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theotheroccassionalfanficwriter · 3 years

Note

That Rosaria x reader fic was absolutely perfect. I would love to see one of Beidou with a strap on x F Reader if that’s alright!

Sorry it took so long, this is a bit tame compared to Rosaria, less horny and more smut with feelings. Anyways have a Beidou x F! Reader that was inspired by Tian Guan Ci Fu’s OST

Singing Magpies in Liyue Harbor

Beidou x Female Reader

Rating: E for explicit description of sex and yearning

Summary: No matter how far you have fallen, in Beidou’s eyes you would always be that noble lady that she had fallen for.

---

If there was a list of people Beidou had a soft spot for, you would be the first on the list. No one knew why, much less you, a fallen noble lady but even so it was one of Beidou’s guarded secrets. The reason eluded you, and you made your peace with it. You didn’t care about why she would be sweet to you, or why she would choose you to warm her bed at night.

‘There are some things,’ You thought ‘that are better left in the dark.’ This much you knew after falling from grace, being trampled upon and mocked by your former peers.

“Are you thinking about the past again?” Beidou asked, her sleeping robes were wide open and the scent of plum wine lingered in the air.

From the mirror of your boudoir, you stared at her, smiling softly and fondly. Beidou was a handsome and beautiful woman, toned stomach and in this particular night filled with ambiguous air, she was alluring with her soft eyes and teasing smile.

“How could I not?” You replied, “That I can live well is because of your grace.”

And it was the truth, you were a noble lady of high birth, pampered and spoiled by your family. You had never experienced any hardship, never had to starve, or live under the stress of making ends meet. You were Liyue’s most sought after flower, up until your family fell out of grace. How great was the praise for you was equal to the scorn and mockery you received.

And at the lowest point of your life, when you had resigned to sell your body just to feed your family for one more day, she had arrived before you. You were just a stranger to her, a fallen noble lady who only had the mastery of the four arts as a redeeming quality. And yet, she was the only one who had offered you warmth.

You felt her arms wrapped around you, a familiar comfort as you passed your days in her service. It didn’t matter that your reputation was reduced as Beidou’s whore behind your back. What mattered was this gentle warmth that saved you from the brink of despair.

You felt her lips pressed gently on your hair, and you smiled softly and foolishly in love with this woman who slayed beasts. You smiled at her through the mirror, your lips were painted with red rouge, cheeks flushed with the heat from the plum wine and your arousal.

Slowly you dropped the collar of your inner robes, ever so slowly enticing her with the gradual reveal of the skin of your nape, your smooth collarbones, and then the valleys of your chest. Beidou watched everything unfold with eyes burning hot as her calloused hands gently and reverently touched your hair moving it away to bite at your neck playfully. And with practiced ease, began to disrobe you, all the while never taking her eyes off you in the mirror.

You watched her back with half-lidded eyes, hazy with the beginnings of lust as her hands roamed over your body, teasing you mercilessly with her skillful fingers. There was no need for words between the two of you, not in this instance, where your body was completely Beidou’s to play with.

You moaned when her fingers dipped inside the folds of your pussy, body arching in pleasure as you sought after the feeling of her fingers against your clit. You feel her kiss on your cheek and you opened your eyes and found yourself still being surprised by the sincere look of love in her eyes.

“Beidou…”you called out her name softly, pleading for more, there is a part of you that wonders what your past self would say now, with your shameless act of lust.

But all thoughts of self-mockery was washed away by Beidou’s sweet kiss, as if you were her precious lover and not some one she had saved to warm her bed. Her mouth devoured you as her fingers plunged in and out of your pussy, you kissed her with all that you had, arms circling on her neck as you exchanged heated kisses.Your robe was wide open, breasts rubbing against Beidou’s naked chest as you felt her fingers curl and give you your first orgasm of the night.

The ship was silent, and the sea was calm, amidst such peaceful scenery was the sounds of debauchery coming from Beidou’s resting quarters. Beneath the soft orange light of the lamp were two bodies moving in rhythm. You on the bottom and Beidou on top, attached in front of her was a jade dildo, strapped on her hips that laid perfectly in front of her pussy.

You moaned with each thrust that slid in and out of you easily, your breasts jiggled with each thrust Beidou made. She smiled at you as perspiration gathered on her forehead, her own pussy clenching at the dildo that was inside her. Each thrust she made inside you would make her pussy take in the dildo that was attached at the other end of the strap on.

The erotic squelched of your wet pussy only served to aroused her, making her chase her own orgasm as you came another time. Beidou didn’t stop moving even as you came once more from oversensitivity. The sheets of Beidou’s bed were already drenched with cum and sweat and despite that, you made no move to stop, only continuing to beg her for more.

You embraced her, eyes shut as you kissed her and had your tongue explore the inside of her mouth. You tasted the plum wine she had drunk and found yourself intoxicated from the lust and the taste of the wine. Beidou detached your mouth with the slightest reluctance before turning her focus on your perked up nipples, glistening with sweat and saliva from the numerous times she had already sucked and bitten it.

Beidou’s thrusts didn’t stop even as her mouth plundered your breasts once more. Her free hand held yours, entwining it as if ensuring you would never escape from underneath her as you moaned her name. Your pussy clenched as you came once more, you opened your blurry eyes as you watched Beidou’s face overcome with pleasure.

You smiled before kissing the top of her head softly, “Let me ride you?” You asked as Beidou let you maneuver her body to have her lie down on her back.

“Mmn.” She answered as she helped you steady yourself and watched as you easily slid pussy down the jade dildo. With dilated pupils and rising arousal, Beidou gripped your hips as you began to slowly move up and down the dildo before gradually raising your speed until your breasts were bouncing from the force of you slamming your g-spot again and again against the tip of the dildo.

It didn’t help that Beidou’s hips met the timing of you slamming down the dildo, thus increasing the amount of force that was sending you to celestia with the pleasure that came from having your g-spot pounded. The same could be said to Beidou who was enjoying the feeling of having her pussy pounded and the erotic sight you painted. The smell of wine in the room was now mixed with the combined scent of Beidou’s and your arousal.

The moans and grunts that eminated from Beidou’s room painted an erotic night in anyone’s mind that was close enough to hear it. The way you looked as you chased after your pleasure made Beidou yearn for you stronger than usual and she couldn’t help but pull you down for a kiss. She hugged you tightly as she kissed you deeply and moved her hips for both of your pleasures. As you both stopped for air, your eyes met with red ones, in that moment as your hair slowly slid down and tangled with hers, you could not help but feel your heart quicken, your cheeks to heat up.

“I…” You paused, not knowing if now was the right time to say it.

“It’s alright,” Beidou comforted you “we can just sleep for now.”

And you slowly feel your body relax as you lowered yourself to her side, eyes looking at her as Beidou turned to bring you closer to her equally naked and messy body. You could feel your heart fill up with messy unspeakable emotions, ones you swore to do away when your entire world had turned its back on you.

And yet as the clutches of sleep took you in its gentle embrace, you couldn’t help but think, ‘Before I met you...I never realized how easy it was to be happy.’

As you slept well in her arms, Beidou didn’t bother to hide the swelling emotions in her eyes as she remembered the first time she had met you. On that hot summer day, with hunger in her stomach and desperation setting in. She was brave and foolish enough to steal from a noble lady, what misfortune it was to be caught and berated harshly.

And yet, on that day when she had resigned herself to death, you had stood in front of her. Gentle and kind, eyes without a shred of pity as you ordered her servants to let go of you, treating her wounds with precious medicine. Feeding her and allowing her family to live for one more day.

She had resigned herself on having her measly pride trampled on, resigned to the misery of poverty and yet you who stood on top had given her hope. Beidou never forgot how you had protected her worthless measly pride back then nor did she forget the life-saving grace you had given her.

The reforms your family made to help eradicate poverty was what gave her a chance to turn her life around. That act of kindness that was nothing in your eyes was burned deep in her heart. The words you spoke that day had laid the foundations on who she was today.

“No one would like to steal unless they are forced to do so, let this child go. A few missing fruits would not bring our family into starvation but these fruits can let their family live another day.” You spoke with sincerity and Beidou knew that you were truly kind.

She had spent each day since then sneaking into your courtyard, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, running away when caught and yet you made no move to complain. Allowing her to come and go as she pleased, giving her food, clothes and mora.

She watched as you grew up, changing from a sweet and energetic girl to the ideal noble lady of Liyue’s nobility. She took tabs on you as she built her reputation, hoping to get the chance to get closer to you. But life had its twist and turns, by the time she had gotten the reputation she needed to get close to you, it was too late.

You were no longer Liyue’s top beauty, a flower that had fallen into disgrace with your family’s debts. Beidou had searched for any news of you, paying handsomely just to know your outcome. She was unresigned, and determined to return the life debt she owed you.

Each rumor and mockery that was made against you was wound in her heart. To her, you were a beloved lady that was meant to be adored forever, loved by the people around you. And yet, the friends she thought cared about you as much as she did abandoned you easily, trampling upon your dignity as if the past friendship was mere trash.

Who would have known that she would find you in Liyue Harbor’s red district. Eyes as empty as your cold smile as you allowed yourself to be appraised. In that moment, seeing your out of season clothes and the lack luster shine of phoenix hairpin, Beidou made the boldest decision she had ever made.

You had already suffered enough, in her eyes, you were just an innocent daughter carrying the sins of your father. So she snatched you away from your prospective buyer and bought you for herself.

“1,000,000 mora for her” Beidou said as she pulled you into her arms, “you can get the payment from the Northland bank under my name.”

And she took you away without looking back. Beidou knew that you could feel her hand shaking but even so she carried on, ignoring the whispers as she took you aboard the Alcor. She couldn’t allow you to be tainted, to be plunged in the pit of despair just to live another day.

On that day, in the privacy of her quarters, Beidou swore that you would never experience such humiliation and hardship again. With trembling hands and sorrowful eyes, she asked for you to spend your life, to walk hand in hand until both of your hairs turned white.

“It is my blessing to have received your grace at this time” you answered her and gave yourself to her that same day. A part of Beidou wondered if you regretted that you couldn’t wear the red clothes of a bride or enter the bridal sedan.

She wondered as she gave you your first experience with pleasure if a part of you resented that salvation came in this form. But even so, she didn’t want to stop as she tasted you, as her mouth left a trail of bites and kisses down your body.

She savored the taste of your pussy as she lapped your juices up, her hands held your thighs tightly as she made sure to make your first time pleasurable. She wanted you to forget all painful things and only look forward to the joy and prosperity she would bring you.

“Beidou” You called out her name, so softly, pleading for something you weren’t even sure you knew and it was enough to make her heart swell and acknowledge what she had been ignoring for a long time.

“Don’t cry,” She appeased you, kissing away your tears as she gently coaxed another orgasm out of you “I’ll take care of you.”

“I’ll never make you suffer again.”

“I’ll always be by your side.”

“You’ll never be abandoned again.”

Beidou muttered all these promises as she fucked you again and again until daybreak arrived and you had already passed out from exhaustion. And now as she lay beside you she couldn’t help but grab a few strands of your hair that fell on your face.

She brought it close to her mouth and kissed it gently.

“It’s fine if you never remember, but my dear, I want you to know that what I love is you and not the state of you.”

#Beidou x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact beidou x reader

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elefseija · 2 years

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Touching #1

Prompt: touching foreheads A/N: The beginning of my Xayah/Rakan collection! All prompts come from this lovely list. I may post these on ao3 as well (perhaps a revised version, I’ll see!)

Next drabble

. . ☘️ . .

Her plan was far from perfect. The walls of the monastery were distant from the safe canopy of the trees – where Xayah would feel at ease and protected, far from the fire of the enemies. (“We must be fast.”) The lack of pure magic felt like thick humidity, almost palpable -sweat on her skin, shallow breaths-: added to the harnessing of shadow magic, even just walking felt like a choking grasp on her throat, hands pining her down by her shoulders. (“In an out. Destroy it and be done with it.”) Xayah tapped one nail on the map, brushed the surface drawing an invisible path. Carefully. A slow, deep sigh heaved her chest. The nocturnal breeze felt cold. The gates were off limits: they reeked of polluted, sick magic, the stones were still shrieking in her head, an unpleasant feeling crawling on her skin - she had sensed it that morning, as she had scouted the place with Rakan. His feathers had bristled, displeased, and his usual glow had paled and dulled. Even his snarl was still ringing in her ears. The parapets could easily hide shadow acolytes. A hail of arrows imbued with whatever dark essence they could muster (they had no regards for spirits nor magic) could be waiting for them. Or the threatening, booming shots of the Kashuri rifles. The vastaya had already had a bitter taste of it. Too many guards -Xayah huffed, groaned as she scratched on the parchment with a quill, messy lines of ink. As of late, the Yanlei had been more aggressive defending their quinlons, as if they could somehow predict her plans. (“Not enough.”) And their shadow magic was as dangerous as their weapons. (“Still not enough.”) And there was just two of them. (“Just a wrong leap and it could be over for us.”) She tightly clenched her hands in fists, nails digging into the skin. Pain would keep her awake, perhaps. Make her think, find a better solution. Her jaw hurt. She shut her eyes close – it flashed for just a moment, the terrifying thought. Of loss, of Rakan being hurt just because of her. Or worse. Her breath caught in her throat, she felt her shoulders tensing as well as her arms. And she could taste blood in her mouth, teeth biting hard into her lower lip. (“I’d kill them all. Every single one of them.”) Black ink spilled on the map. (“One day, I will run out of luck.”) The fire flickered – she barely noticed the shadows growing long and dark on the ground. No warmth reached for her small figure. The lightest chuckle filled the cave for a moment. Her feathers lightly ruffled – her ears involuntarily pointed to the source of that chuckle. Rakan had probably seen some sparkles dancing in the smoke and vanishing in the air, she could guess. She had grown fond of that sound – a part of her thought as she pushed the map away from her tired gaze. A distraction, a warm embrace that wrapped her, the hint of a smile that quickly disappeared. A mere moment of relief and bliss she wanted to bask in forever. (How foolish of her.) Xayah frowned, a resigned sigh left her lips as she leaned against the rocky wall of the cave. A pained and frustrated groan, the vastaya rubbed her temples with the tip of her fingers. The map and the quill were resting at her side, forgotten – ungracefully thrown over dirt and pebbles. Even the soft crackling of the fire was unnerving her, now. She could almost hear it – the natural shift in Rakan’s position as he turned towards her. How his feathers would bristle for the briefest second, alarmed, and how he would tilt his head ever a tad, a questioning look on his azure eyes. How silence would then fall, as his soft humming stopped instantly. And Xayah knew he would not ask. Rakan would wait for her to speak, to allow him to come closer. For this, she was thankful. «I… », his ears promptly flicked as her voice broke the silence of the cave. It was low, feeble – as if she did not want to be heard. (“Weak.”)The stone felt cold against her back. But Rakan was attentive. Waiting. Looking carefully at her. She could feel his stare, his furrowed brows (she would kiss his forehead to ease his worries), his hands ready to push him up to his feet (she would cling to him tightly to just feel him). A punch of guilt that had her bite her lips again to repress a pitiful whine. (“Stop it,” her mind shut her. “Just think.”) Xayah brought her knees close to her chest – circling them with her arms. Hid her face against them as a heavy sigh emptied her lungs. She wrapped her wing around her legs – perhaps to hide, perhaps for some sense of comfort. «… I really don’t know what to do, Rakan.» A heartfelt admission. Her ears dropped flat against her hair. Her shoulders slouched forward. Her head hurt. Her nails dug deeper into the skin of her forearms. A silent plea, for Xayah would never beg to ease her burden, and Rakan knew it. (“He always knows, somehow.”) Another shift in the air – she could sense it. Then, her ears slightly flicked, as a natural reaction; the faintest sound of Rakan’s steps, graceful and swift, got nearer and nearer. He kneeled beside her. (She fought that pleading warmth spreading in her chest.) Utter silence. Rakan did not need words. He could understand what her mind was thinking, the storm howling in her head. He could sort it out from the way she hid from his gaze, or from the way she tried to make herself smaller, curled up in her safe space. Yes, he could tell - how tightly her hands were holding on her elbows, how her claws scratched the dirt beneath her. How shallow her breath was. How her shoulders were slightly trembling – under a weight she had imposed on herself long ago. A bittersweet song that told of fear and anger. He waited. For her to send him away or for her to flinch and retreat in a corner of that cold cave. He waited. First, his hand would gently brush over her wing. Her breath hitched instantly, but her feathers softly vibrated and relaxed under his touch. She did not push him away, yet. Then he soothingly caressed her forearm, with utmost care. And Xayah’s merciless grip was no more – it left reddened crescents on her skin, the mark of her sharp nails. His thumb tenderly drew circles on her skin, a weak glow of gold illuminated her smaller figure. She opened her eyes again. That dull pain pricking her had disappeared. And what Xayah could feel next was the gentle hold of Rakan’s hands on her cold cheeks. Not forcing but inviting. Soft strokes of his thumb, like playful caresses – it made her ears flick again. A low whine from her lips – he stifled another chuckle. With a deep sigh, she gave in – lift her face from its hiding place but drew her gaze away from him. A murmured “ehy” that made her bite her lower lip. Undeserving, undeserving. She was planning their undoing: that was exactly what she was doing. And he dared be so understanding. «You know how these things work.» But his hands on her felt so right. And warm. And gentle. Everything that she could not be. Yet, she was greedy and selfish enough to desire for him to stay with her, in that hidden cave, safe. (“I’m here”, his touch softly whispered at her worried mind, “I’m here.”) Lingering in the much welcome pressure of his forehead against hers. Indulging in the tickling sensation of his strokes on her neck and cheeks and hair and ears. The faintest chuckle (was it her? Him?) as he brushed his nose against hers, affectionately. A foolish, childish thought that ran in her mind – to never leave this cave, to bask in this giddy sensation. It was grounding. Reassuring. A steady presence she could rely on – so dependent. She leaned against him, let her knees drop. Her own hands would then move. Brush on his muscled arms, perhaps a bit more roughly than usual. (Urging, needing.) Pull him towards her as his hold on her head felt slightly tighter and firmer. Reach for his face and rest on his cheeks as well, mirroring his own slow stroking movements. A silent, most sincere “thank you”. He would understand – he could always understand. Finally, she could gaze back at him. His eyes lightened in bliss. Her heart did not feel constricted in her ribcage anymore. «Do you trust me, Rakan?» And Rakan was smiling. Softly, lovingly – none of that teasing, grinning smile of his. She could not decide whether she wanted to bite him or kiss him. But her cheeks felt hot, and breathing was now easier, and her chest felt lighter. «I trust you, miella.»

#elef writes #xayah #rakan #xayah/rakan

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openheartthot · 4 years

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Holding On

Part 1: The Inevitable | Part 2: Selfish | Part 3: Letting Go

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Camille Prescott)

Word Count: 2,551

Warnings: None that I can think of.

Summary: Ethan can’t live without her.

***

Ahh guys it’s been so long omg. I know I’ve missed reading a lot of fics but I swear once finals are over I’m gonna go back and harass everyone with my reblogs lmao. This is sort of all over the place, but I figured I’ve been wallowing in my writer’s block long enough!

Ethan watches her all night.

She’s radiant in a wine-colored dress, her perfectly coiffed golden hair a far cry from the messy ponytails and buns that she used to sport around Edenbrook.

It’s hard to believe that this is the same woman who’d once started every morning tangled in his bedsheets, who’d held his hand across the table in Derry Roasters.

The same woman who once tried to tell him she loved him in an airport, before he stopped her.

Pain battles with pride in the pit of his stomach as he watches her flit around the hotel ballroom. She’s completely in her element as she rubs elbows with the elite of West Coast medicine. No longer is she the bright-eyed young intern by his side.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, Ethan always knew she’d be great.

And yet...he can’t help but worry that he might be too late.

Her dress is just a bit risqué for a medical conference, but none of the other doctors or representatives seem to mind. They are completely enraptured by her wide smiles and sharp wit. Especially the young, sandy-haired doctor all but glued to her side. Ethan doesn’t miss the way his hand alights on her waist every now and then, nor the wonderstruck way he gazes at her.

Jealousy roils in Ethan’s stomach, completely unwarranted. He has no claim on her, not anymore.

Ethan turns bitterly back to his scotch, determined to drown his sorrows in the amber liquid before him. One more drink at the bar, and then he’ll leave to continue his pity party upstairs in the privacy of his hotel room. There’s no point in torturing himself with the sight of her with another man.

He knocks back his drink, and another one appears in front of him almost instantly, though he hasn’t ordered one.

For a moment, he’s confused.

But only for a moment.

He catches a whiff of her perfume before any of his other senses realize she’s behind him. He breathes in deeply, savoring the gentle floral scent that lingered on his pillow long after she left for the last time.

“Hell of a speech,” Ethan says into the drink she bought him. He can’t look at her-- he’s scared of what he might say if he gets a glimpse of those green eyes.

He’s broken a lot of his own rules when it comes to Camille, but he won’t make a move on a woman in a relationship. No matter how badly he wants to punch her companion in the jaw.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here. You hate conventions.”

Ethan grits his teeth against the onslaught of emotions triggered by that voice. That soft, silvery voice that he used to have the pleasure of hearing every day.

God, how he took her for granted back then.

“To your first keynote? I wouldn’t miss it.” Ethan says, fighting to keep his voice even.

It’s true. Ethan avoids conventions like the plague, but when he heard Camille was to be the keynote speaker of a conference held in her new home city of San Francisco, he’d booked a flight without a second thought.

He’s been telling himself it is just to celebrate her success as a former mentor, but he can no longer pretend that he doesn’t have ulterior motives. That he didn’t want to know if she’d come alone, or on the arm of some well-built pretty boy--

“The blonde Clark Kent? Who’s he?” Ethan asks, not entirely on purpose. The scotch has loosened his tongue more than he realized.

“Adam is... just a colleague.” Camille says, and then Ethan catches a glimpse of red silk and blonde hair in his periphery as she sinks onto the barstool beside him.

He can’t ignore the flicker of hope ignited by her words, but then reality comes crashing back in. They live on opposite sides of the country. He told her to leave.

“I was your colleague too, once.” Ethan says, immediately wishing the words didn’t sound so resentful.

