morax,”

You think for a bit, remembering the few instances you’ve shared with said man, “I think he’s nice,”

“Nice?” Guizhong laughs. It’s gentle and soft.

“He compliments my singing and praises my ability to play my guzheng,” You say, recalling the times he’s sat with you among the rocks listening to you play. “And, he tells me stories,” you hadn’t even realized that you were smiling thinking of your time together.

“I see,”

Guizhong smiles. It’s gentle and caring. She places a hand on the small of your back before leading you out of your sleeping chambers — escorting you past the central area of the shrine, down to the lower compartments that were used for temporarily harboring guests.

“My dear, I pray you never change,” 

You’re confused about what she means, but you don’t dwell on it — your goddess speaks typically in riddles and rhymes, never giving you a clear answer even when you ask.

You shift your attention, your sleeves dragging across the flooring have you huffing and puffing, an amused expression dawning on Guizhong’s face.

++

The room she had you placed in was magnificent, even prettier than your own — the bed was more significant, and the fabrics that rested upon it varied from exotic-looking silks to other materials you don’t even recognize.

Even the ground beneath you was soft; looking down, you notice the intrinsic designs of the rug under you — you wonder what nation this was imported from.

There’s a vanity across the room, it’s enormous — with flowers placed neatly in a vase, and there’s a thin wave of smoke that dances through the air, radiating from the incense that rested next to the vase alongside a few candles.

There’s a familiar scent in the air, and you can’t quite put your finger on it, but before you can figure it out, there’s a loud clicking noise — turning around, you see that your goddess is gone, the door shut tightly behind her.

It’s almost unsettling how quiet it is. Only the sound of the incense burning keeps you company. You sit on the bed anxiously as you fiddle your thumbs in anticipation while waiting for the guest of honor to arrive.

There’s a tingling sensation in your lower regions, and you rub your thighs together to help relieve the feeling. Still, to no avail — your body feels like it’s heating up. So, finally, you pull the sleeves down so they’re slightly hanging off your shoulders.

You hadn’t even realized that the man you were waiting for had already arrived, his tail dragging behind him as he stood in the doorway. His golden eyes scanned your body — sizing you up with a carnal desire.

“M—morax,” You stutter in embarrassment as you straighten yourself out, rubbing down any creases of your robe. 

You’ve never really seen this much of the lord of geo. But, of course, serving his companion’s court instead didn’t give you much time, especially considering your status. it wasn’t rare for you to see his face. Still, every time you did, it was fleeting, leaving hardly enough time to remember his beauty — but here, now, you’re able to admire his features.

He’s handsome, you think, the lighting accentuating his looks. His piercing eyes glowed a dim gold, and even his hair was beautiful, long, and smooth brown locks that transitioned to a lighter color nearing the ends with a set of horns protruding through the top of his head that curved inward.

You’re not quite sure where to look, feeling like a pervert with how hard you’re staring. Morax is clad in nothing but a white garb tied around his waist, revealing his well-sculpted body, the scars he’s received from battles — and the markings that came with being the Geo Archon.

The more you stare at his arms, the more flustered you become — brown and gold scales, with markings that decorate the bulging muscles that resided underneath and resting at his shoulders.

You allow your eyes to roam lower, staring at the golden geo sigil that rested on his lower abdomen — right below his stomach, wedged between the patches of scales that resided on either side.

You hadn’t even realized that you’d been staring for so long if it wasn’t for the deep hum that left Morax’s chest.

There’s a hand on Morax’s face as he admires the choice of clothing Guizhong’s picked out for you on this occasion. You’re clad in little to nothing. The flimsy, transparent robe did nothing to cover the white undergarments underneath. 

He doesn’t say a word when he stalks towards you, nor when he places a hand upon your body —  trailing his limbs lower until they land on the outline of your robe, his touch is rough as he takes the thin material between his claws, before ripping it to sheds, leaving the remains scattered across the bed as he strips you down to your undergarments.

Morax grabs at your chin, forcing you to look at him, and when you stare back with your gentle, doe-like eyes, The lord of geo finds himself with the sudden urge to ruin you, to break down the pristine priestess that Guizhong had made you and rebranding you as his own.

