#that natural closeness; draping on someone; the 'i would know you by touch' -CLENCHES HANDS ON FIST-

[darabeatha]

THE VIBES IN THESE-

[colinrobinsonn]

ahhh I never write fics but here’s nandor x guillermo after this week’s ep 🥺

- x -

Guillermo sat on the front steps of the house after driving back from dropping off the Baron, the Sire, and the hellhound at their new home in New Jersey. It had been a long, long night and he should really be heading to bed but he just needed a few moments of quiet.

The night air was sharp and the dark sky had only a few clouds overhead. Today had been successful, yes, but also very scary. He wasn’t thinking about facing the Sire, or the Baron again (although it had terrified him). No, he could not let go of the horrible feeling he’d been having all day that he may lose his entire family.

He heard the front door open quietly and he turned round to see Nandor coming out the door and walk towards him.

“Ah, Guillermo, there you are. What are you doing out here? It’s fucking freezing.”

“Just taking a minute.”

Nandor came and sat next to Guillermo on the same top step, looking out onto the street and then up at the sky as Guillermo was. It was quiet for a few moments between them, then Guillermo turned to Nandor, “Was there something you wanted, Master? You were looking for me?”

Nandor didn’t turn to look at him as he said, “Oh, nothing…”

“Okay…” Guillermo let the silence linger on.

“It’s just-“ Nandor began before he noticed Guillermo shiver. He was only wearing his shirt and waistcoat and the sun was, obviously and fortunately for Nandor, yet to come up. “You’re cold.”

Guillermo put his arms around himself, “Yeah, I guess it’s a little chilly.”

“Why don’t you go back inside?”

Guillermo shrugs, not being able to explain why he wants to be outside right now. Maybe he’s enjoying sitting here peacefully with Nandor under the night sky too much. Maybe he needs to clear his head. “But your fragile human body is going to freeze to ice. You don’t want to be made into an ice chip do you, Guillermo?”

“What? I’m not going to-“ he shakes his head, huffing quietly from Nandor’s ridiculousness, “I’m fine.”

Nandor stares at him, fangs bared, like he doesn’t believe him, like he really will turn into an ice chip in a few moments. “Eesh, fine. Here,” he says as he unclasps his black cape and drapes it delicately over Guillermo’s shoulders, and then quickly turns back to look at the sky.

Guillermo froze - not into an ice chip - but out of surprise, slight nervousness, and an uncertainty about how to react to Nandor’s… kindness. “Thank you, Nandor,” he went with, looking up at his strong profile.

“You are welcome, you will not freeze now and I will not have to defrost you and ruin my precious Persian rugs,” he replied matter-of-factly, nodding his head and putting his hands straight out on his knees.

Guillermo grabbed the cape and brought it round his body to wrap up in. The material was very warm and as he brought it up towards his chin he became very aware of being surrounded by Nandor’s very distinct and familiar scent: of oils and incense and musk, of history and comfort and home.

Nandor looked at his bodyguard and felt his dead heart constrict. The sight of Guillermo snuggled into his cape with a content smile on his face challenged Nandor. It challenged him to give in. To give in to feelings of softness towards Guillermo which he mostly did not allow himself to give into, and was always weary of whenever he was around him. Or saw him. Or thought about him. For Nandor, it was Him, for he had become everything. Everything he believed in, everything he fought for, and everything he smiled for. It is suffice to say, he did not win the challenge, but it felt good to lose.

“Guillermo-“, he took a quick breath in and held it, “I came to say that I am sorry for what happened today.”

“Huh? But we did it, we-“

“Just-“ Nandor put his hand up to tell Guillermo to let him finish.

“I am sorry for how you were treated today and if that hurt your feelings. I mean, it should hurt your feelings but I don’t know if you always let it.”

“Mas- Nandor, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Guillermo said. Nandor could literally be talking of about twenty different points today where his feelings could have been “hurt”.