“Once.” Camille muses in agreement, and Ethan can’t help but wonder if the bittersweet reel of their relationship plays on a perpetual loop in her mind the way it does in his.

“So, you aren’t seeing anyone?” Ethan can’t help but ask, unable to shake the growing tingle of hope.

“No.” Camille says softly, “I don’t know if I’m ready for anything serious.” She stares down at the bar, unaware of the physical ache that the words cause in Ethan’s chest. The cautious tone of her voice hurts more than he cares to admit.

His Camille, the one who boldly strode past all of the boundaries that he had so painstakingly created, would never be so hesitant when it came to love.

She’s supposed to be foolish, and headstrong, and impulsive...and it’s Ethan’s fault that she isn’t any of those things anymore.

Ethan takes another swallow of scotch, for courage, before he turns to face her.

He had watched her during her speech, of course, and from afar as she made her rounds through the room, but seeing her up-close is almost more than he can handle.

Ethan meets her eyes, and for a minute, he swears he forgets how to breathe. The rest of the room fades away, and it feels like all that exists is him and her. All he can see through his tunneling vision are those green eyes.

Those eyes bring him back to Miami, to that first passion-fueled kiss on a balcony under the light of a thousand stars, both of their inhibitions clouded with wine.

Those eyes bring him back to long nights spent in the diagnostics office, toiling over a case; to her fingers laced in his under the table; to a million little moments shared between the two of them over the course of their relationship, both professional and romantic.

“Dance with me.” Ethan says. He can’t think of a single other thing besides encircling Camille in his arms and holding her close, even if it’s only for the duration of a song.

“...Okay.” Camille agrees after a moment, although Ethan isn’t sure whether it’s out of pity, or because, like his, her hands are burning with the need to touch him.

She follows him to the dance floor, and when she steps into his arms, Ethan can’t stop his eyes from watering. He is convinced there is nothing more right than Camille against his chest, the way her arms slide around his neck, the way that his hands know the curve of her waist.

“I want you.” Ethan murmurs. He can’t help it, with her in his arms, it’s almost like no time has passed at all.

Camille stiffens, her arms tensing where they rest against his shoulders. Her gaze flicks to the elevators, and she swallows hard before looking away.

“You know I’m not interested in being a casual hookup anymore.”

Ethan’s chest tightens, knowing that he was the one that made her feel cheap, disposable. Even so, his own hurt swells.

“There was nothing casual about the nights we spent together, not for me.” Ethan says curtly, stung by her implication.

“For me either.” Camille says in exasperation. “But…”

“I want to be with you.” Ethan says, the words welcome on his tongue after spending so long pretending that he didn’t miss her. Pretending that it didn’t bother him knowing that Camille was building a new life on the other side of the country. A life without him.

“Stop it.” Camille falters, missing a step and almost losing her balance. Ethan pulls her securely against his chest, but she avoids his gaze. “Missing me isn’t the same thing as wanting to be with me.��

“I know,” Ethan insists, refusing to back down.

“Since you left Boston, I’ve been a shell of a man, living only for your visits. And when those stopped…” He takes a deep breath. “I can’t live without you, Camille, I need you.”

“That’s not healthy.” Camille snaps, her expression knitting into a scowl. “And you were the one who told me to move in the first place!”

“I was, and I stand by that. It was the right decision for your career.” Ethan counters reflexively before his voice drops, husky with emotion. “Whether it’s healthy or not, I don’t want to be without you. Not for another second.”

He dips his head, just enough to let his jaw brush against her temple.

Camille lets out a tiny sniff, and when he pulls back to meet her eyes, he finds them shimmering with tears.

“Ethan…” Her lips part on his name, her eyes filled with a yearning so deep that Ethan instinctively tightens his hold on her, his fingers tracing the notches of her spine.

Slowly, tentatively, she relaxes into him, her head resting on his chest just above his beating heart. Ethan freezes, terrified that the slightest movement will scare her away.

“I want that, too.”

He doesn’t waste another second. He tilts her chin up, and then her hands are in his hair, tugging him roughly down until his mouth meets hers. The kiss is desperate and consuming, her hands roving over his back and chest while Ethan traces patterns on the exposed skin of her back.

“I’ve missed this.” Ethan manages before crushing his mouth back to hers. “I’ve missed you.”

Camille sighs in agreement, pulling him close and melding her body against his until it’s hard to tell where his body ends and hers begins.

Her hips rock boldly against him, and Ethan bites back a groan, all too aware that they’re still in the middle of a very public dance floor.

As their frantic kiss slows to gentle brushes of his lips against hers, Ethan smooths his hands over her back, holding her as tightly as he dares. He gazes down at her in amazement, and she stares back, her eyes alight with joy and promise.

“Is that a yes, then? To being with me?” Ethan asks, trying to keep his giddiness at bay. He doesn’t deserve this woman, not even a little, but if she’ll have him... The rising tide of his hope is an almost overwhelming warmth in his chest.

“I…” Camille’s voice trails off, and the light in her eyes extinguishes. She pulls back, not quite out of his embrace, but enough for the distance between them to feel insurmountable.

Ethan closes his eyes, feeling a fresh wave of despair wash over him. He’s too late, too much time has passed. Whatever they once had is unsalvageable. He had known that it was a longshot, but he knows he couldn’t live with himself if he hadn’t at least tried.

“I want to say yes, I really do.” Camille says, shaking her head despondently. “But I can’t move back to Boston. I have a life in San Francisco, now. I have an apartment with a great view of the Bay, and my career is finally taking off… You don’t get to follow me and ask me to give all of that up, it’s not fair.”

She looks up at him, restrained hope in her eyes, as if she’s waiting for Ethan to make a grand gesture, to convince her that he’s worth another chance.

“Does your apartment allow dogs?” Ethan asks instead.

Camille looks away, and he can see the disappointment wash over her face. Disappointment in him, for once again choosing to take the path of least resistance, and once again refusing to fight for her.

“The song’s over, and I’m not interested in making small-talk about my apartment with you. I should go.” She tries to pull back, but Ethan doesn’t release her, maintaining a firm but gentle grip on her waist.

“It’s not small-talk. You should know I hate that more than anyone.” Ethan says, his fingers pressing insistently against her waist, the smooth fabric of her dress bunching beneath his fingertips.

“I need to know if your apartment allows dogs. I need to know if I can have Alan put Jenner on the first flight out to San Francisco tomorrow morning, or if I have to wait until we find a new place.”

Camille’s eyes search his face with obvious confusion.

“What? I don’t… Jenner?” Camille stammers for a moment as she collects her thoughts, her hands absentmindedly resting on his chest. Ethan feels his heart skip at the casual intimacy of her fingers toying with his lapels. “You want to move out to San Francisco?”

“Yes.” Ethan says shortly. “When I said I didn’t want to leave your side, I meant it.”

“Ethan, we’ve been over this. If one of us gives up our career for the other we’ll just end up resenting each other. You’ve been working at Edenbrook for over a decade, I can’t let you give it up for me.”

“Edenbrook is…wonderful. I have enjoyed working there, but at the end of the day it’s just a job. When I came home to an empty apartment at the end of the day, it wasn’t Edenbrook I was thinking about, Camille, it was you.”

“But you love Edenbrook.” Camille says uncertainly, her eyes begging for an explanation.

“I like Edenbrook, most assuredly.” Ethan cups her face in his hands, running his thumbs over her smooth skin. “But I love you.”

“You…love me?” Camille asks, her green eyes gazing up at him, starry with hope. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and Ethan is sure he’s never seen her look more beautiful.

“I do.” he murmurs, unwilling-- unable to look away from her awed expression.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.” Camille whispers back, a luminous smile growing on her face.

“Camille, I’ve been a complete fool, I know that. But I have to know… if you still…” Ethan stumbles over his words, his grip on her tightening in thinly veiled desperation.

“If I still love you back?” she prompts, her light and teasing tone a far cry from her earlier anguish.

Ethan nods, the agony of not knowing threatening to consume him altogether.

Camille’s expression softens, and her fingers drift to his face, tenderly tracing the contour of his cheekbone.

“Of course I do. How could I not?” she asks with a soft laugh, lifting one shoulder in a bashful shrug that is entirely too alluring. His eyes trail over her exposed collarbone.

Ethan can’t wait to take her to his suite upstairs and find out if the skin under that red dress is as sweet as he remembers. But there will be plenty of time for that later, after he hears the three words that have been haunting him ever since she boarded that plane.

“Say it. Please.” Ethan presses his forehead to hers, unbridled joy threatening to bring him to his knees. There are few scenarios that involve the great Ethan Ramsey being reduced to begging, and every last one centers around the gorgeous, brilliant woman in front of him.

“I love you, too.”

This time, she pushes herself onto her tiptoes to close the distance beteen them. And when their lips meet, Ethan knows that he has made the right decision. Edenbrook, Boston, he can take or leave all of it, as long as he has her.

***

Tagging separately since I have no idea if tumblr will decide to work or not :)

#open heart #ethan ramsey #oph #oh #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #open heart fanfiction #playchoices

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mandoalorian · 4 years

Note

Being sick with nurse Maxwell lord pls that man can't ever cook a decent soup but who cares he's adorable

Made With Love [Maxwell Lord x Reader]

Summary: Maxwell Lord takes care of his sick girlfriend and makes her 'soup'.

Rating: PG

Warnings: food mention, brief mention of blood/injury, mention of throwing up, illness and death

Word count: 2.3k

Authors note: Thank you for the request! I must admit this was quite the challenge as I don’t usually write about food in my fics but the concept of Maxwell taking care of a sick reader by cooking her soup was just too adorable.

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gif by @santigarcia

Maxwell didn't have many regrets. If he regretted his life decisions (even the questionable ones), he wouldn't be as successful as he was today. He always told himself to embrace his choices. But…. he did have one regret. One teeny tiny miniscule regret. And that was promising you he'd cook you some soup. Maxwell Lord, the cover boy of Forbes magazine. The man who founded Black Gold Cooperative. The same man who spoke in the White House and was on the television every night, was standing in his kitchen, before an abundance of vegetables, herbs and spices.

"I hate this." you whined, dramatically stuffing a pillow into your face as you tossed and turned in your big bed. Maxwell shuffled closer to you. He hated seeing you in pain. His heart ached. If he had one wish, it would be to swap positions with you. He'd rather deal with the flu than have you suffer before his eyes.

"I know sweetheart," he sighs, taking a wet washcloth and gently placing it on your forehead. "You have a temperature, but this might cool you down." He hadn't rinsed the flannel properly so little beads of water dripped down your face but you didn't say anything because you knew he was trying his best. If there was one thing you admired about Maxwell, it was that he always tried his hardest in everything he did.

"I already feel cold though." you shivered, pulling the thick quilted blankets further up your body. He handed you a glass of water.

"Darling, you're burning up," he shook his head sadly and you let out another whine. "Drink this slowly. It's important to stay hydrated."

"It's so unfair," you groaned before taking a sip of water. He was right, the cool liquid oozed down your throat and you felt grateful for his suggestion. "How come you never get sick?" You prodded your finger into his tummy and he chuckled lightly. "It's not funny Max."

"You're so cute," he sighs longingly, his lips curving into a smile. "I love you, you know." he boops your nose with his finger.

"Stop!" you playfully slapped his hand away from your nose but instead he cupped his palm around your cheek and nursed the side of your face, his thumb brushing across the plumpness of your lower lip.

He leaned in, the curve of his nose dragging across your skin and pressed his lips softly against yours. He didn't move, it was gentle and tender. Normally when Maxwell kissed you, it was hurried and passionate as he tried to throw your clothes to one side and pin you against a wall but this— this was like a whole new side to him. He rubbed his nose against yours and pulled away after only a few seconds.

"Your breath…." he scrunched up your nose and you gasped, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarassment. "Baby, did you throw up?" you nodded sadly and his heart fell in his chest. "Oh no baby." he soothed, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and rubbing your tummy.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, now you probably have all my sick germs." you sighed. You couldn't believe how foolish you had been not to tell your boyfriend.

"No sweetheart, don't worry. The kiss was worth it," he admitted sheepishly and you smiled. "I love you." he repeated.

"Maxie, you're being so soft with me. It's not like you at all." you hummed in contentment as he peppered more kisses from your cheek, to your jaw, down your neck, and on your collarbone.

"You know, when my mother got sick," Maxwell cleared his throat. "You know, when her illness got bad. Our house chef taught me how to cook her soup. I spent three or four days practicing but… I never actually got round to giving her it. Because, you know, she passed away."

You frowned, reaching out and lacing your fingers in his hair. "Oh Max, I'm sorry." you whispered sadly, finding your hand in his and squeezing it tight.

"No, I just mean," Maxwell straightened his posture and looked you in the eye. "I hear soup heals the sick."

"I wouldn't go as far to say heals." you stifled a small laugh and he smiled at you. He loved to see you laugh and he felt even better knowing it was because of him. "Wait," you paused, looking up at your boyfriend with an excited doe-eyed expression. "Are you offering to cook me soup?"

"Wh- no," Maxwell laughed awkwardly. "Me? Cook? I don't cook. You know I don't cook. I can get Lucia to come over and make you something or, we can order some soup from the Chinese place you like-"

You shook your head. "No." you said simply, but Maxwell recognised the gleam in your eyes which showed you were thinking of something. "I want you to make me soup."

"Baby," he sighed. "I can do a lot of things. But I can't make soup. Last time I tried, I was sixteen. Was like- twenty five years ago. I don't remember."

"I'm sure if you tried…. if you got all the veggies out, the herbs and spices…. I'm sure it would come back to you." you beamed. He knew exactly where this was going and he didn't like it one bit. "I know Lucia went to the farmers market yesterday and brought in some fresh veg. I was going to cook us a romantic dinner with it but since I'm bed bound… it won't get used. Unless you make me soup."

Maxwell said your name, stern but fair. Like the way he'd talk to his colleugues or business associates. You loved it when he put on that voice with you. It made you laugh.

"Yes Mr Lord?" you teased and he tsked, booping your nose again.

"You know I can't say no to you." he sighed, standing up and brushing his tailored suit down. "It's my biggest flaw."

You were beaming, a grin covering your face. You stretched your body out and folded your arms across your chest. "Life is good… but it can be better," you did your best impression of one of your boyfriend's infomercials. His head snapped in your direction and he looked just as annoyed as he always did when you impersonated him. "...if you made me some soup." you finished and he rolled his eyes.

"Finish your water." he ordered before padding out of the bedroom and heading into the kitchen.

You smiled. You loved your boyfriend so much. He had his ways. A lot of people were frightened of him but he was different with you. The feared Maxwell Lord was your cuddly teddy bear.

And that's how Maxwell ended up in the kitchen amongst a selection of vegetables. He placed a big pot on the hob and began to heat some water. He stared into the bubbling pool of water, wondering where in your conversation about soup, he had gone wrong. Wondering why he could just never deny your wishes. The water began to spill over the pot and he quickly turned the heat down, grabbing a towel and wiping up the mess.

Okay, now he had to cut the vegetables. He took some celery and carrots and began to chop them up. It was a messy job, and he had cut up way too much. Chunks of veg in all different sizes. He sliced his finger and practically wailed in pain as he bolted to the kitchen sink and rinsed the blood away with cold water. The things he'd do for you. He was just about to find a bandaid when he caught the pot of water bubbling over again. He cursed and wrapped a paper towel around his finger— a temporary fix— before turning the flame on the hob down even more.

With his good hand (the hand that he hadn't injured), he grabbed the selection of veg and tossed it into the pan. He was so rough when he done so, the boiling hot water splashed out the pot and dampened his shirt, stinging his uncovered skin. This is why I need a house chef; he thought.

The celery began to soften in the pan, and he was unsure how long to let them cook for. How soft did they have to be? He sighed, turning back to the messy kitchen counter and taking some vegetable stock to give the soup some flavour. He figured it was easy enough to make the stock. Just add water to the powder. He doesn't know how he went wrong… he must've added too much water. And the powder was all lumpy and crumbly. He emptied the jug of veggie stock into the pan, in hope the hot water would melt the powder down— or something like that.

But it didn't. He prodded the veg around with a wooden spoon, checking to see if the celery was soft enough. He still didn't know. He thought back to the house chef from his youth who taught him how to cook soup. Maybe he could find her number and give her a call. He shrugged off the idea. She'd probably be about ninety years old now, and Maxwell was determined. He wanted to do this himself.

Whilst the celery had formed a thick green mush, the carrots hadn't softened one bit. In fact, they remained just as hard as when he cut them up, despite them sterling in the pan for at least fifteen minutes. He was baffled, to say the least. Maxwell Lord wasn't a scientist but he was sure that there was something mysterious going on. This couldn't be right.

And the vegetable stock… it was brown, watery and clumpy and stuck to the green mush. As he mixed it all together, he decided it didn't look that bad. Maxwell sighed, resting the wooden spoon to the side of the pan. He could lie to the world, but he couldn't lie to himself. It looked disgusting.

Nevertheless, he had tried. He had spent time on it. He blamed you. If you didn't like it then that was on you. You should never have believed that he could successfully make soup. He did warn you. He grabbed a ceramic bowl and began to pour the inconspicuous gloop in. He popped a bit of parsley on top and slid one of the solid gold spoons into the bowl.

He padded upstairs, carefully holding the bowl of soup, and entered your bedroom where you were sat, propped up with an abundance of pillows, awaiting your meal. You held your arms out with desire as he handed you the bowl.

"Thank you sir," you said graciously, a teasing sarcasm dripping from your tongue. You looked down at the contents of what was in the bowl and the smile practically fell from your face. "Max… what is this?" you asked, furrowing your eyebrows together.

He smirked. "Soup."

You pushed it around in the bowl, eying up the rock hard pieces of carrot and grainy bits of veggie stock. "No it's not." you said cautiously, raising an eyebrow.

He knew it was disgusting. He knew you wouldn't want to eat it— but this was your game and Maxwell, as always wanted to play. "Eat it." he urged and you looked at him like he was crazy.

"Maxie…" you whined. He bit his lip, watching you shuffle around in your bed. You stuck the spoon in and filled it up with the thick green pulp. "I'll have some if you have some too."

He wasn't expecting that. "No." he grimaced, shaking his head.

"Yessss," you sounded so congested, but nevertheless you made your best attempt at a flirtation, fluttering your eyelashes, leaning into him. He felt so bad for you. Once again, he couldn't say no. He just couldn't. You licked your lips. "Open wide Maxie." you smiled, flying the spoon into his mouth. He sucked the 'soup' from the spoon and his face soured, although he done the best to hide it.

It smelt, so bad. "Delicious." he gritted out and offered you one of his charming television grins. "Your turn babydoll." he cooed, taking the spoon from your hand and digging it into the bowl.

He didn't hate you, he loved you very much, and he was already feeling bad for you. He placed the tiniest amount of the green mush on the spoon, with just one piece of hard carrot, and pushed it in between your lips. You took it like a pro, tears pricking your eyes as you swallowed it up.

"Good girl," he praised and you nudged his arm playfully. "Proud of you."

You shook your head, and stuck your tongue out jokingly. Maxwell gasped, stumbling backwards and slapping his hands over his mouth in shock.

"What!" you cried nervously. "What is it? What's wrong?!"

"Your tongue!" he yelled, dramatically pointing his finger. "It's green! It's turned green!"

"Its-" panic coursed through your veins. "It's what?!?!" you screamed and Maxwell burst into a fit of laughter.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" he laughed.

"Maxwell Lord!" you shrieked, throwing a pillow at him. "Don't tease! You know I'm not well!"

Maxwell's lips curved into a smile. "I don't know what I'd do without you." he admitted, clambering back onto the king sized bed and crawling over you. "I love you so much."

You chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief as he pressed some more kisses into your jaw and your neck. "You're insufferable Maxwell Lord," you said. "But… I love you too." you smiled, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him on top of you.

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer (let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! if your name is crossed it out its because i cant tag you).

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader

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cycat4077 · 4 years

Text

When the Time is Right

Summary: Is it time to take your relationship to the next level? Set at the start of S18 - roughly August 2016. Pairing: Sonny x Reader Warnings: Mature themes...of the NSFW variety, some cussing, fluff, feels, etc. Words: 1927 AO3 here

Technically part 12 in the Changes verse, but can act as a stand-alone.

Consider this a Valentine’s day themed thingy even though it’s set in August 🥰

"It's weird I guess," you say in between sips of tea, "how some parts of our relationship have happened so quickly, like meeting his parents right away, while other parts of it aren't rushed at all. For instance, the two of us were complete idiots and it took a couple of months to formally say ‘I love you’." The admission makes you chuckle, but as you look up from your drink, the devious grin pasted across your friend’s face tells you that she’s hung up on one small detail.

"You guys haven't done it yet, have you?" blurts Sydney, sitting wide-eyed across from you on her sofa.

You're normally a pretty private person so you can't help it when your cheeks start to burn, effectively giving away your secret.

"You haven't!" she exclaims, eagerly setting down her teacup, ready for details.

"Syd!"

The blonde raises her arms in mock defense. "Hey, hey! There's nothing wrong with it but it's kind of a rarity to not be in each other's pants by now!"

You grow even more self-conscious, tracing the rim of your mug handle as a distraction.

"Listen,” Sydney begins sternly, “he's super nice to you and charming and sweet, so I just wanna make sure he's not -"

But you interrupt her before she can make the accusation. "Sonny isn't like that," you state, adopting a firm tone of your own. "We just haven't gotten there yet...there's been no rush. I feel totally comfortable around Sonny and he's never once made me feel like we should be doing anything."

"Good," she asserts. "I just want to make sure you're not being played because the good ones are really hard to find."

Ever since you met in college, Sydney has been fiercely protective of you, and clearly that side of her is something that's never changed. Despite her thirst for details, you also know that you can truly trust her so you suppose there's no harm in opening up a little. "I mean, it's not like I haven't thought about it,” you confess sheepishly. “I went on the pill not long after we started dating because you never know, but our lives have been so busy and messy. Especially this summer. We've had our ups and downs - some beyond our control and some were issues that we've worked out together. I really feel like we've come out of it stronger and the more we experience together, the more I’m certain that Sonny is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with."