Golden eyes stare at you with such intensity that you can’t help but feel nervous, he hasn’t said anything while he is staring into your face, and it’s beginning to make you feel self-conscious, but as soon as he pulls his hands away, a wave of relief washes over you as a soft sigh falls from your lips.

And for a moment, you feel a temporary relief as the cool air fans against your warm body.

“On your back,” The authority in Morax’s tone left no room for rebuttal. You do as you’re told and lay against the bed, propped up on some pillows.

The mattress creaks as Morax slots himself between your thighs — his long reptilian-like tongue tracing along your folds, coating them in his saliva while he teases your slit.

You shiver, the coolness against your cunt sending shocks of pleasure down your spine. You gasp as soon as you feel him dip his slimy appendage inside.

“Morax,” you moan, his tongue delving deeper inside you — rubbing against your walls deliciously. Morax hums, and you can feel the vibrations in your core.

The longer he spends between your legs, the more your body quivers and writhes underneath him, not sure where to grab — your hands land on his horns. Morax pauses for a minute, and you can feel him flinch under your touch before he resumes.

You’re curious, giving the base of his horns a squeeze to elicit another reaction. You rest your palms against the base before guiding them to the tips in a stroking manner — this time, he groans, grinding his face deeper into your cunt as both his arms wrap underneath you, forcing you closer to him as he savors your taste.

And savors, he does. Morax thinks you taste divine, better than any wine Liyue has to offer, and your moans only drive him further to continue drinking up everything you have to offer as his tail swishes side to side, hitting the ground with a thump.

Morax places his thumbs upon your womb, tracing the flesh with his sharp claws — an outline of a geo sigil forming underneath his touch, unlike his own, it’s dull, but that doesn’t stop him from rubbing over it, basking in how your skin feels soft against his own before he squeezes down into the marking causing you to whimper.

There’s a foreign sensation in your lower stomach that has your mind growing fuzzy while specks of white litter your sight — the feeling only getting worse, it’s becoming harder to focus, and the hold you have on his horns loosens.

He knows you’re close, he can tell, bringing a finger to your aching clit — he’s careful of his claws, and slowly, he rubs circles into your swollen bundle of nerves.

“M—Morax,” You cry as you close your eyes, coating his face with your slick as you cum — but he doesn’t let up, not when your cunt is producing more and more slick, some of which spills from his mouth. His tongue is still deep inside you as he laps at your core, and you can feel the tip of his appendage twisting along your walls.

It’s almost embarrassing how loud and lewd his slurping noises are, flustering you even more as the sounds increase in volume.

It’s not until he’s made you cum twice more does he pull away, a mixture of your essence and his saliva dripping from his tongue.

There’s a huge bulge between his legs, the white cloth he had wrapped around him begging to slide off his waist until finally, he discards it, revealing his cock in all its glory.

Morax’s cock was huge, and you stared at it in an odd fascination — the veins on his shaft glowing as they pulsed while the head leaked a golden essence.

I don’t think that’s going to fit, you think, slightly terrified at the idea of that monster penetrating you even with all the slick between your thighs — there’s no way.

The weight of the bed shifts drastically as Morax climbs on top of you, the mattress dipping underneath the combined weight — his body completely dwarfing your own. You’ve never felt this small a day in your life until now. He places a large hand above your head to steady himself, preventing him from crushing you with his overbearing mass.

You can feel the tip of Morax’s cock prod against you. He rubs it along your wet folds — collecting as much slickness as possible to saturate his shaft for an easy push.

As soon as Morax has decided he’s ready, the fat, mushroom tip of his cock disappears between your folds — stretching your poor hole as he forces more of himself inside.

He grunts, “relax,”

Easier said than done, you think, the stretch burns instead uncomfortably, and you’re glad he at least tried to prep you for what's to come.

“My goddess,” You choke, bracing yourself.

Morax halts, his hips coming to a still — there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes as he stares down at your face, “The only god right now is me,” He sneers, the tips of his fangs peeking through his lips like a feral animal.

There’s something exciting about the way Morax looks at you that has the heat rising to your cheeks, igniting something inside you that you didn’t realize was there. “Yes, my god,” you correct yourself, locking eyes with the man above you. For a brief second, he can see the hint of exhilaration flickering in your orbs.