“You know what I am talking about,” Nandor growled, impatient. He shot up off the steps and paced in front of Guillermo. Did he want to make him feel even more ashamed? He guessed he deserved it. He calmed his voice, “I am talking about the time when I allowed for you to be used as bait for the Sire.”

“Oh.” Guillermo breathed out, looking up at Nandor who had stopped his pacing now and was looking at Guillermo. There was a small silence, and then Guillermo also stood up and walked down the steps towards Nandor, cape still round him and falling far below onto the floor.

As he stood in front of Nandor, Nandor could not stand how adorable he looked wearing his cape, oversized on him. It made him feel… protective and proud.

Nandor was too caught up in his thoughts so Guillermo spoke first, “That’s my job, right? To protect you?”

“Yes, I suppose it is…” Nandor said quietly, unsure as Guillermo approached him further.

“But I would have done it anyway. I always would have.” It’s true, he went the extra mile whilst he was his familiar and even before he didn’t know of his bloodline.

Nandor did not know what to say to that. So instead he focused on how the cape was falling off of one of Guillermo’s shoulders. Without thinking, he raised his arm and pulled the material back up and around his shoulder.

He did this with such care and without agenda that it made Guillermo choke up slightly. He felt tingly all in his chest and willed himself to hold on. To not fall too far tonight, as he did so many nights, especially since Meg’s comments at Massive Fitness. As much as he was committed to Nandor, he could never let himself believe that Nandor felt the same.

The small act felt unnaturally natural for Nandor. When he fully comprehended what he was doing, he did not have the instinct to jump back and push Guillermo away, to tell him to get out of his way. Instead, the act made his next words come much easier.

“Guillermo… it should be my job to protect you. You came into my life, and it is a dangerous one. I have… taken too much from you, and you should not be willing for me to take your life.”

The double meaning was there. Yes, he was talking about what happened today, but Guillermo could not help but apply Nandor’s words to his own vampiric dream.

“No.” Guillermo could not, would not, keep going on like this. “It’s not that you have taken too much from me, Nandor,” he said with conviction, “it’s that you haven’t given me enough.”

“Guillermo…-“

“I’d die for you,” Guillermo said bluntly and laughed, “you know that? I would actually die for you. Not become undead, not become a vampire, I would die.”

Nandor looked away from him and took a step back, “Do not speak this way, Guillermo.”

“And I’m fine with that, I am,” he continued, “you’re not taking anything away from me, I’m giving it to you, because I want to. Because that’s how I feel.” Guillermo felt breathless from the outburst and he was slightly shaking, not just from nerves, but because the cape had unwound itself from his middle and only lay across his shoulders again. He shook his head slightly; tonight of all nights he was going to go there. “How do you feel, Nandor?”

“I-“ Nandor was stunned and his brain was working overtime to keep up with his little ex-familiar.

In all of his anxious tension, Nandor’s hesitance was too much. Guillermo huffed and span round to go back inside.

Nandor’s chest clenched and his heart fell, he couldn’t stand the sight of Guillermo walking away from him anymore. “Wait-“ he said as he grabbed Guillermo’s hand and gently pulled him back round to face him. The cape fell off his back.

Guillermo looked up at him, small tears in his eyes as he waited with little hope. His optimistic heart started again, however, when Nandor brought his hand up and drew his fingers through the front of Guillermo’s hair, sweeping it gently to the side and pushing small strands behind his ear. Guillermo’s heart was beating so hard he was sure Nandor could hear it, feel it even. His hand landed delicately on Guillermo’s cheek, like he was touching something precious, and he leaned in.

As their lips touched tears ran down Guillermo’s cheek which Nandor smoothly wiped away with the pads of his thumbs, as he brought his other hand to Guillermo’s other cheek. Guillermo was once again encased by Nandor, except this was the real thing and infinitely better. Guillermo’s hand found its way to Nandor’s neck, his fingertips pushing their way into his hair.