Sydney cracks a goofy smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Corny. I know," you wave dismissively, "but I can't help loving him more and more each day. Our relationship is so special to me and personally, sex is one of the most intimate things a couple can do. It's about love. So, waiting for the right time isn't a big deal. If anything, it will just bring us that much closer."

"Girl, you're crazy lucky!” chimes Sydney, affectionately. "And there's nothing wrong with waiting to bang. You remember me from back in the day and how I had my fair share of ‘promiscuous encounters’. Actually, with Geoff..." Sydney's eyes narrow as she recollects her ex, "fuck, do I wish we had waited! He said all the right things and made all the right gestures. Our relationship moved so fast! We hit the milestones at a hundred miles per hour…and I believed it! But then the cheating started. When I found out - and I still feel this way sometimes - when I think about having slept with him, I feel so dirty and cheap." She ducks her head and you can tell that the wound still smarts.

"You can't blame yourself for his behavior!" you rationalize, wishing your friend wouldn't be so hard on herself.

"I know! And I don't, but it's that shame and embarrassment of knowing I was so foolish to believe there was love there. Even the thought of having given myself over to him in that way makes me wanna upchuck. Hell, those one-night stands where the guy dips out as soon as he finishes don't feel as cheap or degrading. So, hon, there's nothing wrong with the pace you're moving at. Believe me. Maybe if I had waited longer with Geoff, his true colours would have shone through earlier..."

"It's in the past, Syd," you reason, "and you know what is special about that? It goes to show you how much you can trust and love someone. And even though Geoff was a total asshole, there's gonna be a guy out there for you someday who will be worthy of all that."

Sydney smiles despite herself. "You're a total sap, you know that, right?" You grin at her and nod proudly. "But I love ya for it." She then leans across the sofa and gives you a grateful hug. Parting, Sydney continues. "You'll know when the time is right," she reassures you. "You may talk about it or it may just happen, but you and Sonny are the mushiest, most in-love couple I've ever seen, so I know you'll be just fine."

-x-

Nights in with Sonny are the best. Lately you both had been so busy. Sonny was working overtime on top of double shifts, while you were occupied with perfecting your new course curriculum before the semester started.

When the two of you were finally able to have an evening off, you'd find something to eat and just lounge on the couch; maybe pop in a movie and sit snuggled up together. You didn't need to be doing anything in particular to enjoy each other's company.

Sometimes though, those cozy moments strayed towards other forms of physical affection. To put it in simple terms: you’d make out…And tonight happened to be no different.

"This movie's dumb," grumbles Sonny, leaning his head on the back of the sofa.

"Yep," you agree, staring blankly at the tv screen.

Sonny then turns his face towards you, offering a cheeky grin. "At least tha company's good."

You flop yours in his direction. "I suppoooose so," you tease with a roll of your eyes.

Sonny pouts and you laugh at how ridiculous he looks. When his put-on expression doesn't crack, you decide it's time to steer the evening towards a more preferable form of entertainment. "Y'know, if you don't stop making that face, I'm gonna have to wipe it off you myself." There's a deliberate hint of suggestion in your voice and you bite your lip to make your intentions crystal clear.

With a gleam in his eye, Sonny playfully deepens the curl of his frown which obviously leaves you with no choice but to reach out, nab his jaw and pull him to your lips. His arm encircles you and his hand presses against your back to coax you near. The quick peck blossoms into several more deep and passionate kisses; the two of you barely able to spare a breath in between.

As things continue to heat up you climb over and straddle Sonny’s lap. To your delight, this move elicits an 'Mmm!' of pleasant surprise from the Italian detective’s throat. Your hair falls over your shoulder as you peer down into his swirling blue eyes. "Hi," you grin quietly.

Sonny stares up at you in wonder. His hands fix themselves to the small of your waist. "Hey," he returns softly as the corners of his mouth cradle a gentle smile.

You hold his gaze a moment longer, soaking in the view. You're still in awe that the man before you is all yours, but as you lean down to capture his lips, you're reassured of your reality. Sonny mirrors your every move, matching your passion. The kisses grow even more heated. Your fingertips work at his silver temples while Sonny's hands burn up your skin where they've snuck themselves beneath your shirt. A gentle but firm squeeze is all it takes for your hips to involuntarily grind down against his.

Suddenly, Sonny raises your bum off of his lap. "What's wrong?" you ask with worry.

He shuts his eyes reluctantly before opening them to you, brow furrowed and expression vulnerable. "It's just...well, if we keep this up..." He winces and his cheeks turn pink.

You shift your knees on the sofa to steady yourself and raise your own eyebrows in understanding. "Oh," you say, growing quiet and nervous. The two of you never did get around to a discussion on taking things further, which left you to wonder where Sonny stood on the matter.

Ever the gentleman, he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, "I just don't know if we're ready for...this."

"Babe," you sit back on his thighs, rubbing your palms soothingly along his shoulders. "Do you want to wait? I know your beliefs are a little firmer than mine."

"Nuh-no! It's not that!" he exclaims. "I just don't wanna move too fast for you!" Sonny too, turns timid as he speaks.

You can't help but smile down at him. What had you done to deserve such a sweetheart? You recall the conversation with Sydney from a couple weeks ago. She was right.

"I believe in love," you breathe, running your thumb tenderly along his cheek, "and I love you more than anything."

"I love you too, doll," echoes Sonny, the confidence returning to his voice.

You kiss him again. It's long and lingering, reigniting the flame between you. Sonny draws you to his chest and you link your arms behind his neck. "I want this, if you do," you speak in a soft voice.

"I want this too. I want you...so much." The reply is almost a whisper, his lips mere inches from your own.

Emboldened, you withdraw and stand up, your skin tingling where his fingers brush along your waist. Never breaking eye contact, you reach out your hand. Sonny accepts and you lead him to the bedroom.

-x-

The next morning you awake to orange licks of early sunlight flickering through the blinds. Sonny's arm surrounds you, clutching you to his bare chest. His heavy breathing sounds beside your ear and you think it impossible for life to be any more perfect. You snuggle your naked form closer into his, wishing to stay in his warm embrace forever.

Then Sonny begins to stir. "Mornin' beautiful," he says, Staten Island accent heavy with sleep.

"Morning," you turn over in his arms to place a kiss at the corner of his mouth.

He releases you, propping his head up on an elbow. "Last night was..."

"Wow," you finish with a flirtatious grin.

Sonny sighs dreamily, "yeah." He then takes a finger and beings tracing light circles over your exposed shoulder. "Kinda wish we'd done that sooner." His tone is husky but his eyes are filled with affection.

"We've got our whole lives ahead of us, Sonny," you offer before delicately sweeping a piece of his hair away from his forehead.

You watch his blue eyes soften and crinkle at the corners. Dimples form from his smile. But instead of answering, he simply leans forward and kisses you.

Last night wasn't just physical; you found a whole new connection with Sonny. One deeply rooted in attraction but brought to life and nurtured by love. It was like you were completely in synch, giving and taking from one another wholly and completely. And, as you once again melt into his kiss, you know that everything had worked out just as it was meant to be.

---

Part 13 here!

A/N: I really love this fic. I've had it in my drafts for a long time and I really wanted to find the perfect place to add it into the series. I'm no expert but it kind of ticks me off how the media portrays physical relationships to be the holy grail...like it's a make or break type thing or that people need to be physical to fall in love. So, I tend to gravitate towards character-couples who do the opposite...and to me, Sonny seems like the type who values an emotional connection over a purely physical one. Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed reading this fic! The last paragraph is one of my favorite things I’ve ever written!

#sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi x you #sonnyshine of my life #law and order svu #svu fanfiction #The Changes verse #my fanfic #changes #SVU S18

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moon-lixie · 4 years

Text

Mulberry night - Lee Felix

word count: 1872

cw: Mentions of alcohol and non explicit sexual activities.

The world exploded in mulberry under the midnight blue and blood red lights. Everything seemed to move languidly slow, the music’s beat, the dancing bodies, even Felix himself couldn’t resist the slow pace of the night.

It was almost contagious, and when you added the considerable amount of alcohol that he had downed in the last hours to the mix, then his slow movements made more sense. His steps that lacked direction and balance, the veil of confusion clouding his sight, and the desire to recklessly exist without a consequence. It all made too much sense.

And as always, the deeper one looks into something, the more sense everything makes. If someone dared look past the surface of the intoxicated boy, then they would understand that this was all pretty new to him, he wasn’t the kind of person that he now tried hard to be. Then they would know that he now wasted his nights on that helpless pit of heat because his heart stayed bruised and scarred.

He was hurting; deciding to hide his pain, he went to that almost magic place. The place where griefs and tears evaporate at the heat of pressed bodies and fly to the ceiling to get mixed with the smoke emanating from people’s lips as if their ribs contained burning flames.

In the middle of that place he didn’t have to worry about looking completely beaten by life, because mostly everyone was like that. Dancing your nights away with frequency in that place meant having been grazed not by the petals of life, but instead its thorns.

That didn’t mean that he didn’t put effort into his appearance, he would at least look good if he couldn’t feel like it. The bright garnet shade of his lipstick and the half buttoned, silk shirt he wore were the blatant evidence of that.

His fingers ran through the black strands of his hair that had been -at one point of the night- slicked back. But as the night grew deeper and his patience drew thinner they had been left scattered in a messiness that still suited him.

A glass was not so kindly placed in front of him, and then he did it again, he drank the bitter liquid thinking that the stinging sensation was going to do something other than blur his sight even more. But alcohol wasn’t as kind as he wished it was; it knocked into him the image of you without his explicit consent.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could swore he had seen you, prettily standing not so far away from him. But as soon as he turned around to look for you, you were gone. That didn’t stop him though, his steps were stubborn and scared as he walked in the direction he wished to think you were at.

Regardless of his strong desire to find you, the universe denied him the pleasure. It wasn’t you, in fact, when he looked even more closely, he noticed that the person standing there looked almost nothing like you.

Even when the girl turned back to catch his stare, she couldn’t remind him in the slightest of you. Her smile was almost provoking in ways that your sweet and soft grins could never. Her eyes didn’t quite disappear like yours did since her cheeks weren’t as full and adorably round as yours were. And when he finally pressed his lips against hers, he thanked god that her mouth carried the same bitterness he had grown used to in the last days, rather than the sweet vanilla flavour of your favourite chapstick.

You would never do that, and perhaps that’s what drove him to do it. He had ended in such a shabby place because you would never step in there. Just like you wouldn’t step inside a bathroom stall just to chase a quick high; he wasn’t you, that’s why he did it.

His back was pressed against one of the walls of the stall as his lips finally left the now red lips of the complete stranger that decided to leave a flowery path down his throat. His hands weren’t shy not even for a second before they started roaming the soft skin of her torso. He was tempted to look down and search for a mole on her lower abdomen but he quickly stopped himself, because she wasn’t you and he needed to stop looking for the little details of yours in everyone else.

The girl’s fingers seemed to be in a hurry while they unbuttoned his shirt, on the other side, Felix had all the time in the world, he could waste an eternity in that damned bathroom stall without a problem.

Soon he was the one tugging at the other’s clothes, urging the person he became more acquaintanced with to take off the useless pieces of fabric. Of course she complied, and soon Felix’s mouth was exploring her torso as if he could find you in there, as if your memory laid between the light whimpers leaving her lips.

Her skin tasted like regret and anguish, a sour tang that did close to nothing when it came to sobering him up. But he didn’t wish to be sober, that would just add to the heavy feeling of his chest. Because being sober meant thinking about you every second he spent awake, and fully acknowledging that the person in front of him wasn’t you.

He was too drunk to know when his mouth had left the softness of her skin, too drunk to realize that his shirt was long gone, or that she eyed him completely mesmerized. On Felix’s torso she could appreciate the beautiful combination of lights; the purplish tone being fragmented into its obvious components, a dark blue and a bright red. In every single inch of his skin there was a new found depth that the poor lighting brought to life and she would’ve been foolish not to try and etch such an image into her memory.

Fingers brushing the muscles of his torso brought him back from his haze. Then lips on his neck were what made him relax against one of the stall’s walls. He moved his head to the side and allowed the girl to keep exploring his neck without any kind of restriction. The warmth of her mouth made him shiver and let out some breathy noises of approval.

No, it wasn’t you but he could pretend it was. And even if he realized halfway that lying to himself wasn’t as easy as he thought, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t enjoy the situation he had gotten himself into.

Her waist got trapped in between his loose grip while she kissed away at his collarbones, leaving behind marks that would stir unpleasant regrets on his mind when the morning arrived. But the morning could wait because he planned to have another long night, but hopefully, this time he could have a bit of someone else's warmth before ending up alone in his apartment.

Being in the place that he called his house was tortuous for him. In the short time that you had been there -because he wished it could’ve been more- you had left a bit of your memory in every inch of the place. Consciously existing there only brought him your memory in a vivid way that haunted his heart.

The whole situation was wrong and messed up; he couldn’t get you out of his head, not even when he found himself intoxicated, nor when someone kneeled in front of him and attempted to bring his nerves to life.

How far would a heartbroken soul go to try and numb the pain? The answer laid there, on the freckled boy whose eyes were tightly closed, hands tousled on the short strands of a stranger, mouth breathless, and mind full of thought of you.

It was that time that you had convinced him to stay still and try your makeup on him, that haunted him with frequency. The smile grazing your lips as you reached with a steady hand to apply lipstick on his lips. It was a light glossy pink that was quickly smeared all over your lips when he reached out to kiss you right after you had finished.

Back then it had been so easy to reach out for the back of your neck and press his lips against yours like he would die if he didn’t. Without knowing it, that afternoon he had etched many things into his mind. The feeling of your body under his, how it felt to cage you in between the floor and his existence, your taunting and inviting smile that urged him to never doubt if you felt the same way that he did, your soft lips…. God, he missed you so much.

Thinking about the warmth of your skin under the pad of his fingers was what ended up leaving him breathless and with his knees weak. The low whimpers that left his throat were meant for you, only you. But he was foolish enough to share them with someone else, pouring them to the girl’s mouth like it was no big deal.

And so, he kept going, like it didn’t matter who it was that moaned under him as long as his heart felt less shattered. As if sharing his bareness with others was his last option to get his heart fixed. Because even when his mind screamed that it was wrong, it felt good enough to keep going.

His shirt came back to hug his shoulders when he left the small space of the stall. Buttoning it up, he approached the slightly dirty mirror and looked closely at his blurry reflection. Smudged red shade and tousled hair was what greeted him in the mirror.

He simply ran a hand through his hair and walked away, escaping before her short lived adventure tried to speak to him more than what was needed. Escaping like he was scared of his own action… and he was.

Cold air greeted him like a slap on the face that finally woke him up a bit from his intoxicated state. At least he could get home, though staggering and slow, he would make it there.

His white door was pliant when he opened it and stumbled his way inside. Not expecting to find someone else inside, his heart came to a stop when his gaze met a figure on his couch. Embarrassment washed over when he noticed who it was, Chan.

There were marks of short lived love on his neck, stains of confidence on his lips, a mess of thoughts in his silky strands, and desperation on his clothing. And for the first time in a while, he felt completely and utterly embarrassed. Because this wasn’t him, yet it felt like it was too late to go back.

His friend’s eyes were filled with worry and understanding; that’s when Felix finally broke apart. Finding solace in Chan’s embrace, he finally allowed all the tears to stream down his face without holding back.

His mulberry night now turned slowly into a calm lilac; perhaps he could finally feel like himself in the morning.

#kpop #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #skz imagines #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #skz angst #skz felix #stray kids felix #lee felix #felix angst

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zorkaya-moved · 2 years

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❛ i’ll survive . somehow i always do . ❜ @heavensbent

@heavensbent

Of course, he will survive. The man with a gaze such as his knows the way the world works. The “hero” must live until their timely demise arrives, it’s a story that will continue to go until he’ll lay down is weapons while coughing blood and falling on his knees, the sound of the metal against the ground would echo in the silence as countless people will scream his name out of fear, concern, and despair. It makes her wonder if she will be one of them or will she watch him drop dead, coughing out blood that people will use as ink to tell his stories down the line? From zero to hero, from the underworld to heavens, from blood to praise. Analytically, she watches him and wonders if she will place her hand on his chest if his heart will continue to beat or not. Is he still alive is he just a pigment of her imagination? A hope for the better future where even those who reside in the darkness like her would be able to find an end where light will still remain. A foolish thing to think over, but she could have moments of sentimental wonder. It is natural, she is still a ‘mortal’ despite the void’s and darkness’ embrace, her divine appearance of silver and gold remains the same. Alas, her styled hair nowhere to be seen as a ponytail is messy and her bangs fall on her forehead, lightly covering her sharp golden gaze.

“ You do because you have power and strength to persist, but also because you have those who wish for you to live, to survive, to continue living on. Luck and charm play big roles in this life as well, similarly to how many spend their luck in the Gold Saucer, you spend your luck here in surviving. Instincts can help us so much, can’t they? ” Zarina holds a glass of wine, watching the red liquid in it absent-mindedly. The comfort of a warm room isn’t something she was against, but the silence makes her wonder if she can do anything to make it more fun. Then again, it’s nice not to run around and search for a shelter. Even if the rain would bring out a cold breeze, pleasant to her skin, it wouldn’t be nice to have her clothes drenched. Their travel for today isn’t something that asked for hurry, they are taking their time as they knew the paths that had to be taken to reach their destination fast. The power combined of two warriors was easy to defeat any and all who would stand in their way, partnership on the battlefield was important. It’s been too long since she fought by someone else’s side, lonesome road coming to ab abrupt stop until it’ll return to its usual temp once more. The music of solitude will continue, the melody of isolation won’t be forgotten. “ The Warrior of Light must survive. Countless will continue to sacrifice themselves for your sake because they see you as a beacon of hope. ‘Tis both a blessing and a curse, isn’t it? Even I, one day, might have to lay my life for it to become your stepping stone towards everlasting light. ”

A snicker follows, she doesn’t believe the words she says right now but the possibilities is there. As a Scion, she has a duty promised to Minfilia for the exchange of her brothers’ protection. She always kept an eye on them within Ishgard, having some people within the walls pay attention to their well-being and report to her. Years upon years were promised to be given to the ‘good’ cause she did not believe in. The world will die someday, but until then, they’ll fight to keep their families safe. As a sword, as a scythe, as the reaper, Sokolova will remain loyal to the promise of Light. This is why she shan’t ever lay her hand on Yin’s life until he betrays Scions’ goal, then her scythe will be swift and there will be no hesitation. As long as this man continues to be the symbol, she shall remain in shadows that he casts with his light of hope. Eve if he himself isn’t one to preach good lives. Just like her, he is cynical and he knows of life’s work, but it doesn’t matter to her. They’re not yet close enough to share each other’s secrets. With time, such part might change. Mayhaps, he’ll save her life and she’ll save his in return.

“ Don’t get me wrong, I’m not hurrying such day. If anything, I’d love for it to never happen. Minfilia won’t be happy if I were to see her so soon. ” How long has it been since her voice was heard by the black silence? Long enough to miss it, but not long enough to long for it.

#heavensbent #I GOT SO INTO WRITING THIS REPLY LETS GOO #I HOPE THIS IS OK YIN!!!#❄ ― IN CHARACTER. ╱ you breathe by the sun，i breathe by the moon.#❅ 𝐕. FFXIV ⤻ embrace my spirit and become one with me o’ frigid fury‚ the leading polar star. ❞

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hunnybadgerv · 3 years

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Restless Energy | Mass Effect | Guardians in the Darkness

Summary: Always one to let her thoughts chip away at her, Nyx gets overwhelmed by the fears and worries. Sometimes it helps to have someone else there to give you a hand wrangling them.

a/n: Written to fill a prompt for Nyx and Kaidan from @Chyrstis. From the Training Turned Tension Starters prompt list.

Link to AO3

Restless Energy

Though Shepard never would have doubted it, Liara’s observation about the Major having become quite capable rushed back to the forefront of Shepard’s mind as her back hit the floor and the air rushed out of her lungs. His hand-to-hand tactics had clearly improved since the last time they’d sparred with one another. Of course, the last time it had just been the two of them it had turned into an event for the entire crew—two biotics probing one another’s limits on the ship. It was a heck of a draw. This bout skimmed under everyone’s radar. Though maybe the Spectre vs. Spectre aspect could have been at least as entertaining.

This time though, the rules were different. Nyx’s restlessness had piqued in the middle of the night following one of the more disturbing dreams she’d been having of late. She’d slipped out of her quarters on her own to run off the nervous energy that kept her from being able to fall back to sleep. She hadn’t woken him, even despite his request to do just that a few weeks earlier. To be fair, she had thought about it, but he looked so peaceful; his face bore none of the stress that weighed on both their shoulders. As such, she just couldn’t bring herself to take that kind of relaxation from him, especially since good sleep was a commodity since the Reapers initial assault.

Despite her consideration, something had woken him, and he’d come to find her in the gym running full tilt, like she was being chased. He’d stood in the door watching until she noticed him. An open admission of her restless insomnia led them to this—going blow-for-blow with one another in the center mat.

It took a moment for her body to finally gasp in a breath, by then Kaidan loomed over her. Being beneath him on the mat, his hands pressing her wrists into the coated cushioning lining this area of the floor. It taunted another kind of restlessness. Even so, she kept her mind mostly on the objective—beating him.

Nyx returned his wicked smirk with one of her own, whether he thought it was a truce or not, she managed to shift enough to get her leg curled between them. She didn’t break their gaze until she flung him bodily over her.

The slap of his body against the mat came with a low groan. She rolled, breaking his grip on her wrists and trading it for one of her own. Straddling his ribs, her hands pressed into his and laced their fingers. Nyx leaned over him and kissed the tip of his nose.

“Should have stayed on your feet, Major” she told him with a smile. “You gave you your advantage.”

Kaidan didn’t move his hands; he just gave hers a squeeze. “Probably so.” He seemed less than concerned about his current situation, almost content.

She brushed the tip of her nose against his and tried to focus on that one moment. It was hard to keep out the ghosts and the doubts. The whispers of the mistakes she’d made with him and the dark unknowable future that might never be. Trying to keep it at bay, she kissed him. Hard. Like somehow, his lips on hers might chase away all those thoughts and feelings of guilt and failure that loomed at the edge of the little bubble they shared right there and then.