Your submissiveness pleases Morax, causing his cock to stir at the idea of you allowing him to use you as he sees fit — breeding you every day, every hour for the rest of your mortal life span.

“Good girl,” Morax praises, groaning as he finally bottoms out — it’s a tight fit, but it feels as if you were made for him. He’s almost envious of Guizhong for having found you first.

Morax hunches over, the hand above your hand gripping the sheets, and you can hear the faint sounds of them being torn. You wonder if Guizhong will scold him when she finds out. 

Morax can barely contain himself as he lets you adjust to his size, it’s taking everything inside him not to aggressively slam into you — conquering your body and claiming it as his own, but he waits. Remembering the conversation Guizhong had with him before. 

Do not break her, or else I will break you. 

You place your hands on Morax’s biceps, allowing them to wander over the space of his chest. There’s a smile on your face as you look at him.

“I’m ready,” 

Morax’s gaze holds a certain softness to it, golden orbs staring at you in affection. He nods.

Burying his face into the crook of your neck, Morax’s pace starts off slow, but his thrusts are deep — the tip of his cock hitting further with each movement as he litters kisses upon your skin that have moans escaping past your lips.

Morax thinks the noises you’re making are cute, determined to hear more — he places a hand upon your chest before sneaking it under the white fabric that concealed them. Carefully he pinches and tweaks with the hardening bud.

He moves away, grabbing at the top of your garment before tearing it off, leaving your chest exposed to the cool air — and although the sudden drop in temperature does nothing to you, your body feels like it’s burning up.

Morax watches in fascination as your chest bounces with each thrust of hips, encouraging him to go faster — the wet sound of skin slapping against skin rings throughout the room.

Morax pushes your legs to your chest, ramming into you with better precision for him to go deeper — to explore more of you.

Wrapping your arms around Morax’s broad back, holding as much as you can as his heavy cock drags along your walls, it’s getting harder to focus on anything other than the way he feels inside you — mainly when his tip grazes against your cervix, the fullness you feel is satisfying.

“More— more,” You whine. It comes out shaky, and who is Morax to deny his favorite mortal the pleasure she’s receiving from him, and only him.

Morax’s thrust becomes more fevered as he brings you closer to the edge, your walls spasming around him as you cum with a cry. His cock twitches and pulsates as he spills his seed inside you — the geo sigil on you finally coming to life and glowing a vibrant gold as he fills your womb.

And even though he just came, he’s still not done, his cock still rock-hard as he continues slamming into you, robbing you of another orgasm.

He’s determined to fill you up with all he has to offer. Even with the mixture of your juices overflowing from your hole and seeping through the sheets below, he’s not finished. 

It isn’t until he’s pumped his fourth load into you does he pull away, leaving you a panting mess as thick substances of white spill from your cunt.

It isn’t enough, Morax thinks, even as you lay there, body convulsing in pleasure — he wants more. He wants all you have to offer. He flips you over so that you’re lying on your stomach, he moves your body with ease, repositioning you however he pleases, and it’s not like you’re in any state to protest.

He raises your ass, spreading your plush cheeks with his hands giving him a nice view of your drooling cunt that still leaked with cum, and your other — more exclusive hole.

Morax brings his face closer, tracing your folds with his tongue. You shudder in his embrace and feel him tease your spent hole again. Then, scooping out a mix of cum, the man brings it to your asshole, spitting it out and watching as it delves down the curve of your ass.

You screech, feeling the sudden intrusion in your ass. Morax’s lips pressed against your hole as his tongue dives deeper inside you — loosening up as much as possible for what’s to come next.

But before he continues, he’s reminded of the salve Guizhong had given you that lay discarded on the edge of the bed. You feel him shift above you as he reaches over your body — his arms grabbing at the clear pouch. 

There’s a ripping noise that rings in your ears as Morax empties the contents of the pouch into the crack of your ass — you cringe, the thick, slimy mixture feeling cold upon your skin as it travels down the between the crevice of your cheeks, a generous amount coating even your hole.

Your grip on the sheets beneath you tighten, scrunching the silk fabric under your palms — your breathing becomes heavy as you feel the tip of Morax’s cock nudge against your ass as he mounts you.

He spreads your cheeks, guiding his length to your tighter hole before he pushes in — stretch burns at first as his cock forces its way inside, and thanks to the salve, it’s not unbearable.