The kiss was gentle and undemanding; a shy but loving meeting with someone you have loved for years. Nandor pulled away but only slightly, so their foreheads rested against each other’s. Their eyes were both closed as they breathed unevenly with each other.

“Guillermo, I would die a thousand times over for you to have one more minute alive.”

Guillermo, teary, giggled dizzily and with relief at the vampire’s words and opened his eyes to find Nandor’s still closed.

“Hey,” Guillermo said as he leaned away and gently urged Nandor to open his eyes by putting his hand under his chin, “so… we’ll protect each other, right?”

Nandor had opened his eyes and was looking down at Guillermo who wore a bright, understanding smile on his face. His cheeks were quite pink and so Nandor leaned down to pick up the fallen cape and pull it back around the smaller man. He held on to Guillermo’s hand, brought it to his lips and kissed the top of it, where the knuckles lay. “Always.”

[potter-imagines]

A Worm? - Fred Weasley

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader 

Prompt: It’s three in the morning and Fred can’t sleep. Luckily for him, his girlfriend has to most random questions on her mind. 

Notes: I've seen this on tiktok as trend to text your boyfriend so I made it into a write, hope you enjoy (: 

Warnings: None (:        (making out if that counts ???)

Word Count: 3.9k

You know that feeling of finally retreating to your room and crashing down on your bed after a strenuous day? Getting to snuggle into the warmth of the soft mattress and engulf your body in massive heaps of blankets, it was one of the greatest feelings in the world to Fred Weasley. Although what made it absolute perfection was the nights when his girlfriend, Y/n Y/l/n, would join him. Sleepovers were no rarity for the couple- nor for their roommates who had begrudgingly accepted the constant giggling and whispering throughout the night. Weekend sleepovers were his favorite as it meant neither of them were scrambling to get out of bed for class in the morning and he could lay with her for as long as they wanted.

Tonight was no different. Nearly every living soul occupying the lands of Hogwarts was fast asleep, lulled into a galaxy of dreams. Fred wondered if he was the only one awake at such an hour. The darkness from the nighttime sky poured into the room through the glass windows. The light casted shadows around the room making it difficult to make out the different shapes. Fred could barely make out the sleeping frame of his twin brother, George, who was tucked in his bed feet away. Similar was Lee, however his thunderous snores echoed off the walls giving confirmation that was in a deep sleep.

On Fred’s half of the room the silence was deafening. Lee’s snores had become second nature for Fred to block out and in all honesty, didn’t bother him much. Growing up in a home with eight other people, he had that keen ability to muffle out the noise around him. He had to in order to keep a piece of his sanity intact. No one in their sane mind could sit and listen to Ron and Ginny bicker for longer than five minutes before wanting to rip their hair out of their skull. In the same way, noise was comforting to Fred. Yeah, he ignored it for the most part, but it was a familiar feeling to be surrounded by loudness. It was discomforting in a way how still the world felt. Few and far between were the moments when Fred had time to himself. Now that he did, he didn’t want it.

Stealing a glance down to his chest Fred smiled at the sight. Y/n’s head was pressed against his sweatshirt covered chest and her hand was clenched around the material. Her body was cuddled close to him with a blanket draped over them. Fred watched as her stomach lightly rose and fell with every breath. He had lost track of time, not entirely sure how long he had been holding her. Seconds meshed into minutes which grew to hours. He was sure he’d been staring at the ceiling for almost three hours. His attention flipped back and forth, like the pages of a magazine. From the angle he laid, Fred wasn’t able to see if Y/n was awake like him or passed out like his roommates. In a cruel way he wanted to wake her on purpose just for the selfish purpose to hear her voice. He resisted the urge to ‘accidentally’ break her slumber.