The silent sob shook her shoulders. A second tremor broke their kiss. Kaidan traded his hold on her hands for a tight embrace.

“What’s going on, Nyx?” he whispered into her hair as she collapsed against his chest.

“I can’t just stay here,” she mumbled into the curve of his neck. She straightened, holding herself up on her hands, which she placed on either side of his head. “But that’s what I want. All I want. To be right here in this moment, with you.” The frantic speed of her tone slowed with the last two words. “Sometimes I can keep the questions at bay, gag the voices that whisper what ifs at the edge of my mind. Not always though,” she admitted, sitting up.

Kaidan, while loosening his embrace, did not take his hands from around her. He rested them atop her thighs as he lay there, listening.

“I know how lucky I am—that you’re alive, and here, with me. And sometimes I can’t help but think how much I want this, which always twists into how much I don’t want to lose it again.”

With that, the major shifted beneath her so he could sit up with her now on his lap. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know that.” Her fingers cradled the back of his neck. “Neither am I. But we don’t know—”

“Exactly,” he said. “We don’t know.” He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. “We don’t know a lot of things, Nyx. We don’t know if one of us won’t wake up tomorrow, or if one of us won’t make it back from the next mission we take, or if Reapers will tire of the fight and just wipe every habitable planet out of every system. Or if maybe they’ll just fly off back to wherever the hell they were hiding before.”

She sighed and rested her forehead against his as that same old weariness crept into her. Silence fell around them and inside her head for a moment as he held her.

“I do know one thing,” he said. “I’m here, and you’re here. Right this second.” His hands were warm on her cheeks when he tipped his head up to kiss her forehead. “And whatever is going to happen out there in a few hours or tomorrow or next week I couldn’t tell you. But right here, right now I know what is going to happen.”

Her eyes met his. “You do?”

“Yeah, because I can make it happen.” His hands skimmed over her back. Maybe he was giving her a moment to figure it out as well. “You see.” He brushed a few wisps of hair away from her eyes. “I’m going to kiss the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with, however long or short that may be,” he swore.

Shepard could only smile, not only at the plan, but the fact that he was right. Right then, right there, the decisions were theirs to make, even if it didn’t always feel like is.

When Kaidan’s lips brushed hers softly, Nyx kissed him back. Cradling his face in her hands, she shifted her weight to regain her leverage on him and get him back to the mat. Of course, it was short lived. Kaidan rolled them over, trading their positions and settling himself wholly against here. Her fingers fisted in the soft fabric of his shirt and his hand glided over her ribs. The pace became frantic as the two of them made out like a pair of teenagers home alone. Once again, their pulses were racing in their veins, but for whole other reasons.

“You know?” she gasped between deep kisses, hooking her leg over his hip

He hummed at her, not really offering her the chance to expound more than a word at a time before his mouth was on hers again—needy and demanding.

“When your kissing me, I don’t think quite as much.”

That halted him and he leaned over her. His fingers glided through her hair which was loosening itself from the messy tail she’d put it up in before their impromptu sparring session. Kaidan grinned at her, his breathing fast and deep. “Is this your subtle way of telling me I should spend more time with my tongue in your mouth.”

“Well, not just there,” she crooned with a mischievous raise of her brow. “It works elsewhere, too.”

Kaidan’s dark chuckle rumbled through her body as his mouth met hers again.

Nyx wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and held him close, opening her mouth when his tongue teased at her lips. Sometimes she could fall into the moment, lose all those doubting thoughts and voices, all the guilt over the wrong choices she’d made. Sometimes she could just let herself be happy, to be in the moment.

He’d put into words exactly the thought that haunted her at the moment. She was going to be with him as long as they had left. What always soured the thought for her was that not knowing if they’d make it through this war. It was bittersweet. They’d found a way back to one another in the most desperate of moments. A moment that either or both of them might not even survive.

Even still her romantic brain and foolish heart kept painting pictures in her head—fantasies of a home, maybe back on Earth. He had people there, she still might as well. Maybe a … she could barely let herself think it. Kids had never been part of the story she told about herself or her future. But a little part of her wanted that, with him, a family. Children, grandchilden, the two of them growing gray and frail together.

A thought hit her like a truck. She wanted more than the Austenian romance that ended when love was declared and promises were made to one another. Nyx broke their kiss and blinked up at him. “I want the boring part.”

“What?” he asked with an amused smile. Confusion played over his brow.

“I want the part that nobody writes about. The happy part that just continues along with no rising action or climaxes. The part after we find one another, after we make it through the struggles. The quiet domestic bit that they never put in the stories because it’s not dramatic enough.”

His face softened and the backs of his fingers ghosted over her cheeks. “So do I, Nyx.” His amber gaze held hers, as he stroked the side of her face tenderly. Kaidan’s smile bloomed wider, lighting his eyes, and crinkling the skin at the corners of them. “Though I am kind of hoping we can keep the climaxes. At least a few of them,” he teased.

Shepard laughed, burying her face against his chest. “Maybe that part was hasty, but you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know.” He kissed her again, and Nyx fell back into it. Somehow, telling him about the thoughts creeping in on her seemed to chase them off for a time.

“By the stars,” someone muttered sometime later.

Kaidan and Nyx both tipped their heads toward the intrusion.

“Really, commander? You’re like the only people on this ship who actually have a room,” Vega taunted.

“Too much furniture,” Kaidan chided without missing a beat. “Needed more floor space.”

Nyx chuckled beneath him, her smile going quite wide. “Occasionally, you just need the extra room to maneuver.”

James narrowed his eyes at the pair of them. He knew they were messing with him. “Mmhmm. Yeah well, unless you want an audience you should take it upstairs.”

“That’s an idea,” Kaidan mused, looking at Nyx.

“He could learn a few things,” she agreed.

“True. He is still young and brash.”

“Might help him learn a little more finesse.”

James sighed at the two of them. “Talk all the shit you want,” he replied as he programmed in his workout to one of the machines. “I have a routine to keep.”

“Well, we’d hate to interfere,” Kaidan told him. Then he bowed his head and kissed Nyx again.

Sure that Kaidan had no intention of giving the lieutenant a show, Nyx embraced him savoring that playful kiss meant to further the officers’ game. The sound of reps continued in a set rhythm.

“Don’t think he’s phased,” she chuckled quietly against Alenko’s mouth.

“Might be getting used to us,” her lover agreed.

“I think we should go. Maybe you could rub my back.”

Kaidan retreated slightly. “And what about mine?” he asked in a scandalized tone. Kneeling between her feet, he set his hands on his lower back. “I mean you launched me pretty hard.”

The glee dancing in his eyes, however, insisted he was playing with her.

“You started it,” she replied, leaning up and stealing a quick peck before she sprang to her feet.

“Eh.” He shrugged and tipped his head. “Maybe a little.”

“A little, huh?” She turned and gave James a tiny wave as the two of them made their way out of the training area.

Kaidan slipped his arm around her waist, and lifted her off her feet, catching her off guard.

Nyx giggled and wrapped one leg around him as he pulled her closer.

“You still feeling restless?” he asked with a growl.

Nyx grinned at him and pressed a kiss against his mouth. “When you ask like that, I can only say yes.”

#Mass Effect Fanfiction #Badger Scribbles #Nyx Shepard #Kaidan Alenko #Shenko #Guardians in the Darkness #Restless Energy #Light Angst #Comfort #Fluff #James Vega #Sparring #Insomnia

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asthmark · 4 years

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❝ not alone ❞, l.ty

synopsis → “you know, every reset we’re supposed to forget everyone and everything but no matter what i can never seem to forget how happy you make me.”

word count → 2.5k

warnings → angsty!!! the plot may not make sense since it’s literally 1 in the morning oops

a/n → i hope this concept makes sense and it isn’t too confusing or messy!! if it is just shoot me an ask i would be more than happy to clarify :] anyway i actually like the outcome of this but i am too tired to go back and reread it all for any mistakes so i just hope google docs has my back lol gn everyone

7:00 A.M.

the alarm you set for every year at the exact hour goes off at its appointed time, much to your dismay. the mere sound of your phone beeping has a knot forming in your stomach. you wished it would stop, that everything would just stop but that was beyond unrealistic. in fact, you felt foolish for even letting yourself think like that. no matter how badly you wanted things to change, they never would. you would have to endure the same things every year.

you had struggled to fall asleep the night before, that exact thought on your mind and the dread of facing the following day eating away at you. you had only managed to get some rest because of taeyong, who held onto you tightly and caressed your hair as he whispered sweet words to ease you into much needed sleep.

but the day was here now and there was no amount of romantic words or tender touches that would change that. there was absolutely nothing either of you could do about it.

you lean over towards your nightstand to turn off the alarm and taeyong stirs when he feels you begin to shift around in his arms. you lay beside him, staring up at the ceiling as he slowly begins to wake up. he yawns and stretches his limbs out on the mattress which was routinely for him. this would usually be followed by him trying to give you a smooch only for you to squirm away, giggling as you complained about his morning breath.

it is not one of those mornings.

8:09 A.M.

you end up having cereal for breakfast, another big switch up from your routine. normally, you two would browse the internet in search of a recipe that looked promising and try your best to recreate it. you would end up with flour, sugar and dirty dishes all over the place but you never cared. then you would sit at the couch, happily enjoying the finished product and chatting with the tv playing softly in the background.

that morning you sit at the dinner table silently, the cereal in your bowls going soggy before either of you had made a dent in it. you had lost any appetite and from the looks of it so has taeyong.

“you should eat.”

you glance up at your boyfriend. he isn’t eating either, instead he focuses on dipping his spoon into his cereal, bringing it above the bowl only to let it fall back in again. you put your silverware down. “i don’t think i can.”

he hums softly, agreeing with you. “are you nervous?”

it went without saying that you were both terrified. but you know he’s just trying to make conversation. you just nod your head anyway.

10:31 A.M.

you and taeyong move to sit on the couch, turning on the tv so you don’t have to bear anymore uncomfortable silences.

even the newscaster looks down in the dumps, as expected. her voice lacks emotion as she speaks about the forecast, knowing nobody would be taking genuine interest unless it was to get their mind off of the current situation.

what did she expect? the world was restarting, people weren’t going to care about the weather.

“now, for the ongoing events,” says another news anchor. “as we are all well aware of, today is the annual reset. businesses worldwide have closed, most people opting to spend the day with their friends and family and we advise any viewers to do the same. talk to your loved ones about the memories you’ve made in the past year and write down the things and people you do not want to forget.”

you turn to taeyong only to find his gaze is already focused on you. you don’t hesitate to grab the hand that rests in his lap and intertwined his fingers with yours. neither of you say a word as you go back to watching the television, taeyong giving your hand a reassuring squeeze every so often.

12:46 P.M.

by noon, you and taeyong had begun cleaning your apartment, making sure it was well organized so that the next day you could focus only on getting settled in to your, essentially, new lives. you do the standard dusting and vacuuming along with similar around-the-house chores. while going through the closet, taeyong finds a shoe box full of polaroids you two had taken throughout the years. there are dates and other additional notes scribbled in sharpie on every single picture so your post-reset selves could read about the details of each photo since you would not be able to remember it. he calls out your name, smiling brightly when he sees your face light up as you fondly look over your shared moments.

“i’m so glad we got that camera,” you say, shifting through a stack of the photographs.

he nods. “probably your best idea yet.”

you find a picture of him giving you a piggyback ride and coo. it’s quite blurry but you can clearly see the huge grins on your faces. “look at us.” you hand him the photo. “we look so happy.”

he makes a noise of agreement, staring lovingly at the image. “you know, every reset we’re supposed to forget everyone and everything but no matter what i can never seem to forget how happy you make me.”

“quit it.” you shove his shoulder, smiling sadly as you attempt to blink away the tears forming in your eyes. “i don’t want to cry right now, there’s still so much work to do.”

“it can wait.” he opens his arms and that’s all it takes for you to break. you crawl into his embrace, sobbing softly into his chest. it tugs at his heart strings. he tucks his chin above your head but you still notice how his shoulders shake and quiet hiccups escape his lips.

3:28 P.M.

once you and taeyong get tired of being confined to your apartment, you decide to go out for a breath of fresh air. you walk around aimlessly and your final destination turns out to be olympic park. as expected, it’s quite empty since as you had heard on the news, everyone was spending their last couple hours with those they loved in private.

you take in the beautiful scenery and if either you catch sight of a pretty rock or blooming flower, you will stop to pick it up and carefully place it in your pockets for safe keeping. you had found that they served as good reminders of all the time you spent together. in fact, there are many more of these mini souvenirs in your home, decorating your shelves.

“hold up,” says taeyong suddenly.

when you look at him his eyes have zeroed in on something on the ground. he kneels down and picks up a smooth rock. you can’t help but notice the familiarity of it’s color.

“pretty, right?” he says, dropping the item in the palm of your hand. “it matches your eyes.”

you smile at him, finding his attention to detail incredibly endearing. you hold on to the rock, feeling its curves with your fingers until a cluster of chrysanthemums catches your attention and you have to free up your hands to pick one. you decide on a yellow one and present it to your boyfriend.

“here,” you say. “for you.”

“hey, aren’t i supposed to be the one giving you flowers?” taeyong asks but he takes it from you anyway.

“you’re supposed to give flowers to people you like,” you say. “and i like you.”

“you like me?” he asks, gasping softly. “how embarrassing.”

you go along with his joke. “don’t you like me too?”

he shakes his head and makes a face. “no way... i love you.”

you shove his shoulder. “so cheesy.”

he can’t argue with that so he just nods and chuckles as he tucks the chrysanthemum into his dark locks of hair. at seeing this, you raise the polaroid camera round your neck toward taeyong and he, already used to it, automatically poses for you. he puts his arms over his head, curving them into a kind of crooked heart. he gives an open mouthed smile only resuming to his normal position when he hears the click of the camera. you and him share a laugh once the polaroid picture develops completely.

“oh god, i look ridiculous,” he comments. “please get rid of that.”

you only give him a sarcastic, “yeah sure” and continue walking.

you two never got rid of pictures, no matter how ridiculous or unflattering they were. you agreed that every moment you shared counted and deserved to be remembered.

although, they never would be.

5:45 P.M.

you chew on the cap of your pen, massaging your aching hand. you had been writing for almost an hour and you had your cramping fingers to prove it. despite the discomfort, you aren’t one to break tradition. the ‘things i love about you’ list was an ongoing thing you and taeyong had been doing for... ever. they definitely came in handy if either if you wanted to read about what the other was like in past years.

“everything good over there?” taeyong asks, from the other side of the couch.

you shake your head. “this is too hard. i have no idea how i’ve kept this up for four years.”

he puts a hand over his heart. “wow, i’m that hard to love, huh?”

“you know that’s not what i meant,” you say, glaring. “i just have so much stuff to say about you, so much stuff i want future me to know.”

he nods, solemnly. “i get it. i don’t want to leave out a thing but it’s kinda hard to fit a year’s worth of feelings and emotions into a couple pages.”

your let your head fall onto the couch. “why do you have to be so lovable?”

taeyong points an accusing finger at you. “i could ask you the same thing! you’re the most wonderful human being on the planet, if i try to write everything i love about you my hand will fall off!”

you sit up to stare at him. he looks genuinely offended by your ‘wonderfulness’. you pick up your pen and paper.

adorably dramatic, you write.

he scoots closer to you, exclaiming, “hey, what did you just put!”

you hug your notepad tightly to your chest. “no peeking!”

7:12 P.M.

your boyfriend hands you his letter with hopeful eyes. unlike the lists that had been made hours earlier, these writings had been in the works for quite some time. there are letters you and taeyong had written for each other dated all the way from 2016. that was also the year the first polaroids you owned were from so you both assumed it was when you had begun dating. if you ever want to have a good cry, all you have to do is find those letters.

in them, there are heartfelt words for the other person’s eyes only describing how they felt around them, why they were so special, among other sentiments. most importantly, though, you always included why you would never forget the other person. of course, one could say how ironic this was considering that forgetting was what the reset was all about but nevertheless, it was reassuring to read. it made your love seem unbreakable; something so strong it defied the impossible.

you give taeyong your letter, feeling somewhat nervous. he doesn’t hesitate to open the envelope carefully. he slowly removes your letter from inside and you mirror his delicacy. the pair of you sit in absolute silence as you read the words off the pages.

my y/n,

what an amazing year it’s been with you. i know i say that in every letter i write but it’s really true. i never wrote things like this before you came along. only the basics—my name, who my parents were, my birthday, etc. you know, things like that. frankly, i had nothing else worth remembering. but now i do. you’re my whole world, the only thing i truly know and i am convinced i could not be any happier or luckier.

i don’t know what a life without you is like literally but i wouldn’t have it any other way. the situation the world faces with this whole reset mess isn’t ideal and i’ll oftentimes think of what a normal life would be like. even then, in this perfect universe, you’re still by my side.

i still wake up next to you.

i still spend every waking moment with you.

i still fall asleep with you in my arms.

you are still my everything. i am convinced you always will be.

many people avoid love or close relationships nowadays knowing that at the end of the year it’ll all be erased no matter what. how dumb is that? they don’t know what they’re missing out on. having a partner is nothing short of a blessing and you’ve taught me that by being with me every step of the way. sure, forgetting our past together doesn’t get any easier and neither does writing these letters but i’d write a million of them if that’s what it took to have you by my side.

i can only hope you’ll continue being there for me and give me something worth remembering in future years.

you are the light of my life and i can’t wait to fall in love with you again.

yours truly,

taeyong

the tears stroll down your cheeks and drip down on to the paper in your shaky hands. you use your sleeve to try and wipe them away to the best of your ability without smudging the ink. taeyong finishes reading your letter moments later, placing on the coffee table and only staring at you with a distant look in his eyes.

your voice comes out in a whisper. “are you okay?”

he nods, sniffling but his shiny eyes say otherwise. “can you maybe just... hold me?” his voice cracks along with your heart.

he ends up with his head in your lap, your fingers pulling and tugging at his soft hair. you have a couple hours left but you wouldn’t be opposed to leaving the year in this exact position.

11:59 P.M.

taeyong has made it clear he wants you to be the first thing he sees when you enter the new year. so, you spend your last minute getting into a position that will allow that.

you end up sitting sit cross-legged across from him. he’s in the same position and in the small distance between you, your fingers meet. the hold he has on your hands is so tight his knuckles have turned white. his eyes bore into yours and although he doesn’t say a word, his hazel orbs let you know it’s all going to be okay. you repeat those words to yourself.

it’s going to be okay.

“i love you,” you blurt.

he only has a couple seconds to respond.

“i love you, too. if you’re going to remember one thing, let it be that.”

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lilith-of-rivia · 4 years

Text

The Blacksmith’s Daughter

Masterlist

Pairing: Geralt X Reader

Word count: 3,259

Warnings: Swearing, slight dirty talk, mentions of death, gross wound

Summary: The blacksmiths daughter in the upper northern kingdoms, is the only reason Geralt of Riva trusts to not only fix his weaponry but his wounds. He travels long and far to see the half mage, every year. During the many years he comes to visit her town, she grows feelings (love like feelinsg) for the creature. one particular visits she realizes she can no longer hide these feelinsg from him. [possibe part 2 if interested]

My father only had one child before my mother died. My mother was someone he always referred to as his soul. The light of his life. She died when I was just a babe. He never remarried, saying he’d never disrespect the love of his life. My mother was a mage. The healer of our village. Her powers passed in some aspects down to myself, but not enough to be considered a full mage. I gained the ability for immortality like my mother, unless by blade or beast. My eyes were different from those around my small town, bright emerald green. My father loved my eyes; “Just like you lovely mother my deer.” He always said to me.

Even with the limited magical abilities I possessed I chose to help my father in his smithing shop. I started when I was 16 that was nearly 30 winters ago. I haven’t aged much past 24. Making all the locals continuously fight for my hand. My father never wavered tho. Knowing I wanted to marry for love.

Over the last 30 years I've become one of the most well known smiths in the upper northern kingdoms. I've been called upon to make weapons for the mightiest King’s, even the Lioness Calanthe herself. My blades were well known across most major cities. I had apprenticed many young men to help and the money I began to bring in, made it able for my father to retire about 10 winters ago. My craft did not only extend in my weaponry but also my herbal skills. I was responsible for training the town healers and herbalists. My mother's talents passed onto me. I was a force to be reckoned with.

“Y/N?” My youngest apprentice, Apollo called to me from the front of my shop. Placing the sword I had been sharpening on a shelf I walked to him. I was covered in soot and dirt, my long [hair color] hair resting in a messy bun atop my head. My hands were covered in thick leather gloves that my father crafted for me many years ago to protect my fragile hands. As I approached the window that my customers spoke to my workers threw I saw a man. He was tall, much taller than myself and even Apollo. Apollo was a strong young man, about 6 '1 a decent build, still looked like a boy. But this man made him look like a child. His shoulders were broad and his hair was a striking silvery grey. I knew who he was, all too well.

“Ahh Geralt of Rivia. I thought you were long dead.” My words were followed with a soft chuckle, as the corner of his lips twitched up in a small smirk. His Bard at his side beamed at me.

“Good evening Y/N. How wonderful to see you!” Jaskier said smiling. I took my gloves off my hands along with my messy apron, glancing at Apollo. He’d never met the famed witcher before.

“Apollo be a dear and go finish with Lord Ferdinand's items. He’ll be back soon to collect them.” He nodded his head before walking back to the forge along with my other two apprentices. I opened the small door to the side of the window and stepped about of my shop, the cool Autumn air chilling my warm skin after being over a hot forge for hours.

Jaskier was the first to approach me, bringing me into a tight embrace. I gladly returned the gesture. I pulled back to examine the bard.

“My how you still have yet to age. Always shocks me.” He laughs and pulls out his prized dagger. He had won it in a game of poker many years ago from a lord. The blade alone cost more than anything he possessed. He didn't need the protection. Due to the brooding witcher he always traveled with. I had mended it and only I had mended it. He never trusted another with his blade. Just as his counterpart.

“It's in need for a good sharpening, maybe a polish to the handle? As always you’ll be paid for with not only my coin, but my recommendations as we travel.” I smiled and took the dagger from him and placed it in my belt before tuning to the brooding witcher.

