#sometimes he says such finely crafted strings of words you just have to stop and marvel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ramzawrites · 4 years ago

Text

Wherever the world takes us Part 1 - A SBI!Reader insert

Pairings: none Characters included: Philza, Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, Cpt Puffy, Schlatt, Captain Sparklez, (mentioned) Fundy Warnings: small mention of death Series: Yes, planned slow updates but this happens in a slight AU world of the official lore of the dsmp and follows along the plot only this time the reader gets included as the middle hybrid child of the SBI Part 2

Summary: A small introduction to the SBI family dynamic including the reader! Today is Techno’s big day at the local festival! He get’s to participate in a fighting tournament but until that happens there is still a ton of time to somehow still get into trouble, isn’t there?

Word count: 4380

Shapeshifters aren’t as rare as many people think. In fact many carry that gene but not everyone ends up showing the properties of one. If you have the active gene you may show first changes during your early childhood which then stretches out until your late teens where the changes will stop resulting in the persons usual animal like form. These changes can range from a whole body covered in fur to having goat like eyes or just horns on their head.

As far as scientists know there isn’t a real reason as to what the final form will be since Shapeshifters who are directly related to one another can have complete and drastically different forms to each other. Though an old myth has been going around for as long as people know that the form a Shapeshifter takes is a result of their subconscious, something that mirrors their true self. Sadly due to this belief many Non-Shifters hold stereotypes and prejudice towards them.

Philza was a Shapeshifter himself. As a kid two stubs slowly appeared at his back and settled in over the years as beautiful huge black wings that he could use for takeoff and a bit for flying but mostly functioned better for gliding around. He used these wings to later travel around the world, learning everything about it and training himself.

At some point he did settle down again and ended up fathering four children alone of whom two showed Shapeshifter properties as well.

There were the twins Technoblade and Wilbur. Technoblade showed from an early age on a deeper interest in fighting. Always asking to learn more than the self-defense techniques their father was teaching them, so Philza took the time to teach him everything he knew. Gifting him later on a proper iron sword which Techno then used to train almost daily with. Philza later had to put mending on that sword since it was chipped and scratched in a short time over heavy use. He is also one of the two children of Philza who ended up being a Shapeshifter. They first noticed when two of his teeth in his lower jaw tended to peek out of his mouth. Over the years these two teeth turned into full blown tusks, flappy pink ears would appear on his head, his hair slowly turned into a soft pink, as well as bristle like fur begun growing on his arms. It were the characteristics of a pig as they soon realized.

Wilbur the younger of the twins by two minutes was more interested in music and books. Philza gifted him a guitar the same time he gave Techno his first sword. From that point on it was a rare thing if you didn’t see Wilbur’s guitar around him. Either on his person or laying close by him. Over time he got really proficient with the instrument and begun writing amazing songs as well as singing them himself.

The middle child Y/N was the more mellow of the whole bunch though this didn’t mean much in the context of the whole family. While they happily took part in whatever trouble their siblings got up to they were at the end the first person that would try to help solve these troubles as well and took care of any wounds. To that end they soon learned how to grow their own herbs to make medicine. This was something Philza taught them. Both would spent a ton of time in the garden, so much so, that the garden was dubbed Y/N’s and Dad’s garden. Techno would sometimes help out as well but that was a more rare occurrence. Y/N was the second kid with the active Shapeshifter gene. Just like their father, two stubs appeared at their back that too would turn into huge black wings. Y/N still remembered how perplexed but proud Philza was when he understood what was happening. They didn’t know what they expected from their father but this reaction wasn’t it. But they weren’t mad about it.

The youngest of the family was Tommy and he was the number one reason why the kids got into trouble in the first place. He would wake up, make weird plans and rope the others into it as well. Wilbur was the first he would usually try to recruit to which Techno then would reluctantly join knowing that if the two are together they will need help later on. Getting Y/N on board was pretty easy as well. It was either a thing of them knowing they will one hundred percent get hurt so best to join in now or they were feeling particularly chaotic that day and wouldn’t even hesitate to join.

Back when they all lived together in their old cottage home their daily lives would always start in the same way.

Philza would be the first awake. He would wake the children up and continue downstairs to work on breakfast for everyone.

There was no real order to who would be the first downstairs for food but it was always Y/N who would be the last to join the group. Moving in front of their designated chair only to stretch before properly sitting down.

“Ew! Gross! Your wing touched my food!” Wilbur exclaimed angrily, pulling the plate with his food closer to himself and farther away from his sibling.

Y/N rolled their eyes “I’m not poisonous, Wilbur.”

“Still gross.” He muttered more to himself as he reluctantly took a bite from his toast.

Phil eyed the two but looked back down to his food and coffee “Your wings are getting pretty big. I’m sure it won’t take long until you can do more than just gliding about.”

“So, that means you can teach them to fly soon?” Tommy was the one to ask surprisingly. Sure, that was on Y/N’s mind as well so they didn’t mind Tommy saying what they thought but they still felt like it was a bad sign and a call for trouble though they couldn’t think how nor did they care enough to find out.

Philza raised one of his eyebrows, obviously taking note of that fact as well. It was something you learned to look out for once you spend enough time with Tommy. “I’m not sure how soon but I think so, yeah.”

“Cool.” Was all Tommy remarked. He then proceeded to stare at his food so his family would get their suspicion off of him. Acting as if he didn’t just figuratively plant a huge red flag on the table with the words “I have a plan!”.

Y/N on the other hand couldn’t help to smile. They were excited for the eventual day when Philza could finally teach them how to fly. For the longest time now they have only learned to use their wings to glide and got really good at changing directions while doing so. Taking care of their wings was already a pain so they wanted to get at least something good out of having them in the first place and being able to properly fly is a huge plus since getting into positions where you could actually glide around was a difficult and a bothersome thing.

Philza sighed choosing to ignore Tommy and instead turned to look at Wilbur and Y/N “What is your plan today? Want to join me and Techno when we go into town for the tournament?”

After a few seconds of confused expressions between the two Wilbur suddenly shouted “Oh! Techno’s tournament! Of course! I wanna see him beat up other people for a change!”

Techno snorted “Really feeling the support here right now, bro.”

“I’m guessing you both are coming too?” Philza was now addressing the other two of his kids.

Both were fast and eager to agree. Wilbur was right. Usually Techno tried sparring with his siblings though using the word sparring was maybe an overstatement. He would mercilessly beat them up and complain they didn’t last long enough. At rare times where all of them were bored enough they would play a game of >Who can last the longest against Techno<. Y/N really wasn’t too big a fan of this game since they ended up being the only one who would address the wounds later including their own since they didn’t trust the others to properly apply a band aid.

From this point on the breakfast was more alive than before. Tommy and Wilbur would constantly ask questions to Techno about who he will be fighting or how everything will work. To which he all just gave a very non-committal “I dunno”.

After they all cleaned up the breakfast table, they got ready and grabbed everything they needed.

The town wasn’t super far away but it was a long enough walk that it would be inconvenient to get back for things you might have forgotten.

Techno grabbed his sword while Wilbur made sure to take his beloved guitar with him. Y/N made sure to grab all kinds of medicine and bandages with them. They knew Techno will get treated at the tournament should he get hurt but they felt better if they brought some stuff with them as well. Tommy on the other hand made sure to grab all kinds of things including a few pages of paper, pens, string and more. Philza wanted to just write it down to Tommy probably meeting up with Tubbo in town and doing harmless crafts but the chances were slim.

As they made their way to the tournament and Philza was preaching to them to not cause any trouble since there would be a lot of people there today, Y/N soon noticed how Techno would nervously play around with the hilt of his worn out sword.

They affectionately put their arm around their older brother for a short side hug, including putting their wing around him “You’ll do fine. I know it. Don’t worry too much and just imagine you are beating one of us up.”

Technoblade had to roll his eyes at that “I’ll try to take that advice to heart.”

As they arrived in town the kids looked around in awe. Everywhere were stalls set up selling food or little decorative things or toys. People where weaving in and out between stalls, loudly talking with each other. Laughter and yells filled the air.

In the middle of the town square there was a huge box marked on the ground. This is where the fights would happen. As far as Techno explained the rules were simple. Get your opponent on their back, get them out of the box or beat them unconscious. Tommy was absolutely loving the idea of Techno beating all of his opponents unconscious and said he wouldn’t take any other result as acceptable.

“Alright kiddos. Techno and I have to talk with the organizer. You three can go and have some fun but you have to promise me a few things. Whatever you guys do stay together! Don’t talk to strangers and as soon as the fights start you come over. I will find you then, okay? I will only let you guys go if you agree to this.”

“I can still try to find Tubbo, right?” Tommy asked.

“Of course but only if you all stay together.” He was looking at Wilbur when he said the last part. This meant Wilbur was the boss for today. Well until they met up again with their dad.

Wilbur put his hands on each shoulder of his younger siblings “We will! Don’t worry dad!”

Philza gave them a last nod before walking off. Before Techno followed him he looked at the three “Don’t… cause too much trouble. At least for me so nothing happens to the tournament.” With that Technoblade turned around and followed Philza closely.

“Well, what should we start with?” Y/N asked their brothers.

Tommy threw his arms in the air “Tubbo!”

Wilbur laughed “Alright. We’ll try to find your Tubbo. I’m sure he and his siblings should be around here as well.”

Tubbo was Tommy’s best friend and honestly he hangs around their home so much they almost consider him a family member as well. He had an older sister Puffy and an older brother Schlatt though. They were a curious case. All three of them carried the active Shapeshifter gene and all three begun growing horns, their ears turned into that of goats and they all had the horizontal iris’.

Y/N liked to spend time with Puffy. Just like Y/N Puffy too acted more like a caretaker to her siblings which the two soon bonded over while Schlatt and Wilbur soon hit it off as well. It was actually quite amusing to see them interacting since Wilbur was known for loving art and freedom. Schlatt on the other hand tried to see how he can scam the most people in the most effective manner in the shortest amount of time. Trying to turn in a profit at every turn. You wouldn’t immediately think they would end up being such good friends.

The three were raised by their father as well who everyone just referred to as Captain Sparklez though his real name was Jordan. He coincidentally also helped with setting up this little festival for the town.

Tommy suddenly took a deep breath in as he cupped his hands around his mouth “Tubbo!”

Wilbur furrowed his brows “Tommy, there are a ton of people around here! There is no way he heard you.”

“Tommy! Over here!” a different voice called out, away from all the stalls and people.

Wilbur and Y/N looked surprised while Tommy almost proudly smirked at them. The bond Tommy and Tubbo had was something else.

Together the three ran through the crowd to finally meet up with Tubbo and apparently his siblings. As a greeting Tubbo softly headbutted Tommy while Puffy did the same to Y/N. Schlatt never did this with Wilbur. Said he might have goat like characteristics but he is still more human than goat hence why he didn’t do this whole headbutting thing. It has been a whole ordeal with Wilbur once where he demanded to get a headbutt from Schlatt as well for a greeting. After enough prodding and being a general nuisance Schlatt decided to straight up headbutt him as hard as possible almost knocking him out and gave him a good bruise on his forehead. Wilbur never asked for another headbutt greeting since then.

Y/N gave Puffy an additional hug, making sure to wrap their wings around her as well “I’m glad to see you Puffy!”

“So am I! I heard Techno is taking part in the tournament, isn’t he?”

Schlatt was for some reason cackling at that “Oh I bet he will win, won’t he? This would be the best time for some betting!”

Tommy, Y/N and Wilbur all nodded saying things like “Of course he will win. My brother is the best”

Soon the group begun to fall into their usual banter. Tommy and Tubbo were doing something next to them, only sometimes getting back into the conversation. Schlatt and Wilbur on the other hand were talking about how they could start bets and maybe earn some money because surely Techno will win. Y/N and Puffy listened in only to interject at times to root them back down. Both made sure they wouldn’t end up doing anything too stupid, though they too were in on it and ready to help out.

In the end the whole group was sitting on the ground and writing their plan down on the paper Tommy brought with him as suddenly a loud voice boomed over the crowd announcing that the fighting tournament will soon begin.

Tubbo looked absolutely horrified “No! I didn’t have a chance to check out the candy yet!”

Schaltt sighed and gave Tubbo a reassuring pat on his back “Don’t worry kiddo they will still be here after the tournament.”

With that the group begun walking to the marked place for the fighting. All the while Schlatt was grumbling that this was way too early and he couldn’t act on his betting plans.

“There are a lot of people.” Y/N noted as they came closer to their goal.

Indeed there were a surprising amount of people standing around the place. If it was difficult to get through the crowd before, now it seemed almost impossible. It was almost comical how the crowd seemingly turned into a wall of steel as the announcer begun his speech in order to greet all the people watching.

“Ugh, I can barely see anything.” Wilbur whined as he moved on his toes. Wilbur was the tallest of the group so when he had problems seeing anything Y/N instinctively already gave up. Maybe one day it would be the other way around seeing as they all were still growing but for now this was the reality of the situation.

Tommy was frantically jumping into the air trying to see anything that happened. He didn’t say it but he wanted to make sure to not miss out on any second of Techno’s fights. He was his older brother after all.

“Hey, Schlatt?” Tubbo almost whispered as he tugged at his older brother’s shirt.

Schlatt barely made any proper attempt to look over the crowd probably still busy thinking about his lost business opportunity. He tilted his head down to look at Tubbo “Hm?”

Suddenly Tubbo’s unsure expression turned into a serious one. While Wilbur, Tommy and Y/N were confused about this, Puffy begun to snicker.

“Aw, come on!” Schlatt drawled out but as soon as Tubbo got his pouting face out it was over for him.

He rolled his eyes and knelt down. With the help of Puffy, Tubbo was soon sitting on Schlatt’s shoulders, overlooking the crowd.

For some reason Tommy looked absolutely betrayed “This is unfair!”

“And why is that?” was all that Tubbo asked smugly. He was grabbing onto Schlatt’s horns which lead to him involuntarily yanking around his head whenever Tubbo himself moved around. Annoyed Schlatt gave his younger brother a playful slap on his arm as a sign to knock it off.

Tommy crossed his arms “Hey, Wilby! Wait no, I’m not a child anymore.”

Before Wilbur could even do his obligatory cooing whenever Tommy used his nickname or before Y/N could remind him that he was indeed still a child and younger than Tubbo he turned towards them instead.

“Y/N! You carry me and fly up that is way cooler than sitting on someone’s shoulders like some two year old.”

This took Y/N quite by surprise “What?”

“Dad said you are ready to fly and you spent like most of your free time already gliding or flying about so like basically the same thing right?”

“No! This is completely different! Besides I’m pretty sure my wings right now are barely able to carry my own weight! To that I have no idea how to take off from ground!”

Tommy’s bottom lip begun to quiver. Both Wilbur and Y/N knew it was fake but it was still a weakness for the two.

Y/N tried grabbing Wilbur’s sleeve for support but he was already looking at them with sad eyes himself “I mean Tommy just wants to see his big brother win, which is understandable right? At least worth a try?”

It was Y/N’s time to look betrayed but their expression soon got exchange by that one of defeat “One… One try. If that doesn’t work out I will give up.”

So the group walked back away from the crowd to have more space, Tubbo still happily sitting on Schlatt’s shoulders. He looked annoyed but Puffy knew that he was just as happy as she was that Tubbo had obviously a good time.

Y/N would spent a few minutes just trying to take off the ground on their own saying that they would first need to be a bit in the air before being able to grab Tommy. Wilbur was just watching with an amused smile on his face. Oh he was almost certain how this will end in disaster but he was just too curious to see how exactly.

After multiple running starts Y/N managed to get a few feet off into the air, flying directly towards Tommy so they could pick him up. They more or less bodychecked into their younger brother but still managed to pick him up and for a short moment it looked like the two were indeed a few feet above the height of the crowd.

Tommy was screaming partially out of fear but partially out of excitement. Y/N was so concentrated on flying and holding onto Tommy they didn’t even try to look out for Techno on the ground. They stayed semi stable in the air for good two seconds before both suddenly noticed they were losing altitude rapidly.

Now both were screaming as Y/N desperately tried to glide towards the hay bails that the town put up as decoration but with the added weight of Tommy they still plummeted towards the ground pretty fast.

The next thing Y/N remembers was that they were surrounded by hay and that their whole body was feeling heavy and sore. Tommy was groaning as he tried his best to get out of the hay and off their sibling while Y/N first made sure to calmly fold their wings back against their back as they slowly got out of the hay as well.

Suddenly two strong hands grabbed the still disoriented Y/N and helped them properly back to their feet only to be met by an angry looking Philza.

“What on Ender were you thinking?”

“Oh hey dad!” Y/N croaked out as they avoided any eye contact with him. Instead they were busy plucking hay out of their wings. Due to the fall there was a lot of hay trapped between feathers, there were also a few bent feathers that felt uncomfortable at best.

Tommy was sheepishly standing next to them also avoiding eye contact.

“I told you to get to the tournament and wait for me! I told you guys I would make sure to find you so why did you do whatever the hell you just did?” Philza rambled off.

“Yeah guys why did you two do that?” Wilbur was now approaching his family as well, including their other three friends who followed suit.

Y/N let go of their wing as they turned towards their older brother with an angry frown “You encouraged us! Don’t act like you are the only innocent person here! Aren’t you as our big brother supposed to stop us or something when we are stupid?”

Philza sighed “Okay, we deal with this later but at least tell me why?”

“We wanted to see Techno but we couldn’t get past the crowd!” Tommy answered.

“My fights will only start in like half an hour dude. Didn’t you guys listen to the announcements?”

To their surprise Technoblade appeared from behind Philza. He looked bored but still had a somewhat smug smile on his face. Who wouldn’t feel a tiny big smug when your younger siblings gets into trouble with dad for something that was absolutely their fault and you were luckily this time no part of it.

“You three are in trouble! We will go back so Techno won’t be too late for when it’s his turn but once we are back home it’s three weeks of chores for all of you.”

This earned him a murmur of “Okay, dad.” And “But we didn’t do anything bad!”

After that the day ended up pretty normally. They had their trouble for the day so they continued on with following Philza back to the tournament place. He made sure that all the kids had the best places in front so they could watch as Techno absolutely destroyed the other kids.

Jordan joined them as well. Philza didn’t spend any time waiting on telling him how Y/N and Tommy crashed into one of his decorations. He wasn’t angry but did chew out his own kids a little bit for not even attempting to stop them.

For some reason this was the day Y/N always fondly thought back on. They got into their typical trouble that day but also spend a ton of time with their family and friends back in their hometown. Enjoying seeing Techno beat others up and of course winning the tournament to which then Phil and Jordan bought the kids a ton of candy from the stalls.

Yes, they loved their family so dearly and would do anything for them.

So when a letter arrived from Wilbur that informed them that a few days ago a friend betrayed him which led to him losing his first life of three as well for Tommy, Tubbo and their nephew Fundy it felt like their heart got ripped out of their chest.

Y/N was still living at their old childhood home with Philza but both were only rarely at home. The two traveled around the world independently from each other using the old cottage as a place to rest in between. Wilbur probably addressed the letter knowing that this was the most reliable way to contact his family.

Reaching Technoblade who was training out of country was almost impossible at this point in time.

Y/N got out a piece of paper and wrote a letter for their father.

“Dad, I’m going to visit Wil and Tommy. Love, Y/N”

This was all that needed to be said.

They put the letter including the letter from Wilbur visibly on the table so Philza would see it as soon as he got back home. They did this sometimes in order to talk to Philza as well as the other way around so both were always looking out for messages on the table once they got back home.

Y/N grabbed their old netherite sword they got way back from Techno as a gift and begun thinking about what to take with them for the flight towards L’Manberg. If they fly it would only take a few days to reach the place but they also couldn’t carry a lot of things with them.

“Hell of a reason to visit your family after a long time, huh.”

243 notes · View notes

crystalbahamut · 3 years ago

Text

the upper hand

FFXIV Write Day 8: Adroit

Summary: G’raha is good with his hands. You don’t know what to do about how that affects you.

Warnings: set sometime during Crystal Tower questline, unspecified/ambiguous WoL, getting thirsty over hands, 2nd person, G’raha Tia/WoL

Words: 1,162

---

Your first impression of one G’raha Tia was…not exceptional, to say the least.

Now that you’re some days removed from it you can admit the whole thing was amusing. He is one of the more dramatic personalities you’ve met but at least he seems fairly harmless, and the way he gets excited over this Allagan stuff is sort of endearing. You may be the odd one out on this expedition, only really here to fight and create a path for the researchers, but G’raha is friendly and doesn’t talk down to you, so you can forgive him his eccentricities.

Though when an arrow shoots right into the one you had had a mind to retrieve, you sigh and wonder if you should reassess that.

“A wonderful performance, my friend,” G’raha says cheerfully as he walks up to you. “I couldn’t help but join in.”

“Do you think you can join in without ruining my arrows?” you ask lightly.

“I could agree to those terms,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Well, if G’raha intends to join in you should probably clear the target of your ammo, if only to keep him from more enticing targets that will leave you gathering and crafting for a few days. Just as you go to take the first arrow out he’s suddenly at your side, proclaiming, “Allow me,” and moving his hand past yours to grip and pull.

It is at this point you realize G’raha has…very nice hands. His fingers are long and thick, he has calluses from years of obvious work, and the muscles in his hand flex as he grips and pulls, his palm big enough and fingers long enough to cover nearly half of the sha–

“Is something wrong?” G’raha asks, suddenly concerned as he tilts his head to one side and flicks his ears back in concern.

“Ah, just…thought of something,” you say, rather pathetically and turn your head away.

But you can’t stop thinking about them, mostly because you can’t stop seeing them. He is elegantly adroit with a bow, of course, but he’s just as skillful with a number of instruments, as you learn while huddled around the campfire. At least then you have an excuse to watch his hands, but you share a tent with the man and your…growing infatuation with him, you’re not too proud to admit (to yourself), is beginning to wear you down. He’s cheerful and even when he pouts he makes you want to smile and when he gets excited it’s just about the most charming thing you’ve seen.

But gods, he also whittles wood, invites you to watch him play the lute a couple of times (“watch the strings here,” he says, as though you can look anywhere else), and even when you try to distract him from your odd behavior by setting him off on a tangent about the Allagan empire he’s one of those people that talks with his hands, throwing them open and to and fro until you have to stare at a fixed point in the center of his forehead just to get through with some dignity.

But it comes to a point one night when he, drunk, offers to show you something interesting. “I read about it once,” he says, because of course he has. “A form of fortune-telling where one’s future can be divined by reading the lines in their hands. Let me show you?”