“Morax,” You cry weakly as you feel him push himself in, completely sheathing himself in your warmth, his heavy balls resting against you. 

There’s snot dripping down your nose, and you’re glad he can’t see your face at the moment — you’re sure you look terrible.

“M—move, please,”

Morax is gentler this time, gritting his teeth as he thrusts into you. The hold he has on your hips is less than bruising.

He nearly doubles over, feeling your hole squeeze around him. 

“F—fuck,” You cry at the fullness, his cock dragging incredibly slow along your insides — you slam your hips back against his. “Harder, please,”

Morax raises a brow, and here he thought you were but an innocent maiden — being deflowered by a monster. It’s amusing, to say the least.

Morax’s balls slap against your ass with pap noise as he picks up his speed — your moans increase in volume as he builds momentum. 

“You feel so good,” You whine, specks of white clouding your vision as your mind becomes hazy. Your orgasm washes over you like a wave, and your body feels like it’s becoming weaker as you fall into the mattress.

Morax wraps his arms around you, supporting your body as he continues fucking you — chasing his own end.

There’s a familiar warmth spreading through your body as he cums, thick globs of white dripping from your ass. 

You’re tired, nearly passing out on the pillows until Morax flips you over again. This time you’re on your back as he hovers over your body, knees folded underneath him.

“Do you think we’re done?” He asks, his cock still hard. He aligns it with your mouth, pressing the tip into the softness of your lips. “Open,”

There’s a pause before you do as you’re told, your eyes scanning up and down his length that’s still fully hard. Is this the will of the gods?

You part your lips around his cock, his weight feeling heavy in your mouth.

 Slowly,  you run your tongue across his shaft — tracing every vein that roams across his cock with your muscle. 

You can feel the veins throb underneath your tongue. Morax places a hand on the back of your head, forcing you to take more of him.

Morax looks down at you, sweat dripping from his body as he watches you bob your head up and down his cock, “Just like that, he praises,”

Your jaw feels like it’s on fire as it aches, and you’re not quite sure how much longer you can take this, but you’re determined to please your god.

Your prayers have been answered, and it’s not long before you feel him throb inside your mouth as his cum spurts down your throat — he pulls away.

“Swallow,”

You obey, opening your mouth to show that you’ve swallowed all of him, leaving nothing left in your mouth, and you can still taste him on your tongue — salty but not disgusting.

Morax places a palm on your cheek, stroking it gently, “you’ve done so well, but the night is still young. We won’t stop until my seed seeps from every orifice you own,” 

And knowing him, it was a promise. By the end of the night, your body will only know Morax. He’s determined to mold your walls in the shape of his cock, to ruin you for anyone else, no matter how many times you reincarnate — you’ll always yearn for him.

+

It was no surprise that Morax had taken you as a lover when he came to Guizhong asking for your hand in marriage — only shocking a few of her priestesses at the sudden intrusion. Their gasps and whispers could be heard amongst themselves.

And, of course, Guizhong was more than happy to comply with his wishes, wedding you off without a second thought.

But alas, that moment of bliss wasn’t destined to last forever, especially in the era of war.

It wasn’t long before Morax had lost Guizhong in the aftermath, returning to dust in the plains of Guili. And although losing her hurt, it was a heavier loss when your mortality had finally claimed you, reminding him that human life is feeble.

It saddened him to no end that you weren’t around to see the progress of Liyue after Mt. Aoyang. However, Morax wanted nothing more than to walk with you upon the grounds now called the harbor.

+

Centuries have passed by now, and Morax is no more than a distant memory, recorded in history alongside most of his conquests for all of time to keep. And even though his previous incarnations are no more, Zhongli still harbors the feelings of each and every life, treasuring them fondly — their memories continue to shine like gold.

And as he sits in the harbor at his favorite restaurant, there’s not a day where he doesn’t think back to you, and the time he shared with you — even if they felt like mere minutes to him.

“and what happened to Morax after the death of his lover,” Paimon asks, both the traveler and her staring at him expectantly as they awaited his answer. 

Zhongli clears his throat, “After the heavy loss of his lover, he grew fearful of being alone after being taught by the human woman how to love and be loved. He took on many lovers over the years after, and yet none of them could fill the void left in his chest.”