The relationship we shared was like one I didn't share with any other. When he came through my town, I not only fixed and mended his weaponry but also his wounds. I was no longer an active healer. Unless it was for one particular witcher with a pair of striking golden orbs that could pear into the depths of my soul. He could pry out any secrets I never told anyone. Even my father.

My father loved Geralt. Always made comments about how I should pursue him whenever he came to town. Foolish old man thinking a witcher of Geralt’s status stopping for a blacksmith's daughter. Even one of my caliber. Many years ago he traveled with a mage named Yennifer, I adored her when she came with him. An adoring young thing, always willing to teach me new ways in medicine.

They were lovers for many years until they drifted apart. Yennefer found love in her first mate Istredd. They married a few years ago. Occasionally Yennifer would pass through and we’d catch up over a pint of ale, and she'd tell me of her travels looking for a cure to her empty womb. I pitied the woman, she desperately wanted children.

Knowing women of Yennifer’s caliber were who Geralt went for always made me hesitate from telling him my true feelings. I had fallen madly in love with the witcher. He stayed weeks at a time some years in my town, killing monsters in closer towns and being our own personal Witcher. The townspeople loved him, contrary to many other villages and cities.

“How many wounds am I healing today, wolf?” I asked as I approached him, his small smirk formed into a genuine smile as he embraced me. My arms around his broad shoulders as he bent to hug me. I could feel him grimace under my touch as my chest pressed to his own. I pulled away with a soft frown before lifting his shirt softly. Revealing a large deep gash spreading from his upper chest to his pant line. The gash was angry, yellow pus now oozy in certain areas. My brows lifted on my forehead in shock.

“You bloody idiot. How long has this gone untreated?” I asked quite harshly as I walked back into my shop, gathering my cloak and notebook full of orders to fill. I placed Jaskiers Dagger on a shelf.

“I’ll see you lads tomorrow, don’t forget to lock up tonight. Send for me if you need it.” I called my three workers in the back who all smiled and nodded before refocusing on their tasks.

I walked back out to the two men who were waiting for me. I shot a glare at Jaskier. “You let him walk around with an infection like that ?” I snapped as we started walking to the edge of town, passing the tavern and inn they both had spent many nights in.

“He refused to see anyone other than you, we’ve been traveling to see you for three consecutive days.” I directed my glair to the witcher who had a sly smirk on his lips.

“It's not that bad you drama queen.” I scoffed at his words before reaching over and brushing my fingertips along the cufeather-light. He hissed in pain and nearly doubled over.

“Yeah not that bad. You idiot loaf.” We walked at a quick pause up a small road from the main, up to my small cabin on the outskirts of the forest. I opened the door placing down my belongings before, sitting Geralt down on a chair in my kitchen. Jaskier on the other side, his hands on the book that had set there that I read in the mornings.

I rushed around my kitchen grabbing the herbs and viles full of oils and serums. I grumbled to myself at the stupidity of the witcher while I filled a pail with clean water. “Shirt off.” It wasn't a question or anything he could argue with. I knew he wouldn’t. I could hear his grunts of pain as he peeled his black shirt off. Once the pail was full of water I grabbed a box full of fresh wrapping and set everything on the table as Jaskier read unbothered.

I crouched in front of Geralt, my fingers tracing the angered skin surrounding the gash. I inhaled deeply, the scent of the wound filling my nose. It was badly infected but nothing I couldn't fix.

“Werewolf?” I asked, knowing I was right. The smell of the wolf’s claws being the first I could smell.

“Yeah, a real fucker too. Nearly broke my blade.” He hissed, In part of his anger at his last hunt, and due to the stinging of the alcohol I had poured on the clean cloth dabbing and cleaning the wound. His muscles contracted under my touch. I sighed but continued my work, spreading a lavender oil over the outside of the gash, soothing the skin. I grabbed a jar scooping out a helping of a cream made of hemlock and musk mallow to help the infection. After a thick paste was covering the gash I placed a few pieces of gauze over it keeping it protected. Once I was finished I looked up at the witcher, who was watching me intently. His amber eyes are boring into my emerald ones.

“I suggest you stay here a few days, till you’re healed more. So I can keep an eye on that infection.” I said with a soft smile. He grabbed a pack off his hip and placed three coins on my table, making me shake my head.

“Geralt, keep it I-“

“You just used so many fucking things on me. Take the money. Replenish your stock.” I rolled my eyes taking the coin from the table and putting it in my pocket, knowing I’d be giving it to the needy in town. I had plenty.

Jaskier placed the book he was reading down and smiled.

“Know that the broot is no longer dying, care to get some ale?” He asked, making me laugh.

“Let me see your sword first.” I was the only person on this plant that he allowed to touch that beloved sword. He pulled it from its sheath and handed it to me. I looked over the blade, seeing the dullness, and how fragile the silver was.

“Lucky for you, we replenish our silver last week, I have plenty to fix this blunt blade.” I placed the sword back in its sheath before placing it on a hook on my door. I walked back over to Geralt, taking his chin in my hand making him look up at me from his seated position.

“If you ever come to me with an infection like that again. I will kill you instead of heal you.” My threats fell flat, I knew that. He chuckled softly before kissing my hand softly.

“Thank you, my dear, Y/N. I already feel better.” I smiled softly and looked over at Jaskier who was just watching with an exasperated expression. He knew we had a weird relationship and truly couldn’t understand why we never became anything more than friends.

“How about that ale?” He said after clearing his throat. I nodded, grabbing his shirt from the floor and helping it back over his head. The men left their items in my home after I insisted they stay with me instead of going to the inn. And we were on our way to the bustling tavern. Filed with laughing people celebrating the end of the week with the sweet peach ale our town was best known for. Geralt and Jaskier found a table as I went to thbarkeep.

“Ahh Y/N!! How are you, my dear?” He asked as he filed the tankers with the cold bubbly ale.

“Quite well August thank you. Hope your ax is doing better?” I asked, speaking of the ax I had fixed for him less than a month ago.

“Oh works wonderfully!” He smiled sweetly at me passing me the tankers and I pulled out the coin but he held his hand out.

“First rounds on the house.” I smiled and nodded at the man grabbing the tankers turning my back to him and walking back to the two men I left. As I approached I saw Annabel. A quite permisquess young thing, not that it was my business what she did with her body, all over Geralt. I felt envy course, threw my body as she groped his chest. I saw his face contort in pain as she brushed her hand down his chest, and he gently pushed her back, but of course, she didn't get the message. I walked up behind her, setting the ale on the table firmly before taking her wrist in my hand spinning her to face me.

“He is hurt, a massive gash, infected puss all over the bandages. Stop. Touching.” My voice was harsh as I glared at the young woman. Her head dropped as she walked away from me in a hurry. I let out a huff as I sat next to Geralt. I could almost feel his smirk as he looked at me. I lifted the tanker to my lips sipping the sweet ale as did Jaskier who was also smiling at me.

“I'll stab your eyes out of your head if you keep looking at me like that Bard.” I spat and he rolled his eyes standing with the ale in his hand looking over at a group of young women.

“I’m going to party, but now I’m also leaving you two alone too” He pointed his free hand in between the two of us, “figure out what the hell you are. Don't wait up.” He left us as he walked to the group of women ready to brag about his adventures with the feared witcher. My cheeks were warm at his words, as I gulped down more of the ale, ignoring Geralt’s persistent gaze as he drank his ale.

“Any idea what Jaskier may be talking about, dove?” He asked, his arm now draped around my chair, his fingers brushing my arm lightly.

“Don't get any smart ide,as Witcher, you're in no place to fuck with a wound like that.” I didn't look at him.

“No one said anything about fucking dove.” That godforsaken nickname made my nipples harden. And my cunt moisten. I finally turned to him, he was inches away from my face. His ale is now on the table. His hand gently cupped my face.

“I’m serious. Even if I wanted to, you cant. It could break the scabs forming.” I couldn't help but lean into his warm rough calloused hand. My hands were similar in feel due to my craft.

“I never mentioned fuking dove, but if you really wanted to. You’d be my first pick.” His lips were inches from mine. My breathing became more erratic at his words, my heartbeat was quickening. He chuckled softly. Inhaling deeply.

“I can not only hear your heart but smell your arousal, my love.” I bit my lip softly and closed my eyes gently. I wanted to, more than anything. But I couldn't just fuck him and ignore the love I felt for the man.

“You’ll leave soon Geralt. And my heart cannot handle it.” It was now or never. I pulled back a little looking in his eyes. “I've been in love with you for many many years. You coming threw and staying when you do is the happiest I am all year, but I know you do not feel the same. I can't fuck you and then watch you leave. You may leave now and never speak-“ I didn't even have the chance to finish my rambling because his lips were pressed to mine. His hands now both on my cheeks. His lips were rough and tasted sweet. It lasted mere minutes. Before he pulled away.

“I will always come home to you, my dove. If you’ll have me.” He said with a smile. My heart was beating faster again. His hands were now holding my own.

“I've never been good with words, but there is a reason I only trust you to tend to my wounds and my swords. You are not just another woman to me. I need you in my life. If you’ll have me, I'll always return to you after every hunt and If I’m needed far, you’ll come with me.” My eyes were welling with tears at his sweet words. It was all I ever wanted him to say. This time I pressed my lips to his. It was softer than before, longer. Full of more passion. More love than any kiss I had ever shared.

“I’ll always take you in your stupid bafoon.” He chuckled softly at my words and leaned back placing his arm around my shoulders again, his eyes scanning the crowd, landing on Jaskier who was singing his least favorite tune. But even the hated song couldn't damper the Witcher’s smile.

“You’ll now need to ask my father for his blessing if you plan to take me with you,” I whispered, nodding my head to the direction of where my father was seated, talking to his companions laughing and joking. Geralt cleared his throat and got to his feet, his fingers laced on my own. He led me through the crowd.

“Mr. Y/L/N?” Geralt asked, his shoulders pressed back as he stood behind my father, his hand not leaving my own. My father turned, saw our hands then the face of the man I was with.

“Geralt!! So good to see y, ou my boy!” He stood and patted Geralt's shoulder.

“How’s the hunt these days?”

“Very good sir, I um... actually have a question for you.” My father smiled and looked at me. Winking.

“What's that lad?” He asked.

“Can I have your blessing to take your daughter's hand in marriage?” I nearly choked on my own spit at his words. My heart is now hammering out of my chest. My cheeks bright red as I squeezed his hand. My father laughed and threw his hands in the air.

“Finally!! A more than worthy suitor for my dear daughter!” The men behind him cheered a few men in the bar looking over eyes burning into Geralt in jealousy.

“You are the only one for my daughter's dear boy. My dear wife Gladdis wouldn’t have been happier. You protect my daughter. With your life. And you have my blessing.” My father stuck his hand out and Geralt let go of mine to shake it.

“I’d die before a hair is harmed on her head, sir.” My father laughed.

“So it will be a wedding in the future! A round on me for everyone!!” The tavern cheered and my father hugged me, kissing my cheek before whispering, “I Told you,my dear. And you thought I was wrong.” I laughed softly and hugged him tightly. An arm wrapped around my hip. Jaskier cheered and started to play a tune on his lute. Geralt bent down his lips by my ear.

“I love you to the moon and back, dove.”

#geralt x you #garalt imagines #geralt x reader #witcher ciri #witcher yennefer #the withcer #geralt #geralt of rivera #imagnes #geralt imagine #geralt fanfic #witcher netflix #geralt x yn

310 notes · View notes

timeforelfnonsense · 4 years

Text

Lost and Found

Astarion x Dafni

Rating: T

Hurt/Comfort

TW for depression mention

Ao3

I’ve been working on this bad boy for a month and it’s done at last!

An important note: There is some reference to the Lolth Sworn drow in this and I feel the need to clear the air and state that I have some issues with the way WotC characterizes the drow as inherently evil. My house rules are that none of the races are inherently evil because the broad strokes in the source material as problematic af. So while the followers of Lolth might be evil I want to make it clear that doesn't equal all drow are bad. Dafni holds all varieties of elves in tender regard. As an eladrin of the fey wilds and a follower of Corellon she understands that fluid and changing nature of all living things. Life is messy and people do not fit into boxes, very few folks are all bad or all god. Not every elf worships the Seldarine and that’s ok. A fundamental part of Corellon is freedom and choice therefore it would be foolish to insist her path is the only right one. Her issue is with Lolth not the drow as a whole.

The Underdark was a horrid and forsaken place. A shudder ran down Dafni’s spine as she rubbed away the gooseflesh cropping up across her arms. Lolth’s influence hung heavy in the stale air. She would have to step lightly. A cleric of Corellon would be a great prize to the followers of the Spider Queen. She missed the warm sun on her face, the feeling of grass beneath her bare feet. She could feel herself wilting under the oppressive darkness that surrounded them.

Anxiety was a strange and forging feeling. The majority of her 160 years had been spent embodying the playful delight of spring. Perhaps it was on account of her relative youth. Or, maybe it was the influence of Corellon Larethian, whose wild and wonderful influence she had felt all her life. He had looked out for her. Cared for her as a father would his child. Truly, Corellon felt as much a parent to her as her mother, Thesmia did. A meek half-smile tugged at the corner of her lips. He had given her a reason to leave home when the wanderlust became far too much for her to contain. If she was to flourish as both an elf and a divine servant, Dafni would need to truly know herself beyond being Thesmia’s shadow. Absentmindedly her fingers reached for the familiar crescent moon that hung from her neck.

Her feet skidded to a halt, her trembling hand pulled away empty. Her blood turned to ice. An agonizing dagger of guilt pierced her heart and she felt as though the ground beneath her would open up and swallow her whole. Part of her wished that it would. She had carried the holy symbol since she was a young girl. Though she knew in her soul it had been her’s even before that. It had served as her connection not just to her god, but her heritage and primal spirit- The very essence of her being.

“I lost it.” Her voice was less than a whisper, stunned and distant. Tears began to well up in her eyes. The world around her was growing colder by the second. “My amulet is gone.” Her breath began to come out in heaves and she began to sob in earnest. “It- It must have gotten lost when the minotaur tossed me!”

Her sharp cry stopped her traveling companions in their tracks. Each of their faces dressed in varying degrees of confusion and concern. Gale began to speak but his words were drowned out but the low ringing in her ears. A dizzy, sickening feeling bloomed in her gut and the edges of her vision began to blur as the darkness she had so feared gripped her soul.

They had doubled back to the old Selûnite fort. The others were still there setting up a temporary camp. Shadowheart hadn’t been able to find anything physically wrong with her aside from the normal bumps and scrapes that were to be expected on an active adventurer.

Astarion felt truly helpless for the first time since he’d escaped Cazador’s clutches. It had been an hour and Dafni had yet to wake. He clasped her hand in his. A soft blue had slowly been spreading over her sage-green skin, creeping its way from the tips of her fingers to the crown of her head. Her locks were shifting at the root from rosy pink to a frosty teal. The flowers that wove through her loose ponytail had all weathered into dust.

He squeezed her hand, “Come on Daffodil…”

Gale had been fairly positive that this was, to some extent normal for the eladrin of the Feywilds. Something about a book he’d read by some notable wizard? Truth be told Astarion hadn’t been paying much attention. He was too busy staring down Lae’zel, who’s paranoia filled gaze had been locked on Dafni’s sleeping form from the moment they’d returned.

He should have been annoyed at her. The loss of some silly costume jewelry had caused her to swoon like a high born lady. He knew she was made of stronger stuff than that. Her little spell had put them all behind and left them without a healer the whole trek back to the fort. Yet, try as he might Astarion couldn’t seem to conjure up the ire he held for those too weak to survive hardship on their own.

He groaned, letting his head hit the wall behind him with a soft thunk. There it was again- That damn sentimentality! By the Hells, he was a vampire, not a nursemaid! What had gotten into him?

“You should rest.” Wyll placed a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll keep an eye on her for a bit.”

His eyes went narrow, a low growl rumbling in his chest. The idea of leaving her while she was vulnerable made his blood boil.

I’ll watch your back and you watch mine…

Her promise echoed through his thoughts. Dafni had held her end of the bargain with unwavering resolve. If he left now it would feel too much like betraying the one person he’d allowed even a fragment of trust in the past two centuries.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t an appropriate reaction.” He muttered while he whisked away an icy tear from her cheek. “I’m just a bit... Out of sorts.”

Wyll nodded, taking a seat on the dusty floor beside him, “Hey, she’s tough. She’ll pull through, whatever this is.” The warlock gave him an almost smug look, “You really care for her don’t you?”

“I hardly see how that’s any of your concern.” He sneered with a wave of his hand, “Besides, my concern is simply a matter of pragmatism. Our little band of misfits can’t afford to lose our best healer-” Astarion hesitated for a moment before adding, “Don’t tell Shadowheart I said that. We need not add my body to the pile- Should things go poorly.”

“If I promise not to sell you out will you take a break?”

For the first time since she had fainted, he noticed the scratchy dryness in his throat. Astarion scowled, there was little in the way of appetizing food that he had seen but he would just have to make due. He was loathed to leave her side but Wyll was a good man, a better one than him in truth. He would keep her safe.

“What’s this? The legendary Blade of the Frontiers, stooping to common blackmail.” He tried to keep his tone flat but he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips, “Fine, I’ll take a break. I’m a bit parched anyway. I suppose I’ll try to track something palatable down here. Unless…”

He arched an eyebrow towards Wyll who moved away with an overstated scoot.

“Not a chance, now go!”

Cold.

A crushing, all-consuming chill wrapped its arms around her spirit. Spring had left her. Now she stood alone in the isolating melancholy of winter. She reached out for the familiar warmth of The Protector but here- In this cursed place his influence felt far and foreign. If only she had her holy amulet. It could have served as a compass leading her back to Corellon’s embrace. She would simply have to press on. She had put them behind already and there was no time for sentiment. She wouldn’t be able to cast spells until she found a replacement and the chances of a spare symbol of her god in the Underdark were laughable. Dafni tried to sniff back the tears pricking at the edges of her eyes but it was no use. They rolled down her baby blue cheeks freezing before they could fall to the ground. She glanced up at Astarion, who walked a few paces ahead. While Gale and Wyll had spent the better part of a day coddling her, he had remained distant.

Maybe he didn’t want her like this? Her sadness threatened to consume anyone near her and he had enough grief of his own. He had admitted once that he enjoyed having her near. Whispered in her ear that she was sunlight and happiness made flesh as he took her in a flower patch of her own creation.

The feeling of a gentle hand pulled her from her thoughts. Gale offered her a small smile before speaking, “Are you all right?”

“Oh-” She sniffed, whipping away another frozen tear, “I’ll be alright. I just don’t feel much like myself right now.”

Gale nodded in response, “Yes, I can see that. Perhaps we shouldn’t have brought you here. The Underdark does seem quite at conflict with the very core of your being.”

A mournful laugh escaped her aching chest, “I don’t think we’d have had any better luck with that shadow curse above ground. No, my sorrow isn’t a good enough reason to risk the rest of the group’s safety.” She brought an icy hand to Gale's cheek, causing him to shiver, “I appreciate your concern but really I’ll be alright. We eladrin are ruled by our emotions, a shift of season was inevitable at some point or another. It’s unfortunate for the rest of you it had to be winter. Things are dire enough without my sorrowful presence bringing you all down with me. Perhaps it would be best for all of you to keep your distance.”

She sighed, her eyes falling on Astarion, who lingered just on the edge of the bitter cold her sadness created. While it pained her to say it, she knew he was right to keep away. The others should do the same if they were wise. Gale gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“He’s a funny one, Astarion.” Gale mused, “Wyll told me he had to resort to extortion to pry him from your side while you were out. Yet, today he acts as if you have the plague.”

A small snort of laughter broke past her tears, “Extortion?”

“I believe comments were made comparing Shadowheart’s healing abilities to your own. Wyll offended his silence in exchange for Astarion taking a break.”

“That’s not fair to her.” Dafni sniffed, “She’s not a life cleric, she does her best.”

“You have a good heart, Dafni.” Gale said giving her arm a squeeze, “My point is I think he cares about you, in his own odd way. At the very least he’s far more pleasant when you are around”

“You really think so?”

“I do,” Gale assured, “he’d have to be the biggest fool in Faerûn not to see how wonderful you are.”

Dafni felt a bit of warmth return to her heart. Not enough to thaw her sorrows but it was a start. Gale’s words helped her sort through the chaos of her mind as they had so many times before. He was a loyal and kind friend, as was Wyll. Shadowheart too despite her evasive and secretive nature. Even Lae’zel had warmed to her as best she was able despite their differences. There was a solace to be found in the support of her peers. She wasn’t so alone after all.

The sound of her laugh hit Astartion like a battering ram. She seemed to be in slightly better spirits since arriving in the Myconid Circle. She floated about the fungus folk with an easy familiarity. It seemed being among the vibrant plants and creatures of grotto had offered her some sense of normalcy. He looked over his shoulder to see what had coaxed a giggle from her (no matter how pitiful and melancholy it sounded). A sharp twinge of jealousy ran down his spine as he watched Dafni stroke Gale’s cheek with a somber smile.

He bit the feeling back. It was better for them both if he kept his distance. Gentle kindness was hardly his strong suit. Gods, he was a disaster. How many times had she offered him comfort even when he spurned her? She had given so freely to him, her kindness, the warmth of her bed, the very blood in her veins. And there he was relying on someone else to comfort his lover.

Dafni was a resilient little thing. So optimistic and sweet it made his teeth hurt. It was disorienting to see her so morose. He had learned the boundaries of her emotional aura rather quickly. He had noticed an unfamiliar warm feeling that first night at camp. He found himself lingering near her as often as he could after that. Savoring the tender happiness that radiated from off of her. She had told him it was simply part of her nature. A charming quirk he’d grown to enjoy a great deal. But now he could feel her heavy sorrow as if it were his own and he longed to make her hurt go away.

Damn sentimentality.

He had his own worries. He didn’t need to take on hers as well. She didn’t need him to coddle her. And more importantly, he most certainly was not beholden to her contentment for his own survival despite his halfwit heart’s insistence to the contrary. She was making him soft. It was ridiculous! He was far too old to be fretting over her like a lovelorn sprat.