You freeze, wondering what’s with this all of a sudden, but he doesn’t wait for you to finish stammering and takes your hand in both of his. It’s…a nice place to be, even if he’s only playing; his thumbs run up the sides of your hands briefly and he leans in close to you as the pad of his index finger runs along the largest line in your palm as he murmurs softly. Something about heart lines; you aren’t really paying attention to the words so much when he starts pressing his thumbs into your flesh as he moves them up and down– he’s massaging them, you realize too late before you let out a little moan.

“Are you all right, my friend?” he asks, and the light from the fire gleams in his blue eye as his mouth curls into an impossibly pleasing smirk that makes you want to lean in and–

You jump up, sputter some reassurances about how you are just fine, wonderful even, and then quickly run back to your tent.

A few nights later you return from a bit of scouting to the sound of G’raha hissing in pain and trying to balance a medical kit on his knees while he frowns at the backs of his hands. “What happened?” you ask and he jumps and nearly sets everything to crash on the ground. He looks at you with a moment of panic, looks at the medical kit, looks at you, and before he can start to lie you cross your arms and look at him sternly. “G’raha.”

He sighs heavily and pouts. “I got in a scuffle,” he admits as you come over to investigate. His face seems unblemished and his clothing isn’t torn, but his hands are rough, with nearly every knuckle bearing an abrasion, if not split open entirely. “I won, but the fighting was a bit more close quarters than I would have preferred.”

“I see,” you say and kneel in front of him. He makes a small sound, like he might refuse, but the words don’t follow so you set the kit beside you on the floor, turn his hands over to focus, and start treating them with cleanser before you get the ointment. You don’t realize, though, until you’re wrapping the bandages that he’s gone very quiet, and once you finish tying the last one off you look up at him to see his face is nearly as red as his hair. “G’raha? What’s wrong? Are they too tight?”

He swallows visibly and shakes his head. “N-no, they’re fine,” he says haltingly. “You are…very good with your hands, my friend.”

It’s a light jest on the surface, but there’s an undercurrent there that you– oh. Oh.

“Am I?” You look at your hands. They’re not really anything special to your eyes– certainly not like G’raha’s– but as you turn them this way and that you catch a glimpse of G’raha watching them with what could only be desire.

You carefully take one of his hands in both of yours, minding his injuries, and gently pull it towards you as you lean in to place a kiss at the very base of his palm. He gasps and you look up at him with a smile. “I’ve liked yours for a while.”

His eyes are wide and his tail thrashes behind him, and suddenly you’re on your back with a hungry miqo’te attached to your lips.

Even injured, G’raha is exceptionally good with his hands.

And apparently, you are too.

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite prompt 8: adroit #ffxiv fanfic #warrior of light #g’raha tia #wol x g’raha tia #wolgraha

30 notes · View notes

akatsukinojutsu · 4 years ago

Text

gods of the mortal world -- uchiha madara / pain

req: @madaras-tiny-diamond : Soo for the request.. ahem.. i think ill go with one of my favorites (took sometime to decide:)) ) I'll request a threesome with these two Gods-literally never seen a fic or Hcs with this on tumblr

You find yourself between two gods -- Madara and Pain (an alternate timeline, heh)

warnings: NSFW content below as well as non-con elements!

You panted heavily as you ran through the battlefield. Around you were an indescribable amount of dead bodies of the shinobi that attempted to fight off their opponents. Panic and adrenaline ran heavily through your veins. It wasn’t until you were able to be alone on an overlooking rock to the battlefield that you were able to get a chance to calm down.

Your body collapsed under you and your chest heaved heavily as you tried to calm your breathing. Deep breath in through the nose and deep out through the mouth.

Your eyes clenched tightly and you were startled by the sounds of feet pounding onto the ground near you. “[Y/N], you did well.” the voice was from a familiar male. Behind you were the two gods among men, Uchiha Madara and Pain. Madara was the one who spoke, his arms were crossed and his lips were in a smirk. You didn’t reply. Pain took a step toward you, “We’re pleased with your willingness to give up your comrades for our plan.” He stopped before you before taking a knee. His hand pushed some messy strands from your face, his painted fingers twisted some of it in his fingers.

Guilt washed over you now as you recalled all the people you sacrificed just to get a taste of the power that Pain and Madara had.

“She feels guilty,” Madara said as he too approached you. His stature shadowed over you and your [e/c] eyes shook as they locked on with Madara’s dark ones.

“Why don’t we show her our appreciation, Pain? [Y/N] doesn’t deserve to feel any guilt over any of this,” he knelt down on the opposite side of you, his fingers also pushing more of your hair away. His face leaned in close and with his hot breath wafting onto your sweat stained skin, “She did only what is natural...”

It took not much time for you to realize what they had in plan. When you tried to push yourself up from the ground, Pain pushed you back down. He took your hand and brushed his lips against your skin. Pain’s lips made their way all the way up your arm and to your throat. It wasn’t long until Pain’s hands made their way to your chest and tightly clenching your clothing in his fists.

Pain didn’t have to use much strength to remove your shirt as it was tattered from the battle. Madara decided to step in and made quick work of your shoes and pants.

“Your body is finely crafted,” Madara commented as his hands roamed your skin. Your mouth opened to protest but nothing came out -- you were fully under their control. “I don’t even need to use my Sharingan,” Madara snorted lightly.

“You want this power, don’t you?” Pain asked as he removed himself from you and stood up. Your eyes examined his Rinnegan eyes and it was as if your mouth was about to water when thinking about what you could do with that dojutsu. All you could manage to say was a stuttered, “Y-Yes.”

Pain unbuttoned his cloak and dropped it to the ground. His bare chest was exposed and the moonlight from above glinted off of his skin, accenting his muscled façade. This prompted Madara to remove his armor and clothing, then nearly pushing Pain aside to present himself to you first. Madara dropped his pants to expose his already hard member. He took his erection into his hand and proceeded to pump it, his eyes closed as he imagined the things he was going to do to you.

Madara dropped down to your side, grabbed your hand and placed it on his cock. “Pump it.” he demanded but you hesitated, “I-I don’t know how.” Your confession irritated him and in response, he grabbed your chin roughly, “Are you stupid? A stupid virgin?” he spat. Your lips parted to defend yourself but Madara pressed his mouth onto yours. His tongue roughly explored the inside of your cavity. As he kissed you, his hand grabbed yours and put it over his member; then, proceeded to guide you as to how to jerk him off.

Meanwhile, Pain exposed himself fully and began to make his way to your clit. The cool metal of his tongue piercing sent ripples through your body. Being a virgin, you only could make yourself feel good. Nights of laying in bed with your fingers buried inside of yourself was as far as you went. So, the sensation of Pain’s tongue being buried deep inside of your cunt was a foreign feeling.

Your thighs began to shake as your body felt an overload of stimulation. The inside of your mouth was being conquered by Madara’s tongue, your hand was pumping his cock, and Pain was furiously eating you out. “I-I,” you stammered, “I can’t do this. Pl-Please stop,” you beg through brief gasps between Madara’s aggressive kissing.

Madara pulled away, a long string of spit stretched from your detached mouths. Your face was red and wet, your mouth gasped as air finally made its way to your lungs properly. Madara told Pain to stop but when he didn’t, Madara forcefully grabbed you from the ground and slammed you down onto his erect cock.

Pain growled in anger at Madara’s actions, “I wasn’t finished,” he hissed as he wiped his mouth. In the meantime, you shrieked in a mixture of pain and ecstasy. Your pussy stretched around his larger than average cock. He watched your face and ignored Pain’s words. “Put her on the ground,” Pain insisted and Madara complied.

You were now on your back and Madara was beginning to push himself in and out of your virgin cunt. Your eyes were wet with tears and your mouth croaked broken moans. Pain got onto his knees and put his fingers into your mouth. His fingertips traversed over your teeth and hooked under your upper lip. He grabbed his cock, which was a decent size, and placed the tip of it into your mouth. Just the warm sensation from your body caused him to moan in pleasure, his eyes closed and he pressed it in further down.

You laid between the two gods of the shinobi world, nearly helpless. Madara gained intensity of his thrusts as you adjusted to his girth. He praised the tightness of your cunt as he drilled deeper and harder. Responses from you were mostly unintelligible as again, the intense waves of pain and pleasure overwhelmed your body as well as your mind. Pain picked up the speed of his cock in your mouth. Gags and gasps erupted from your throat. With his free hand, Pain moved it to your throat and watched as your face grew more and more red with the intensity.

“Switch,” Pain spoke. Madara still was more focused on his own pleasure and ramming his cock into you. Pain repeated himself between his huffs and thrusts. Madara ignored him again. This of course angered the Akatsuki leader; so, he summoned a black receiver and proceeded to plunge it into Madara’s shoulder blade.

You screamed in terror as a splash of blood sprayed across your face. Madara let out a chuckle and pulled the rod out, then threw it onto the ground. “I suppose,” he removed his cock from your aching and bruised cunt. Before he pulled away completely, he placed his tongue on the side of your face and took a long lick of his maroon liquid. The taste of his blood reminded of him that this was truly his body.

“On your hands and knees,” Pain instructed. You pondered if this would be a time to get away but then the reality of it all dawned on you. There was no way this was going to be over on your own terms.

So, you complied. You pushed yourself from the ground and your body wobbled beneath you. The sensory overload and the sexual barrage that you received caused your body to weaken more and more. So, just the act of moving yourself to the position you were asked of felt heavy and difficult.

Once you were positioned as asked, Pain raised his hand and gave a hard slap to your ass cheek. You yelped and Pain admired the bright red palm print that was now welting on your soft skin. His palms roughly grabbed and tugged at your cheeks, his fingers rubbing between your cheeks and down to your slit. He could feel just how wet your were from Madara and insisted that he would make you cum.

“You’ll cum only for a god,” he hummed before slamming his hips into you. Your body shuddered and a loud moan escaped. “Just like that,” he cooed. Pain took your hair into his fist and yanked back. The sounds of his balls slapping against your skinned echoed through the empty air.

The idea of Pain making you moan louder than he did annoyed Madara. So, he decided to fuck your mouth better. He grabbed both sides of your head and shoved his cock deeply in. Your eyes welled with tears because the length of Madara’s cock was quite far down your throat.

You were dominated once again between the two gods and you could feel your climax coming. Your eyes clenched shut and your legs shook harder than previously. “Cum for me,” Pain moaned out as he quickened his pace and as did Madara. “If you want this power, you will cum when I allow it,” he added. Your brows furrowed and fingers dug into the ground. It was then that you released your orgasm. Pain could feel your body clench around him and become soaked. A smile grew on his lips as he rode out his own, he didn’t bother pulling out. You could feel the warmth of his cum inside and with a few more pumps -- Pain was finished but remained inside until Madara was finished.

Madara harshly grabbed your hair and used your mouth as a fuckhole. He growled and tightened his grip as his orgasm arrived. His cum was hot and it was plentiful. You couldn’t push it out of your mouth and was forced to take it all. Madara sighed loudly and pulled out.

The two men then stood over your collapsed body. Your chest heaved heavily just like it did before this whole thing began. “Now, let us teach your true power.”

#naruto imagines #madara uchiha imagines #pain imagines #pain naruto imagines #pain nagato imagines #madara uchiha x reader #pain x reader #pain nagato x reader #madara x reader #naruto #madara uchiha #pain naruto #pein #pain nagato

151 notes · View notes

glitterge1pen · 4 years ago

Text

Pink Ink

Keigo Takami x reader, sfw, fluff, word count 1,930

Hawks was walking with you to the store. He had the afternoon off and had asked to spend some time with you. At this point it had been years since you had taken an internship at his agency. You weren't a hero, you just ran errands and filed paperwork and you were only there for eight months as you tried to beef up your resume. Eventually you finally landed where you wanted, sure the work was difficult, it left you sleepless, it left you angry at the world, but still you liked being a teacher.

Hawks had kept in touch with you after you left though. You didn't think much of it at first. But he spent a lot of time with you, and you knew just how much time because you had worked with him before and knew what his schedule was like. Sometimes you wanted to ask what he thought of you, if he did. Doing so made you uneasy though, fearing that he might push you away.

These days those thoughts seemed to chase after you harder and faster. What was he thinking? How come he texted so late sometimes? Where was he? Was he hurt? What was he doing in my dream last night? Why did that song make me think of him? So today felt like a bit of a kick to the gut.

Upon entering the store Hawks grabbed the cart for you. He waited for you to guide him, meeting your eyes you turned from him trying to reign in your emotions.

“So, what we getting today?”

“Well, I need craft supplies. I want to make each student in my class a valentine card, and I was thinking of getting everyone some candy? The class is having a valentines party in the afternoon on Friday.”

“Can’t you just get one of those boxes of premade cards”

You gasp in fake hurt.

“As if I would succumb to that, hand made cards are the best, plus making them is kinda fun”

“I wouldn't know”

Your nervous feelings and hesitancy that you had started having around Hawks faded immediately when you heard this. You lunge at him, grabbing at his arm. He looks down at the contact but you are now on the mission and pay no mind to it.

“You haven't ever made valentines day cards?”

His voice is more feeble than usual as he replies,

“No”

You drag him to the craft section. You grab glitter, glitter glue, foam heart stickers, rhinestones, you even splurge on some of the lacy paper and felt heart pads. He watches as you move frantically through the shelves throwing things into the cart. A bemused smile on his face.

While you're at the self checkout he gets approached by a fan. You two are used to this and you don't mind. It's part of his life, besides he is admirable. He is done speaking just as you are finishing up packing the bag back into the cart.

Once outside again you start to push the cart to one of the corrals. But Hawks grabs you at the waist.

“What are you-”

You two take off across the parking lot. His hands on the cart as he pushes the two of you with the wind from his wings. You're moving so fast that your feet struggle to stay on the bar of the cart, but you're laughing so hard, and the air is so nice.

At the edge of the parking lot he stops abruptly. You are tossed forward a bit but he catches you. You stay there laughing in his arms. When you catch your breath and turn to face him you halt. You’re much closer than intended, you don't know where to look.

“We should hurry up before your next patrol starts”

You say moving to grab the bags from the cart. He nods, helping you carry things. The walk back to your place is more peaceful. The winter cold not as sharp, sun gold as its light rained down through the empty trees. He tells you about his day. Today it's mostly about Tokoyami, a work study student that he really seems to have taken a liking to.

“I want you to meet the kid I think you'd really like him”

“If he’s a absolutely amazing as you say I probably will”

Hawks smiles at that as he lets himself into your home. You clear off the kitchen island and start getting to work. You show Hawks the sheet with all your students' names. At first Hawks doesn't really help just observers and listens to you gush about your students.

“Come on, you have to at least make one”

You make an excited sound as an idea comes to mind.

“Tokoyami is your student right! Make one for him!”

“He’s in high school though, your kids are in elementary school”

“So? Look you need to make one, I promise it's not actually that scary”

Hawks huffs at this.

“I never said it was scary”

“Oh yeah? Then how come everytime I push the sticker towards you, you push them back?”

He says nothing more. Just grabs some supplies and starts working. He doesn't know how to open the glitter glue and he says nothing when he hands it to you. He puts the foam heart stickers on each of his fingers and then shoves his hand in your face. He lets you stamp hearts on his hand with pink ink. He holds down the string as you tie ribbons through the paper lace. You smear glitter glue on his arm. His feathers sort out the finished cards, moving them into an alphabetical pile.

“I think it’s nice that you're doing all this for your class, making them each something, letting them have their little party”

“Things have been tense in the world lately, they are old enough to know things are changing but not old enough to really understand why. I just want them to have a special day, something that eases them up a bit you know?”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

It was tough keeping your class together through the morning lessons. They were rowdy. They were whispering, and were bad at whispering. Even after recess and lunch the excitement had not dwindled, their energy was still running high.

You instructed everyone to take out their “mailboxes”. You were explaining how this was going to work. That while the students were handing out their valentines you would set out the snacks. A knock at the door. Without missing a beat, still throwing out instructions you went to open the door.

You stare in shock, mouth open in surprise. You had been expecting one of the school secretaries but instead it was Hawks. The rustling of your students pulls you back to reality. You quiet your voice as you speak to him.

“What are you doing here? Everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, I just, you had said that you wanted to make the valentines party really special, and I am the number two hero and kids love that kind of stuff-”

“Holy shit,how come I didnt think of that, wait right here”

A couple of the kids had been leaning over the desks trying to see who you were talking to. But as your attention turned back to them they all fell flat in their seats.

“I have a surprise”

The kids all start to clamour in excitement, trying to guess what it is. Most of the guesses are about getting extra candy or maybe extra time on the playground.

“No, it's better than any of that I promise! But…”

You trail off knowing it will silence the students as they try to uncover the mystery that is the surprise.

“We will do the valentine's day exchange first! Then we can have fun with our surprise guest”

The word guest gets them real worked up. They start throwing out names. One student says it's probably another class, so they can have a joint party. Another brings up that popular local lawyer and you stifle a laugh at that. You walk back to the door to let Hawks in.

His entrance isn't grand or exciting but once the kids see him you can longer control them. They are half out of their desks, disbelief, a few are laughing hysterically unable to believe that the number two hero is actually in their classroom.

It takes a while but eventually they settle down and get caught up in giving out their cards. Hawks is dragged desk to desk, answering questions, he is pulled this way and that. But once the kids start opening up their cards he is like a forgotten toy.

You have been at your own desk at the front of the classroom, watching the scene before you, a cheerful expression on your face. Hawks came to stand by you. Reaching into his jacket he pulled out his own card. He must have gone out and bought more supplies because it was completely different from the ones you had made with him.

You saw his handwriting on it, it said you two really needed to go on a date. You were about to agree, to tell him that you returned his feelings, that he should stay after class was over so you could talk, that you were so thankful for him coming here today. But you had not pulled the chance card from the monopoly deck.

“Oh my god! Hawks just gave a valentine to our teacher!”

One of your students shouted. It seemed that they considered this an accomplishment for themselves as well. Soon all the others were chiming in with questions. After getting them to settle down, Hawks started talking.

“I've know your teacher for a couple years now”

“Really?!”

This surprised the class as well.

“They used to work at my agency! Did they never tell you?”

You start calling kids up to your desk to grab snacks and give them the valentines you made them. Hawks starts telling stories about being a hero. The only sound is the crinkle of candy wrapped, your students obedient in their listening. They devour everything Hawks has to say.

“And you are all lucky to have a teacher like yours, who cares about you and works hard to make sure you are cared for and learning”

Your students then start to thank you for the afternoon. For letting them have the party, their valentines, for having Hawks there. Their happy chatter is cut off by the bell. You sneak a picture of the class bombarding Hawks in a goodbye hug.

They linger longer than usual. Asking about homework that doesn't exist, taking out markers for Hawks to sign backpack straps and scraps of paper. But they have to go, buses and parents calling them home.

When the classroom is finally empty Hawks is the one to break the silence.

“What do you think?”

You're confused.

“About what?”

“Didn't you read the card?”

You laugh. Realizing that he must have been suffering through his entire story time with the kids. To you the answer was so obvious though.

“Do you seriously not know that I feel the same?”

And it's like nothing's changed. He helps you pack up your things. As you walk together he starts asking how long you've had feelings for him, why you didn't tell him, if there was anyone you dated while you liked him. You answer patiently, honestly, with a smile, knowing that you wanted to ask the same.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　

A/N: ehhhhhhhhhhhhh so tired. Writing so hard. Milkshakes so good. Me lactose intolerant. Throwing up another playlist because I can. Currently washing my face and brushing my teeth, sleep is near. Oh! I already started writing a valentines thing for Iwaizumi and any other valentines day esque requests would be <3

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2KaPclbInJp3hQW8gcGM3O?si=3-9NGWdqRkCDpQxr9WqdPg

#hawks #hawks x reader #hawks fluff #bnha #keigo x reader #bnha x reader #keigo takami #gender neutral reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha

119 notes · View notes

rebrandedbard · 4 years ago

Text

A Bard He Would A-Wooing Go (6858 words)

Gift for @valdomarx: some good old mutual pining morons. In which Jaskier courts Geralt and Geralt is oblivious. Ao3 link in title.

Jaskier wrote a song like counting; Counting the years, the steps, until one day he might count the seconds and centimeters of distance that seemed to stretch like oceans between them. Each of them were like marks on a calendar, an entry in a diary to mark the progress. At first, he hid his true intentions behind false names and romantic figures, crafting beautiful damsels for the recipients of his verses in the time when he was still uncertain, but when the depth of his love became apparent to himself, he decided the day had come to be more overt.

He sang of a beautiful man with hair kissed by moonlight, eyes of amber still hollowed with the liquid golden honey left to flow inside. This he played by the evening fire, casting shy glances at Geralt over the flames. “Do you like my new song?” he asked.

“You inflate my image enough already,” Geralt replied in his usual gruff manner. The idea was to make him a hero of monster-slaying, not the heroine of some romance. Jaskier’s verses were too pretty and flattering, bound to be laughed at by the public. Moonlight and honey—such descriptions were wasted on witchers.

Jaskier frowned and played the second verse a little louder, ignoring his response. “I would rather sing it below a balcony; perhaps the artistry of the setting would help better mold your opinion.” He took on a faraway, doe-eyed expression as he spoke, strumming the gentle melody. “I would weave a crown of clover and present it to you. Yes, I think that would suit you fine. You’d cut a majestic figure, lighted by the stars. I would pluck one from the heavens and offer it to you so that it might sit atop your head, the very jewel of the crown, so that all might better see how brightly you shine.”

“Your songs do enough as it is. No need to crown me,” Geralt scoffed. He was not some divine hero. He was a witcher working for pay, and it was crude work. “You romanticize everything too much.”

“Oh, what would you know of it? You haven’t got a romantic bone in your body.”

“First true thing you’ve said tonight.”

“The honey was more than true,” Jaskier huffed. He played the verse again, then stopped, something new glittering in his eye. It was an idea, Geralt recognized. He was far too familiar with that expression by now to mistake it, and he knew there would be a long, terrible enterprise awaiting him. Jaskier started to smile, and he took to his feet.

“Geralt of Rivia!” he proclaimed. “I’ve decided that this will not do. A simple song is not enough! Let it now be known that it is my intention, henceforth, to court you with all the trim, all the pomp, all the circumstance and bells and whistles! You must know the pleasures of romance in their many forms, and I will leave no stone unturned, no mountain unclimbed, until you have been thoroughly romanced!”