“Did he love them,” Paimon places a finger on her chin as she ponders out loud.

“Of course he did. He loved all of them for as long as time had allowed it,” Zhongli muses, although there’s a hint of melancholy in his tone.

Aether gives him an unapologetic look as he thinks back to his twin and how he was separated from her before entering Teyvat.

“Wow, Morax must’ve really been popular among the—“Before Paimon can finish her sentence, Aether quickly covers the smaller being's mouth with his palm. “Paimon, there’s a time and place for everything, but now is not the time,” He sighs, feeling the flying girl protest against him as she angrily flails her tiny limbs.

Zhongli smiles fondly, unfazed by Paimon’s annoyance. The food in front of them had long gone cold as he shared the story of Morax’s greatest treasure.

Paimon flails in Aether’s hold before stopping, her attention focused on the gasps and gossiping going on around her from the other customers in the restaurant.

“What’s the Tianquan doing walking so freely in the harbor,” One mumbled. They all look in awe as she walks past the establishment in broad daylight without any millelith guards behind her.

“Lady Ningguang,” You whine, following after her, your clipboard shaking in your grasp as you pant. For someone wearing heels and a heavy dress, you’re surprised she can walk so fast.

At the sound of a familiar voice, Zhongli’s ears perk up as he turns his attention towards you — his eyes widening before returning to their average size. His sudden silence shocks Aether and Paimon. Aether and both of them don’t say anything, opting to follow Zhongli’s gaze before they land on you.

Ningguang ignores you, continuing on her merry way toward the docks hoping to see the freshest stock of fish that’s arrived.

“But what about Qingce Village?!” You huff loud enough for Ningguang to hear you, although she doesn’t stop. 

“I’ll have the yuheng deal with it. Keqing’s always looking for something to do,” Ningguang says as she waves you off, continuing on her way.

“And what about all your paperwork?” 

“Ganyu can handle it,” Ningguang answers, all too calmly, for a woman who controls the fate of Liyue.

You groan in frustration throwing your clipboard on the ground. So bothersome, you grumble.

When Aether and Paimon shift their attention back to Zhongli, they both jump, realizing his absence.

“Where’d he go?” Paimon says, looking everywhere, from underneath his seat to underneath the table.

“Over there,” Aether points, and sure enough, there he was, striking up a conversation with you. 

“Do they know each other,” Paimon asks, placing a finger on her chin. Aether shrugs in response, “not quite sure, but something tells me she might be an old friend of his,” 

“Excuse me, you seem to have dropped something,” There’s a tall man before you, he’s handsome, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve seen him before.

“Do I know you?” You ask in confusion, the man in front of you staring intently — although it wasn’t you, he was focused on. There’s a glint of disdain in his eyes as he looks upon the light-colored anemo vision that dangles from your waist. 

“Ah, my apologies, my name is Zhongli,” Zhongli smiles, handing you back your clipboard.

“You know,” You start, eyeing him up and down before taking your belongings. “I feel like I’ve met you before,”

“Hm, is that so?” 

“Yeah, something about you feels familiar,”

“Although, I don’t recall meeting you before,” Zhongli lies, “I’d like to get the chance to,”

“O—oh,” There’s a heat rising to your face, and your heart pounds against your chest — the man’s charm flustering you. “I— I think I’d like that too,”

There’s a smile on Zhongli’s face as he places a hand on your back, leading you through the harbor — you don’t resist, allowing him to guide you wherever listening to him talk mindlessly about the weather.

Aether and Paimon look at each other in confusion, the blow shaking his head. 

“Did we just get ditched,” Paimon asks, tilting her head to the side as she rubs her chin.

Aether nods, “and with the bill, too,” he sighs, picking up the piece of paper before reading it — his face pales, and golden eyes widen in horror as he reads aloud the total. 

[cottonlemonade]

Plan B

word count: 1015 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Kuroo x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, pining

warnings: none

synopsis: he is trying to convince you to go out with him

The café was in its typical morning lull when you came in. After the coffee rush of the business crowd and students on their way to class there were now only a few people seated comfortably around the small round tables, chatting idly and enjoying a piece of quiet in the hustle of a new Monday. This was your favorite time of the day. The early spring sun was shining happily through the large front windows, making the dark wooden walls appear as if dipped in honey. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mixing with the soothing scent of cookies, all amidst the faint sound of traffic humming underneath the soft clanking of spoons gave you a deep sense of calm.