It must be the tadpole. Her compassion must have wormed its way into his brain somehow. That was the only logical explanation.

He needed to clear his head and get some distance between them so he could feel more himself. He wandered aimlessly about the grotto as he attempted to show away any feelings of softhearted sympathy but it was no use. He rubbed his temples and let out a frustrated huff. He should never have taken that first taste of her. She’d become an irresistible craving from that moment on. It wasn’t just her blood, but every aspect of her that called to him. Inviting him to take refuge in her affections. He could feel himself lowering his guard a little bit more each day despite his efforts to keep her at arm's length. She’d flash him that beguiling little grin, her topaz eyes brimming over with admiration and he would find himself tempted to let her just another inch closer. He’d known she was dangerous from the moment he clapped eyes on her in the wreckage of the crash. He’d prepared himself for a stake to the heart but the infatuation she had inspired in him was infinitely more frightening and possible just as deadly.

He made his way to the alcove where the Society of Brilliance had set up shop. The strange hobgoblin had mentioned something to the party about being a collector of magical items and oddities. Walking had failed to rid him of his frustrations perhaps shopping would.

A glimmer caught his eye as he approached the cluttered stall. There, on the table was a familiar silver amulet. He was going to get it back for her and pray the gesture was enough to curb his need to see her happy. He could swipe it easily enough but he didn’t want to draw trouble to Dafni if she was spotted wearing it. No, charm and a dash of intimidation would be his best shot.

“Excuse me,” He smiled wide allowing for a slight flash of his fangs, “I was hoping you would be willing to part with that necklace.”

“A vampire interested in the acquisition of a holy symbol?”

“Yes, it’s very ironic.” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Now, how much do you want for the damn thing?”

“Well, first time for everything.” the hobgoblin shrugged, “You have a good eye, this is very unique. It’s forged from mithral and inlaId with sylvan moonstones. The holy symbol of Corellon is more commonly depicted as an eight-pointed star these days rather than the crescent moon. Meaning this item is very old indeed! It was brought in just yesterday. I would be hesitant to sell it but my research does require more funding. How does 900 gold sound?”

“I hate to be the one to tell you but ‘very old’ is a relative term when it comes to items of elvish origin.” He kept his tone flat and unimpressed, “Long-lived people do tend to hold onto things.”

“Ah, but you’ll find this is more than your average antique! Judging by the craftsmanship I would say it dates back to the time of the primal elves.”

Shit.

Of course, her necklace had much more than sentimental value. He had hoped for a quick haggle but it seemed he was going to have to work for it. He really didn’t have that much coin on him, nor was he inclined to spend it on something that was not rightfully the hobgoblin’s to sell. He raffled through his mind searching for a thinly veiled threat or convincing argument to lower the price until the perfect mixture of the two dawned on him.

Astarion let out a droll hum as he checked his nails with casual disinterest. He spoke in a low, blasé voice, “You said before you weren’t much for combat? Don’t you think it’s risky, carrying around a holy item of Corellon in the den of the Spider Queen? It would be such a shame if something were to happen to you at the hands of a zealot. Really I’m doing you a favor by purchasing it. I’ve crossed swords with the Lolth sworn before they are merciless and skilled fighters almost as dangerous and bloodthirsty as vampires.”

He let a wicked bark of laughter. A bemused expression flickering across his face. He could smell the fear stirring in the timid merchant. It would seem he hadn’t lost his edge after all.

Blurg swallowed hard before mustering a response, “ Ah- I hadn’t thought about that...”

Dafni sat cross-legged on the ramparts of the fort fletching a new batch of arrows. She’d need more to compensate for her lack of magic for the time being. She’d spent the whole trek back to their camp scanning the ground for her necklace but it had all been for not. She’d just have to accept the fact it was gone no matter how much it broke her heart.

“There you are, darling. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

The sound of Astarion’s voice caused her to jump, tossing her arrow down with a start. Dafni clutched her chest shooting him a sharp look. He only laughed, his infuriating gorgeous face fixed in a grin that reminded her of a satyr who stumbled upon a river of bathing nymphs. He dipped to his knees placing a hungry kiss on her scowling lips. He couldn’t be serious. All-day she had been desperate for his attention and he was completely uninterested but now that he had an itch to scratch he was searching up and down for her. Unbelievable! She shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn’t as if he’d ever promised her his undying love and devotion. Still, she had thought him tactful enough not to proposition her after the hell she’d been through that day.

“I’m not really in the mood right now.” She scolded, “You’ll just have to entertain yourself tonight, you egotistical lecher!”

“That- Isn’t why I sought you out. But, if you truly don’t want my company I’ll leave you be.” He shrugged his tone flippant despite the flash of vulnerability in his ruby eyes.

“I- I’m sorry that was really mean and uncalled for. Please stay.”

Stupid impulsive girl.

She slumped forwards, hiding her face in her knees. She could feel the icy tears threatening to spill over for the hundredth time that day. He’d come to check on her and she’d cut him down because of her own insecurity. The bitterness had gotten the better of her and she had unwittingly discouraged his attempt at compassion.

“If you think the accusation of being a rake is the most heinous insult that’s been hurled at me I’m afraid you’ve missed the mark by quite a lot.”

He sat down beside her, placing a hesitant hand on her back. She could sense his uncertainty. He was nervous and clearly out of his depth but he was trying. His cautious fingertips moved slowly across the expanse of her back, tracing nebulas shapes and patterns as she drew short, shallow breaths. She couldn’t bear to look at him. She just knew he was staring at her with the same wide, gentle eyes he had when she’d offered her neck to him that night in the woods. If she saw him like that the dam would break and she’d be an utter mess.

“I still shouldn’t have said it.” Her voice came out shaky and quiet as she peeked over the top of her knees at him.

“I think I’ll find it in my heart to forgive you.” He leaned in close, whispering in her ear. “I have something for you. Now, stand up and close your eyes.”

She arched a questioning brow but compiled, hopping to her feet. He pushed her ponytail to one side. His touch lingered on her jumping pulse causing a shiver to run down her spine. A warm chuckle falling from his lips in response. The cool feeling of metal draped across her throat, an otherworldly comfort hummed all around her as the delicate weight of a pendant fell against her chest.

“Where did you find it!!” Dafni gasped, “I thought I had lost it forever! You can’t fathom how much this means to me.”

“It’s a gift, to repay you for all the ones you’ve given me.”

It probably seemed a small thing to him but he’d returned a missing piece of herself. Words felt woefully inadequate to express her gratitude. She threw her arms around his neck, sending him staggering back a bit. She hardly noticed. She stood on her tiptoes placing gentle kisses all over him. First over the bridge of his nose and then his cheeks and down his neck. Her fingers laced through his soft curls tugging him close, her lips brushed against his. Astarion’s hands fell to her soft waist, his mouth ever so slightly parting for hers. Dafni sighed, running her tongue along the warm seam of his lip earning her a satisfied purr. His hand ventured to the small of her back gently coaxing her closer. She took in a deep breath, the dizzying blend of leather and patchouli making her weak at the knee. She could have stayed like that forever, pressed safe and content against his solid chest. The feeling was big and terrifying but magical and perfect all at once.

Drat...

She was falling in love with him.

#elf writes #bg3 early access #bg3 oc #bg3 #Wyll #shadowheart #gale #wyll and astarion are besties you can't change my mind #astarion #dafni of gwynneth

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minsimagines · 5 years

Text

lead me home | werewolf!v

summary: taehyung is a werewolf, and y/n knows wolves don’t belong in big cities.

a/n: i had this laying in a folder on my comuter and thought i’d share, then i read through it and cried so here you go, lmao.

words: 5k.

WARNING: super angst. like, super super angst. you might cry, you’ve been warned. heartbreak. mentions of nudity, mention of sex, a bit of blood.

★ ⋆ ✰ ✦ ☾ ✮ ⁎ ★ ⋆ ✰ ☾ ⁎ ✦ ✮ ⁎ ☾ ★ ⋆ ✰

You’d often find Taehyung by the window of your little apartment when you came home on the evenings, staring out at the city view, eyes glued to the mountains in the far distance. He’d brush it off as enjoying the scenery, that wonderful broad smile spreading over his lips almost distracting you, though you were left with a constant uneasy feeling in your chest.

The insane amount of homework added with the part time job you had at a small 24/7 shop would often occupy your mind, and though you felt awful, it had to be done. You couldn’t live if you didn’t work, and you would be stuck at the little shop for the rest of your life unless you finished your studies. Though it felt like a hundred years away, there were three more years.

Every day seemed to pass in a blur, everything melting together. The touch of his rough hands on your soft skin, his tight embraces and encouraging words, the sleepless nights, the late hours at the shop, the failed exams – you were about to go nuts. And it didn’t help that you felt so bad for leaving Taehyung by himself most of the day, and the feeling you had of stress from having to make time for him and your relationship as well.

He’d always pull you away from your studying to help you focus – to give you a break. Just a couple of minutes, but he would help you breathe and calm down and whenever he did, you’d feel so calm, like you were unstoppable. He was amazing at helping you relax. Especially when you were too stressed to function and you didn’t remember to eat or sleep, and you hunched over your notes crying.

“This is okay,” he’d whisper. “You’re strong and you’ll be fine, and you will do great even if the test didn’t go as planned.”

His kind hadn’t been one to speak to show love, or any other emotion for that sake, and though he knew you needed verbal communication as well, he could always just look at you, and you’d know. He understood. He always understood.

You’d watch Taehyung, as his mind drifted off, as he daydreamt of grass beneath his paws, of the smell of animals and flowers. You’d brush your fingers through his hair to calm him down after he jumped out of bed in the middle of the night, not understanding where he was. You’d crawl down from the bed when you awoke and found him asleep on the floor, and you’d sleep next against his body – the bed was too soft for him. You’d distract him when his skin and muscles were itching and yearning for a release and change you couldn’t even begin to fathom the pleasure of.

You’d drive him out into the countryside every full moon. To the top of the same hill, the open plains spreading out wide, ending in the forest off in the distance. That was where he went every time. You’d watch his grey fur as he ran through the tall, beige grass, his shape growing smaller and smaller until he was out of sight. There, he did what the animal in him needed to do – whatever that was.

He never spoke about it and you didn’t ask. He may have been hunting, he may have been meeting some of his own kind – you had a feeling you’d never know. And had you not had this unease in your chest, you might have asked him, but you wanted him to be free for those few hours. Free of the city, free of hiding, free of… free of you.

You knew, from the first time you’d seen his yellow eyes in between the trees as you visited your grandfather up on the mountains as a child, that you loved him. Maybe not in the way you did later on, but when you saw him for the first time, though foolish – you were not scared. You could not for the life of you figure out why; you had always had massive respect for wolves and other predators, yet his eyes had captured something inside you. He was only a puppy.

Your grandfather told you that though he was a puppy, he was a wild predator and predators followed instincts. He’d warned you about the wolf, though you had seen him leave left over after dinner outside when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

The young wolf had showed up outside of the cabin three evenings in a row, and on the fourth evening of your stay, as your grandpa had fallen asleep on the couch watching TV, you’d sat out on the bench in front of the house, watching the view of the valley below the cabin, short legs dangling. The river, the hills, the trees. The wolf had sat a bit behind you, watching the view with you. You’d noticed him, but you didn’t’ move. Didn’t say a word. You didn’t see him, though you heard him come. You knew he was there. When you turned, after the sun had set, he was gone.

Whenever your grandfather was busy, or if he drove into town to buy groceries, you’d run outside in your rubber boots and you’d sit patiently in the grass, legs crossed, doll in hand. You’d let him approach you, and you’d let him nudge your knee with his snout. You’d throw your doll and he’d catch it and bring it back.

You’d loved how free he was. How he ran around wherever he wanted. How he would chase birds and jump into puddles.

You had seen the wolf again when you were an awkward teenager. He had even sat outside your room in the cabin a whole night, and you had sat in the deep windowsill, watching him, though you weren’t as adventurous as you had been as a child. You were more scared. It was a wild wolf, and you had no intentions of ending up as dinner.

He’d saved you from being trampled by a frightened elk as you were taking a walk, trying to get reception on your phone. He’d ran in and shoved the elk out of the way with the side of his huge body, and though you had frozen in fear of the sight, his gaze clashed with yours as the elk ran off, and he had understood. He didn’t approach. He slowly backed away and disappeared between the trees once again. ⋆

“Are you hungry?” You asked Taehyung, who turned away from the view of the city and hit you with a dashing smile.

“Always,” he muttered, striding over to you in the kitchen half of the small apartment. Hands wrapped around your waist, drawing a smile and a small chuckle from your lips at his words.

“It’s the full moon tomorrow,” you said, trying to sound chirpy, yet the sour feeling in your chest was heavier than ever. He had spent more time by the window, more time touching you than he ever had, more time praising you, loving you and though you loved him to bits, it was making you dread your plan for the approaching full moon. This was your life. Not his.

“I know,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your neck before he left you to make dinner. You always cooked – not because he didn’t want to help, but you liked it. Your mother had loved to make food, and making dinner made you feel somewhat closer to her, even if she wasn’t around anymore.

“The neighbors are fighting,” he noted from the couch, eyes glued to the television. You were about to answer when you noticed he was watching a documentary about animals. An aching spread through your chest as you were once again reminded of how little he belonged in your world, and how much he probably missed his own.

“Yeah?” You uttered, trying to sound like you normally did. His eyes had met yours in question, clearly picking up on the different tone. You’d cleared your throat and sent him a broad smile. It seemed to fool him as he smiled back to you and turned his attention to the TV again.

“Yeah. She won’t have sex with him,” he said, and your eyes snapped towards him in surprise. Even after 7 months, you were still surprised at how straight forwards he was. Also, how keen his hearing was. And his other senses.

“That’s… something,” you mumbled.

“Hey, you know that uhm, those things you gave me yesterday? What are they called?” He asked, eyes peering over at you in curiosity. You glanced at him, though it hurt to do so.

“The grapes?” You asked, turning your attention back to the food.

“Yes, grapes,” he chuckled as he laid down, long legs kicking out on the couch. The sight, compared to him in the fields, had you looking away again.

⋆

You’d driven to your grandfather’s cabin after he, together with your mother and father, had passed away in a car accident. It had been over a year since it happened, and you had finally gathered the courage and strength to take two weeks off to go up there to pack up the cabin and prepare it for new owners.

You had forgotten about your childhood friend, though it all came back to you as you found those yellow eyes watching you from the shadows of the trees once again. He was still there, even bigger than you remembered; he’d grown massive, almost concealed by the darkness, though you could see his shape.

Like when you were young, he would show up on the evenings, like a giant guard dog, watching over the house. You’d put out something for him to eat one night and had been happy to find the bowl empty the next day.

You’d only found out about his human half when the wolf, that evening, came limping and bloody onto the property. You walked out to meet him in horror at his state, when his body had contorted, twisted in on itself. You were certain you could never forget the sight. On the ground before your feet laid a man, skin dirty and hair messy.

His body had been almost torn apart with wounds as you, though scared, crouched besides him and gently brushed his brown bangs out of his eyes. They cracked open and looked at you in tired desperation, that same yellow still lingering in his human irises, though blended with a soft brown shade. His wounds were shaped like bitemarks and deep scratches.

It took a while, but he managed to stumble into the cabin with your help, and you did the best you could with the little you had. You hadn’t brought any form of first aid up onto the mountain. You’d helped him into a pair of your grandfather’s old pair of pajama pants and onto the couch.

You stayed awake by his side that night, brushing sweat away from his forehead and upper body with a cold cloth. He slipped in and out of consciousness, and each time he had tried to sit up in panic until his eyes met yours and he relaxed back down.

He was gone when you woke up. Bright sunlight hitting your face, body resting against the couch. You’d gone outside right away, eyes darting around the field in front of you and down into the valley. On the bench laid your grandfather’s pants, neatly folded.

⋆

“By the way, how did the test go today?” He muttered against your shoulder as he joined you in bed, his inhuman warmth engulfing your tired body.

“I think it went better than the last one,” you whispered, turning to face him. His eyes glowed in the dark of the room, and you were spellbound.

“You’re really beautiful,” you said, and though it was dark, you could make out the bright smile on his face.

“Do you miss the mountain?” You asked. The words slipped out before you could stop yourself and you dreaded the answer. He was horrible at hiding his emotions, though he didn’t know he was, so when he lied; you knew – but he didn’t know you knew.

“Sometimes,” he’d say, his eyes growing sad, though the smile was still there. “But I like being with you more.”

You knew he meant what he had said, he would have never left with you unless he did. He wanted to be with you, and you knew that – but he had an instinct in him that would forever be stronger than anything a human could ever understand. He was a wolf, a wild predator, he wasn’t a dog meant to be kept in an apartment and let out every now and then – he was a magical creature. He wasn’t meant to be tame like this.

“You can tell me if you do, you know,” you whispered, wanting him both to admit it and to lie to spare you from the pain. Both would hurt equally. “It was your home, after all.”

“I…” he hesitated. You knew he did. It was a silly question. It was his home, of course he missed it!

“I miss it,” he admitted. and you felt something, almost a relief washing over you. You had been right.

“I want you to be happy,” he added, his voice tired, and you didn’t answer him. Your fingers running steadily through his hair.

He fell asleep before you did, and your smile had long vanished. He was kicking his foot every now and then, and you knew he was dreaming of the grass. ⋆

He had come back that evening, as the sun was setting over the valley and you were crouched by a flowerbed by the wall of the cabin, picking at the weeds. You’d almost thrown your little shovel in the air in surprise at his appearance, though as you stood and looked at him, you couldn’t believe it was the same man that had been inside your cabin that whole night. His body was completely fine. Though red where the worst of gashes had been, he seemed to have healed and was left with only scars to tell the tale.

“Hello,” you’d said, trying to sound confident.

“Hello,” he’d replied, and you’d frowned at the state of his voice. It was deep and raspy, scratching at his throat as he spoke. He hadn’t spoken in a long time. You had wanted to ask what had attacked him, but you didn’t.

You’d sat outside on the bench each evening, and he’d show up to accompany you. Some nights you’d talk, others you’d just sit and enjoy the view and sounds. You grew unbearably close. You’d known your departure was coming up in a few days’ time, but you’d also felt a pull towards him that you couldn’t understand.

He’d told you he thought his name was Taehyung, though he wasn’t sure anymore, he hadn’t used a name since he was young. You’d smiled and said you loved it. The smile on his lips, after hearing your words, had almost knocked you out of your mind.

He’d told you stories about where he was from, what he was. Stories that, had you not known better, you’d think were from another world. Magic and wonder, though you always had a feeling he was holding back. You never pushed him. He told you wonderful stories about soulmates and how every werewolf had one, and fairies who were not as friendly as our stories had them.

His sweet nature, his goofy smile, his curiosity about anything you told him about, was drawing you closer and closer to him and you could listen to his deep voice day in and day out. He was straight forward, asking about you and why you were there, not really seeming to grasp the idea of the sadness of your family’s death, other than the fact that he had liked your old grandpa when he had been alive and that he missed the left overs he’d set out for him before he died.

You had felt so lost when you realized you were falling in love with him, though you weren’t afraid; you knew your feelings were mutual. He wasn’t… shy.

His animalistic approach to romantic gestures had caught you off guard. Not used to the norms of socialized humans, he leant into your neck one night, arms wrapping tightly around your body. Had you not felt like you were utterly safe in his hands, you might have pushed him off.

You didn’t.

He had asked you if it was alright, a whisper in your ear, and you had barely managed to nod your head in the trance you were in. He’d later told you he knew you wanted him to touch you. Said he could smell it on you. He could smell your desire.

Sharp teeth had gently graced the skin on your throat, sending ripples of shivers through your body, which he seemed to enjoy very much. He had inhaled deeply, taking in your scent and was about to – had you not stopped him – rip your clothes to shreds. You’d pulled his face towards yours, your lips gently pressing against his. He had, at first, not understood what you were doing, though with a little guidance, he had come around.

When you’d woken up the next morning, sky light blue in the sunrise, body nude and spent, though as happy as you’d ever been; he was gone again. Your heart had dropped to the bottom of your stomach as you’d stumbled into a pair of sweats and thrown a t-shirt over your head as you’d ran downstairs, tears welling on your eyes, only to see him outside on the bench. Running outside, you’d stood panting in distress, staring at him with desperate eyes.

As if knowing exactly what you were feeling, he gave you a soft smile as he stood up. He was wearing your grandfather’s pajama pants, and though they fit him, you grew confused. He hadn’t wanted to wear clothes the whole week you’d known him as a human.

“It’s today,” he had said, and you’d swallowed thickly, knowing exactly what he was referring to. The weeks, though it had felt like a decade, had ended.

⋆

His sweet laugh had rung through the apartment as you entered the living room on midday, ready to leave for the countryside. It was the night of the full moon.

His laugh was contagious, and he never laughed at the right times, though it made your heart soar with joy. He didn’t get jokes or puns, though he loved slapstick comedy. That, he understood. He understood anything physical.

He wasn’t made for the city.

“What are you watching?” You asked, leaning against the couch, trying to distract yourself from the heartbreaking thoughts running through your mind.

“I don’t know,” he’d laughed, shaking his shoulders. You’d almost burst into tears, the pain in your chest making it hard to breathe properly, though you had to try; he would hear something was wrong if you weren’t breathing normally.

Your wonderful protector. Your loving, beautiful Taehyung. Your magical and caring lover. You bit the inside of your cheeks, avoiding his eyes as you got ready to leave.

You drove him through the massive city, through the crowded streets and the jungle of concrete and tall buildings. The ride was quiet. But not just the usual quiet; you could often spend hours in silence and not feel out of place. This silence was heavy. As if there were words that needed to be said between the two of you, clear as day, yet none of you dared to speak them out loud. Out through the suburbs and far into the quiet countryside, further than you’d ever driven before, you parked the car off road, and you stood by him on a hill by open plains and fields of tall grass as his eyes closed, head tilted back to smell the air.

This was his life. Not yours. ⋆

Once you had come over the initial shock of him not having left you, you’d nodded your head and whispered that yes, that day would be the last day in the cabin. You’d be leaving for the city again, and the cabin would be sold to someone else who wanted to take care of it.