Geralt groaned and closed his eyes. He was not interested in a study of human courtship. He was especially uninterested in receiving such lessons from Jaskier of all people. Yet he knew there was no refusing once Jaskier set his mind to anything. Whether he wanted to or not, whatever protests he’d make, Jaskier would not be denied. The bastard would dig in his heels and get his way, and this—it was this game of his that would at last be the thing to kill Geralt. This farce would not be something Geralt’s heart would survive in one piece. He retired early, hoping the declaration would be forgotten in the morning if he gave no reaction. The slightest acknowledgement was all the encouragement Jaskier needed.

The next day, to his surprise, Jaskier was the first awake. He’d gone wandering in the woods before sunrise and returned with his arms laden with flowers. Geralt had awoken to the smell of the bouquet waved under his nose.

“Good morning, my dear witcher,” Jaskier said, grinning ear to ear. “Welcome to the first morning of the rest of your life! A humble offering, still wet with sweet morning dew.” He bobbed and placed the bouquet in Geralt’s hands with finesse before bounding over to relight the fire and begin their breakfast. To Geralt’s even greater surprise, there were five fish speared in the dirt beside it. Jaskier had gone fishing, it seemed. Flowers, fish—would there be a third gesture awaiting him so early in the morning? Or perhaps being first up was the gesture itself. Jaskier was not an early riser by any measure. Geralt might as well still be asleep as unbelievable as it was.

“So, you were serious about that courting thing,” Geralt said.

Jaskier waved his flints in the air dramatically. “Perfectly serious. Honestly, Geralt, you must have known this day would come.”

And Geralt had to admit, after several days spent with Jaskier giving lessons detailing the etiquette of the high courts, the more fashionable dances of the season, a history of the textile arts in which he explained how his doublets were made from the harvest of the fibers all the way through decorative pleating, and the proper forms of address for peers in no less than seven countries … yes, Geralt ought to have known that courting customs were next on the list of useless trivia Jaskier meant to impart.

At first, there was not much fuss and they were able to get on as usual. Geralt didn’t know what he expected in regards to a courtship from Jaskier, but what little thought he’d given the subject conjured images of endless smothering, Jaskier waxing poetic, arms waving dramatically, attaching himself at the hip of his hapless, adoring victim. But perhaps courtship was a one-a-day expression and that would be all until tomorrow.

He was wrong in multiple ways. Jaskier did not leap upon him with some obnoxious peacocking gesture, but he took it upon himself to pack camp after breakfast. Geralt watched him shuffle about, humming quietly. Jaskier had insisted Geralt stay out of the matter and sent him off to ready Roach. Camp packed, Jaskier tied their things to her saddle, and Geralt notice that he’d been careful to arrange the bags just as he himself might, the weight evenly distributed, potion bag furthest in front in easy reach, the rest in the order in which they’d need unpacking come evening. It was observant to say the least. Such a little thing, really, but Geralt was impressed.

“Ready?” Jaskier asked, offering Geralt his hand.

Geralt looked curiously at it, not sure what it was meant for. Jaskier was looking at him expectantly, and for an absurd moment, Geralt thought he wanted a tip like the men who kept Roach tended to in stables in town. At a loss, he shook Jaskier’s hand and turned to hook his foot in the stirrup. He startled when Jaskier took his hand again and helped him up over the side.

It was ridiculous. Geralt needed no help mounting. Yet … something about the action stuck with Geralt. It had been brief, but the way Jaskier had looked up at him as he held his hand, he looked almost as if he’d been about to kiss it.

Geralt wished he would.

After a while of travelling in companionable silence, Geralt inched his head to the side. He looked at Jaskier from the corner of his eye and asked, “What are your plans for this?” wondering just how well Jaskier had thought this silly game through.

“The courtship? Oh, flowers, sweets, dancing—the usual,” Jaskier replied with a careless wave of his hand. He played so casual, and yet Geralt saw the mischievous quirk of his lips. There was more. Jaskier was a great lover of surprises, both in giving and receiving.

Jaskier fiddled with one of his lute strings, running his nail up and down its length shyly. “I’m surprised you’ve accepted it without quarrel,” he said. “Thrilled, really. Not to imply that I’m blind to your reservations; I know how you must feel about the idea of formal courtship: a lot of fluff and unnecessary nonsense. But this is how I express my love, and it means a great deal to me that you would allow me to share the experience with you.��

“It’s not such a great burden,” Geralt replied, offering a light shrug.

Jaskier laughed. “No, indeed, I shouldn’t think so! It’s a gift—the greatest gift of all.”

Geralt snorted and argued that a new set of armour would be a much greater gift.

“Ever the pragmatist,” Jaskier sighed, smacking Geralt’s boot with a smile.

When they stopped for lunch, Jaskier offered his hand once more to help Geralt dismount. After eating, Geralt put his gloves quietly away in one of the bags, muttering to himself that is was a warm day, as if Jaskier might notice and wonder. And though the air had a leftover chill of early spring, when the time came to ride off again, his hand felt hot in Jaskier’s. Geralt soon forgot his gloves entirely, had misplaced them quite carelessly among his bags or on the road. But Jaskier never commented on their absence.

In addition to the attentions Jaskier lavished upon Geralt, Roach benefitted from a surge in care. Jaskier brushed her coat nearly every other day, and it was shinier than ever before. He braided wildflowers in her mane, styled each morning length by length. Afterwards, he would brush Geralt’s hair, braiding it to match. It was the most preposterous thing, and yet Geralt could not help feeling a silly sort of happiness. Jaskier had been feeling much bolder since the first day, and had even allowed himself to put flowers in Geralt’s braids. Geralt would wake to find them on his bedroll in the morning—Jaskier wasn’t as sneaky as he liked to imagine.

It was new, Jaskier brushing Geralt’s hair this way. He might comb Geralt’s hair after a bath or wrestle a brush through it when it had begun to resemble a feral rat’s nest, but now it was more regularly maintained. There was no excuse of necessity. Geralt could close his eyes and enjoy the moment, Jaskier’s gentle hands at work, sometimes simply scratching his scalp, the brush abandoned for minutes at a time. It was such a tender gesture, Geralt at times forgot that it was nothing more than a demonstration.

But oh, Jaskier went to such lengths so teach! He had Roach re-shoed in the city with fine new horseshoes, claiming that the shoes would clip and clop and ring out the song of his heart on every cobblestone, and that the gait of her stride itself would be a reminder of his devotion. And truly, as they walked her to the stables afterwards, Geralt heard their cheerful mocking with each step, “It’s all a game! It’s all a game!” He was glad to give her the day off to rest, and to avoid the clippity-clop of her bright new shoes.

Geralt tried to be objective. When they spent the evening at a tavern, listening to a local bard perform, he did not allow his thoughts to linger on the hand resting over his on the bench. Nor did he read into things when Jaskier asked him to dance. Dancing—the usual. It was one of the most basic aspects of courtship.

When they spun in and out of the formation on the dance floor, when Jaskier entwined their fingers, when Jaskier pulled them close together, Geralt tried in vain to blame his dizziness on the spinning steps. When someone tried to cut in for a quick romp with Jaskier, only for Jaskier to snatch Geralt’s waist again in rejection of the advance, Geralt did not let his thoughts linger on how pretty the young woman had been and how well Jaskier might look dancing with her, nor the thrill he’d felt in that instance of being so firmly chosen against such an enticing offer.

Though there were contracts to be fulfilled, Jaskier found ways to steal Geralt away for an hour or two here and there and between. He’d dragged Geralt along to see a play: something very modern and poetic. They paid for standing admission, the cheapest and, according to Jaskier, the very best way to appreciate the art up close. They talked throughout, joking with the other patrons and laughing at the worst bits in near-vicious mockery. Evidently, that was the only way to enjoy anything so poorly critiqued, and a step above throwing rotten fruit. He bought them a little parcel of candied nuts, and now and then they flicked a nut at the very worst actor for having every other line fed to him from offstage. They came away laughing with not a single guess as to what the play itself had been about.

The next week they were on the road again, and things were quieter. The city provided so many forms of entertainment, but Geralt liked it best when it was only the two of them, nestled in the calm of nature. Jaskier was lively, and the environment affected his mood. Out in the woods, his gestures were sweeter, smaller, and sentimental. Geralt enjoyed this gentler aspect of Jaskier’s courtship, for his method changed between the city and the road.

Away from the excitement and bustle, Jaskier expressed himself more subtly. As if by magic, ingredients for Geralt’s potion stock would be replenished after one of Jaskier’s morning walks. He did not make grand declarations or even show any signs of wishing to be acknowledged for the little things he did. He simply did them, waiting to catch Geralt’s smile.

“Here,” Jaskier said, tossing a coiled bit of leather at Geralt. It was a braided strap of cord, burnt black over the fire. “In your favorite gloomy color,” he teased. “Your old tie is a twist from falling apart; I thought you might like a new one to tie back your hair.”

Geralt smiled, and he was sure he’d begun to build muscle in his cheeks from how often that had happened now. He admired the tie, running his thumb over the pattern. Cautiously, he edged closer to Jaskier and handed it back to him. He turned around, offering Jaskier his back and whispered, “Would you fix it for me?”

At once, Jaskier’s hands were in his hair, swapping out the old tie for the new. When Geralt turned back around, Jaskier had the old tie fasted to his wrist, looking down at it with a gentle smile. His eyes flickered back up to Geralt, and that same shy expression softened his features from that day when he’d presented his new song. A new shine glinted in his eyes, a fresh spark that danced in the firelight. Geralt’s words of thanks died on his tongue at the sight of it. His eyes roamed Jaskier’s face, taking in the warmth of his gaze.

So loving. So deceptively close to genuine. What a fantastic actor Jaskier would make, Geralt thought. He even smelled happy. Like … vanilla. He leaned closer, breathing it in. By now he’d forgotten the smile in Jaskier’s eyes, forgot how long he’d ceased to study it. Now he’d been distracted by the smile on his lips, taking in their color, the shape of them. He wanted a better look. If he touched them, perhaps he’d learn what made them turn up the way they did—might know how much of their warmth was owed to the fire, how much was owed to Jaskier. He thought they’d come nearer now, and he could just make out the small lines in them. The scent of vanilla was stronger, sweeter, and he felt the touch of Jaskier’s hand brush his cheek.

Jaskier’s hands rose, curling back around his neck as he leaned forward. Geralt blinked rapidly, tilting his head a fraction to the side. His slow heart fluttered to life in his chest. Often he’d imagined what it might be like to be in this very moment. Once, he’d even had the pleasure of dreaming it, but living it was more unbelievable. That Jaskier might kiss him was unfathomable, yet he was here, his hands reaching out, his lips parting, the nearness of him overwhelming and gloriously true. Geralt had nearly closed his eyes when he felt a slight tug on his hair.

“There,” Jaskier said with satisfaction, pulling away. “It was a bit crooked.”

His hair. Jaskier had leaned forward to … to fix his hair.

Jaskier was up now, walking toward their bags. The wind of the motion sent a chill through Geralt and he slumped forward, feeling suddenly cold. He’d been on the flat of a mountain once, standing at the edge of a cliff, all the wide world below him. Looking down, he’d felt as if the world might swallow him up. The sky above was so clear, devoid of even clouds, and he felt he might fall into it if only to relieve the endless void. That was how Jaskier’s absence felt. The wind which had commanded the mountainside was but a puff of air compared to the waft of air left in Jaskier’s wake. Geralt turned like a dying flower turns toward the sun, longing after him.

The bedroll was made smooth beneath Jaskier’s attentive hands as he went about preparing to retire. Geralt sighed and watched, trying to remind himself again that he was reading too much between lines that were unwritten: lines like bars in a cell. His infatuation was unfounded, and this scheme of Jaskier’s to educate Geralt in the ways of courting was only fuel to the fire. What a pointless endeavour. When would Geralt ever use this knowledge? To aid Jaskier as he pursued his fancy of the month? To himself win the heart of some stranger?

Jaskier bowed playfully and motioned to the bedroll. “Your chariot awaits to carry you off into Slumberland, sweet prince of the night,” he announced. He held a blanket in his hands, his boots and doublet set by his pack. With a flourish he rose and waited for Geralt expectantly.

Geralt obediently removed his boots and crawled onto the bedding. Best to sleep and let the moment be forgotten by morning, start over with another day. He turned on his back, waited for Jaskier to cover him with the blanket, to finish his joke and set up his own roll to sleep. Instead, he found Jaskier flopped at his side, his arm flung over his chest, and the blanket wrapped around the two of them snugly.

“Goodnight, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered. His breath puffed against Geralt’s neck as Jaskier cuddled closer, hooking an ankle over Geralt’s leg. He settled comfortably on Geralt’s shoulder and closed his eyes, the most contented smile on his face. Geralt could hear his heartbeat slow down, even and rhythmic, lulling.

After some time, Geralt thought he’d gone to sleep. He cautiously shifted, rolling on his side to face him. Jaskier had long eyelashes, he discovered. This close, Geralt could see a number of faint freckles on his cheeks, the subtle wrinkles about his eyes. He rarely allowed himself to look when they were together at night, but lately that had become a temptation hard to resist. He looked now while he might steal a private minute or two without fear. There was one little hair poking out from Jaskier’s nose and Geralt chuckled to know how bothered Jaskier would be when he noticed it eventually. He reached a tentative hand out, resting it on the loose fabric of Jaskier’s chemise where it lay on the roll, too cowardly to reach out and touch Jaskier in spite of the arm Jaskier had around him. That alone was enough. That already was daring.

Geralt slowly closed his eyes, trying to lock away the memory of the moment. He opened them again for one last look as the fire died down. Jaskier seemed to shine in the afterglow and Geralt closed his eyes again so that he might trap the afterimage in the dark. Then, Jaskier shifted and there was a warmth pressed to Geralt’s forehead. A kiss goodnight.

Was Jaskier awake, or was he in a dream? Geralt’s fingers curled in a fist around the hem of Jaskier’s shirt, desperately wondering. The question plagued him as he felt himself slip away. He shuddered, the inches between them a frozen tundra, all his doubts denying him the feel of Jaskier’s warm embrace even as it wrapped tighter around him. His last thought before being claimed by sleep was a silent wish. He wished that tomorrow the game would end. And more secretly, he wished it would be replaced with something real.

The courting continued more enthusiastically than before. Jaskier broke from the conservative spending habits Geralt had instilled in him over the years. He did not skip about buying frou-frou delights for himself or wasteful fashions. No. When he loosened his purse strings, it was to buy an extra plate for Geralt at dinner. It was to stock the spices Geralt liked best and the preserves he would never indulge in on his own. Geralt did his best to object, but relented upon Jaskier’s insistence that, “It’s a part of the courtship! You cannot deny me this privilege!” And because Jaskier would not be denied, he even found a twisted paper package of caramels hidden away in his bag among the empty potion bottles.

Jaskier continued to cuddle up with Geralt even as spring gave way to the heat of summer. Geralt thought that the game would surely be over by now, but there was no end in sight. Jaskier kept finding more and more ways to surprise Geralt, and it seemed his knowledge of courtship was far more lengthy than Geralt might have ever anticipated. That such an affair could hold Jaskier’s attention for so long was incomprehensible, and with nothing in return. Geralt could understand continuing their study if Jaskier were courting someone in earnest all the while, or having one of his romps for a weekend when they were travelling, but Jaskier had not so much as looked at anyone since … Geralt could not remember the last time Jaskier had flirted with anyone. That made it so much easier to believe. And that made it so much harder to withstand.

Months passed. Jaskier’s courtship fluctuated. He was mainly reserved in his affections and things were not much changed from before they’d begun. There may have been more lingering touches, but those had always been there, since the day they’d met. Likely it was only that Geralt was more aware of them, looking for any sign, grasping at straws for a hint of truth, denying it whenever he found one in an act of self-preservation.

Occasionally the grander gestures would return, and Jaskier counted these as special days. He justified their indulgence by using the situation as evidence; usually these occasions fell on holidays or anniversaries of which Geralt had been unaware, and if they should happen upon a festival or event unaware, Jaskier would sweep Geralt along for an improvised day of fun.

“As with any courtship, one ought to take any opportunities to enjoy oneself as one may find,” Jaskier said, always happy to remind Geralt that the courtship was ongoing, no matter how many months had passed, as if he could not tire of such proclamations. “And what could be more memorable than a day together where all the world is colorful, all the people laughing? It’s so much more fun when everyone is having fun! You can pretend that all the world is right and perfect for one day: no monsters to fight, no prejudices to contend with, and no disdainful destiny pulling at strings. Just a day chasing whatever shining thing catches your eye, unplanned, unbridled joy!”

And truly those were days where it felt like anything might happen. Jaskier shined so brightly, dragging Geralt from booth to booth. They played horseshoes, tried their hand at throwing hatches and other games and tests of skill. One favorite event they’d come upon was a sort of artist’s exhibition in Oxenfurt. Jaskier had been invited to give a lecture on his composition process and he’d insisted on Geralt coming along. After his lecture, which Geralt had listened to attentively from the back of the room, they’d gone through the university and explored the other lectures and demonstrations.

There were great works on display: tapestries and steam-powered inventions, fastidiously cultivated plants with clippings and pressed blooms for sale; a perfumer gave samples of scented paper and described how the brewing was done, and a much better kind of brewing was explained by an artisan ale brewer who offered them small mugs of her product while they listened. Jaskier attended a workshop on embroidery. Fascinated by the practice after so many years of wearing finely embroidered clothes, he wished to learn a bit of handiwork himself. Meanwhile, Geralt was especially interested to watch the smelter, blacksmith, and silversmith at work, privately comparing their methods of crafting swords with those he’d studied in the keep. It was by far one of the more memorable days of the season.

Jaskier bought Geralt a small scrap of decoratively twisted iron from the blacksmith to keep as a reminder. It wasn’t useful for much apart from keeping away faeries, but he bought a strip of cord from the lecturing tanner and fashioned a charm for him, tying it to the sheath of his silver sword. Once more, Geralt chided him for wasting money on useless things, but he found himself smiling at the charm whenever he sat to sharpen his swords. Later on, Geralt had nearly lost it on a hunt and had lingered later after the kill, searching the rocky terrain until he found it.

By fall, Geralt had nearly forgotten Jaskier was courting him at all. It had become their new normal. He let himself indulge in Jaskier’s attention, taking a page from his book. Once in a while Jaskier would make some comment about their courtship to someone in a tavern when asked why he would be travelling with a witcher, and Geralt would remember and the heavy feeling would settle over him again, but the days were too busy and bright, so he soon forgot again. It was difficult to be sad long with Jaskier’s arm looped in his.

When they weren’t travelling, that is to say, when they spent a day or two in town on a contract, Jaskier had taken to spending time alone. He would spend a few hours in their room, or he’d be somewhere in town, a bag always at his side. He practiced his embroidery, following the sample patch he’d stitched at the exhibition. Sometimes he displayed his work proudly when Geralt passed, and other times he was quick to hide it in his bag. Once, Geralt overheard news in a pub that Jaskier had been present at a quilting bee, then the gossiping party fell to whispers when they saw the witcher approach. This was during the time when Jaskier was more frequently away, acting secretive and sneaking about.

The reason behind these mysterious disappearances was shortly unveiled by the end of the month when Jaskier presented Geralt with a new winter cloak. He held it proudly stretched in his hands. It was a dark blue wool. The hood and collar were embroidered with white and yellow flowers, framed by a curling green ivy. There were two metal clasps sewn on either side, and a close look revealed them to be buttercups.

“I made it myself,” Jaskier said, glowing with pride. “Well, all but the clasps. But I did design them—think of it as the signature on a great painting!” Before Geralt could take a breath to compliment his work, Jaskier swung the cloak around Geralt’s shoulders, adjusting it handsomely. “Good, it’s not too narrow. I was a little worried, but I thought if it fit me it ought to fit you fine. Had to make sure it was wide enough in the shoulder, so I measured your armour for a good estimate. Do you like it?”

Geralt blinked. “It’s for me?” he asked.

“Of course it is. Why else would I have been so secretive? I wanted to surprise you!”

Jaskier turned away, kneeling down to pull something from beneath their bed. There was only one—had only been one for a long time now. When Jaskier emerged, he had a large box in his hands. “And now to complete the ensemble,” he said cheerfully. He shoved the box in Geralt’s hands looking up at him in anticipation.

Struggling to process the enormity of the gift, Geralt opened the box mechanically. Inside was a pair of new black leather boots with heavy tread. Upon further inspection, he discovered they were lined with rabbit fur inside the cuff.

“There. Now you’ll be ready for the journey home this winter,” Jaskier declared. Then, just a twitch, there was something reserved in his expression—something that suggested gloom. He smiled through it and straightened Geralt’s hood, making it symmetrical. His hands remained a moment, poised on Geralt’s shoulders. He seemed hesitant. There he stood, looking up at Geralt, and he appeared to be holding his breath, waiting for something.

“Thank you,” Geralt said at last. He shook his head. “No, I … it’s more than that.” It was too much; he didn’t know how to express his gratitude.

Jaskier’s hands fell and he looked at the shining clasps, avoiding Geralt’s eyes. “Yes, well. You’re welcome to it,” he said.

“I’m not sure how I ought to thank you,” Geralt continued. It occurred to him that he could ask. That was the purpose of all of this: to educate him on courtship. Every good pupil asked questions. So he did ask. “How does one usually show their appreciation after receiving a courting gift? Should I reciprocate?”

Whatever cloud passed over Jaskier’s features faded and was replaced by a small smile. “Custom dictates that you should complement the handicraft and dress yourself immediately that I might admire you bedecked in my gifts,” he answered. “Go on then! On with the boots! And if you’re feeling especially gratified, you may accompany me to dinner and allow me to show you off in all your glory.”

Geralt snorted. “Long-winded way to say you’re hungry and broke.”

“Put on the boots, you ass; I’m paying for dinner.”

As soon as Geralt had his new boots on—and oh, how comfortable they were!—Jaskier twirled his finger in the air, made him turn and model. Geralt rolled his eyes but turned around graciously. Jaskier beamed and showered him with praise. He slipped on his own cloak, for it was a cold evening, and they left the little inn, headed toward the delicious smell of the pub and their dinner, following the welcoming glow of its windows down the cobbled street.

“Wait!” Jaskier cried, leaping in front of Geralt. He spread his arms wide and Geralt nearly crashed against his back. Geralt looked over his shoulder to see what danger caused Jaskier to halt in the middle of the road, only for Jaskier to sweep the warm cloak from his shoulders and drape it across a rather nasty, muddy puddle before them.