Fred’s hand traced patterns on her back absentmindedly as his thoughts drifted like a sailboat floating along the ocean waves. The Quidditch match had taken a large toll on his muscles and all he wanted was to rest. Playing Slytherin was a sure guarantee someone would walk away with an injury- or be carried away. Although Fred knew he wasn’t injured, his arms ached with every slight move from the force he had exhilarated during the match. As much as he desired to switch positions and lay on his side, he couldn’t bring himself to disturb the girl resting in his arms. From her steady breathing he figured she had fallen asleep, that was until her head suddenly popped up from his chest causing the warmth of her head to flee his body. Her quick movement took Fred by surprise as his hand halted and his eyes fixed on the girl.  The feeling of sleepiness was fading as her large doe eyes glanced back up at him. Oddly enough, she appeared to be wide awake.

Arching a brow at her Fred looked utterly confused. If her alertness hadn’t startled him enough, her next actions would leave him mind boggled. Y/n perched herself up to a sitting position and wiggled over to place her legs over either side of Fred’s body so she sat in his lap as he laid. A childlike smile graced her lips at the small gasp of surprise from Fred. Tiredness vanished in her eyes as she tilted her head.

“Hey, Freddie?”

“Yes, angel?” He asked cautiously.

His hands reset to her waist to keep her steady as she sat. The stained glass window to the side of his bed allowed a glimpse of moonlight to create a beautiful gradient across her face. The moonlight, a glowing yellowy white, projected an ethereal glow around her. He swore he could see millions of tiny stars sprinkled along her skin, gleaming pin pricks of sparkles gleaming in her e/c eyes.

Y/n leaned forward to wrap her arms around Fred’s neck causing him to mimic her and sit up so his back was pressed to the bed frame. He grabbed the heavy cotton blanket from behind her and draped it over her shoulders. She smiled bashfully in gratitude. Peeking up to Fred, whose face was only a handful of inches from hers, she whispered,

“If I were a worm, would you still love me?”

Fred’s features scrunched in an instant at her question as he pulled back slightly. Half expecting for her to start giggling and the other half completely flabbergasted, Fred gaped at her in confusion. Yet Y/n’s face remained stoic in seriousness as she awaited his reply. He gave her a funny look, as if she’d grown an extra eye. Repeatedly his mouth fell open, then closed again as he failed to formulate a proper thought.

“I’m sorry- if you were a what?”

“A worm.” She repeated once again.

Fred forced himself to bite his tongue to hold his laughter in. As much as he wanted to chuckle at her randomness, she seemed so invested in his answer he didn’t know what to do. Fred averted his gaze to the window in search of an answer. His brain was stuck frozen, like the tracks in his mind were broken. Turning his attention once more to Y/n, Fred squinted his chocolate brown eyes as if examining her peculiarly.

“And why would you be a worm?”

Clearly annoyed by his constant string of questions Y/n let out a breathy huff as she rolled her eyes. Her hands waved up briefly, shooing his inquiry away without second thought. Shaking her head she pressed further. “Because I just am, now answer the question.”

Stillness entered the room while Fred pondered to himself. This time he didn’t hold back the teasing grin that spilled on his face.

“Well, am I worm too?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows to her suggestively. Y/n shoved his shoulder back playfully as she giggled softly. Fred always knew how to make her smile, even if the situation didn’t call for it. Even if it was three in the morning and the two of them should be flying through a dreamland of sleep.

Fred’s back leaned into the wood of the frame as he allowed his head to touch against it. Locks of ginger hair brushed against his face. Instinctively Y/n moved her hand out to skim them away from his eyes so she could see them. Fred fought a mental war against the shiver that threatened to escape his body from her gentle stroke. Shaking her head, Y/n shot down his interrogation. “No, you’re just a regular person.”

“So I would be a Muggle in love with a worm?” Fred chuckled at the bizarreness to her rules for her imaginary prompt. Although he hadn't a clue where this was heading, it was entertaining and he had every intention of paying into it, including teasing the girl a tad. There was something so adorable about the flashes of anger and frustration that snapped across her face at his procrastination to answer. Fred found it irresistible. The way her cute face knotted into uncomfortable glares and frowns while he continued to toy with her. He loved it.