After the daily round of hellos and how-are-yous, you put on your black apron and got to work in the kitchen, starting on the preparations for lunch.

“Manager?”, an hour later as you just put the finishing touches on a batch of orange drizzle muffins, one of your baristas poked his head through the door and gave you a look. You sighed and joined him in the front by the cash register. Sure enough the tall man waited for you, a wide grin across his handsome face.

“No.”, you told him before he even got the chance to say anything.

“And good morning to you, too.”

“No.”, you said again, beginning to prepare his usual order of simple green tea.

“Just one cup of coffee, we don’t even have to leave the premises.”

“400 yen, please.”

He counted out a small stack of coins on the counter and crossed his arms.

“Where is your cheer squad today?”, you asked, referring to his usual companions of a broad guy with spiky gray hair and a smaller one whose smile rivaled the sun in brightness. Needlessly supervising the last drops of hot water in the to-go cup, you made sure to add the exact amount of tea leaves to a little bag, just so you didn't have to look at him and his ridiculously confident smirk.

“Eh, I think they got tired of you rejecting me.”

“Interesting, any chance that’ll happen to you, too?”

“Sure, I’ll stop”, he slid over to where you were finishing up his order and lowered his voice, “when you stop blushing whenever I ask you out.”

He accepted his order with a wink. “Thank you. See you tomorrow.”

When the door closed behind him, you found your barista leaning against a counter with a cocked eyebrow.

“That makes seven!”, he announced, pointing to a small blackboard on the back wall where you usually wrote down the groceries needed that week. In the lower left hand corner he and the rest of the staff had begun to keep a tally of how often the guy had asked you out so far.

Seven times in three weeks. You smiled against your better judgment. You knew not to take him too seriously. Knew it was just a game to him. When he came in for the first time you had almost dropped a mug, because how could someone look this casually seductive?!

It wasn’t that you didn’t have the urge to say Yes just for the hell of it. But you weren't in the mood to be a short-lived plaything for a guy who probably only thought chubbies were easy. And thus began a regular routine of rejecting him. You didn’t know whether you actually wanted him to stop or if saying No to him had just become a reflex. A wise one probably.

Kuroo groaned and gently hit his head against his desk. Of course the thought that he might be an actual creep for asking you out so much had occurred to him but when he made his initial attempt, you had said Yes at first before immediately changing your answer to No. How on earth could he prove to you that he wasn‘t kidding when he told you that you were on his mind all day? Your smile, your voice, your exceptionally squishable body all brought new amounts of cute-aggression into his life.

At this point he was running out of options. Maybe… maybe he should just wait until you approached him instead - if you ever would, that was. He needed a new idea.

And so, one misguided day, he listened in on the gossip of his coworkers who talked about what mundane things they found attractive in a guy. And that’s how we got here:

Kuroo sat at a large four seater table in the corner of your café. Papers were strewn about, magazines lay open for references. He had loosened his tie and opened the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt; his reading glasses were pushed back onto his nose in regular intervals. It was warmer today. So warm that he had discarded his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, wristwatch glinting in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. He gave a little frown and absentmindedly bit his bottom lip as he consulted one of the articles, sometimes silently mouthing along to paragraphs he read, twirling the pen in his long fingers. He lifted a page to read the next, making a note on a separate sheet, the muscles in his forearm taut while he wrote.

He looked up at nowhere in particular, then closed his eyes and stretched his tired neck, the open shirt tightening around his broad shoulders, the line of his jaw highlighted by the golden light beaming through the large windows…

"Sir.", a waitress stepped professionally to the table, a towel neatly tucked in the waist cord of her apron, hands politely folded in front of her stomach.

"Yes?"

"The manager isn’t here today."

His cheeks started to burn, "Why- I mean… what?"

"And while we do appreciate what you do for the ambiance", a subtle gesture pointed out the girls, women and the barista staring, some even holding up their phone camera, giggling behind their hands, "this isn’t a library, so please order something or free the table."

"…O-of course."

[part 2]