Geralt’s eyes went wide. It was a new cloak—Jaskier had bought it only a fortnight past. He’d carefully selected a cool green, saying it would remind him of spring when the winter made the world grey, and Geralt had seen him embroidering the collar of it in the evenings before bed. Jaskier had doted on it, and Geralt had never known Jaskier to wear a cloak. Ever. He was never on the road when the weather was cold enough to warrant one, always holing up in Oxenfurt or carving himself out a space in some court for the season. He’d taken such pride in the cloak, adding his own personal touches to it, making it quite his. He talked about it constantly, boasting that it would keep him thoroughly safe when the winter chill set in, that he might climb the most icy, terrible mountain and feel as though he were snuggled up by the fireside.

That was the straw to break his back at last.

“What are you doing? That will never wash out,” Geralt scolded.

Jaskier bowed dramatically and rose with a charming shrug. “What burden is a bit of mud, my dear? I’ll not have your new boots so soon sullied on their first venture. If I allowed that, what kind of suitor would I be?” He chuckled and pressed a chaste, teasing kiss to Geralt’s cheek.

Geralt flinched away, heart leaping into his throat. “You’ve taken this too far!” he cried.

“Geralt, I assure you, the fabric is perfectly sensible and there’ll be no stain. I specifically chose it for wearing on the road.” He looked at Geralt, picking at the end of the cloak still draped in his hands. He kept his tone teasing and light, but there was a nervous edge to it he tried to hide behind a laugh. “Come now,” he said, “don’t let my gesture go in vain; I was trying so very hard to be suave.”

“No. It’s not just the cloak,” Geralt hissed. “This whole charade! I—!” Geralt fisted his hands in the thick fabric of his cloak. He turned his head away, grit his teeth. “I’m calling it off, Jaskier. I can’t tolerate one more day of this game.”

“What game?” Jaskier asked. The false cheer left him. Honest worry furrowed his brow as he lifted the wet cloak once more from the puddle, clutching it as a child might cling to a blanket.

“This courtship. It has to stop.”

Jaskier turned pale. He trembled, though no breeze swept through the air. When he spoke, his voice trembled in kind, and he looked at Geralt with anxious eyes. “If this is about the winter,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry for being pushy. You’re not ready—I can wait. But we can move slower if that’s the issue, and I can give you your space until spring, just like every year.” His hands twisted in the cloak and he held it closer to his chest. “But I thought you wanted … you agreed to the courtship. And we were headed east together. It’s coming on winter, so I thought … And you’re not one for words …” he trailed. “I don’t understand what’s changed. Just this morning we—”

“This morning, you didn’t kiss me!” Geralt snapped. “I can hold your hand, I can dance with you and listen to your pet names, I can accept your gifts and gestures in an effort to understand your customs. I know you want to teach me about courtship. It’s important to you—or entertaining. But I can’t abide being kissed! Not as part of some lesson.”

Geralt’s eyes felt hot and there was a strange hollow in the pit of his stomach. “Not if it doesn’t mean anything,” he concluded. He couldn’t look Jaskier in the eye for fear of the understanding he’d find there. What pity or disgust would he see when the realization hit? What horrible expression would he find twisting Jaskier’s expression when he finally understood that his best friend, an emotionless, beastly, taciturn witcher, was in love with him?

“Oh,” Jaskier whispered.

There it was. Geralt’s head hung low. He silently braced himself. This was the part where Jaskier would let him down gently. Or he might make an awkward joke and pretend he didn’t understand, brushing it all aside and moving on as always. Geralt wasn’t sure which would be worse. He wished Jaskier would simply leave and he wouldn’t have to suffer either one.

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered. Geralt heard the splash as Jaskier dropped his cloak once more to the ground. And suddenly there were warm hands cradling his face. “My darling,” Jaskier said, “let me be perfectly clear. No, no, don’t look away—you’ve got to look at me and listen very carefully to what I say. This isn’t a game. I’m not playing at romance with you. I’m not trying to teach you anything either. No games, no jokes, no tricks.”

Jaskier pulled Geralt closer, forced him to meet his eyes. Geralt looked at last and saw nothing but raw sincerity staring back. “This is real,” Jaskier said. “All of it. Since that day I stood and swore to court you and win your heart. Every action and effort I made was in earnest.”

Geralt felt the grounding touch of Jaskier’s thumb stroking his cheek. His heart remained in his throat, still uncertain, but it beat with a fragile hope. “What does it mean then?” he asked.

Jaskier sighed, resting their foreheads together. “It means I love you,” he answered.

Geralt closed his eyes. He felt such a fool. Slowly, he brought his hands up to cover Jaskier’s, pressing them more firmly against his skin. The touch felt new. It had a weight to it now, and he felt lighter than ever before, needed their anchor to keep from drifting away.

Jaskier loved him.

“How does a happy courtship end?” Geralt asked, though he did not wish for it to end so soon, now that he’d learned it was real. He was inclined to start over again and do it properly, no shadows or clouds to hang over them.

Jaskier let out a last nervous breath and smiled. “With marriage,” he said. “Eventually. But I think that may be a bit too soon for us.”

“Then before that.”

“Generally, the first stage ends with a kiss. I think that’s about right for where we are.”

“And … will you kiss me?” Geralt asked, opening his eyes again. He looked into Jaskier’s deep blue irises, and for once he could examine them as much as he liked, he realized. So he stared, taking in every brown freckle, every fleck of gold however small, looking as he never allowed himself to before. With satisfaction, he watched Jaskier’s pupils widen. He was sure he looked much the same.

Jaskier chuckled, pulling Geralt’s hands down and cradling them in his own. “Me?” he asked playfully. “Oh no, my dear; I did the wooing. The stage ends when you take the reciprocating action and encourage me to continue. Therefore it is you who must kiss me. If you like.”

“And if I do?”

“Then by all means,” Jaskier prompted. “Kiss me!”

Geralt tilted his head to the side, no more hesitation, and pressed their lips together in a gentle embrace. Just one short, reverent kiss: the fruition of his longing. It was not studied—was even a bit skewed from lack of practice. But it was freeing. He leaned back again as they parted, and he felt Jaskier leaning forward after him. Geralt smiled, his heart fluttering with a joy he never thought he’d know. This felt right. Felt wonderful. And now the tension was gone and he had nothing left to fear with Jaskier’s hands so tightly clasping his.

“So. What comes in the next stage of courtship?”

“Another kiss, certainly,” Jaskier said, stepping forward in an attempt to close the distance.

Geralt stepped back, a cheeky smile rising to his lips. “I’m fresh out,” he teased.

“Goodness me!” Jaskier gasped theatrically, and he was grinning right back. “Thankfully, I have one spare! Many, in fact, if you’d like them.”

“I would.”

“But, ah! I’m not so cheap as that!” Jaskier cried in retribution. If Geralt would refuse him another kiss, Jaskier would make him earn the next. “I must be wooed first, Geralt of Rivia. It’s your turn, I did say, and I’ll have you know I expect a great deal after all the work I put in. Rides on Roach, dinners cooked for me, breakfasts, embarrassingly poor poetry; then there’s the matter of you holding my hand when I ask, sweeping me off my feet and carrying me to bed in the evening, fresh flowers, foot massages, the—”

Geralt stepped forward again and silenced Jaskier’s rambling with another kiss, smiling through it too hard to make good on the act. He laughed, tucking his face against Jaskier’s jaw as he tried to compose himself long enough to see it through, then he was kissing Jaskier’s jaw and cheek, his eyes, everything within reach as the giddy feeling rose from his chest, laughing all the while as though he would never stop.

Jaskier laughed and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s shoulders. “Yes, and as many of those as you can afford,” he chuckled. “You were holding out on me, you old tight-purse.”

Geralt pulled away enough to look Jaskier in the eye. “If I promise to woo you later, would you please just shut up and kiss me now?” he asked.

Jaskier huffed and regarded Geralt with sarcastic affection. “Someone has got to teach you about romance,” he said.

#witcher #the witcher #witcher fic #geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #my fic #a bard he would a-wooing go fic #gift fic #gotta love some mutual dumbassery

195 notes · View notes

yuziyuanapologist · 4 years ago

Text

i got this as an ask several weeks ago, from the angst prompt list that i cant be bothered finding again, wangxian + “shit, are you bleeding?” unfortunately sometimes tumblr decides that i must pay for my crimes and deleted the ask instead of saving it as a draft. so. but i had the fic saved! so once more with feeling:

it’s here on ao3, 2.9k words, canon divergence from ep33, no big warnings but mostly-non-graphic injury description and also my personal vendetta against the lan clan’s rules.

big thank u to @goldencorecrunches for reading this over and generally being the best

It’s been a strange few days.

As Wei Wuxian wakes up from what feels like a dream, he finds himself somewhere he’s never been - yet somewhere familiar, all the same. The sound of soft notes - the song of clarity - floats through to his consciousness, he turns his head to the side, smiling gently at Lan Zhan, deep in concentration with his fingers on the strings.

It’s not the way he would have chosen, to come here to Gusu, but he could get used to it. He’s certainly grateful for it, brought here safe instead of dragged back to Lotus Pier - or, indeed, slaughtered where he stood.

Zidian gets no more pleasant, in a new body. Sixteen years away clearly has not mellowed his sh- his ex-shidi.

He has questions, though, as to why the sixteen years have worked in what seems like the opposite way on Lan Zhan. Wasn’t he desperate to scold Wei Wuxian before, wasn’t he desperate to - drag him back here to Gusu?

Well, he managed. But it - well, either it was never as bad as he thought it would be in his last life, or Lan Zhan’s intentions are more gentle now. Sweeter. He’s simply playing for Wei Wuxian, dressed all in white save for -

“Shit, are you bleeding?”

The notes come to a discordant halt as Wei Wuxian forces himself to sit. Lan Zhan straightens his shoulders - the shoulders that, down one side, are tainted with a stain of dark red.

His only answer - typical Lan Zhan - is “Mn.”

“Lan Zhan - wh-”

“Do not panic,” Lan Zhan says, even as Wei Wuxian hauls himself to standing, his legs buckling beneath him in protest. Lan Zhan stands in one fluid motion, and crosses the room to take Wei Wuxian’s arm, and lift him back to the bed.

Wei Wuxian protests half-heartedly, but only from sitting - he really is weak in this new body.

“It is nothing unexpected,” Lan Zhan says, quiet resignation filling his voice. “Stay.”

“Lan Zhan-“

But Lan Zhan has already crossed the room, moved behind the screen in the corner, and Wei Wuxian’s vision is fuzzy already from standing so quickly - he can’t protest, or follow - he can only wait.

It’s not long, a few minutes at most, that Wei Wuxian passes with his head in his hands, trying to fit this information in somewhere that makes sense - although, of course, he’s been gone sixteen years. It could be anything.

Lan Zhan emerges, and his robes are once again pure white, as if nothing had ever happened.

He settles back behind his guqin, and his fingers meet the strings once again, soft notes melting into the evening.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian speaks up, even though, despite the sixteen years since he's known him - he knows he will give no answer

As predicted, he gets only silence.

"Was it Zidian? Did Jiang Cheng-" he cuts himself off with a shake of his head. That's not how Zidian works, and he knows it. The only likely part of that story is Jiang Cheng, and perhaps - but Lan Zhan was so unconcerned, it can't be a recent injury. And it is nothing unexpected -

"Is it a curse?"

"You ought to have paid more attention in your lectures here."

Wei Wuxian scoffs. “I’ve been dead for sixteen years,” he reminds Lan Zhan. “Even if i had paid attention, would you really expect me to remember?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t respond beyond a slow blink, one that could disguise the edges of a smile - but it’s been sixteen years. It could just as easily be anything else.

After too long in silence, Wei Wuxian lets out a sigh. This isn’t how he wanted to begin to make amends, this isn’t who he would choose to be, on his second chance. Overbearing, insistent, prying. That was for Lan Zhan, that was for sixteen years ago. “Lan Zhan -”

“It does not matter,” Lan Zhan interrupts, and his voice falls to soft tones, evocative of tears that no one has shed. “You are here.”

Blood runs slowly into the water of the Cold Springs. Wei Wuxian watches, his mouth slack with worry. For all that Lan Zhan had acted as though it was nothing to concern himself with - and for all that he had then refused to speak more about it - this wound is deep. It cuts from the top of his shoulder blade, all the way down below the water, and the blood flows thick and steady.

There are other scars, too - long healed, but that might once have been just as deep.

“Lan Zhan -“

As soon as the words sound in the quiet air, Lan Zhan's tranquility is stopped - he flees the water and dresses before Wei Wuxian can even finish the sentence. But - on his way out of the water - he exposes a second wound across his lower back - shallower, than the first, the blood thin and only trickling from the wound - but still it bleeds.

Lan Zhan moves to face him on the bank of the stream, tying his robes closed. He blinks slow, and opens his mouth at the same time as Wei Wuxian. “Wei Y-”

“You said it wasn't anything to worry about,” Wei Wuxian says, barely even trying to keep the accusation out of his voice. “This is - this is -" he lets it rush out in a breath - there aren't words for what he means to say.

"It is nothing to worry about," Lan Zhan repeats, without meeting Wei Wuxian eyes. But there's a pallor to his skin, a weakness to his breath - he takes a step, and stumbles.

"Lan Zhan!"

"I am fine," says Lan Zhan. "My body will adjust."

"What do you mean? Can you not give me a straight answer?"

Lan Zhan's eyes drift shut. "I need to rest." He moves past Wei Wuxian and starts down the path.

Wei Wuxian is not so easily distracted. "You need a doctor, Lan Zhan," he tries to insist, reaching for Lan Zhan's arm, but he's shrugged off in an instant - and though it's weak, Wei Wuxian has almost no choice but to let go. He follows along, though, hand inches from Lan Zhan's arm in case he needs to hold him up.

A minute later, Lan Zhan replies in a low voice. "No doctor of the Cloud Recesses can help."

"What? What do you mean?"

But try as he might, he gets no further answer from Lan Zhan, until they're back in his jingshi and Lan Zhan settles cross legged on the floor, eyes falling shut and yet doing nothing to slow the red bloom on the back of his white robes.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian tries again, but he is ignored. "Lan Zhan, at least -" a solution comes to him. "Do you have a needle and thread, then? Preferably silver, but I mean, I get that we can't all be Wen Qing," he laughs a little to himself, and feels the pull of guilt down at the bottom of his stomach. She's gone, says his chest. Sixteen years gone. And - that's enough time to be fine, says his head.

Lan Zhan doesn't reply.

"I will tear this room apart, Lan Zh-"

"It is against the rules."

"What, to have needle and thread?"

"To stitch the wound."

None of this adds up in the slightest. Wei Wuxian falls into sitting beside Lan Zhan so that he's facing him, leaning his weight on his hands.

And, not that he expected otherwise, but Lan Zhan does not look at him.

"Why -"

Lan Zhan lets out a breath, as close to a frustrated sigh as he has likely ever been.

"You have to know I'll keep asking, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian grins, shifting so that he can knock his shoulder into Lan Zhan's. "Just tell me."

"It is a punishment," says Lan Zhan. "The lesson has not been learnt, so the wound will not heal."

Wei Wuxian feels all traces of mirth vanish from his face.

"You mean," he swallows. "The section of the rules that I once asked about - the one that Zewu Jun assured me was about an outdated practice that hadn't been used for seventy years?"

A moment's silence. Then -

"Mn."

"What could you have possibly done - what could you still be -" he's incredulous, disbelieving, but the answer dawns on him before he finishes the sentence. "Oh." He exhales all of the energy, lets his anger become cold and sharp, a means to an end - a flavour of fury that feels, perhaps thankfully, a little less easy than it had been in the last life - but he still knows it well. "It's me, isn't it?"

Lan Zhan's eyes open, falling on Wei Wuxian, softened with worry, creased with pain, and yet truthful in silence.

"Lan Zhan, I can't -"

"Stay," Lan Zhan says - pleads. "My body will adjust."

Already, Wei Wuxian is shaking his head. "How can I -"

"I lost you, before," Lan Zhan says, voice shaking, strangled, almost inaudible. "It would hurt more - to lose you again."

It softens Wei Wuxian's anger, and yet fuels it. "Lan Zhan."

And yet, he knows where his talents lie. In mischief and craft, in deviance and trick.

"I'll make you a deal," he says, and though Lan Zhan's eyes have fallen shut again, there's a shift to his brow, a worry and a resignation. "I'll stay. If - you let me stitch you up."

Lan Zhan swallows. "It is against the rules," he says weakly.

One side of Wei Wuxian's mouth pulls up in disgust. "If you think I ever cared about that, you have the wrong measure of me."

He's awarded with the barest hint of a smile,but still no agreement. Coming to a decision, Wei Wuxian reaches into his robes for a blank talisman, and without casting anything onto it, he places it down on Lan Zhan's lap.

"Hostage situation," he smiles. "Freeze talisman. Lan Zhan, whatever will you do?"

Lan Zhan opens his eyes to glance down. "Wei Ying," he says. "This is blank."

"Mm, pretty sure you can't move, actually, so," Wei Wuxian tails off with a mischievous shrug. "Needle and thread? Or should I go?"

“Don’t go,” is the response, so quiet and desolate that Wei Wuxian almost caves - but this is for Lan Zhan’s own good. “The drawer behind the screen.”

Wei Wuxian smiles, hand to Lan Zhan’s forearm in thanks as he stands.

True to the request, Lan Zhan stays exactly as he is while Wei Wuxian digs around for everything he needs; needle and thread; a basin of water and cloth; bandages, too. He returns to kneel carefully behind Lan Zhan, and hesitates with his hand a finger’s breadth above his shoulder.

“Lan Zhan - can I -” He finds the edge of the robe with his fingers, brushing the skin of his neck.

There’s an almost imperceptible nod - and - a shudder? -as Lan Zhan reaches for the tie of his robes, and loosens it, enough to shrug the robe off his shoulder down to pool at his waist. Half-dried blood sticks the fabric of his undershirt to the wound, and Wei Wuxian tries not to wince along with Lan Zhan as he pulls just a little too roughly, murmuring an apology.

It’s not that he’s ever seen blood before, of course not - but it’s been a long time since he’s seen Lan Zhan in any pain, and it does not get any easier.

“Lan Zhan,” he keeps his voice low as if the volume will also cause pain, and lifts a damp cloth to the site of the wound, to ease the pull. “I know you said - you want me to stay - but -” He finally manages to tug the shirt away, exposing the wound for how deep it truly goes. “I’m not worth this.”

“You are.” It’s a tone that allows no arguments, a certainty that allows no doubt. All Wei Wuxian can do is believe it. Or - well - leave his rebuttal unsaid.

He shakes his head, for himself, since Lan Zhan won’t see it, and sets about cleaning the wound. The flow of blood is steady - not lethal, of course it couldn’t be, if a lesson is supposed to be learnt by the end, but it is enough that, no sooner than Wei Wuxian has wiped it away, more has taken its place, and soon enough he’s left with a blood-soaked cloth and a wound that still pours.

His hands have never been steady, but when sewing up his own wounds back in the Burial Mounds (“Just give me the needle, Wen Qing, I can do it myself”) it hadn’t mattered - because the only pain he was dealing with was his own, and he deserved it - he could barely feel it anyway. Here, now, with Lan Zhan soft before him, hands resting on his knees and shaking every time the wound is disturbed, he needs to be strong, stable, careful.

He lifts the needle. “Lan Zhan - it’ll hurt.”

He thinks, anyway. He thinks it used to hurt.

The only response he gets is a determined hum, the muscles below his fingers tensing.

“Okay,” he says, and sets to work. As he does, he desperately searches for something to distract Lan Zhan with - every time the needle goes in he tenses - slight enough to be unnoticeable, but clear enough that even Lan Zhan can’t hide it.

He could joke about it - well, if you won’t let me leave, this is the only option - or he could talk of something else - but all other subjects have evaded him since he’s been faced with this wound and the second, with the countless other scars, with the bare skin of Lan Zhan’s body, before him, slashed and destroyed for protecting -

“You didn’t only protect me,” he says quietly, distracting himself enough to run his finger over one of the other scars. “These other scars -” he reaches one unlike the others, threaded through with familiar black filaments. “There was one for each of us?”

Lan Zhan lowers his head, but does not respond. It’s close enough to a nod, and Wei Wuxian mimics the gesture, before returning to the task at hand - his eyes falling on the second wound, barely even bleeding, but unmistakably still open. He tries to fit it in, between everything else he knows - but finds no space for it. “And this one? Was there -”

He cuts himself off before he dares to hope. It will only lead to disappointment.

“It -” Lan Zhan exhales shakily. “It’s - different.”

Wei Wuxian can say nothing to the dismissal, knowing that Lan Zan will say no more, but narrows his eyes.

He’s close to finished, now, and the stitches seem to be holding so far. But - it’s not a permanent solution.

He lifts Lan Zhan's undershirt from the floor, and shakes his head at the bloodstain.

"Lan Zhan, where do you keep spare clothes?" he asks. "I'm done here, but you can't exactly put this back on."

"I will -" he starts to stand, but Wei Wuxian catches him by the waist, pulling him back down.

"Stay still," he instructs. "You're injured."

He - for some reason, he can't bring himself to let go of Lan Zhan, now, though he shows no signs of moving again. Instead, he keeps his hands where they are, not holding tight - not even holding, just - touching. His Lan Zhan.

He strokes his hands up and down Lan Zhan's bare skin, testing his limits, his eyes trained carefully on the wound - both to make sure he doesn't disturb, and simultaneously deep in thought about it. Lan Zhan's breath comes unsteady with hands on his skin, but not - if Wei Wuxian is correct - upset.

"It's been sixteen years," Wei Wuxian says absentmindedly. "And you still think I'm worth this."

"Yes," Lan Zhan says, with no trace of doubt. "You are."

Wei Wuxian can't help but let out a huff of laughter, letting his head fall forward to Lan Zhan's uninjured shoulder. "You're so -" he sighs out whatever it was that he was going to say - his mind can't summon the right words anyway.

With his eyes on his - admittedly imperfect - needlework, he conjures other questions.

“This discipline whip that they used,” he says, letting calculating anger control his thoughts but trying his hardest to keep his voice soft. “Where is it kept?”

He’s almost patient, waiting for Lan Zhan to respond, but when more seconds pass, he prompts “Lan Zhan?”

“Why do you ask?”