He’d begged you to stay. He’d begged you to be with him and let him protect you. His deep voice had brought fresh tears to your eyes, his vows and promises of hunting for you and helping you in any way he could, whatever he could do to make you stay there with him.

You’d told him that you couldn’t. You had only those two weeks off, and you told him that it hurt just as much for you, but you couldn’t give up your life in the city. Your parents had paid for your university before they had passed away, and you couldn’t just drop out and leave the apartment behind. It would crush your heart to give up the closest thing you still had to them, the things they left behind, even if your feelings for Taehyung felt like something from another world.

And he had hugged you so tight as you’d burst into tears, sobbing, torn in half. You’d found love, or what could become love, and you didn’t belong together. Taehyung, though a bit held back, convinced you to believe in it. He’d stroked your hair and reassured you, saying you were meant to be, but you had heard the hesitation in his voice even back then. You had refused to acknowledge it.

“I promise I’ll come back and see you,” you’d uttered in a breath, on your knees outside your cabin. He was next to you, holding you. You’d pushed away to look up at him with tear stained eyes, knowing full well you weren’t going to be able to come back in a long time.

“I’ll come with you,” he had muttered then, after a long pause. Your face had dropped in confusion. He would come with you? But he had nothing to go to, nothing he knew, nothing to do.

“What?” You’d whispered, your tears halting.

“I’ll come with you,” he repeated, sounding more certain the second time around.

You had told him no. He was wild, he was of the forest and the grass and the wilderness, he wasn’t made to live in the city, and you had told him no. As much as you’d loved the idea of being with him, he was meant to be out in the wild.

Your words had only seemed to fuel him further. He wanted to go. He would go, he said. He would be with you. He wanted to be with you. He wanted to touch you and smell you and listen to your wonderful voice.

After much debate, you’d made it clear to him that you did want the same thing, you just didn’t think he had really wanted to leave. You wanted to be with him more than anything.

So, he came with you. He put on a sweater, and he helped you pack the car. You’d watched him with careful eyes. His strong body, covered by the clothes… you weren’t a pervert, but it just wasn’t right. It wasn’t him – he wasn’t human like you. You swallowed and bit it back, sending him a smile when he looked at you.

He’d showered before you left, and you’d almost sent him out into the fields to roll around. You missed the patches of dirt on his cheeks and the wild waves of his messy brow hair, but you bit it back. He was still the same person. He was the wonderful, magical person you were falling in love with. And you convinced yourself it was the right thing to take him with you.

It wasn’t that hard to incorporate him in the life of the city. He was curious by nature, and everything was entertaining. He loved all the flashing lights, all the sounds and the smells and all the strange people wearing strange clothes. He adapted fast, and he seemed to like it – and though you knew it wasn’t his life, you convinced yourself it could be. ⋆

You stepped away from the car, your eyes wandering over the fields. This was it. This was the place. It was breathtaking, and it was closer to your grandfather’s cabin; he could find his way home from where you were standing. Turning to look at him, he was watching you with an expression you hadn’t seen before, though it made you feel warm and safe and you knew you had made the right decision.

You stepped towards him, like you usually did before he changed, and you hugged him, wrapping your arms around his torso, pressing your palms against his upper back, squeezing your eyes shut. You breathed in deeply as he wrapped his arms around you, and ran his fingers through your hair, placing a soft kiss to your forehead.

You stepped back and cupped his cheek with your hand. His eyes were soft. Understanding. He knew. It almost set you back, noticing the familiar gaze. He had known the whole time.

He pulled his sweater over his head, folding it neatly in his hands, before he handed it to you. He did the same with his pants, and you held them to your chest. He never wore shoes.

As his bones began to crack under the light of the full moon, you looked away as his beautiful face morphed to that of an equally breathtaking predator. The piercing eyes, the sharp claws and teeth; he could tear you apart in an instant, yet he never touched a hair on your body with anything but loving hands.

As the cracking receded, you turned to look at him with an aching chest. You didn’t need him to speak to know what his eyes were asking you. His big, yellow, loving orbs boring into yours, glowing in the dark. Your bottom lip quivered, and you bit down on it to conceal your emotions. With a small nod of your head, you curled your arms around the clothes tighter, telling him it was okay. Telling him to go. To be free.

He gave you a deep nod of his big head, staring at you for a couple second longer, before he turned to run off. You watched him as he ran, his strong legs pushing away underneath him, his big form disappearing over the plains faster than any animal you had ever seen. Beautiful fur bouncing as he ran, glistening in the moon light. A shaky breath left your lips as your knees shivered under your weight, tears welling in your eyes, your heart breaking.

You watched him run, and his bright smile flashed in your mind. His laugh, his touch, the wonder in his eyes as he spoke about the world, the wild and the freedom he was from. Where he belonged. Where he could live with his own kind. The way his fingers had desperately tried to braid your hair, the way his body pressed against yours when he was uncertain of the life in the city, the way his lips would leave your skin burning and tingling in pleasure, the way he never backed down from a challenge. He was free again now.

You knew he understood. He always had. He knew this would happen as well, you were sure of it, though it didn’t make it easier. He knew you loved him, and he knew you would forever keep him in your heart just as he would keep you with him. The pain in your chest was impossible to describe; your whole body throbbed in pain as you watched him disappear into the forest far away, and it wasn’t long before you were sobbing against the ground.

A sob wrecked through your body, a silent scream leaving your lungs. You could barely breathe as you cried, though you desperately wiped at your eyes, knowing this was the best for him. Knowing that if you stayed longer, you would be tempted to go after him, to be selfish and take him back. Beg him to hold you and tell you everything was going to be okay – but you had tried that already. You had taken him, and you had let him tell you things were going to be okay. He had left his world for you, yet it didn’t work. It wasn’t right.

Tears blurring your vision, you pushed yourself off the ground, his clothes pressed to your chest. You held them up to your nose, taking in a deep breath of his scent, squeezing your eyes shut.

They snapped open when the sound of a howl, his howl, broke through the air. You could see him, in the distance, on a small hill, barren of trees, howling towards the moon, and you somehow knew he was talking to you. You felt like he was besides you, holding you again, patting your head and telling you that you still loved each other. That love didn’t have to be this way or that way, and that you were both still alive. Telling you to live on, that he would be fine.

Telling you to go. To be free.

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years

Text

How Kurt Cobain

PART TWENTY-SEVEN OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: drinking, anxiety about future, plentiful pop culture references, this is the product of intense writer’s block so who knows its quality honestly

Word Count: 4.3K

Summary: Ella takes a morning walk through Philly. Then, she takes Jess to Lane’s wedding.

Tangled beneath the sheets, Ella awoke with the sunlight streaming through Jess’s window and into her closed eyes. She squinted as she cleared her throat and shifted to find Jess’s side of the bed empty. Furrowing her brows, she raked a hand through her messy hair and sat up against the green wall, Nietzche’s eyes looking over her almost comically. Still, she found no Jess in the room, though the door was slightly ajar. The smell of coffee drifted in from the kitchen. She worried frantically if she had missed her interview with the Dean.

“Jess?” she called.

After only a moment, he waltzed in with the paper in one hand and a mug in the other. He smirked when he saw the scowl on her face. Yet another thing he could count on never changing. Ella Stevens was not a morning person. “Yeah?”

“What the hell? Why didn’t you wake me?” she demanded, rubbing at her eyes with both hands.

Jess snickered. “Like it’s so easy. I tried. You told me to fuck off.”

“I did not.”

“Oh, but you did. Twice.”

Groaning slightly, she shook her head at herself. “Sorry.”

“No problem. I’m used to the colorful vocabulary by now,” he shrugged, taking a long sip of his black coffee.

She rushed over to her bag, convinced of her tardiness.

“Woah, where’s the fire?” Jess asked.

“What time is it?”

“Relax. It’s only nine. Your interview isn’t until eleven, right?’ he asked, smug smirk ever-present.

Blowing out a small breath, she nodded. “Yeah. Jesus. I thought it was noon.”

“Why?”

“That’s usually how late I sleep when I forget to set an alarm,” she said, running her fingers through her hair again.

He chuckled. “Well, you’ve got a while. I had to get up to let the poet guy in. There’s donuts in the kitchen. Campus is only a few blocks away. I can walk you there later, if you want.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she tried to fight the smile which threatened to cross her face. “I don’t need an escort, Mariano.”

“Oh, right. I forgot you know exactly how to get there from here,” he said, feigning understanding.

She rolled her eyes. “I brought a map.”

“That’s cute,” he teased.

“Fuck you.”

“It’s not the twentieth century anymore. Just let me walk you, Stevens.”

“Okay, fine,” she conceded, finally letting herself break into a little grin.

. . .

Cloudy light shone through the overcast sky in gray tones, but the air was light. Philadelphia was not due for rain. Ella breathed in the city as they strolled down the sidewalk. It was a little grimy, but so alive. The pulse of the noise and the people made her feel excited, inspired. She would have to draw something of it as soon as she got a moment. Jess had his hands shoved in his pockets, stealing occasional glances at Ella. He saw the same wonder in her eyes that he had when she’d come to visit him in New York all those years ago. A pleasant warmth radiated throughout him, and for just a little while he stopped wondering where they stood with each other, what would happen, about the words they still needed to speak.

She fiddled with the thin strap of her watch as she walked along. “Do you like Philly better than New York?”

He perked his head up as she suddenly broke the silence between them. “Oh yeah. Less people. Better art scene.”

“Really?”

“Definitely. And it also helps that my mom doesn’t live here.”

“Ah,” Ella replied knowingly, nodding slightly. “So, you guys haven’t talked much since the wedding, I take it?”

“Every now and again,” he shrugged.

They turned down a road lined with coffee shops and bookstores. Ella could tell it was a backwards way of getting to campus, but expected nothing less of Jess. It made her want to smile. The more she saw of the city, the more she could tell he belonged. Finally, he had a place where he fit.

“She did call me when April showed up, though,” Jess continued casually.

Ella uttered a small laugh. “Yeah. That was...straight outta left field. She’s a good kid, though. Can recite the whole periodic table in like sixty seconds. She kinda reminds me of my brother.”

“Adam?” Jess asked.

Ella nodded, the warm breeze blowing her bangs back from her face. Her hair was in a low bun, and she was dressed in the same clothes as the day before. Most of her wardrobe wasn’t the most professional. And straight-laced clothes, she thought, were an important balance for her visible tattoos.

“How’s he doin’?”

She shrugged, smiling lightly. “He’s good. Almost done with his junior year. He’s applying to all those big schools. MIT is his top choice, I think.”

“Jeez. Another valedictorian in the family?”

“Maybe. He might get a full ride, especially since…” she paused, biting at the inside of her cheek. Looking over at Jess, she saw his curious expression. He seemed more open than he ever had, comfortable in his own skin. When she continued, her tone was firmer, more direct. “Well, my dad left to live with my uncle in Baltimore a few months ago. It’s just Adam and Fiona back in the house. He’ll get lots of financial aid points for having a single step-parent.”

“Oh, that’s…”

“Yeah. But, I think everyone’s better off,” she said, averting her gaze from him. Again, Jess thought he saw her try and grab for a necklace, but instead she reached up to tug gently at one of her small earrings. “Once the baby thing didn’t work out with Fiona, my dad started drinking more and...I think he realized he’d never...losing my mom. He’s never gonna be the same. Adam’s doing well, though. And Fiona’s doing better. It’s better.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, appraising her with a careful eye. “I’m glad, then.”

“Me too.” She cast him a tiny, reassured smile. “Sorry. That’s heavy stuff and it’s not even afternoon.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry over,” he replied.

Rushing over a crowded crosswalk as the seconds blinked off the timer, Jess took her hand to lead her. She wouldn’t be late, but he could tell she was anxious to get where she needed to be. “We’re almost there.”

He thought for a moment about disentangling their fingers, but she gave his hand a squeeze instead. His heart glowed with nostalgia and hope. The noise around them seemed like music. Cherry trees, which dotted campus, were blooming and they stepped over the petals beneath their feet. Hardly thinking, Jess ran a thumb over the smooth skin of the back of her hand. Her smile grew.

They were approaching the brick building which held the dean of the art school’s office. Students whizzed past them with backpacks and frantic looks. A sense of surrealism dawned on Ella. She was going to end up at an Ivy League, after all. Just a little later than she had once hoped she would. The air smelled clean and damp with spring.

“So,” Jess began, coming to a stop a few feet from the walkway which led to the double doors, “after this, you’re all set?”

“Guess so,” she said, slightly breathless with the moment.

He hummed, looking around him. “Y’know, this morning, I was thinking-”

“That’s a bad sign,” Ella interjected.

Jess rolled his eyes. “Age has not helped your stand-up material, Stevens.”

“I disagree,” she said shortly. “Please, continue.”

He sighed heavily, separating their fingers and running a hand over his mouth. “Well, you don’t have a place to live here yet, right?”

“Not yet.”

“I was thinking maybe you’d want to come live with us. Above Truncheon,” he said, spitting out the words as fast as he could.

Ella’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really?”

Jess nodded shyly. “My bed’s big enough. And I don’t have that much stuff; there’s room for you. Chris already loves you. I’m sure Matthew wouldn’t mind either. And your sketches are down in the main room anyway. We could put a price on them and...only if you want to. I know it’s a lot to process, so you don’t need to answer right now or anything.”

Her eyes were calculating as she gathered her thoughts. “Just so I’m clear...you want us to get back together. And you want us to live together in your apartment. With Matthew and Chris. Above Truncheon.”

“Yes,” Jess confirmed, tone growing more confident, though his heart was beating painfully against his ribs.

“Are you sure? I mean...we haven’t seen each other in two years. Maybe time has corrupted me,” she said, voice serious despite her weak joke.

Again, he sighed. “I think we were both pretty corrupted to begin with-”

“How Kurt Cobain of you.”

“And I don’t care how long it’s been. We’ve got a lot to make up for. I feel like I’ve been waiting for you forever. And I’m tired of waiting. I’m ready to try again. Really try, this time. But only if you are. Only if you want this too,” he said.

A familiar nausea rose in his throat, and his hands began to shake. The only other time he’d taken such a leap of faith, it hadn’t gone over well. But everything was different. He was settled, with a steady income. She had graduated, and was finally embracing her dreams. His foolish hope persisted, even still. When he’d woken up next to her again, in a bed which he’d bought himself, and eaten breakfast with her, read morning papers with her, he could think of nothing he wanted more. Communication, he reminded himself. Open and honest communication. Even if he still wanted to roll his eyes at just the thought of Luke’s self-help nonsense.

“And,” he continued, when she hadn’t said a word, was only turning thoughts over in her head silently, “you don’t have to say anything now. I...dammit. I should’ve done this after your interview. I just got caught up after yesterday and this morning. I wasn’t sure if I’d see you later and...I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’m sorry. Really, you don’t have to say anything-”

“Jess,” she interrupted, finally locking eyes with him again. “Just shut up for a second.”

“Okay.”

After chewing on her thumb nail for a moment, she blew a breath out through her nose with finality. “Can I get cactuses again? There was no place for them at Lane’s. And, Jesus, you guys have got to organize your living room. I mean, the kitchen and your bedroom are okay. But I have no idea how you guys even find anything. The piles of paperwork on the table are, like, seven feet high.”

A slow grin formed on Jess’s face, and the worry began to clear from his brown eyes. “You can do whatever you want, Stevens.”

“Truer words never spoken,” she agreed earnestly. “You better make room for my fucking records then, too. They’ve been living in my car for way too long.”

Jess chuckled, nodding slightly. His eyes lingered on her lips. “I was thinking about kissing you, just now. Is that okay?”

Ella thought her heart would melt at his words. “Go for it, Mariano.”

Jess brought his hands to her waist and kissed her. For the first time in years. Ella smiled into it, pressed against him. It tasted sugary-sweet, from the donuts they’d eaten. Her fingers tangled into his hair, longer and less greasy than she remembered. But it felt much the same. A tingly joy began in her stomach and then spread throughout her body, new and old and welcome and perfect.

. . .

Of all the people not to be at Lane’s wedding, Ella did not expect Luke to miss it. For some reason, he was still out of town for April’s field trip. Not that it was any of her business, but she couldn’t help be slightly irritated at his absence. However, she wasn’t entirely alone. Though Lane and the other people in her life weren’t exactly sold on him, Ella had taken a shot in the dark and invited Jess. At Mrs. Kim’s millionth reference to her loneliness, her lack of a date, Ella had finally let it slip to Lane. She had seen Jess again. They were talking on the phone every single night. She was set to move in with him in a week. And, soon, she was calling him up. Hearing the surprised tone of his voice, his apprehension to come back to town. But, honestly, he’d caved a little quicker than she thought he would. All it had taken was her offering to try Hemingway again. And Kerouac. She knew she was going to absolutely loathe the latter, but it would be worth it.

As the ceremony ended, most of Lane’s family, including her mother, left the gathering in town square. None of them were eager to party with the townies. Kirk revealed the white food truck parked on the street opposite the gazebo to actually be the bar. He was exploring business ownership, and Yummy Bartenders was his most recent endeavor. Lorelai, without Luke and somehow having ended up with Rory’s father, Christopher, as her date, flocked straight to the alcohol. It made Ella snort a laugh, but inside, it made her heart ache. Luke and Lorelai had taken so long to get together. And now, things were headed nowhere good. A hot, dry sunlight shone down on them in yellow tones, and soon the sky would darken. Everyone’s mood had changed as soon as they left the church. Lorelai ripped off the bottom half of Lane’s dress, revealing her calves joyfully. Standing beside Ella, Rory let out a hoot of excitement and rushed over to the new bride. Snickering, Ella took the long pin from her low bun and let her blonde waves loose down her back.

Jess tucked her hair behind her ear gently as they both took a moment to breathe. The church had been stuffy and hot, filled to the brim with people. The air was no cooler, but at least there was a wide open space to mingle in. Grabbing his hand, Ella ventured a glance at Jess. As soon as his rusty Ambassador had rolled into town three hours earlier, she could sense how anxious he was. Maybe just being in Stars Hollow made him uncomfortable, or maybe it gave him too many flashbacks to his own mother’s wedding.

“You okay? I have the key to the diner, if you wanna go. I called Luke earlier and he said we could stay in the apartment. I’ll be up there later,” she said, tone apologetic.

Jess shook his head. “No. I’m fine. Just don’t know where we should sit.”

“Next to Miss Patty?” she asked. The dance teacher had noticed her across the way, and Ella waved back at her.

“She’ll eat me alive,” Jess sighed. “What about with Rory and Lorelai?”

Narrowing her eyes, Ella considered it. Then, she bit the inside of her cheek for a moment. “I don’t know. I haven’t been so close with them recently. And I don’t know if I wanna get in the middle of the happy family back together.”

“Fair enough,” Jess agreed. “Alright. Miss Patty and Babette, then. But I’m counting on your protection.”

Her grin grew wicked. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m your knight in shining polyester.”

. . .

Hep Alien was on fire, despite the wasted state of every single band member. Balmy breezes blew and Ella’s flushed skin was finally beginning to cool down. The night was dark and the sky clear. Every so often, her eyes flicked to Rory, Lorelai, and Christopher’s table. Sookie and Jackson had been sitting with them, but they had long since left. Without Ella to babysit the kids, they’d had to hire a new girl. Jackson could barely handle the nerves at a random high-schooler watching his babies. Ella twirled her rings nervously on her fingers, while Patty, Babette, and Maury chain-smoked across the centerpiece floral arrangement. Jess, at her side, had his arm around her shoulder. He stroked her upper arm absently.

He raised an eyebrow and followed her gaze to Rory. “What’s with you?”

“Hm?” she asked, blinking the reverie from her eyes. Facing him again, Ella was struck by how much more mature he looked. Back in Stars Hollow, but as a man with a publishing business and a decently neat bedroom of his own. Despite the uneasiness brewing in her stomach, she also felt pride appear. It didn’t shock her where he ended up. But it still made her feel such joy to see him successful and content.

Jess nodded in the direction of the Gilmores, three tables over. “Did something happen between you guys? Is it why you weren’t a bridesmaid?”

Ella shook her head. “No. I wasn’t a bridesmaid because Mrs. Kim hates me with the fire of a thousand suns. I mean, my outfit alone is probably enough for her to condemn me.”

Giving Ella a once-over, Jess smirked wider. Her camisole dress was black, with small pink flowers embroidered on it. It had thin spaghetti straps and fell above her knees. Of course, there were no heels on her shoes, black leather ballet flats. The ensemble was so very Ella, along with her dark eye makeup. And, it was true, Mrs. Kim was not a fan of anything which could be described as ‘so very Ella.’

“It does give off a certain Beetlejuice vibe,” Jess agreed.

“The best compliment you’ve ever given me,” she said lightly, then turned back to the crowd of wedding-goers. “But...I don’t know. Rory slept with Dean when he was married and then took a year off from Yale and stole a boat.”

“What?” Jess chirped, almost choking on the watery soda he sipped. He’d debated going to the bar, but decided against it. Best not to get drunk in the town where everyone hated you. Especially when your long lost girlfriend didn’t drink anyway.

A certain sadness came to Ella’s smile, shrinking slightly. She tugged at her earring. “Yeah. And she was fighting with Lorelai forever. They weren’t talking. I’m also pretty sure the guy Rory’s dating now is some trust fund kid from Yale with a porsche.”

“Ugh,” Jess grimaced, unable to hold back his distaste.

“We’re just...different. We grew up. Went in different directions. I mean...Lane and Rory are still best friends. I was friendly with her at a bachelorette party last night. But it’s weird now. I can’t...I don’t really know her anymore, I guess.”

Jess nodded.

She shrugged again, deflective. “I still love Lorelai. But I haven’t seen her much lately, since Luke didn’t want her to meet April, which is a whole different beast. Things...changed. But, hey, maybe I changed too.”

“You did,” Jess said. “But not in a bad way.”

She scoffed, gently plucking at the collar of his white button-up. He wore with it black pants, completing their gothic look when they stood together. Ella knew, though, that both of their outfits came cheap and basic. That’s why they had them. Of course, he still refused to wear a tie of any kind. “You too. Still a jackass, though.”

“Glad you see me in such a positive light.”