As if he doesn’t know. “Any talisman, however complex, can be reversed. Even on a spiritual tool.”

“It is against -”

“If you want me to stay,” replies Wei Wuxian. “Then I have to try.”

For a moment, he wonders if Lan Zhan will refuse him. If he will say, after all, that perhaps he has come to his senses, perhaps the rules are more important - but at long last, he sighs.

"The storeroom behind the library pavilion. It is guarded during the day, and warded in the night."

"Good thing I've broken your wards before, then," Wei Wuxian smiles, glancing out at the still bright sky. Later, then. He smiles to himself, and slides his hands forward, pulling Lan Zhan into an embrace - one that he could easily shake off, but doesn’t. In fact, his shoulders, tense as they had been, settle into relaxation, a breath of calm. “I suppose I should get you a shirt.”

Lan Zhan moves his hands to cover Wei Wuxian's, leaning his head back against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and turning to bury his face into his neck. His eyes are shut - he’s almost smiling.

“Stay,” he murmurs.

Wei Wuxian can't help the quiet laugh that escapes him. "I already said I will, Lan Zhan."

#ah the classic: au with more potential than i have talent #the untamed #the untamed fic #wangxian fic #wangxian #im sorry anon i lost your ask #i hope u see this #mine #fic*

176 notes · View notes

mylifeisactuallyamess · 3 years ago

Text

Poe Dameron x Reader

A/N: My drabble for Writer Wednesday. I haven’t edited or had it beta read so apologies if you find any mistakes! @autumnleaves1991-blog @clydesducktape

Warnings: Angst, denial, mention of war.

Word count: 2671

Respite. It never lasted long but you would take it when you could. Your squadron had just finished a successful supply run and Leia had given you all leave for a few days. You looked down the beach seeing the X-Wings haphazardly placed among the trees at the base of the cliff, this small moon really was a find. Covered in white sandy beaches and enough foliage to hide the space craft, breathable air and not a massive predator in sight. Also no settlers so if you were found by the First Order no one would get caught in the crossfire.

Laughter was carried on the breeze towards you, the squad sat round a large fire listening to Poe as he tuned his guitar, a bottle of spotchka was also being passed around. You stepped forward, letting the warm sea water lap at your toes burying them in a layer of sand. The rich red and orange tones that spread across the sky bathed you in all its fiery glory, clouds marked the sky creating a purple grey blanket to try and dull the blazing sunset, but nothing could contain the wonder of nature. You watched the sun dip below the horizon, still casting the warm rays even though you could no longer see it. You turned slightly, Poe’s velvet voice rose above the chatter and everyone stopped to listen, who wouldn’t want to listen to him? Your gaze wandered, desperately trying not to look at him because if you did your heart was going to race. It was going to expand to immeasurable proportions and it was going to ache deep in your chest. You looked up at the clouds hoping the tears wouldn’t fall as his melody weaved it’s way into your soul.

He had a permanent place there, nestled inside you filling you with love and he didn’t even know it, the man was so ingrained within you, it felt like every word, every touch he gave you forever beat in your body, refusing to give them up. You had no idea if he felt the same, you didn’t want to know because if you knew it would make the pain ten times worse. Knowing that he wanted to touch you, to love you as much as you loved him….no. Not in the middle of a war that had no end in sight. You took a deep breath, filling your lungs to the maximum with the fresh salty air of the sea, grounding yourself. Your name being called made you turn round, the smile back on your face as you watched Jess approach.

“Come and join us!” Poe had started a jaunty tune to which Snap yanked Kare up and started making her dance even though her protests rang loudly down the beach. You took the bottle off Jess, taking a bigger mouthful than you wanted but you needed to feel something other than this deep routed ache that festered inside you all the time. You watched Kare throw her head back in laughter as Snap twirled her round and your eyes were drawn to Poe. His expression full of love for his friends as he watched them enjoy themselves, his hands moving expertly along the strings. He finished the tune with exaggerated flair, his face split with a large smile and a rich laugh burst from his chest at something Snap said. He rested his guitar against the log, his deep brown eyes falling on you and his expression dropped slightly. You shoved the bottle back at Jess, your hands suddenly sweaty.

“I’m gonna go for a walk. I just need to calm my mind.”

“Yeah ok, I’ll tell the others.” You took off, not looking back. You thought you heard Poe ask a question, maybe he was enquiring after you but you shut it out. You clutched the front of your top as you tried to breathe through the pain that had gathered in your chest, you had to leave the squad. You couldn’t keep going on like this, you were going to slip up, make a mistake and then the whole squad would be at risk. This couldn’t continue. Leia would understand.

“Hey slow down!” Oh! Oh no!

“Poe not now!” But the emotion in your voice just made him speed up.

“What’s up, what's wrong?” He asked as he drew level, falling into step alongside you. Your mind refused to work, stuttering a stop as everything you wanted to say filled your mouth but you couldn’t. “Come on, can you tell me?”

“No, I can’t.” You sounded so rough, so abrupt he didn’t deserve that. It wasn’t his fault you felt like this. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m just so tired.” He stepped in front of you bringing you to a halt and you had to look up into his kind face. The stubble that lined his jaw was prominent even though you knew he shaved this morning, his curls were unruly and fanning over his furrowed brow. He placed his hands on your shoulders, his warmth seeping through the thin material of your top.

“You can tell me anything,” he spoke softly and the urge to spill everything was filling you once again. You opened your mouth to speak when your eyes caught something, a shape among the trees. You grabbed your blaster and Poe tensed. “What do you see?” He whispered.

“I don’t know, but there’s something in the trees. Like a building?” You squinted into the gathering dusk trying to make sense of it but you knew you had to get closer. Poe sidestepped and pulled his blaster out, letting you take the lead as you quietly advanced. On closer inspection it looked like a hut, with a row of rickety wooden steps leading up to a closed door. Poe motioned for you to go first and you tested each step carefully before putting your weight on it, sometimes the wood would creak alarmingly and the pair of you would freeze. But nothing happened. You locked eyes with Poe, your hand ready to open the door, he nodded, his hands gripping his blaster tight. You flung the door open and he rushed past you but the small room was empty.

“Clear.” You entered, taking in the shadowy surroundings.

“I thought this moon was settlement free?” You asked, sliding your blaster back into the holster.

“Well it is, Snap did a life sign scan and none of them came back with a species that could have built this.” You looked around noticing the thick layer of dust that covered the surfaces, the flora that had worked its way through the cracks in the wooden structure. “Look at this.” You went to stand next to Poe, he gently swiped dust off the old radio to reveal the worn Rebel sign on the top.

“A little Rebel hideout.” You mumurmed turning over the depleted fuel cells. A small bed was set against the other wall and a crate which you crouched down next to.

“We shouldn’t open that.” You looked up at Poe and smirked.

“Commander Dameron, are you afraid of what I’ll find?”

“No, I just don’t think we should disturb anything else.”

“There might be something useful in here?” He sighed and crouched down next to you.

“What could be in here that we wouldn’t already have back on base? Let’s leave it in case we need it one day.”

“Fine. But you’re ruining my fun.”

“Isn’t that my job as your Commander?” He asked cockily, the crooked smile you loved so much appeared and you pushed away from the crate. Your heart thudded loudly as you turned away wanting to head back to the squad but his hand caught your arm. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Poe…” his hand slowly drifted up your bare arm, your eyes closed tightly as goosebumps erupted all over your skin.

“Because something is upsetting you…” he whispered. He was right behind you, his breath ghosted over the back of your neck and you could feel his chest rise with each breath. “Please talk to me.” You didn’t miss the desperate, pleading tone to his voice and it made you turn around, his hand still touching your arm as his eyes roamed over your face.

“I don’t know where to start,” you murmured, highly aware of his closeness in the dark room. The scent of him clouded the air around you, filling you everytime you inhaled, his questioning gaze drew your attention and it wasn’t until his nose bumped yours that you realised he’d leaned into you.

“Start at the beginning,” he whispered. His lips brushed yours and every fibre in your body was screaming at you to reciprocate his advance but you didn’t. You stepped back, pulling your arm from his grip and hugging yourself.

“No.” You heard him sigh in the darkness and you imagined the way his shoulders would slump in defeat. “I can’t do this Poe. We can’t.”

“You must know.” He stated simply.

“Know?”

“How I feel about you.” This couldn’t be happening. You felt your chest constrict at his words, you had no idea he returned your feelings. “If you don’t feel the same…”

“But I do.” You interrupted him.

“You do?” He sounded so hopeful and it hurt you that everything you’d ever wanted was here before you, but you couldn’t take it. You stood in the doorway listening to the sea gently lapping at the sand, stars littered the wide expanse of the sky reflecting in the ever moving water below. It was beautiful, breathtaking but you didn’t see it as tears filled your eyes. You flinched when he came up behind you again, his hands either side of you, rubbing your arms. He tried to turn you round but you stood your ground. “What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice loud in your ear.

“We can’t!” You choked against the rising emotion in your throat. Now he did spin you, putting more effort into his motions, his hands firm on your face as he cupped your cheeks.

“We can….I don’t see what’s holding you back if…if we feel the same.” You smiled sadly and unfolded your arms to run a hand against his face. He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing in bliss as he turned and kissed your palm.

“I’m sorry Poe. When we get back to base I’m going to request a transfer.” He stilled, his fingers flexing slightly against your skin as he processed what you had just said.

“What…why?” You held in a sob, your lips trembling as the tears finally spilled down your face.

“I can’t—I can’t go on missions with you feeling like this, I’m going to make a mistake, if you get killed I wouldn’t be able to come back from that.”

“But having you halfway across the Galaxy….” He started but you put your thumb over his lips.

“We can’t feel like this and fight the First Order together. It’s too risky.” His hands fell away and immediately you craved more of his touch, his expression fell into a blank mask and the atmosphere shifted noticeably.

“What about Snap and Kare?” He asked and you frowned.

“What about them?” He pulled away from you turning back to the small table that housed the radio, his fingers nudging the fuel cells slightly.

“Why do they get their happily ever after and we are denied?” You thought your chest was going to split open at the pain in his voice.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do. Because you are one denying us this.” You heard him move, his hands on you once again but this time so were his lips. The kiss was rushed and desperate as he walked you up against the wall with a thud, it was everything you had ever dreamed it would be. His mouth was soft and warm, his tongue licked deeply into your mouth and you moaned quietly. “Are you telling me we can’t do this…” he kissed you again. “And this,” he whispered as he trailed his lips down your jaw. “Because we are afraid to lose each other?”

“I…” you clenched your fists. You couldn’t concentrate with him on you like this, giving your body everything it had ever wanted. “I can’t think…”

“You don’t need to think…” he murmured into your neck as he pressed his body against you. “Damn baby you smell so good.”

“Poe.” Your hand buried into his curls as your body arched into him, he nipped at the top of your shoulder, his hands roaming up your back fisting in your top.

“Don’t leave,” his voice cracked. “Please don’t leave me, we can do this.” You rested your head against the wall with a sigh, both your bodies heaving in unison as he rested against you.

“If anything happened to you because you felt the need to save me I’d never forgive myself. I can’t, we can’t put ourselves through that.” You tugged his head up. “If I saw you in danger, I would jump to your rescue no hesitation, I would die for you Poe Dameron.”

“I can’t lose you,” he sobbed, his shoulders shaking. “I’ve kept these feelings so tightly boxed up for so long not knowing if you felt the same, but I saw the way you looked at me at the fire and I knew.” He paused and took a shaky breath to try and gain some control over his voice. “I just knew,” he breathed over your face. Placing more delicate kisses on your wet cheeks.

“Poe, you’re all I’ve ever wanted. It’s—it’s just the wrong time.”

“What if I’d said something earlier?” He asked urgently.

“No…”

“Would it be different? If I’d spoken up before you were in my squad?”

“Poe…”

“If I’d said nothing would you stay? Maybe we can forget this ever happened?”

“No. It wouldn’t have changed anything.” His face fell and he pressed it into your neck, his arms crushing you to him and you could feel it. The hurt that radiated from him because you felt the same.

“You’re all I want, it kills me I can’t have you,” he mumbled into you and you sniffed loudly. “Just let me love you, please?” More sobs wracked your body and the tears fell unchecked as you clutched him tightly.

“You have me, you have my heart, you always will. I just…please Poe this hurts!” You both stood there in the dark hut, listening to the quiet sounds of the beach, the soft rustle of the flora in the breeze, when he broke the stillness.

“I can’t change your mind can I?” He asked quietly. You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak anymore because you could easily backtrack. You could so easily tell him you’d changed your mind but visions of him being shot out of the sky in front of your very eyes was a nightmare you didn’t want to live. He pulled away, refusing to make eye contact. His finger grabbed the chain around his neck and pulled it over his head, he pulled your open palm towards him and deposited the ring and chain in it.

“No Poe, this was your mother’s!”

“I know. And I was saving it for the woman I love. If you’re so set on leaving then you are going to take this,” he closed your fist tightly around it. “You either stay, or you take this and when the war is over I will find you.” His free hand slid round the side of your neck and he leaned forward to rest his forehead heavily against yours. “I promise. I will find you.” He kissed you, this time it was gentle and lingering until he broke off with a sob. His hand slowly left your skin and then suddenly he was gone, leaving you weeping against the wall of the hut, clutching the ring to your chest.

I promise. I will find you.

#writer wednesday #star wars #poe dameron #Poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #angst #denial #Poe dameron angst #sadness lives here

35 notes · View notes

oreomonsterhunter · 4 years ago

Text

Saturday Evening

Pairing: Jackson x reader

Word count: 1200

Warnings: a hint of sauce

Synopsis: part 2 of domestic fluff with Jackson Wang...check out part 1!

[ 6:21 pm ]

Jackson decided that he was in charge of dinner, since you had made breakfast. A true accomplishment, considering all of his distractions. But somehow you forgot Jackson’s limited kitchen experience, because it turned out that “in charge of dinner” meant instant noodles.

You look at the ramen packs in his hands, then back up into Jackson’s face, wearing your best pout. He frowns at you, shaking the packages like that will change your mind. In response, your pout deepens, and you bat your eyelashes for added effect. Soon enough, he’s rolling his eyes and reaching for the takeout menu drawer. “Alright, what will it be, princess?”

“Pizza!” you cheer, dancing around him. “Ooh wait, can we get takeout from that one place with the spicy noodles? Or pasta from the Italian place? No, burgers!”

Jackson holds out the menus with a serious expression. “Alright, eyes closed. The universe is in charge of dinner tonight.”

You squeal in excitement, smacking one hand over your eyes while the other blindly selects a menu. From Jackson’s dramatic scream, you know exactly which one you picked.

[ 8:13 pm ]

Jackson washes the dishes while you flip through movie options, wanting something fun for tonight. You suppose you should feel guilty about not leaving the apartment all day, but you’ve had so much fun. It’s nice to stay in, and nicer still to have Jackson all to yourself. He rarely has this much free time, and the fact that he wants to spend it with you never fails to give you the warm and fuzzies. You grin as you hear Jackson muttering to himself in the kitchen. “Everything okay?” you call over your shoulder, pulling another DVD out to add to your pile of maybes.

“Yeah,” he grouches, closer than you expected. You turn to see him standing in the doorway, shirt soaking wet. He tries to frown when you erupt into giggles, but can’t quite manage a believable glare.

“Did the sink attack you?” you finally manage.

His lips twitch, “You’re a real comedian, why don’t you quit your day job?” You just grin at him until he groans and stalks to the bedroom. “Anything but a romance,” he says, pointing a finger at you threateningly, before he goes to get a new shirt.

Funny, coming from him. You distinctly remember him crying when you showed him some of your favorite films, many of them romances.

When he reemerges from the bedroom, you’ve narrowed down the list to five options, which you spread on the carpet before you like oversized tarot cards. “The decision is yours,” you wave him over to take a look.

He stares at you in pretend shock, “They’re all Disney movies.”

“There’s one DreamWorks film, too,” you point out. Jackson rolls his eyes, but you know he’s just messing with you, even before he plucks Tangled out of the lineup. While the movie whirs to life, he turns and surveys the room. You wiggle your eyebrows at him when his eyes finally land on you. “Whatcha thinking there, handsome?”

“I’m thinking this is pretty boring for a movie night, and we can definitely do better.”

You know that twinkle in his eye, and you jump up excitedly. “Pillow fort?” you ask hopefully.

Jackson gives you the nod. “Pillow fort.”

The next fifteen minutes are spent assembling blankets and pillows from across the apartment to craft the perfect cozy tent. You situate some chairs while Jackson drapes a quilt over the top, tucking the ends into the couch cushions. Jackson runs to make some popcorn while you light candles and turn on the string lights. Once Jackson returns with snacks, you both shuffle into the fort, adjusting cushions underneath you for the coziest movie experience. When all is said and done, you’re tucked under his arm, knocking your fuzzy sock clad feet into his.

You’ve both seen the movie many times before, so you don’t feel too bad when you get distracted by how pretty Jackson is. The string lights cast a soft and warm glow around the space, illuminating his features just right. Sometimes you look at him and can’t quite believe it’s real, that he’s not a dream—he’s next to you and close enough to touch.

Jackson must feel you watching him, because the next thing you know, you’re lost in his eyes. You know he’s smiling by the crinkles at the corners, and you respond in kind. The words come out with hardly any conscious thought, “I love you.”

His smile widens, and he places a smacking kiss on your forehead to make you giggle. “Love you, too.”

Jackson’s arm tightens around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder, focusing on the movie once more. Rapunzel had just gotten to the Ugly Duckling when Jackson lets out a shriek beside you. He jumps to his feet, arms flailing, knocking down the blankets overhead in his haste to get out. You blink, completely taken by surprise, as he manages to single handedly dismantle the fort in a matter of seconds. He finally stops halfway across the room, eyes wide as he scans the ground. “Babe?” you ask, tentative.

Jackson freezes in the middle of wiping his hands down his pants, a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face. ��Uh...there was a bug. A big one,” he says.

Now it’s your turn to jump up and run out of the fort, or what’s left of it. “And you just left me there,” you hiss at him, smacking his arm. You turn on the overhead lights so you can see better. Then you jab an elbow into his ribs for good measure. “If we ever end up in a zombie apocalypse, I’m leaving you for Jinyoung.”

“Hey,” he exclaims, “I’m leaving you for Jinyoung first.”

You glare at him, then stomp over to the remains of the fort to find the bug that ruined your moment. “Fine, then I’ll leave both of you for Namjoon.”

Jackson gasps in outrage behind you, watching as you poke at the blankets. “Not Namjoon-ah,” he sputters. “Fine, take Jinyoung.”

You smirk in victory. “Alright, I’ll tell him that Wang Gae, Park Gae is all a lie,” you sass, pulling out your phone to reveal the voice recording app. Jackson lunges for you and your phone, but you dance out of reach. “Find the bug, Jackson,” you taunt. “Then I’ll delete it.”

He makes a face, but starts lifting the blankets one by one while you watch, cackling in the background. When he finally finds the “bug”, it turns out to be a tiny spider, which you release out the window while Jackson flops on the couch.

“All that for an itsy bitsy spider,” you pat his head sympathetically.

“Don’t mock me, woman, you still have incriminating evidence against me,” he grumbles.

You let out a dramatic sigh, dropping onto the couch to sit right on top of him. He lets out a grunt as he absorbs your full body weight. “I guess I could be convinced to delete it,” you say, tapping a finger on your chin. His body shakes with a laugh, jostling you slightly. Then his hand slides up your thigh to rest on your hip.

“Convinced, huh?”

You swing one leg over him to straddle his waist. Cocking one eyebrow, your smile turns sly. “Convince me. Ball’s in your court, pretty boy.”

* * * * *

Masterlist

#fluff fluff tooth rotting fluff #and giggles #and some slight spice at the end #sugar and spice and everything nice #posting this immediately because I have absolutely zero self control right now #enjoyyyyyyyy #jackson wang fanfic #jackson wang imagine #jackson wang imagines #jackson wang #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #got7 jackson #got7 #jackson wang x reader

171 notes · View notes

karasuno-chaos · 3 years ago

Text

Window Shopping (Asahi x Reader)

When Asahi has trouble finding inspiration, you know just how to help him.

Word Count: 1,261

Masterlist

He’s smiling as you weave through the stream of shoppers, your fingers entwined so you don’t get separated. You never knew someone could get such pleasure from window shopping, but his eyes scan the storefronts and signs with eagerness and enthusiasm. It makes you smile as you follow him.

He needed this. You can always tell when Asahi needs a little extra inspiration. He loves his job, but it demands a lot of creativity, and that’s an impulse that is hard to wrangle. Every once in a while, you notice his enthusiasm dim and a worry settle behind his brow when new ideas are slow to come. You know the best way to help is to get him out of his head and onto the streets, so on your next mutual day off, you plan a trip to the shopping district.

Despite the small puddles left by the morning’s rain, the sidewalks bustle with people. You are thankful for your boyfriend’s warm hand tethering you to him as you weave slowly amongst strangers. You have no distinct destination and yield to those moving with a purpose. Sometimes on these outings you find a cafe and people watch for an hour. Inspiration blooms from the crowds as often as it does from the window displays, so you keep an eye out for potential spots to sit while Asahi studies the people and shops.

He drifts towards a window, and you follow. You stop in front of a mannequin in some ridiculous pose that is probably meant to make the outfit it wears look particularly cool, but you’ve never seen anyone stand like that unless they were trying to be funny.

Asahi studies whatever caught his attention, but you look at your reflection in the window, fractured slightly by raindrops lingering on the glass. You like how you look standing beside each other with your hands comfortably clasped between you. Fondness flutters in your chest. You’re both good at setting time aside for dates and quality time, but you don’t have many pictures together. There’s a certain comfort and affection you see when you stand together like this that encapsulates your love.

The lighting and angle is just right to snap a picture with your phone. Then you make a silly face and take another to send to Noya. Last you’d heard, your best friend is somewhere in Africa helping on a wildlife sanctuary and is in and out of cell service all day, but he likes getting mundane updates from you and your boyfriend. It helps you feel connected when he’s half the world away.

Asahi is still staring through the window when you tuck your phone away. You squeeze his hand to get his attention.

“Like what you see?” you ask.

“Mostly.” He squeezes your hand in reply. You see fondness in his eyes, but you can also read a familiar hesitation that makes you smile.

“We can go in if you want.”

“Are you sure? You’re not tired of walking around?”

“Not at all. I could keep going all day!”

Relief replaces the hesitation, and he squeezes your hand again as he leads the way into the shop. You love how considerate he is, even though you emphasized on the drive over that he is free to wander wherever his ideas take him.

He makes his way to the hangers of shirts to find the one featured on the mannequin. You release his hand to let him search unhindered, watching as he switches to designer mode. You don’t get to watch him work often. He’s still a little shy about designing, though the successful completion of several projects has boosted his confidence. You treasure the moments when you get to see him in his element, when his focus narrows to what he can make, translating his ideas to reality. You’re not sure how he does it, but it delights you every time.

You wander nearby to let him work through his thoughts undistracted. You’ve passed by this store before but never been inside. It doesn’t cater to your style or price range. There are a couple of pieces you might consider trying on if you were in the mood, but today you’re content to just look.

Cocking your head, you wonder what Asahi sees when he looks at clothes. If you were to deconstruct the shirt in front of you, where would you start? There are so many elements to it - material, colors, the cut and shaping of the pattern - that you wouldn��t know where to start. It’s amazing how your boyfriend can pull it apart in a glance and rebuild it with the slightest changes to create something brilliant.

“Y/N,” he calls softly, bringing you back to his side.

“Yes?”

“What do you think?”

You look at the shirt he’s been studying. Honestly, it looks like a dozen other shirts in the store save for the blocky pattern of the fabric. But you try to see what caught his attention from the window. The asymmetrical hemline adds some interest, but the cuffs on the sleeves seem wrong, though you’re not sure exactly how. Maybe they should be thinner? But then they won’t match the collar, which looks good as is.

“It’s nice,” you say. “The sleeves bug me a little, but I like the hem.”

“Yeah, I would change the sleeves,” he agrees. “Chop them off, make them short sleeves and do away with the cuffs. They don’t work with the fabric. And I’d adjust the cut a little so it drapes better. Probably change the fabric to something lighter, maybe a rayon blend? Or a nice knit cotton. And I’d shift the pattern so it follows the angle of the hemline.”

You smile as you listen to him redesign the garment, using his magical imagination to make it new, to make it his. The spark of inspiration dances in his eyes, and you see him: Asahi the designer, yet another side of the man you love so much.

You slide your arm around his waist and press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Write it down before you forget,” you tell him. He chuckles as he pulls a small notebook from his inner jacket pocket. He’s usually good at remembering his ideas, but forgetfulness can be just as frustrating as a lack of inspiration, so you do what you can to help with that, too.

You check your phone while he jots down notes and a quick sketch. Noya must have service today because he’d sent a string of emojis and half-formed thoughts in reply to your photo. You craft an equally chaotic response that has you grinning.

“Is that Noya?” Asahi asks, returning the shirt to the rack and pocketing his notebook.

“Yeah.” You show your boyfriend the texts.

“That’s a good picture,” he says, squeezing your shoulder affectionately.

“It is. I’ve already set it as my new lockscreen.”

“You should send it to me later. Then we can match.”

“Aw, you’re cute. Finished with your notes?”

“Yes.”

“Anything else you want to look at here?”

Asahi scans the store, but nothing else catches his eye.

“Are you hungry? Do you want to take a break?”

“Not particularly.” You grab his hand again as you step back onto the sidewalk. “I’m fine wandering a little longer if you are.”

“Okay. Let me know if you want to stop anytime.”

“I will.”

You share a smile before his eyes return to the crowd and storefronts. Gripping his hand, you head off toward the next moment of inspiration.

#azumane asahi #azumane asahi x reader #asahi x reader #haikyuu!!#hq #haikyuu!! x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu!! scenarios #hq scenarios #haikyuu!! fanfiction #haikyuu!! fanfic #hq fanfiction #hq fanfic #asahi #karasuno-chaos #fluff #mentions of best boy noya because I couldn't resist

50 notes · View notes

kafka-ish · 4 years ago

Text

a long time coming | r.t.

when a familiar face shows itself in derry, a familiar feeling picks up in richie’s heart

word count: 8,012

warnings/included: nsfw (smut, fingering, and regular vanilla sex, first time stuff), fluff (like... a conspicuous amount of fluff), fem!reader

a/n: gL gamers

y/n y/l/n was coming back to Derry.

To any other bystander, this wasn’t news. However, to Richie Tozier, it was because Richie Tozier loved y/n y/l/n.

He loved her when they were five and she had introduced herself as the girl who moved in next door. He loved her when they were ten and she made friendship bracelets for both of them (which he would later find out she made friendship bracelets for all the Losers). He loved her when they were thirteen when he should’ve spent his time running from the bullies at his toes instead. And he loved her when they were fifteen when he was writing love letters. But she’d never see them because she was away at some fancy boarding school in New York, per her parents’ request.

“I don’t see why you gotta go,” Richie said glumly. He was looking down and kicked at the dirt beneath his feet. Even if this would be the last time he’d ever see her, it would be too hard to look her in the eyes.

Richie was the last one y/n told about Hoosac School. But if y/n had the option, she wouldn’t have told him at all. It was hard enough for her to bid her goodbyes to Bill, Stan, Eddie, Bev, Ben, and Mike.

Naturally, Beverly was the first one she told. She was the only other girl in the Loser’s Club and the one y/n hung out with the most aside from Richie. Beverly was a blubbering mess. The brown mascara she applied delicately was running down her cheeks in ugly streaks and her red hair would sit tangled on her head for the next few days.

Bill was next, but Bill knew everything. He found out from Bev the next day and confronted her about it at school. And y/n would sob into his shoulder and ask him what to do.

“Tuh-tell the others,” he said sympathetically.

So she did.

She told Ben, Eddie, and Stan in her next period she shared with him. Ben sadly stroked her arm and told her he could have one of his CupCakes at lunch. y/n smiled, the sweet gesture easing the pain from her mind. And she told him she would take him up on that offer only if they were orange flavored.

Eddie cried that day, but he passed it off as an allergic reaction to the different brand of air freshener Mrs. Clarke used. Stan and Ben were just kind enough to believe him.

Stan was always the voice of reason. He told her this would be a great opportunity to learn new things and make new friends, but he also made her swear she’d write him—them—every week and call every night. He thought y/n would laugh at him for being clingy and compulsive but she didn’t. She took his hand in his, squeezing it firmly when she assured him she’d call every night and write every week.

But a certain sadness washed over her when it was Mike’s turn to receive the news.

It was on an early Saturday morning when he did. She offered to help him out with the farm—partly to spend time with him and partly to get some wear in her new overalls she’d thrifted before she left.

“I know… you’ve probably already heard.” y/n swallowed harshly before continuing. She was aimlessly shoveling a hole in the ground and she stared at the soil as if it were his brown eyes because this would be harder for her to say than harder for him to hear. “I’m leaving Derry.”

The sun wasn’t even up yet, but Mike was able to comprehend her words just fine. “When?” They were both turned away from each other—her working on the hole and him working on the bean sprouts.

“A month after school lets out. Don’t worry, Mikey. There’s still time for me to help you on the farm.”

“Just so you can dig holes in my daddy’s soil? I don’t think so.” Both y/n and Mike laughed. For a moment, y/n had forgotten about the packed boxes in her empty bedroom and the plane tickets her parents kept in an envelope for June the first.

And now y/n stood in front of Richie only a few days after she’d be boarding that plane because she’d been putting off telling him the way she did with the rest of the Losers.

y/n was staring at his forehead, desperately trying to meet his eyes. She didn’t care if the last time he’d be seeing her was with smudged mascara and red eyes, but she needed to see him. “My parents are making me,” she repeated. “If it were up to me I’d..”

“Don’t go,” Richie said abruptly, cutting her off. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her—even if her lips were bitten raw and her eyes welled with salty tears that he’d kiss away in his dreams when he went to bed that night. “To hell with your parents. You can live with me, kid. It’ll be like college but without the debt.”

y/n sniffed. Even though Richie was the funny one, she couldn’t bring herself to laugh. Maybe if the words were coming from Bill, Stan, or Ben, but not Richie. Not when her whole life was in front of her and there was no sign of him in it.

Richie frowned because if he couldn’t put a smile on her face, he didn’t know what would. A strong silence edged itself between the two of them. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. He pushed up his glasses lazily with his index finger to get a better look at the sad sight ahead of him who was poorly trying to contain her sobs.

“Hey, kid.” Richie took her in his lanky arms. Neither of them said anything after that, but Richie couldn’t help but think if he said those three words maybe she wouldn’t have left.

“Well why didn’t you say so?” She’d say. They’d spend their next three years together attached to the hip before college sweeps them away. But they’d find each other later in life; at a record shop or on the streets of New York. y/n would ask “Richie, is that really you?” And Richie would reply in his British-man Voice:

“’Ello, luv. Don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

y/n would be left in a stunned sort of silence for a while—not because she was unsure if the person standing in front of her was him, but because she was in awe. In awe that she finally found him.

But now Richie didn’t have to wait. He didn’t have to wallow in his own pity because the girl he loved was no longer two states away, but a couple of minutes away as he paced back in forth in Stan’s room.

“Calm down, Richie.” Stan was laying on his bed, trying to ignore his friend’s loud footsteps. Even though he had forced Richie to take his shoes off before coming into his house, his feet still thumped loudly against the floor. He was uncharacteristically thrusting a baseball between his two palms. It cut through the air smoothly as it moved side to side in his soft hands.

“What do you mean calm down?” Richie stopped in his tracks so he could shoot him a cold stare. “How am I supposed to calm down?” His heavy steps had resumed. Stan sighed.

“Just don’t make such a big deal out of—”

“Don’t give me that shit, Stan.” Richie groaned and went to tug on the friendship bracelet y/n gave him from when they were in grade school. It was a habit he’d picked up when y/n left. Whenever he got nervous, or irritated, or missed her, his right hand would find his left and wind around the memento. Arguably, that friendship bracelet could be deduced to a tangle of old, ratty strings; better yet, trash. But in Richie’s magnified eyes, it was still the same bracelet made of vibrant blue and green yarn y/n had bought from the craft store and braided with her small, meticulous fingers.

“What shit?” Stan scoffed because sometimes Richie could be irrational. “It’s called honesty. And honestly, it’s just y/n. What could go wrong?”

What could go wrong? Hell, everything could go wrong. She could forget who I am. Or better yet, she would remember and hate me.

“She won’t hate you,” Stan said unconvincingly in his usual monotone voice. It was like he could Richie’s mind, but Richie was obvious when it came to this stuff. Painfully obvious.

“Wuh-what’cha guh-guh-guys talking ab-bout?” Bill let himself into the room without knocking. Neither of the two boys minded. “I br-brought my bb-b-base-ball cards. But I’m keeping the Babe Ruth—”

“We’re not trading today, Bill.” Stan put down the leathery ball which sat in his left hand and sat up exasperatedly.

“W-we’re not?” An odd sort of sadness flicked across his usually bright features and he pocketed the collectibles. “Ih-ih-if we weren’t you sh-sh… could’ve cuh-called me fuh-fifteen minutes ago.” He went down to sit on Stan’s bed with him but was met with a harsh stare and a scolding instead.

“Take your shoes off!” He screeched and Bill toed off his old, beat-up Keds.

“So, wuh-what are we doing… if wuh-we’re not trading?” Bill asked.

“Richie just wants to talk.” Bill’s nose scrunched like a child who had just been informed liver was for dinner.

“T-t-t-talk? Get a s-s-sex change while you’re at it.”

Both Stan and Bill laughed, and Richie only grumbled. “C’mon, guys.” His pacing had yet again stopped but Stan knew he wouldn’t stay still for long. “What should I do?”

Then, Bill knew what they were talking about. It wasn’t a secret that Richie liked y/n. But like was an understatement. It just remained unsaid between the Losers. Either because Richie wouldn’t hear the end of it if they did talk about it or because… what was there to talk about? There were only so many times six boys and one girl could sing ‘Richie loves y/n’ until it got old.

“Wuh-well…” The rest of Bill’s words were swallowed by a heavy build-up of saliva and replaced with new ones before either Stan or Richie could chime in. “What do yo-you wanna do?”

“Aw, man. Lots of things.” Richie took a seat next to Bill on the edge of Stan’s neatly made bed. Stan groaned and shoved a pillow over his flushed face. He was torn between wanting to hear the details and hating that Richie was taking this conversation to a sappy turn. “The first thing I’d do would probably pull her in for a hug and kiss her cheek… And then I’d—”

“Beep Beep, Richie.” Stan’s muffled voice came from under the pillow and Bill laughed in agreement.

“Kuh-kiss?” Bill asked skeptically.

“Yeah. I know that’s new vocabulary to you, Big Bill, but—”

“No,” Bill said, ignoring Richie’s previous, rude, comment. “I mm-mean, you cuh-cuh-can’t kiss y/n.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Richie said, only half-listening to what Bill was saying. But Bill’s next statement grabbed Richie’s (and Stan’s) full attention.

“I cuh-can’t. But her b-boyfriend wuh-houldn’t like it.”

“y/n has a boyfriend?” Both Stan and Richie said in unison. The pillow flew from Stan’s face and his eyes were now widened with interest.

“How’d you find out?” Stan sandwiched himself between Bill and Richie. Richie was almost falling off the bed and he wanted to scoff because if anything he was more a part of the conversation than Ol’ Stanny Boy.

“Oh-oh-over the phone. Sh-sh-she called muh-me and s-s-s-said some-thing about a guh-guy named Tr-Tr-Trevor Mmm-Martin. Nuh-Nothing s-s-serious at the tuh-time. Bb-but…”

Richie didn’t catch the bullshit spewing from Bill’s big mouth. His head was busy spinning in all different directions, and he felt as if he were going to puke. Though there were no signs of the tuna salad sandwich and salt and vinegar chips Stan and he shared trekking its way up to his throat and onto Stan’s just shampooed carpet. Was this what heartbreak felt like?

If so, it was one son of a bitch.

Richie couldn’t seem to enjoy himself for the rest of the day—or the rest of the week, for that matter. He didn’t laugh when Stan cracked a joke that Bill laughed at (something about Jews getting their dicks cut off as an alternative to hell). He didn’t race home to greet the girl next door he’d been longing to see. And he didn’t feel anything when that same girl was pressed against his chest during the scary part of the movie all of the Losers had planned to see.

It was a sort of ‘welcome back’ celebration for y/n. This whole week, actually, would be dedicated to y/n in regard to her return. Stan, Eddie, and Mike were the first ones at the theatre. They waited outside of the Aladdin Theatre, all three in a line while Stan checked his watch for what seemed to be hundredth time and Eddie counted the change in his pocket, hoping it’d be enough for snacks.

“Don’t worry about it, Eddie,” Mike reassured. He patted him on the back. It was firm but gentle at the same time. It calmed him. “If you don’t have enough for snacks, me or someone else can spot you. And don’t worry about paying back.”

Eddie visibly relaxed at his words but Mike didn’t know why he was all of the sudden anxious about something like that.

Just then, Bill and Bev came up. Beverly’s hair was held back in a blue cowboy bandana, a contrast to her red hair, as a makeshift hairband. Her white blouse almost blended against her pale skin and her blue jeans chafed because of how fast she was skipping. Bill was falling behind but he didn’t really care. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his denim board shorts and he walked—strolled—down the sidewalk as if he had all the time in the world.

“I’m so excited!” A harsh squeal erupted from Beverly’s lips and Eddie had to cup his hands over his ears.

“Jesus, Bev. You could blow out an eardrum with those lungs.” But he wasn’t too impressed with her vocal range.

Ben and Richie came up together. They were talking about some new comic issue—Ben looked really into it, but Richie just wanted to avoid the topic of y/n that he was sure was now prevalent in everyone’s minds. Beverly gave him a knowing smirk when the two finally reached the group and Richie displayed his best ‘what-the-fuck-do-you-mean’ expression when he really did know what the fuck she meant.

This left y/n to be the last of the Losers to arrive.

The rubber sole of Richie’s beat up left slip-on tapped impatiently against the hot cement. “How long does it take to get ready?”

“Do you think she got lost?” Ben asked curiously, hoping that wasn’t the case.

“We should go in. Y’know so seats don’t get taken.” Before the rest of the group could protest Richie’s lame idea in attempts to boycott seeing their long-lost friend, a familiar voice piped up.

“That’s awfully rude of you Tozier.” Richie turned around to see y/n. How could a person look the same, yet totally different at the same time? Her hair was longer from when he last saw her and there was a new glow in her eyes that Richie couldn’t help but think meant she lost her innocence. He could’ve sworn she got taller, but she was also wearing platform wedges with little white flowers on the straps which matched her baby blue sundress that came just above the knee.

“y/n!” Beverly was the first to say. She ran the not far distance between them and enraptured her into a tight hug. “I missed you so much! I can’t believe you left me here… with all boys.”

y/n didn’t miss a beat of Beverly’s sarcasm and rolled her eyes. “I know, how could I? I’m such a monster.” The two giggled for an ungodly amount of time which the boys summed up to a sort of telepathic communication between the two.

Ben was next to greet y/n. He said she and he could share a pack of Donettes this time and a nostalgic smile crinkled her eyes as she remembered how he shared his dessert with him when she left.

Mike, Eddie, and Stan were next. Mike told her that while there’s no work to be done on his father’s farm, they could still hang out. Eddie hugged her just like Bev had. And Stan scolded her for being late but then whispered a ‘thanks’ for keeping her promise of writing to him, even if it wasn’t every week.

y/n lingered behind to say hi to Bill when he opened the door for everyone.

“Luh-luh-long time no s-s-see. Stranger.” y/n didn’t realize the Losers were waiting for them.

“Nice to see you, too.” She nudged Bill’s arm with her elbow and walked in. They didn’t say much to each other because nothing had to be said. They had an unspoken connection. Bill was like her brother. Always knew what to say. Always there for her…

Richie was the last to greet y/n because unlike Bill, he didn’t know what to say. He could feel the words dancing on his tongue, but he knew they’d come out in either a stutter or gibberish. He was waiting at the candy counter, drumming his fingers on the glass while Ben ordered a large popcorn and Donettes. Mike paid for his own strawberry licorice whips—none of the Losers partook in his favorite candy. Beverly only got a soda, and Eddie bought his own personal popcorn, but if Stan asked, he could have a few kernels.

“Hi.” Richie looked like he had seen a ghost when y/n came up next to him. He shouldn’t have been startled by her, but he was.

“Hey…” He held off on calling her a cheeky nickname because she had a boyfriend and that would be wrong, and he had morals—

“Are you getting anything?”

That depends, are you for sale? Beep beep, Rich.

“Nothing really…really caught my eye.” He glanced at the menu one more time as if he hadn’t had it memorized from the thousands of other times he’s been there—alone or not.

“That’s too bad. I thought we could share a popcorn?” y/n asked hopefully. “Or a soda? If you’re trying to cut down on carbs.”

Richie laughed. “I thought you and Ben were sharing those mini nightmares.” His hand dove into his pocket anyway. You can never be too sure, right?

“It’s called balance,” y/n said all too knowingly. “Have you ever heard of salty and sweet makes the perfect combination?” She eyed him through her mascara coated lashes that he remembered from three years ago and Richie heard himself calling one of the girls at the concessions stand over for a large popcorn. Extra butter.

Was she the sweet and Trevor was the salty one of the pair? His mind was numb during the movie, except for the one persisting thought he couldn’t help but circle back to. y/n and Trevor sitting in a tree…

He felt the armrest that divided the seats fly up and a trembling body wiggle itself next to his. Her arms latched onto his torso tightly and her head buried itself into his tacky Hawaiian shirt. Slowly, Richie began to fall from his catatonic state. His eyes drifted down to her figure, squinting in the darkness of the theatre.

“Hey…” His large hand smoothed over her hair in petting motions as he cooed into her ear. “It’s all… this stuff’s all fake. It’s not real.” Her quiet, pathetic sobs continued throughout the rest of the movie. Richie still consoled her.

Only until the lights drew up and the Losers were the last to leave an empty theatre decorated with chewed up bubble gum, candy wrappers, and the remains of popcorn on the floor did y/n remove herself from his shirt.

“Sorry.” y/n cleared her throat and sat up straight as if nothing happened. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen a horror movie.” She laughed, making fun of her own pitifulness.

“It was a h-h-horror movie. Not a d-d-drama.” Bill rolled his eyes but there was a smile on his lips.

“Girls, am I right?” Stan scoffed. He stood up, about to be the first of the Losers to leave the room until he stopped in front of y/n’s chair. “Don’t worry, I almost shat my pants.” Richie overheard him whisper in her hear.

y/n tried to eat the giggles trying to escape her mouth, but she couldn’t help it. Her laughter echoed in the empty theatre and the rest of her friends laughed with her. They didn’t understand what she was laughing at, they just missed the sound of her voice after so long.

Her small hand slipped into Richie’s sweaty one when the group met daylight which Mike was surprised at, even though they entered the Aladdin at one.

“What’re you doin’?” He asked, shaken up. They had officially fallen behind from the group, but it wasn’t like either of them cared. He took his hand from hers, opting to hold his own. Once his hand left hers he immediately missed the feeling. The warmth. The comfort. But his own would have to fair as a substitute for now.

“Just like old times… I thought.” y/n was flabbergasted at Richie’s antsiness. He wasn’t like this three years ago. Three years ago, he would’ve gladly accepted her hand in his. Three years ago, he would’ve scooped up her hand claiming that he doesn’t want her catching cold even though they stood in the summer heat.

Richie twirled his fingers around the end of his shirt. Old times. But the old times were different.

Richie Tozier was thirteen years old when he finally got his own bike to ride. He no longer had to ride double on Silver or walk to any of the functions that the Losers had planned. It wasn’t embarrassing, but no boy wanted to show up to the quarry or Aladdin Theatre riding on the back of Bill Denbrough’s bike, his arms actually wrapped around him. Especially if y/n would be seeing him.

So, he requested his parents buy him a bicycle of his own. Preferably green with a large bell so everyone knows when Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier was coming. Pretty please.

And after a few months, his parents finally complied. It was green but it, however, did not come with a bell.

“You’ll just have to come up with the money for that one on your own, son.” His dad told him. But that was fine by Richie. And he excitedly pedaled off to the Aladdin where his friends would be soon, in hopes to impress a certain somebody.

“W-w-wow, Ruh-Ruh-Richie. You got a bike?” Bill asked. He wondered why his friend never gave him a call, asking to come pick and him up—he just assumed he was walking today.

“Yeppers.” Richie proudly rode circles around his friends with his new ET Kuwahara. He couldn’t wait until y/n saw him on it.