“But, in an arguing-with-me-about-Kerouac kind of way. Not in a gnome-stealing, running-off-to-California kind of way,” she explained, feeling goosebumps rise on her pale skin where his fingertips still brushed against her arm.

As much as Jess lived in his words, touch had always been such a major form of communication with him. Older and able to judge it more easily, Ella could see it. It calmed him down, made him feel safe. She could understand that. It was what happened when someone grew up in a place where they were often touched in anger.

“Well, the Kerouac defense will never change. He’s a genius,” Jess insisted mockingly.

Ella rolled her eyes, leaning back against him. “You’re impossible.”

“Right back at ya.”

The band began one of their familiar White Stripes covers. Ella couldn’t count how many times she’d heard it over the years, during nightly practice. It was so odd to see Lane in a wedding dress, all grown up. A nostalgic smile ghosted over her lips and she sighed. Neither she nor Jess said a word for a long while, comfortable in each other’s grasp. June crickets and cicadas sung, mixing with the sound of Zach’s vocals. Patty and Babette laughed heartily at something across the table. The air smelled of cigarettes and beer and summer-cut grass. Soon, the song faded away and Zach played the opening chords to something different, something Ella hadn’t heard him play in a long time. “Sweet Thing” by Van Morrison, a cover they’d attempted after Ella moved in, when she’d let Lane hear one of her Jeff Buckley live albums, on which he did his own cover of the song. She broke into a full grin. It was the perfect song for a late-night wedding reception, romantic and long and calm.

Jess seemed to notice her brightening up at the tune, as he sat up and faced her with a mysterious smile. “You wanna dance?”

She snorted a disbelieving chuckle. “Excuse me?”

“Do you wanna dance? I know you like this song.”

Ella raised her eyebrows. “Liking the song is one thing. Subjecting everyone to the horrifying visual of my dance moves is another.”

He rolled his eyes, standing up and extending a hand to her. “So dramatic. It’s a slow song. And we didn’t dance at Liz and TJ’s wedding. Making up for lost time.”

“Fine,” she sighed, taking his hand, and letting him pull her up. “But it’s your funeral.”

“I like to live dangerously,” Jess said, leading her to the dance floor.

“Whatever, James Dean.”

Before they were out of range, Miss Patty blew a stream of bluish smoke in their direction and gave a bark of haughty laughter. “I’d watch out for her, young man. Have you heard about the domino incident of 1992? Ella made the Gazette. Her talents run more towards the musical.”

His smirk grew. “I’ve been warned.”

They passed Lorelai on the way, lingering by the bar and sipping her Manhattan. Tumbler filled with cherries, sugar on the rim. The sight almost made Ella want to chuckle, almost grimace. The drink looked as sweet as cotton candy, but she would expect nothing less of a Gilmore woman. More than half of the sleepovers she’d had with Rory involved a midnight raid of the kitchen. S’mores pop tarts were one of Ella’s personal favorites. Lorelai reached out an arm to stop them, wavering drunkenly on her feet.

“Ugh, I can’t believe Sid Vicious is back,” she slurred to Ella, pointing at Jess angrily.

With Lorelai so close to her face, Ella could smell the tequila on her breath. “I told you before. He’s got more of a Richard Hell vibe, in my opinion.”

Jess blushed, but said nothing. He only tightened his grip on Ella’s hand.

“Your uncle is out of town,” Lorelai continued, facing Jess.

“That he is,” Jess said shortly. Time had passed, but it was clear Lorelai still wasn’t quite over her contempt for him. Though, he could definitely recognize what an asshole he’d been as a teenager.

Lorelai laughed bitterly. “He’s with his daughter. Who Ella’s met and you’ve met and Rory’s met. And I haven’t met!”

Searching her head for a careful response, Ella was utterly relieved when Rory came up from behind her mother.

“Hey, mom, let’s get some coffee for you, why don’t we?” Rory asked, voice bouncy and nervous.

“You got her?” Ella raised her eyebrows at Rory as she took her mother by the shoulders and began steering her away.

“Oh, I guess we’re going over here now,” Lorelai muttered in drunken surprise.

“Yeah, go have fun,” Rory answered with a little wink, disappearing into the crowd with her mother, headed for the table where her father and some steaming coffee sat.

Blowing out a long breath, Jess shook his head. “I take it that she and Luke aren’t seeing eye to eye.”

“Understatement of the year,” Ella scoffed. “No matter where she and Luke are though, I think you’ll always be a portrait of Sid Vicious to her.”

“Not even with the haircut?” he asked as they made it to the edge of the wooden dance floor.

“Not even with the haircut,” she replied with a smug smirk.

With a heavy breath, Ella placed her hands on the back of Jess’s neck as he brought his hands to her waist. She felt glad Hep Alien’s version of the song was nearly ten minutes long; it would have nearly been over after Patty’s warning and Lorelai’s ramblings if not.

“Don’t worry, Elle. Just follow my lead,” Jess said quietly, beginning to sway side to side, taking small steps.

“Shut up, I’m focusing,” she hissed, watching her feet.

He chuckled slightly. “Relax. Just look at me.”

Sighing again, Ella managed to drag her gaze away from her shoes and up to Jess’s big brown eyes.

“Hi,” he whispered, smiling fondly.

“Hi,” she replied, feeling the anxiety in her stomach lessen slightly. “Deja-vu, huh?”

“Maybe a little,” he said, shrugging. “But I’d say things are looking a little sunnier now.”

“Still finding those silver linings.” Ella gave him an affectionate peck on the lips.

Why was she nervous?, she asked herself. She didn’t need to be. Maybe it was the future creeping up on her, or her exit from the only place she had ever lived only a week away. But, as she looked at Jess, she felt her heartbeat slow. And her lips even turned up a touch at the corners. Where she was going, he’d be.

#jess mariano fanfiction #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano #jess #mariano #gilmore girls fanfiction #gilmore girls imagines #gilmore girls imagine #gilmore girls au #jess mariano au #lane kim #lorelai gilmore #rory gilmore #jess mariano x oc #jess mariano x original character #original character #original character stories #fanfiction

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montaguehphm · 4 years

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Hogwarts Mystery Asks: Jacob Donohue

I decided to finally compile my answers for this lovely questionnaire by @batgirl-87 and @cptaincarswell and answer the whole thing so people could get to know my iteration of Jacob better. The original intention is for followers to send which questions they want answers, but I decided to answer everything now after doing some of the questions a few weeks ago with some changes here and there. So, here you go. Enjoy!

Full name & nickname(s)?

Jacob Erhard Donohue

When was Jacob born?

7th October 1963

What does Jacob look like?

Jacob and Montague look very similar in that they both have thick eyebrows, round brown eyes, rich dark hair, and require glasses. Jacob, however, has darker skin, smaller eyes, cheekbones (like their father), and an undercut compared to Montague’s tan skin and messy hair. Nowadays, Jacob sports a nice clean beard and a messy bun with his undercut in an attempt to look like one of those “rugged hipster biker boys who work as historians”.

Do you two have any other siblings?

None other. The Donohue parents decided two children was enough.

What is your MC’s relationship like with Jacob?

Prior to Jacob’s disappearance, Montague and Jacob were always close. Jacob would send Montague owls every week about his school life and all the cool things that happened at Hogwarts. Montague, in return, would send Jacob drawings of his older brother and his best friend, Duncan Ashe, and a creative interpretation of the events Jacob mentions in his letters and all about the things he’s learning while their mother brings Montague to work. When Jacob became a third year, he would send Montague some Honeydukes sweets, specifically Peppermint Toads, along with his letters to him and his parents. In the summers, Jacob would even try to teach Montague some cool spells he learned over the course of his enrollment at Hogwarts.

The one topic Jacob never talked about were the Cursed Vaults, a secret he kept from his brother because he didn’t want to have Montague tangled with R like he was. When Jacob disappeared because of the Cursed Vaults, Montague was shaken to his core because his brother never told him about the Vaults. He believed it wasn’t true at first because he believed his brother would tell him everything, but at some point, he started thinking that maybe he doesn’t really know his brother at all. In fact, he even believed that everything his brother told him in all those letters were lies.

After Jacob was located and reunited with Montague after the former disapparated from the Portrait Vault, Montague lashed out at his brother for leaving him just when they finally found each other again, for keeping the Cursed Vaults a secret from him, for lying to him, and for everything he felt inside. Jacob understood the hurt and pain he caused Montague and his family for entangling himself in such a dangerously ambitious excursion, but managed to apologize to Montague for the pain and stress his dangerously foolish decisions have caused. He assured his younger brother, however, that he never once lied to Montague about anything in his letters (except for the parts about Duncan) and that he only kept the Cursed Vaults a secret from Montague and their family for their own safety.

They eventually made amends and became much closer than ever. When the war against R was won, Jacob attended Montague’s graduation party at The Three Broomsticks with his family and friends.

What is Jacob’s relationship like with your parents?

Jacob had a good relationship with his parents prior to his disappearance. Converse to Montague's close relationship with their mother, Jacob was closer to their father, who also would bring Jacob to his work in his earlier years. Seeing how passionate his father was about his job perhaps ignited Jacob's taste for danger. Mrs. Donohue, on the other hand, would worry a bit more about Jacob getting too passionate about things that were dangerous. She did take pride in how well Jacob excelled in school, given her children's natural intelligence and flair for academic excellence. Every year during the summer break, she would take Montague and Jacob to some Muggle attractions around London and they would have a grand time together, especially at their favorite bakery.

When Jacob disappeared, his parents were devastated. While their reputation in the Ministry was also put into question because of it, they were more concerned over the safety and well-being of their missing eldest, leading Mr. Donohue to request for several investigations into the Cursed Vaults, none of which were allowed for reasons the family couldn't understand. Mrs. Donohue had to keep a strong front, given her high-ranking position in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. At home, it was not as happy as it used to be, but they tried to keep it together for Montague, who understood and knew just how hard his parents took Jacob's disappearance.

When Jacob resurfaced, he was able to contact his parents but had to keep communication to a minimum for their safety. This lifted a great weight from their hearts, knowing that Jacob is alive and well, but worried that both their children are in grave danger. After the war against R was over, Jacob was able to reunite with his whole family, which ended in a tearful embrace and an exchange of stories over the events that transpired.

What is his wand?

Pine, Phoenix Feather, 14 ½ inches, Unyielding

Pine wands always choose an independent, individual master who may be perceived as a loner, intriguing and perhaps mysterious. Pine wands enjoy being used creatively, and unlike some others, will adapt unprotestingly to new methods and spells. Many wandmakers insist that pine wands are able to detect, and perform best for, owners who are destined for long lives, including Garrick Ollivander who had never personally known the master of a pine wand to die young.

Phoenix feather wands are always the pickiest when it comes to potential owners, for the creature from which they are taken is one of the most independent and detached in the world. These wands are the hardest to tame and to personalize, and their allegiance is usually hard won. A wand of this flexibility finely tunes itself to its original owner’s preferences and doesn’t stray from those preferences, even in the hands of a new owner; the new owner will just have to get used to it. It is particularly good for combative and healing magic.

Unyielding wand owners tend to be very confident in themselves and/or in the things they believe in. They tend to be intelligent, somewhat cynical, and usually have well-defined principles that they will not stray from ever. Sometimes, this combination can lead to arrogance because of them insisting on how right they are without considering other points of view or whether or not they might be wrong.

What is his favorite subject?

His best subjects were Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Herbology. Among those four, he had the deepest inclination to DADA, most likely because of his father's influence as an Auror.

What is his least favorite subject?

While the topic of history was interesting to Jacob, he absolutely hated History of Magic because of the ever-so-boring Professor Binns.

Who is his favorite professor?

Professor Filius Flitwick was not only Jacob’s Head of House, but he was also incredibly patient and paternal with Jacob, especially given how much trouble Jacob constantly got himself into during his time at Hogwarts. Flitwick was Jacob’s go-to professor for any concerns he had with improving on his magical abilities. In turn, Jacob excelled in Charms and even got an O in his O.W.L.’s and was even destined to excel in his Charms N.E.W.T. Flitwick did not want to see his star student face expulsion, but given the overwhelming evidence against Jacob, he had no choice but to let the expulsion happen.

An honorable mention for this is Professor Pomona Sprout, who noted not only Jacob’s adeptness for Herbology, but also how his kind and caring nature was an essential part of his success in the subject. Jacob successfully garnered an O in his Herbology O.W.L. and proceeded to N.E.W.T. levels. She was among the group of professors who didn’t want Jacob expelled, but had no choice as well.

Who is his least favorite professor?

Professor Cuthbert Binns. He was incredibly boring.

What House is Jacob in? (I know he’s supposed to be in your mc’s same House but is he really in the same house as your mc?)

Jacob Donohue is a Ravenclaw, but he was also a hatstall for Gryffindor, which somewhat disappointed Professor Sprout when she got to see Jacob's kind and caring side during her classes when Hufflepuff wasn’t even considered during Jacob’s hatstall. Jacob's most prized trait is his intelligence, a trait that Montague and Mrs. Donohue also prized. Jacob was also one of the most academically gifted students of his year, if not the most, excelling in every required class and elective he took.

Did he play Quidditch? Was he a fan of the game? Or not so much?

While he was actually a far better flyer than Montague, he never played Quidditch. He wasn't particularly close with the sport, but he appreciated it enough. He would even cheer for his friends who made the team. When he became romantically involved with fellow Ravenclaw Calum O'Connor, who was also the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain at the time, he gained more interest in the sport.

Did he have any pets?

He has a Great Horned Owl named Mercury and a Kneazle named Diana.

What are his top 3 positive personality traits?

Intelligent: Jacob prized his clever nature as he relies on this to help him ease through a situation, especially with the Cursed Vaults and earning O’s in all of his O.W.L.’s. He also attributes his ability to solve problems well to his out-of-the-box thinking and his quick wit.

Good-Hearted: Professor Pomona Sprout noted his kind and caring nature. Jacob has always been a kind and caring person, most especially to his brother, Montague. He was also noted for how much help he would give underclassmen when they were having academic troubles without anything in exchange.

Courageous: Jacob would basically do everything in his power to protect his loved ones, even if that meant sacrificing a bright future for himself to keep them safe from R.

What are his top 3 negative personality traits?

Stubborn: After his imprisonment in the Portrait Vault, Jacob became at times hardly dissuaded from his beliefs, a trait that Montague noted became much more event some time after the brothers reunited. His stubbornness led him to be quite secretive as well, refusing to give any information and preferring to do things on his own.

Arrogant: At times, Jacob’s ego over his smarts would get the better of him and would bruise him quite badly. His arrogance over his intelligence also would translate to a stubbornness to change his opinions over something, which could be quite detrimental.

Reserved: This isn’t necessarily a negative trait. Sometimes, being reserved allows Jacob to make rational decisions. In worse cases, however, he doesn’t acknowledge how he really feels about a situation till it’s too late and he explodes into a ball of intense reactions.

What does Amortentia smell like to him?

What is his patronus?

Granian Winged Horse

“A Granian Winged Horse can represent an owner who is stronger minded, the owner of this patronus will never give up on there opinion no matter how much others try to change there mind. The owner of this patronus is also incredibly witty and intelligent much like Ravenclaw, who are witty and intelligent as well!”

(description from @hogwartswelcomesyou)

Fun fact: Both Donohue brothers had winged horse patronuses before Montague’s patronus became an occamy after his wedding. Montague’s used to be an Abraxan Winged Horse.

Is he an animagus?

No, he isn’t. He did think that if he could be one, he’d like to be a huge bird like a Philippine eagle. Also...

What is his boggart?

Watching his family be executed by R, specifically by Patricia Rakepick, who would say that everything really is Jacob’s fault that everything turned out the way it did.

What were his career goals?

At first, he wanted to join his father and become an Auror. He thought it would be a fun idea to be a father-and-son duo. Later on, he decided to change course and become a Curse-Breaker.

What were his hobbies?

Like Montague, Jacob had a thing for the arts. He loved sketching, which was one of his favorite ways of recalling an event when he tries to put things down in his diary. He also enjoys cooking without magic because it gives him a sense of control and achievement when he’s able to do it without a help of a spell. He also loves a good book with a hot mug of cocoa by the fireplace (or the furnace in the tent, if he’s traveling) before bed.

Favorite magical creature?

As a child, he was a huge fan of Hippogriffs. He always wanted one as a travel companion to take to the skies someday. He also has a soft spot for kneazles, crups, and puffskeins.

Why did he get involved with the Cursed-Vaults?

Jacob’s involvement initially began as a curiosity that needed to be satisfied. The way his mind works is that the more he ignores something he wants to solve, the more desperately urgent it begins to feel that he needs to solve it. His curiosity and the involvement of his friends, Duncan Ashe and Olivia Green, drove him deeper into this obsession to prove the existence of the Vaults. His partnering and eventual manipulation by R turned the whole thing into a necessity for survival not only for himself, but for those he loved and held dearly.

In what state do you think you’ll find Jacob in? (alive, dead, death eater, etc.?)

Jacob is found alive and trapped in a portrait in the Portrait Vault during Montague's fifth year. They had a quick and joyful reunion before Jacob found out that Madame Rakepick lead them to the Portrait Vault. He decided to chase after her in an attempt to stop her while the trail was still hot, leaving Montague and his friends behind.

If Jacob survives, what future do you see for him?

After Montague's graduation, Jacob decided to take an indefinite break from anything dangerous and life-threatening and took up a more calm and cyclical lifestyle. He bought himself a small fairytale-like cottage somewhere in Surrey. He decided to live a more routinely life and become a Healer at St. Mungo's for patients who got into terrible and traumatic incidents. He found solace in caring for them because he understood these patients. Outside of St. Mungo's, he does a sideline of growing fresh potion ingredients and develop some quality fertilizer in his greenhouse, which delighted Professor Sprout. She would ask Jacob to do some guest lectures for her prior to her retirement. He also took up baking and floral arranging to help himself out when he can.

In regards to having a love life, he does eventually have one. Back in Hogwarts, Jacob dated Asher Davies, who was the brother of Montague's former prefect, Chester (yes, that Chester). Asher was a Ravenclaw prefect a year below him who did reciprocate Jacob’s feelings and dated him for six months, but mutually decided that it wasn’t going to work out between them. At some point as grown-ups, Asher spotted Jacob exiting a coffee shop in London one afternoon. The two shared a happy albeit awkward hug when the two saw each other. Asher invited Jacob, who was planning to head home after his shift, for a drink at The Leaky Cauldron to catch up. Jacob said yes. After a couple months of seeing each other, they decided to try their luck and become exclusive again. (I can write more about this if y’all want that.)

During the Second Wizarding War, he joins the Order of the Phoenix as a Healer and helping other Order members with debriefings. He was asked to consider being a Scout alongside Montague, but he convinced himself that he wasn’t ready for field work after all the things he experienced with the Cursed Vaults. He fought valiantly, however, at the Battle of Hogwarts and survived after dueling a number of former R members who've allied with Voldemort's forces. During the down time in between battles and after the second battle, he volunteered to assist Madame Pomfrey to help heal and comfort the injured.

After the war, Jacob resumed his life as a Healer at St. Mungo's, growing potion ingredients, baking, and floral arrangements. However, a few months after Montague and Barnaby's wedding, Jacob couldn't help but wonder what if he went back to the field and tried to become the Curse-Breaker he wanted to be till he could no longer resist the urge to do it.

He eventually decided to retire from St. Mungo's and began to offer his help to his little Curse-Breaker brother by supplying the research and co-planning the strategies whenever a big client came up. On his first mission since forever, he was a bit rusty with his defensive and offensive spells but managed to do well. He admits that it took him a while to get back into the groove because he was afraid of another R-like incident. It was then Montague's turn to help his brother in any way he could from helping him repolish his spellwork to helping him better manage his internal dealings. Eventually, the two brothers made a family business out of their freelance Curse-Breaker gigs. Barnaby, during his breaks from his research work, assisted on several missions from time to time, which the brothers deeply appreciate.

When Montague retired from Curse-Breaking to become a professor at Hogwarts and Barnaby followed suit on professorship, Jacob took over and employed a team of people (a healer, two researchers, a logistician, and an accountant) to help keep the new family business afloat.

Misc. - Any other Jacob headcanons you have OR asker’s choice - ask any question you have about Jacob not on the list =)

Jacob was also a Prefect during his time. Just like his brother, Professors Dumbledore and Flitwick thought that his academic achievements, his nurturing the Ravenclaw underclassmen, and his continued showing of Ravenclaw traits outweighed the amount of trouble he caused. They hoped that giving him the privilege of becoming a Prefect would help keep Jacob out of trouble. Flitwick and Dumbledore thought of applying the same principle to Montague when he was considered to become a Prefect himself. Up until Jacob’s expulsion, Jacob was a shining example of what a Ravenclaw Prefect was.

Jacob was one of the people who formed Montague’s taste in Muggle music, and introduced him to pop and rock music.

One of Jacob’s (and Mrs. Donohue’s) favorite places in London was the Tower Bridge on the River Thames because he enjoyed seeing London from such a high place. He finds the view rather calming.

Jacob loves chocolate. In fact, Jacob’s favorite Honeydukes sweets were all chocolates: Honeydukes Best Chocolate, Chocoballs, Cauldron Cakes, and Chocolate Cauldrons.

Jacob’s bisexual (male-leaning but bisexual nonetheless) ass had a number of crushes during his stay at Hogwarts. Some notable ones were the following: Duncan Ashe himself, who didn’t reciprocate Jacob’s feelings but stayed friends with him nonetheless; Sakura Inoue-Clarke, a Gryffindor prefect in the same year as Jacob who also couldn’t reciprocate his feelings because she was dating somebody else at the time; and, Asher Davies, a Ravenclaw prefect a year below Jacob and was one of his more serious relationships. Jacob’s longest relationship with a fellow student was with Calum O'Connor, the Ravenclaw seeker and captain during his fifth year, with whom he had a number of flings with before they eventually became romantically exclusive and steady before they mutually broke up prior to their seventh year.

So, that’s it on my iteration of Jacob. I hope you enjoyed this! Also, do let me know if you’re interested in me writing about Jacob Donohue’s love life. 👀

#harry potter hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm jacob #jacob donohue #montague donohue #ask montaguehphm #jacob asks #okay yay i'm done whoot whoot #nighty night #art by montaguehphm

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