“Wh-wh-when?” Bill was the most curious out of the group. He would miss hitching Richie rides, but he wouldn’t miss how tight his arms seemed to wind against his chest.

“Like, yesterday.” Richie shrugged and he was the last one to park his bike. He kept riding circles around the empty Sunday street until y/n and Bev showed up. y/n didn’t have a bike and Bev always walked with her out of courtesy.

“Hey, wide ride!” Beverly called while Richie tried to pop a wheelie.

“Stop it,” y/n giggled but Richie was too lost in his own world to hear her. Eventually, he parked it; carelessly setting it down with Silver and Stan’s, Eddie’s, Ben’s, and Mike’s bike. “You got a bike?” y/n asked, coming up from behind him. Richie grinned.

“Yeah, do ya like?” y/n nodded wordlessly.

“Green’s not my color, though… Why’d you get a bike?”

“’Cause riding double is lame.” He shrugged and they entered the movie theatre together while the rest of their friends waited for them. “Anywho, how ‘bout I take you home tonight?”

“I thought you said riding double was lame,” y/n repeated his words even though she didn’t think that.

“Well—you see… What I meant was—”

“Just kidding, Tozier. Only you think riding double is lame anyway.” y/n found herself giggling while paying for her small popcorn which Richie would end up sticking his fingers into later on.

So, Richie took her home that night (and the rest of the nights the Losers met up). Her arms wrapped around his torso in the way he used to wrap his around Bill’s. At first, it felt like he couldn’t breathe, but that could’ve been because there was a pretty girl sitting behind him and he would be responsible if they got hurt.

After a while, though, he got used to it. And the arms slung around his chest were like a seatbelt. Once in awhile, y/n would rest her chin against her shoulder. And if she were tuckered out from swimming or any of the other adventures the Losers were up against that day, he would find her dozing on his back. The breeze from his ET Kuwahara ripping through the hot air felt nice and a kind of superiority swelled in Richie’s chest for being the cause of that breeze.

The same breeze swept over y/n and Richie. The group was now long gone from their eye line, but they would’ve been anyway because of the path Richie and y/n would take to get home.

Richie had been oddly silent until they reached their houses; side by side, just like how the two friends stood. y/n took it upon herself to break that silence, but his jitters were contagious.

“We’re meeting up at the quarry tomorrow.” She turned to face him as she stood on the highest step of her doorstep. He was still taller than her.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.” Richie tried his best to avoid her steady watch that followed him, but it was hard. He so desperately wanted to see the twinkle in her ambitious, yet caring eyes which he missed. It wasn’t looking at her that was wrong, it was his thoughts—and Richie knew that—he just couldn’t bring himself to look at her while thinking those thoughts.

“You’re coming right?” Insecurity wavered in her voice. Richie was being weird. Richie was always weird, but something was… wrong. He didn’t greet her the first day she came home. y/n eventually concluded that she was just being selfish and that Richie was probably busy that day. But now Richie was being distant. Richie was never distant.

“’Ve been thinkin’ about it. You know I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to see Bev in her swimsuit—”

“Beep beep.” y/n wanted to laugh. She wanted to assume he was joking and think nothing more of it because that’s who Richie is. A jokester. Her heart couldn’t help but pang at the words and instantaneously the palms of her hands felt clammy. “Can you meet me beforehand? I thought we could go together?”

“Together?” Richie’s voice cracked.

“Yeah, goofball.” Again, her eyes searched for his under his mess of brown hair and coke bottle glasses, but they were playing a serious game of hide-and-seek. “I mean, it only makes sense.” She thought fast. “We live next door to each other.” And Richie realized this was only an act of convenience.

“Shore, shore, senhorritaa.” Richie couldn’t find the courage in himself—only in one of his Voices and y/n smiled, suddenly remembering how often he’d do impressions when they were kids.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” y/n said curtly.

“Tomorrow,” Richie replied cooly when he was anything but. Especially when he paced his own room, the same way he did in Stan’s, when he should’ve been at her door already.

He was only wearing the swim trunks (he had since he was fifteen and hadn’t bothered to replace) that resembled the shirts he wore, and he was debating on if he should put on a shirt or leave as he is. Or leave at all. It was going to be hot today. The weather forecast predicted to be in the nineties. Richie didn’t want to show up indecent, but he also didn’t want to sweat the whole walk there.

Two—that somehow felt like ten—aggravating minutes later, Richie stood at y/n’s door wearing a yellow shirt over his dark blue, tropical swim shorts. His forefinger hovered over the doorbell for a few seconds until he finally bit the bullet and took the bait. You’re gonna do it eventually, just do it now.

It swung open excitedly, revealing his favorite girl who stood behind it. “Come in!” She said and wasted no time to lead him up to her room.

Richie took a moment to catch his breath and take in his new surroundings. Her room seemed unchanged at first and he laughed at the grey, Victorian-style wallpaper that neither y/n nor her parents had taken down yet. But the longer he stood there, the more he noticed how bare it was. The room was stripped of any decorations she once had (except for her bed and desk)—replaced by brown moving boxes. It became apparent to Richie how much time she had spent away from the group. Even though she was here with them now, she had fabricated a life outside of the Losers Club. That fact hurt him, but a sort of curiosity burned inside of him. He wanted to know the new her, but they also had to get to the quarry at a certain time.

“When do we gotta be there by?” Richie asked. He was drawn out of his daydream by his own words and noticed y/n who was turned around in front of him. She was wearing a black, ruffled bikini that complimented her skin beautifully but barely covered the parts that should.

“Two-thirty… but I don’t think they’d mind if we show up early or late.” y/n shrugged as her fingers fumbled with the bikini strings that tied the top. “Can you help me with this?” She turned to him. If Richie picked any time to finally meet her eyes, he picked the worst timing. y/n’s neck craned to the side whilst she still struggled with her top. He knew this wouldn’t end well for him.

“Why’re you asking me?” Richie feigned a chuckle but walked over to her regardless. She angled her body dangerously close to his causing Richie to bite his lip, imprisoning the sharp gasp that threatened to depart from his lips. Cautiously, his hands took the strings from her and tied them into a sloppy bow with a double knot so it wouldn’t come undone anytime soon.

“’Cause you’re here, Tozier.” He made eye contact with her. “What’s been up with you lately?”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“You’ve been distant… really distant.” y/n’s honesty made it hard for Richie to catch a break. “Do you think I haven’t noticed when you pulled away from me yesterday and…”

“And what?” Richie probed. His hands rested on either sides of his hips. He tried to hide any sign of nervousness in his voice, but it was hard to fake what you were.

“It’s stupid.” Obviously, y/n didn’t want to drop the topic of conversation. She didn’t want to coerce the boy into something either.

“Nothing you say, think, or do is stupid, y/n/n.” Richie chuckled once more though this time y/n could tell he wasn’t faking anything.

“You didn’t greet me when I first came home.” She mumbled, hoping he wouldn’t hear her. But he did. “Why was that?”

“I dunno… Bill told me something.” Richie wanted to drop a brick over his head because honestly, how stupid did he sound right now? y/n didn’t have to say anything. The skepticism in her eyes and her bottom lip between her teeth was enough to prompt him further. “He said you have a boyfriend and I just—”

“You just what?” Her words were mysterious. Richie couldn’t seem to read her anymore because the only telling expression she had was a raised eyebrow and cocked head. But that could mean anything.

“I really like you, okay? And how are you supposed to greet someone you’re in love with after not seeing them for three years when you can’t hug them or-or kiss them cos they went off and got a stinkin’ high and mighty boyfriend in New York? New York, for Christ’s sake. It was hard enough to look at you before but now—” Richie’s rambling was quickly cut off when y/n’s arms wrapped around his neck and her lips pressed against his. Her fingers tangled in the loops of his hair and his glasses pushed up against her face. “What was that for?” Richie asked, completely dumbfounded.

“Stop listening to Bill,” y/n instructed. She was amused by the boy in front of her.

“What?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” She brushed a strand of hair from out of his eyes and adjusted his now crooked glasses.

“But Bill said—”

“Bill’s stupid.” Her lips met his again. The kiss was longer this time. y/n’s were soft and tasted like the artificial cherry flavoring from her chapstick she had applied prior; a contradiction to the faint scent of tangerines that clung to her bare skin and the spicy bite of peppermint on her tongue.

His wet tongue traced the inside of her mouth, lingering on the inside of her cheek. y/n bit down on the fullest part of Richie’s bottom lip tentatively, making sure not to hurt him. She could feel his smile lines against her thumb when she removed her left hand from his hair, using it to cup his cheek. y/n pulled from him abruptly, leaving Richie floored and panting.

“You don’t think the crew would care if we showed up late?” Richie asked, his eyebrows wiggling with the new burst of confidence that kiss had given him.

y/n shook her head. A grin bestowed itself upon her swollen lips. Her arms re-enveloped themselves around his figure that towered over her. Richie copied her actions. Except his hands ghosted across the back of her naked torso covered in goosebumps from the spur of the moment. They created an invisible trail to her clothed butt, cueing y/n to jump up.

She did and Richie’s large hands supported her legs that wound around his waist. “Do you wanna…?”

“Yes,” y/n whispered into his ear. At that, a shiver crawled down Richie’s spine.

It became harder for Richie to contain his excitement as he walked the two of them over to y/n’s bed. He was gentle when he set her down on the mattress covered in grey sheets and stuffed pillows. The feeling of the cotton bed sleeves cooled her hot skin although she would need an icepack to completely bring her temperature down.

Richie was on top of her. His lips tickled face that he left quick, unperceivable marks on. When she got the chance, y/n took in his appearance thoughtfully. It was evident that his unruly hair was thrown in all different directions due to y/n’s hands that were knotted in it. There was a blush on his freckled cheeks that resembled a sunburn and he wore a look. It was soft and welcoming like he was an astrologist who had just found out she was responsible for putting the stars in the sky.

But the stars were her eyes as they held the same sparkle from yesterday at the theatre.

“Have you…have you?” Richie’s eyes hesitantly raked down her half nude body from behind his glasses, still held together with adhesive tape. They couldn’t help but slide down the slope of his long nose and y/n pushed them up for him.

“No,” y/n said bashfully. She ducked her head down only for it to be lifted back up with Richie’s thumb and forefinger.

“Do you want this?” He tried not to pose the question awkwardly, but how can you make a question like that not awkward?

“Of course.” y/n’s hand, still playing with the hairs on the back of his head, guided his face towards hers. The two met in a sweet kiss for a sweet second. “As long as it’s with you.” Her tone was confident and assuring, leaving Richie with no extra questions.

“You really know how to flatter a guy, y/n/n.” Richie still marveled at the sight splayed out before him and a melodious sound filled his ears. It was her laugh, but all of his senses seemed to be amplified to the max during this moment.

Both of her hands coasted down to the hem of his stupid, banana-colored shirt that served as a barrier between the two. Her light touches made his breath catch in his throat, released in a throaty gasp, and his once loose shorts now felt strained and uncomfortable. Ignoring the occasional breaths that left Richie’s perfect mouth, y/n’s fingers tugged on the end of his shirt; a signal for him to take the damn thing off.

Instantly, his shirt was off and thrown on her floor. In his head, he thanked that her room wasn’t fully unpacked yet but another part of him thought he and y/n wouldn’t even make it to the quarry. y/n ran two fingers down his smooth chest; the tips of her fingers sent a tingling sensation throughout his being. Richie seized them once they reached his abdomen, his grasp firm but tender. Slowly, he led her fingers with his to the crotch of her bikini. The black material was soaked through. Richie smirked to himself, she’d have to change again before they left for the quarry. Or they could just not go at all.

Her own touch had elicited a moan from y/n. Her head fell back on the grey cushions, exposing her pure neck that begged to be marked. The sighs of pleasure coming from the girl beneath him while he directed her hand that was now slipping into the bottoms of her bikini felt straight from one of his fantasies. He could only hope he wasn’t dreaming, and if he were, he’d just have to remember it for another lonely night in the sheets.

y/n’s fingers danced over her clit. She inhaled sharply at the teasing feeling. Richie’s hand moved to tightly hold her wrist, the contact burned against her already hot skin. His mind was drawing a blank again; lost in the moment. Lost in her. Another moan left her mouth, her breath hit his face, and Richie imagined how she touched herself when she was away at school. Did she think about him the same way he thought about her? Did she wonder what lied behind his pants like how he had on multiple occasions?

For the time being, Richie’s questions would have to be left unanswered. He felt her hand leave her bathing suit and his hand detached itself from her wrist. A blotchy red handprint was left in its place from his harsh grip and before Richie could ask if she was okay, y/n was kicking off the at once restricting clothing. Her lower half was now completely revealed, all for him. Vulnerability, a feeling y/n had only felt on the plane ride alone to New York and on her first date with Trevor, took its rightful place in her chest that lifted and fell at a rapid speed. Her thighs instinctively rubbed together, part out of insecurity, and also to relieve herself, but Richie stopped them before they could make another move.

His right palm had settled on her left thigh, gently separating it from its counterpart while his left palm kept busy as it laid flat on her mattress and held him up. Richie’s index finger toyed with her clit, much like she had done before, and then probed her entrance. Her walls generously coated his first finger with the same nucleus that slicked her now tainted swimsuit. His middle finger entered with the same proficiency and care. Richie’s fingers were long and slender, and they did well to effortlessly curl into the spot that y/n could never seem to find on her own. Richie grunted at the sound of another pretty sound leaving y/n’s pretty lips. But this sound was different.

“Richie,” she moaned breathlessly. Richie, again, came painfully aware of the tent in his shorts. But this time was for y/n, not him.

In and out. In and out. His fingers moved at the relatively same, slow, and predictable pace that didn’t fail to evoke the dirty noises coming from y/n which might suggest otherwise. He continued these movements until her pulse picked up and a coil inside snapped.

Richie Tozier was y/n’s first orgasm.

And second, as he withdrew his hand from her, swapping his fingers for him. He stripped himself of his shorts so that the two now pressed together, even—this excluded the upper half of y/n that was still covered.

Richie hovered over the girl. The girl who moved next door at the ripe age of five, not knowing the impact she’d have on his life. The girl who crafted him and the Losers Club individual friendship bracelets that were tied around his wrist to this day. The girl who moved away too soon. The girl who’d share his first time with him. The girl he loved.

“Can I?” He asked timidly. The thumb and index finger of his right hand pinched at the black strap which prevented her top from falling down—which, ironically, was exactly what Richie wanted. y/n nodded. Her eyes were still shut from the intense euphoria she was still recovering from. First, Richie unclipped the back strap. Then, his hands moved to the thinner strap he’d tied earlier. His knees were holding him up, straddling over y/n’s waist. A wave of frustration overcame him when his fingers clumsily messed with the frocking double-knotted bow. A quiet mutter, “gotcha”, unintentionally rolled off of Richie’s tongue.

y/n giggled at his antics—not to make fun of him, but because he was cute.

The constrictive article of clothing fell from her bodice, uncovering her hardened nipples and flawless breasts.

Richie ducked his head down. Instead of meeting her lips, his mouth wrapped around the still perky bud. Licking, and sucking until breaths turned to whines and whines turned to his name.

Richie. Richie. Richie.

After giving both the same amount of attention, he kissed her. His lips brushed against hers and time felt like it had somehow stopped when y/n felt him enter her.

It was daunting at first. And Richie thumbed away a tear that raced down y/n’s cheek when she had finally taken his whole length.

“Tell me when you want me to move,” Richie murmured—his nose brushing against her cheekbone as he did so.

“Rich…Richie.”

“Yes, gorgeous?” y/n could melt at the nickname, but she didn’t; the rest of her senses too carried away in his intoxicating scent of Spice… Something… and the stimulation of him filling her.

“Can you move?” y/n asked in quiet, broken words.

Richie didn’t say anything. He just slipped out from her only to push back in. The sensation of her tight walls around him was enough to be the reason of his gasps and the resounding echoes of her name that pleasantly escaped his parted lips. His thrusts were steady and gradual—much like his fingers from earlier but… different.

y/n’s back arched into Richie’s front. Both of their pants quickened, and y/n didn’t have to ask to know what this meant.

“Richie,” y/n mewled. Richie’s pace accelerated, pulling them both to their highs. y/n’s eyes rolled back from under her heavy lids. On the other hand, the boy above her had frantically removed himself from her. She would finish on his fingers like once before and he didn’t need any more ushering to find his end.

“y/n.” The moan belonged to Richie this time, and he collapsed onto the newly soiled sheets next to the girl whose name he just spoke. “I love you.” Richie didn’t intend for the words to come out. They just did. He suspected y/n was none the wiser, still trying to catch her breath from when she came.

“What?”

Richie was wrong.

“I love you,” Richie repeated, but he hadn’t intended to say it again either. He was running on autopilot now. His eyes squeezed closed, preparing for y/n to yell at him. Why would you drop the bomb like this? To kick him out.

But she didn’t.

“I love you, too.” She wasn’t facing him, so he had to trust she meant the words. He had to trust she wasn’t actually repulsed at the thought of the guy who’d just stolen her virginity and would never talk to him afterward.

“You…you do?” Richie realized he was laying butt-naked on top of y/n’s sheets and he wouldn’t be shocked if his face were mistaken for a tomato right about now.

“Yeah.” The bed shifted under her turning weight because she was now laying on her side, facing him. Her eyes roamed his milky skin and her fingers apprehensively traced an outline on his arm. Richie didn’t think he would ever get used to her silk skin and feather fingertips. “You’re supposed to lose it to the person you love, right?”

Richie’s heart was already digging its grave. “Yeah.” He swallowed dryly. His hand found hers—the one that was inking an invisible fence on his skin—and weaved his fingers with hers. He didn’t know what else to say but he didn’t have to.

“You still wear this?” y/n was incredulous and judging by the tone of her voice, Richie figured she found the friendship bracelet he still wore. Treasured.

“It’d make me a monster to trash it.” Richie faced her now and y/n laughed whilst her pink lips grazed his knuckles.

“I still have mine.” She raised her eyebrow. Was this a challenge?

“Pish, posh, dahhling. Proof or it’s not real,” he said in his god-awful British-man Voice.

y/n let go of his hand, leaving it for the coldness to slowly eat away. She leapt off her bed and dashed to her desk. She opened one of the side drawers and fished around for a dinky little yarn bracelet that would match his, only she used red and yellow string rather than blue and green.

She skipped over to him, not caring that she was undressed or that they had to be somewhere. A braided bracelet, similar to his, dangled in front of Richie’s tired face and he smiled. Unlike Richie’s, y/n’s bracelet was in perfect condition—just like it had looked from when they were ten.

“I can make you another one,” y/n said, noticing how worn Richie’s was. It was almost falling apart.

“Nah. I like the rugged look.” Richie bared his teeth to her. It must’ve been the fifth time she laughed that day.

“Do you still wanna go?” y/n asked. She didn’t meet his gaze; too focused on slipping the bracelet over her hand. It seemed she had outgrown the thing.

“Go where?” Richie hummed and snaked his arms around her once more.

“The quarry.” His eyes widened and suddenly Richie didn’t feel tired anymore.

“Do we have to?” He whined as if he were still a child.

“I guess not.” y/n gave in; relaxing into his arms. “You can help me unpack.”

“Or…” Richie’s lips pecked her forehead.

“I guess there’s a reason why they call you Trashmouth.” y/n nuzzled into the crook of his neck. His fingers drew lazy shapes on her bare back in attempts to convince her. But y/n didn’t need convincing. Now that she found a home in his arms, she would never leave.

325 notes · View notes

squid-rp · 3 years ago

Text

So... remember when I said I wanted to make playlists for my characters while stuck at work? WELL... today is the day of results, staring with Cora. See cut below for playlist and a few drabbles that are inspired but may yet change as more info about the world comes out.

TW: Language... both in the playlist and out of it. I'm not kidding when I said Cora needs a swear jar, and some of her song choices definitely uh... reflect that.

DRABBLES:

Cora might not have been a proper witch or warlock, but she knew full and well what storms were, because she saw them in people. She saw it in her mother’s eyes when her parents thought she had been asleep -- the woman’s lips turning to a snarl as she deftly dodged another bottle thrown at her head and the sloppy slur of a yell to get out. Cora knew that sometimes storms collided and one usually gave way to another. Her mother gave way to her father and fled into the night, leaving her alone with a bitter man festering in all of his losses and resentful of what he felt he deserved but could not have. Had it not been for her grandmother, Cora knew she would have felt that wrath turned on herself more severely than sour glances and whiskey touched words. Lavinia Carrington was a storm of her own. She lacked the wild snarl and harsh words that her daughter used so frequently, but her eyes were fixed and focused like the rumble of thunder on the horizon. Steven Mills could barely look up from his kingdom of half-drunken bottles to acknowledge the woman on his doorstep. He did blink lamely at the statuesque woman in his living room who deigned to stand above his recliner like some sort of fairytale queen. She wore a tailored dress, but no crown, although her fading red hair was enough to tell him exactly who she was. “Fuck you want?” Steven managed, but he knew, and although she didn’t know what exactly, Cora knew too. Later, she would ruefully recall that nobody had asked her, but why would they? She was just a slip of a thing hiding against a door frame back then -- eager for a peak of something strange but terrified of being caught. “I refuse to let my legacy nourish itself on whiskey and regrets. That child is mine and she will be great, or she will be nothing at all.” There was no room for argument.

---

Cora had always been a girl who liked to know things. Her mother was a faint shadow in her memories, but sometimes she would recall her mother telling her stories at night -- stories of little girls and the wolves that gobbled them up for their curiosity. Curiosity, her grandmother said, was a useful tool. Curiosity was usually the first step towards folly and the lesson of hurting, which would give away to the much more useful trait of ambition. Cora no longer spent nights being lulled to sleep by scary stories of wolves gobbling up girls. Those weren’t useful tales anymore, especially since nobody was coming to save her. Cora hadn’t exactly shaken curiosity, but she tempered it with caution, and her only ambition was to stay one step ahead of her grandmother -- to learn to be more powerful if only to save herself and others who might be in the bitter hag’s way. But the lesson of hurting had turned to a lesson of haunting, and the most haunting thing Cora learned was that she would never stop looking over her shoulder, even in the crowds of New York.

---

If there was one thing Cora learned since running away, it was that she was always going to be underestimated by people who didn’t know what the hell she was. That was fine on most days. It was easier to traipse around on the sly and have a semblance of a life if people just saw her at face value: small, petite, porcelain skin, a light dusting of freckles, doll eyes, clothes that barely fit. A fragile thing with such a foul mouth. And sometimes it was that mouth that got her into trouble, and the invitation to “fuck around and find out” resulted in a right hook that was far meaner than it had any right to be. Sometimes meanness wasn’t enough, though. There were times Cora limped along home, ribs aching, teeth stained with blood and eyes bruised purple, but she’d be damned if she saw something that bothered her without speaking up. She didn’t run away to hold anything in anymore.

---

It didn’t matter how well she hid: eventually one of her grandmother’s followers would find her. It didn’t matter if she washed her hair out so that it lost its coppery sheen or crafted an identity that was the greatest great or the lowest of the low. Someone always found her, and how could they not? She was an unbound Ephemeral, and a grasping threat to boot, even if she claimed to just want to live. She ran first. Cora ran from jobs. She left homes with nothing but the clothes on her back. She lost her pursuers in subway trains or by dodging into an Uber and -- once -- jumping off a bridge into a freezing river that had her shivering for what felt like weeks. She finally dug her heels in and fought back in Arizona, and when her pursuer was flat on his back in the sand, Cora stood over him while a dust devil raged through the desert. She thought of her grandmother. She thought of those sharp blue eyes, the steel in the woman’s demeanor, and everything she had taken and would continue to take. It would have been easy to kill the man in the dirt. It would have been easy to kill him and leave him to rot in the desert for the coyotes to pick his bones clean. It would have sent a clear message, and it would have been a warning for those who would come after. But it would have been something she would have done, and more than anything, Cora did not want to be her. So she knocked the man out and left him in the desert to make his way to safety once he woke up. By then, she’d be on the way to elsewhere to try and make her way on her own terms. Despite how she had been raised, and despite all of her grooming, Cora was not her, and she never would be. Not if she had anything to say about it.

---

It could not be said that Cora was skilled in Origami as she only knew how to make one shape. She tried to learn others over the years -- the owl, the fan, the boat, the flower -- but her fingers fell into the familiar habits of the crane as if she were being guided along on a string right on back to home. Cora had so few memories of her mother. She had no pictures -- they had been burned at her grandmother’s behest -- and no mementos or trinkets to remind her of the woman who had given her life and then had abandoned her. She remembered stories told in the dark, but the years had distorted the voice that told them. The memories of a face -- the cut of a nose, and the curl of a lip -- had blurred to a void that could have been everything and nothing all at once. What Cora couldn’t forget was muscle memory, and her fingers gracefully folded smooth paper to form a head and wings until another colorful paper crane joined the small army threatening to burst out of her shoebox apartment. “One thousand gets a wish,” the woman murmured as she set the newest crane atop the bundle of blankets that comprised her bed and looked out the window towards the looming city and all its lights. She doubted she would ever get what she wanted. After all, other people wanted, and when it came to her, they only wanted what she could do and who she could be. They never really wanted her for her. It didn’t stop her from reaching for another sheaf of paper and trying again.

TLDR: Pretty sure Cora's grandma (who in my head is super old and reeks of sandalwood and dismissiveness) is the head of a Gramarye coven elsewhere. Cora was meant to take up the mantle or... something else more nefarious but yeeted instead and is hiding out in New York until she can figure out wtf to do. AGAIN, this could change depending on revealed site lore and also the fact that I might see another bright and shiny idea and go crow.

#cora mills #bmtrp #baremyteethrp #not tagging the dev tag because I already have two and I don't wanna clog the tag #Spotify

8 notes · View notes

foryouthegays · 4 years ago

Text

techno liveblog w timestamps lets go for ‘a new home (dream SMP)’ stream

good laugh times: 00:13:50, 00:14:55, 1:38:45, ik it doesnt look like a lot but like u should watch the stream anyway bc philzas there and his laugh is amazing and they just go so well together

times techno calls phil his friend: 00:6:00 00:37:00, 00:45:17, 0:1:09:30, 01:11:15, 01:26:35, 01:50:05, 2:35:00

FSDJKFAF;LS HE KEPT THE MUTED INTRO IN JHKADFLS (ends at 00:1:25)

i like how, when faced with Leaving Youtube, techno would choose to be an author. i want a book by techno. reblog this if u want a book by techno (with an audiobook by him as well) /hj. 00:1:33

i love how he says ehhhhhh so much lskjhdfas (abt 2 mins in)

who the FUCK just remembers that the word fortuitous exists wtf 00:5:17

00:7:45 PHILZA TIME PHILZA TIME LETS GO

00:8:55 tommy time :/

0:14:10 rANBOO JUST WALKS IN, LOOKS AROUN ,AND LEA VE SIM CRYING

i love how much philza laughs at technos jokes bc pretty much everything he says IS a joke he just says it in such a serious voice that p much everyone else is like,,,yeah,,,,yup,,,,and phil just knows when hes joking and his laugh is so good with technos voice. sbi? whos that? i only know philza and technoblade

00:19:30 ghostbur joins! this is my first time hearin ghostbur btw

00:19:40 haha string axe technos so bad at crafting what a fool /j

00:21:07 ghostbur: “Even I remember how to make a fishing rod!” ghostbur u just MURDERED technoblade oh my god im gonna scream hgjdfksla i love ghostbur so much

00:23:55: GHOSTBUR NO!! DON’T DIE YOU’LL BECOME A DOUBLE GHOST!!!! -technoblade 2020

00:24:55 technoblade neva lies -guys he almost did the technoblade neva dies ahh!!!!!

i havent heard anyone talk about this but techno has a dedicated roleplay voice. like listen to him talk to tommy at 00:25:08. his voice gets more even, he uses names a lot more often (seriously, listen to his theseus speech. he says tommy so often, its incredible.), and his voice gets,,,,deeper? not deeper but smoother, in a way, and he repeats what he says for emphasis instead of humor. and his voice is louder, and he seems more assertive.

00:27:30 philza: where we goin, by the way? techno: to our- to my new home.

techno cmon let phil live w u wed get so much more content cmonn

00:28:50 the fact that he calls the manhunt theme “dream music” makes me laugh so hard. and then his version of it,,,,,m love he (also he sings it here and at 01:14:20)

00:35:10 why is ranboo so cryptic im-

why does he just casually know the word sentry wh at i hate him 00:39:45

this is the worst sentence (structurally) ive ever heard techno say im gonna cry 00:49:33 ‘im too busy thinkin of new ideas to sleep so i could actually execute them’ and tubbos *oh?* after is just hdsfgkjlka

LKSJDHFJK 00:51:49

00:54:30

techno: thats one of dreams powers, he can just stop the rain

tubbo, quietly: like jesus!

i love them sm dsfhkjla they kept going but i jus gdfhjksa jesus has op

techno @ being the second worst thing to ever happen to those orphans: haha funnie!!

techno @ having fun w religious stuff: i wILL BE CANCELLED NO-

00:58:10 “hey if ur [ghostbur] a ghost, do instant damage potions heal you now?” “...no,, they hurt me still :(” DSIULZKJHFSLKFJH

01:04:00 his brother named the cow bob im- aww

also he has a fanart wall again!!!

01:09:30 “phil, you’re the only friend i have left in this world.” aWWWWW HE GAVE HIM THE COMPASS

“dont smoke, it’s a joke” -technoblade 01:14:15

ROLEPLAY SPEECH VOICE IS BACK AT 1:16:10 “they pillage my base for everything i’m worth, they use me for the revolution, but oooOOOoo i took a pickaxe with his consent? oOOOooOo i’m a thief!”

holy shit 01:17:15 “you know what, phil? for you, the world, alright? it’s fine.” oH MY GOD HHHHGHG (context, right before they were arguing bc phil took some blocks from his base and techno thought that when he said phil could take anything he meant from the chests)

the COMIDY of that villager coming in and sleeping while techno was readin donos at 01:22:05 RIGHT AFTER phil freaked out abt inturruptin his dono readin im SFDHKJLA:

techno talkin bout the winstreak and how he wont be able to live up to that sort of playin at 01:22:30ish is super important and ill transcribe it tomorrow, but if u can id highly rec watchin it.

01:24:20 “[readin dono] what’s your favorite movie? uh, the princess bride is pretty good” techno ily that movie rocks also he said it so fast like hes ashamed of it noo

techno says no to canon ranboo son btw! 01:25:30

01:25:55 “i wasnt in that story, therefore it doesnt matter” all of technoblr be like

01:37:49 is great lemmie transcribe

“how have you still not gotten a second monitor?? holy shit.”

“let me tell you something. and im only telling you this because i know that so many people in the chat are gonna be furious. so i recently realized- i think the second monitor can just be any ol’ monitor, right? you literally just plug it in, and its set up? well i mean you have to turn on some settings, but like, thats it, or something?”

“yeah,,,,, uh techno you fuckin destroyed my chat, by the way, oh my god, [earlier techno told his viewers to twitch prime philza] there has been like 40 primes just flying through”

“yeahhh twitch prime!!! twitch prime philza yeahh!!! so anyways the other day, i like, i looked to my left, and realized that my old monitor has been like, five feet away from where i sit and stream for the last three years?”

“oh my god...”

“so i- i literally do not have to leave my room to set up a second monitor and i havent. and i’m still usin my laptop for this stream.

“is this gonna be one of those situations where you like, you have a thing, you just refuse to do the thing?”

“listen, my desk is-

“yOU STILL HAVENT OPENED UP THE HYPIXEL PACKAGE!!!”

“AHHHH I HAVENT OPENED UP THE HYPIXEL PACKAGE! I HAVENT EVEN OPENED UP MY MCC COIN! DUDE I HAVENT EVEN OPENED UP MY ONE MILLION SUBSCRIBER PLAQUE! ITS STILL THERE RIGHT BEHIND ME! ITs sTILL IN THE BOX! i never made a video on it....”

“bruhhhhh [philza laughs] thats FREE VIEWS what are you doing??”

“ill open it at 8 mil :/.”

“you could LITERALLY make a video of you just like, throwing it off a wall, and then thumbing up, like doing a thumbs up, and then that would be it. 10 seconds. ten seconds. thumb and elbow in shot. [laughs]”

techno is such a disaster i love him

01:34:18 the way techno says “tommy, that statement has NEVER been true” i dont like sayin i simp for block men but GOD sometimes his voice is nicer than usual hhhgn

“man i sure wish tommyinnit was in this stream” -nobody ever (just after previous timestamp)

01:40:15 is fuckin hilarious and im actually crying oh my god techno just says things and says them well with a completely straight face how does he do it

i cannot WAIT until theres a president w the last/first name andy so we can say president andy and think abt technoblade

IM CRIASDNGUSFHD 01:44:38 PHILZA LOOK OUT LOOK OUT PHILZA LSKJDAFJASD;LKF

i love when techno talks abt his vids. like u can tell he puts a lot of thought into the vids (esp these ones) and like at 01:47:00 he talks abt the “I DIDNT PUT DEAPTH STRIDER ON THOSE BOOTS, FUNDY!” and how its just that creepin realization that you were doomed from the start and how he made the armor, he isnt intimidated by the netherite bc he didnt enchant it all the way and only he knows that,,, and i just,,,hgg he

he reveals that hes writin the next arc at 01:48:00: “oh, speakin of arcs, chat, i’m writing the next arc. so, you know. hope nothin bad happens in two weeks, chat!” IM SO EXCITED like he clearly has his character fleshed out and is SO good at writing and retellin history im so so excited to see where he takes it AHHHH and also taht means he might stream more bc he might make his character more important (keep in mind this is the guy who wrote self insert hypixel fanfics. he has no shame in puttin himself first and i respect him so much for it)

01:51:20 “they’re tryin to get a second customer but they’re riskin their first” is lowkey a good line

has anyone else noticed that techno says wise a lot? like at 01:55:10 he literally says “wise dragon armor” as a joke but like i think he says wise so much BECAUSE of skyblock like hjkfdsla

01:57:30 techno plea se eat

ok 1:58:45 is hilarious and all but at the end of his ramble he says “come back, i miss you” and lowkey im crying

techno needs to stop knowing his audience more than we know ourselves im hsfkjda 02:05:25 “the chat’s spammin ‘eat technoblade, eat!’ like they’re not gonna start, like, theyre not gonna get super sad if i ended the stream right now, like theyre not gonna all cry ‘i miss technoblade *sniffs* why- whyd he leave to eat food, why did he listen to our advice noooo’”

02:14:50 NEW VIDEO POGGGG CARL THE HORSE POGGGGGG NOT A STREAM HIGHLIGHT POGGGGG

02:17:40 “i could start a potato farm out here to show how much ive changed” techno last time u made a potato farm u started an entire war that lasted a year that does NOT say calm and retired to me lskgdfjagsldj

02:23:00 why does techno just reference greek mythology so much. makin me scared for his arc.

also he talks abt smp earth a lot in this stream i love it so much

i also just. love?? how much sbi respect tommy like they bully him but when talkin bout him they just have so much respect for how much work he puts into youtube and i just,,,,hgnn they r friends

02:33:13 sbi streamer house lets go cmon

02:34:15 “i think if i streamed every day i could keep up” on one hand YE S but on the ohter oh god techno no we have to keep up tho

hearing techno say “violence isnt the answer” is so scary 02:35:40

02:37:30 technosneeze

hiS BROTHER SENT HIM 46 DISCORD MESSAGES SFKDJLFLKASF 2:49:25 i love his end screen so much hes just sadness,,,,retirement,,,t,echnoblade,,,the government is going to fall on its own due to lack of organization and ideals,,,,,,subscribe,,,,,sadness,,,,,also 2:50:45 is making me laugh so hard its just sad music and technos like??? whys phil in my house drinking milk?????

overall, fantastic stream, if ya want some chill techno philza content i highly recommend.

#stream post

44 notes · View notes

basicallywhiterice · 4 years ago

Text

sunny (yoon jeonghan)

Genre: angst, slice of life/a day in the life, breakup!au

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: It’s sunny and you’re not here.

On Saturday, a blaring alarm wakes Jeonghan to a realization: it’s been exactly one year since you left.

As he rolls over to the empty side of his bed and shuts the alarm off, he collects his thoughts. He never sets an alarm on the weekend if he can help it. No, you were the early riser in the relationship, and even though Jeonghan would complain about his loss of beauty sleep, he never minded waking up early to spend time with you.

He throws open the curtains, wincing as sunlight floods his room, a stark contrast to the rain that followed when you left. It’s a beautiful sunny day, and Jeonghan has to rub his eyes a few times before his pupils adjust to the light. Once he’s fully awake, he shuffles toward the bathroom.

After going through his morning routine, he walks down the stairs, out of the apartment complex, and toward his favorite cafe. The jingle of the door greets him, followed by Seungcheol not long after.

Jeonghan’s eternally grateful that he met Seungcheol in his freshman year of college. When you left Jeonghan broken-hearted and he had to pick up the pieces of his life, Seungcheol cooked him dinner for three weeks, even after Jeonghan’s life more or less returned to normal. Seungcheol missed you then, and he still misses you now, but he knew you were done, something that Jeonghan only partially grasped at the time.

“Good morning, Jeonghan. The usual?”

“Actually…” Jeonghan still has your order memorized, and he recites it off to Seungcheol—the first time he’s done so in a year.

Seungcheol nods sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Jeonghan.” He reaches across the counter and squeezes Jeonghan’s shoulder. Jeonghan’s moved on enough to keep himself from crying on the spot, but he hasn’t moved on enough to stop the pang that shoots through his heart.

After a quick chat with Seungcheol about his graduate program, Jeonghan leaves the cafe and walks back to his apartment’s garage. When he gets to his car, he takes a moment to appreciate his growth from a year ago.

For two weeks after the split, he barely tolerated driving a car after you drove away in one. With help from his friends, he finally overcame the social stigma surrounding mental health and found a therapist. Jeonghan knows he’ll never look at a car the same way again, but ongoing therapy has allowed him to accept that fact, to continue moving forward with his life and learning but not dwelling in the past.

Shaking these thoughts from his head, he enters his car and exits the garage. When he gets to the tattoo parlor across town, he still has a good twenty minutes before his appointment. Not wanting to sit in his car for that entire time, he browses through the record store next door. He stumbles across a new Boo Seungkwan album, next to his older albums that you always played. Jeonghan’s always liked his voice, so he takes it to the counter to the guy wearing a name tag that says “Woozi”. He gives Jeonghan a nod of approval as he scans it.

By then, he’s no longer unnecessarily early. He deposits the albums in his car, picking up his earrings and walking inside the parlor.

“Hey, are you Minghao?” he asks the tall man lounging behind the counter.

“Nah, I’m Mingyu. I do tattoos. Minghao’s over there. He might be finishing up with another client. We have a pretty slow morning today, so you’re welcome to stay after your appointment if you’re interested in getting a tattoo. You can discuss it with Minghao if you’re more comfortable with him, too.”

“Not today. Getting my ears pierced is a pretty big step for me. Maybe in the future.”

“Cool, no pressure.”

Two minutes later, Minghao steps out and introduces himself. He takes the flower earrings as they walk into the partition, turning them over and admiring the pink shade that dusts the petals.

“These earrings are nice. Good craftsmanship. Where’d you get them?”

Jeonghan didn’t get them—you did. You were supposed to get your ears pierced the week after the split, but you left the earrings behind. It’s not like you had much of a choice, anyway. “Oh, I got it from the craft show they hold downtown.”

Minghao snaps his fingers. “You have a nice eye. These colors go well with your hair.”

And he’s right. Jeonghan wishes you were here to see how well your earrings look on him, but quashes that thought before he even steps out of the parlor and onto the street. He’s not going to see you outside—he stopped looking for you in the crowds months ago. Sometimes he has to physically refrain himself from doing so, but it’s gotten easier as time goes on. Today, he simply observes his surroundings. It’s a fine sunny day, and Jeonghan can’t help but smile as a gust of wind whirls through his hair, lifting it before leaving him behind.

Once he enters his car, he drives around for a bit before parking in front of the library downtown. Strolling inside, he immediately spots Vernon, who grabs a stack of books and practically skips over to him. As he scans the place for Joshua, he spots a new face shelving books.

“That’s Lee Chan,” Vernon explains. “Freshman. Undecided major, but he says he’s planning to enter an interdisciplinary field for linguistics and some branch of science.” He pauses, grin dropping. “Um.” He shoves his hands out, passing his stack of books to Jeonghan. “Her books. In the order she checked them out that day. I had a feeling you were coming for these, so I checked them all out for you.”

Vernon doesn’t show it very often, but behind his dumb smiles lies a smart brain—smart enough to predict that even though Jeonghan promised not to return to the library until he’s fully healed, he still showed up today.

Maybe Jeonghan hasn’t broken his promise.

Joshua saves him from talking by walking over and guiding him toward the break room. “Hey, Jeonghan. Vernon and I can take our lunch break right now. Wanna eat with us?”

Jeonghan nods. And so Joshua and Vernon split their lunches with him, supplementing their meal with vending machine snacks when he worries about them eating too little. He’s reminded of the day after you left, when he contemplated calling the two of them—two of your closest friends—for a solid ten minutes, unsure of how they would react, before doing so. They hadn’t answered.

Instead, they showed up at his apartment within an hour with his favorite takeout, and they ate with Seungcheol, who served them all homemade soup. Before they left that night, they made Jeonghan promise to crash at their dorm if he ever felt lonely. Jeonghan’s done so countless times, though he’s gone from escaping loneliness to seeking the company of his friends, a change he’s proud of.

When lunch is over, an odd sense of clarity washes over Jeonghan. “Hey, Vernon, thanks for checking these books out for me. I think I’m gonna return them, though.”

He feels guilty for making extra work for Vernon and Joshua, but they brush it off. “Atta boy. If you feel lonely tonight, our dorm is always open.”

Jeonghan doesn’t know if he’ll take them up on that offer, but he thinks he probably won’t. He’s not lonely, per se, he just… wishes you were here, like always.

He walks to the intersection at the end of 5th Street after he leaves, staring at the narrow lanes and the faded stop sign. It’s a sweltering sunny day, and the intersection is illuminated by the sunlight. It looks safe to drive through—even the most reckless driver could clearly see the cars passing through.

It’s funny how the rain changes appearances.

His second to last stop for the day is Seokmin’s flower shop, where he picks up a bouquet of pink and white chrysanthemums that symbolize loyalty, love, and longevity. They were your favorite. He’s grateful he at least got to experience the first two with you.

A pink balloon bobs in the corner of his eye and stops him from spiraling down into intrusive thoughts. You’d like it. He gets it.

Jeonghan waves goodbye to Seokmin as he exits the shop. Junhui no longer works there part-time, not after he and Soonyoung moved away to pursue acting and dancing, respectively.

When he gets to the final destination, there’s not much else Jeonghan can do. His body goes into autopilot, collecting the flowers and the balloon. He gives his earrings a tentative tug before reaching into the backseat for your ring.

365 days ago, his life fell apart. 363 days ago, your parents and your brother, Wonwoo, rushed into town. 362 days ago, he pressed your promise ring into Wonwoo’s hands after you were laid to rest here, too stricken with grief to even look at it.

Seven days ago, Wonwoo sent it back through the mail.

Two minutes ago, Jeonghan arrived at your tombstone and stood there, waiting for it all to make sense again. Reverently, he sinks to his knees, gently resting the ring and the flowers on the ground. He loops his hand through the balloon’s string, tugging it down harshly before watching it rise again, and something inside him snaps.

His grief rains down on him, washing over him in a tidal wave. For a second, he can’t breathe. This time, it’s not the numbness that consumed him right after the accident—this time it’s all rage and heartbreak and sorrow.

Because he can wear your earrings, drink your coffee, and read your books. He can listen to the same music, buy the same flowers, and hold the same promise ring. He can do everything the same.

But in the end, it doesn’t matter, does it?

In the end, you won’t ever get to experience them again.

In the end, he can’t turn back time and stop you from rushing to the library before it closed. Can’t convince you that you can wait until a sunnier day to find your assigned reading in the library. Can’t stop the out-of-control car from speeding into the intersection, skidding against the wet pavement, and crashing into you. Can’t react fast enough to rush to your side until you take your last breath.

In the end, you’re not coming back.

Through his tears, he sees the pink balloon float into his vision, a reminder he’s still holding on to it. It’s a horribly sunny day, and Jeonghan lets go.

a/n: As I was writing this, I couldn’t decide whether Jeonghan was moving on from “you” or not, and whether the reader should be able to tell what happened as the fic progressed. That probably affected the overall fic, but hopefully in a good way. Please please please send me asks about my characters!

58 notes · View notes