Y/n sighed to herself, certainly growing exhausted then reiterated,

“No, no, you’re still you, I’m just a worm.”

“A magic worm?” His eyes widened in feign excitement while her’s narrowed. As much as she loved the childlike nature that was weaved into her boyfriend’s soul, it made it impossible at times to have a serious conversation- not that she truly considered this to be a serious conversation.

A deadpan mien was planted on her face. She turned for a moment to make sure George and Lee were still passed out. Then, she moved her head back to Fred before raising her voice a notch to ensure the message was received loud and clear.

“A worm, Fred.”

His fingers fiddled with the loose strings on her shorts as he pretended to debate his answer. Lips pursed into a thin line, Fred brought his pointer finger up to his chin and hummed.

“I mean… sure?”

Y/n’s grip around his neck loosened immediately at his answer. Her mouth skimmed the ground as genuine displeasure entered her veins. She pulled her arms back to cross them tightly against her chest. Fred’s hands found their previous position on her waist in order to keep her from falling off. She pouted over to Fred with her bottom lip poking out. She tried her absolute best to put everything she had into the over dramatic sad puppy look she had mastered. Fred only cooed at her and pinched the skin of her cheeks between his fingers lightly. Y/n grabbed his hand, pulling it away from her face with a scowl. Despite her glowering appearance, Fred felt a smug grin sneaking up.

“That isn't reassuring at all.” She said with a pointed tone.

Fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose, Fred groaned dramatically as he ran his calloused hand against his skin. Peering up to Y/n he brought his hand up to occupy the warm skin on the back of her neck. He drew his hand closer, pulling her towards him, causing their foreheads connected in a tender touch. The bottom hem of his old tee that she now used as a nighttime shirt tickled his arm as she happily leaned in. With their faces barely an inch apart, Fred lifted his hips to place a sweet, chaste kiss to her lips.

“But angel, you’re not a worm.”  

“Just pretend!” She grumbled. Although Fred smirked right at her and, in a very snarky manner, said ‘no’. Y/n clenched her jaw in annoyance at his stubbornness and just as she went to tell him again to play along, a light bulb of an idea sparked in her head.

Stealing a glance over either shoulder, Y/n checked to assure both George and Lee were still snoozing. George was practically laying off his bed in a sideways fashion while Lee was spreading starfish across the whole mattress. She swore she could see the drool dripping from his chin from across the room. Her focus swerved to Fred as she felt him adjust under her. Providing him with absolutely no leeway to her plan at all, Y/n locked her arms around Fred’s chest and shoved him down so he was forced to lay on the bed. His breath hitched as his head smacked into the fluffy pillow. The darkness obscured his view leaving him lost at the turn of events until he felt the pressure of her knees pinning his arms to his side. Just like a war attack, she ambushed him. Y/n danced her fingers at lightning speed across his chest and under his arms. Fred broke out into a booming fit of laughter at the abrupt tickle war imposed on him as he desperately fought to get her body off of his. His feet kicked wildly as he tried to free himself but she had too strong of a hold. Fred tried to hold his laughter back but it was all too much for his bdy to handle and the uncontrollable giggles wouldn’t stop.

Y/n laughed at him as she continued to tickle every inch of his upper body that he wasn’t successfully covering. His frantic squirms made it difficult for her to torture him to the best of her ability, however she put up a considerable fight until Fred managed to slip his hand out from between his waist and her knee. Once he did, Fred clamped his hand to her side and flipped the pair around so he was the one sitting on top of her. Both of their chests heaved rapidly as they attempted to catch their breath, both grinning like fools. Fred moved his body to sit in front of her as Y/n took over his previous spot. His hand still remained clenched around her side to keep her from attacking once more. Struggling to regain his composure, Fred gave the girl a teasing glare.

“Fine! Yes, I would still love you very much, even if you were a slimy little worm.”

A satisfied gleam adorned her face as she gave a small cheer. Her arms extended as a welcoming for him to enter. He bent towards her to allow her arms to be thrown around his shoulders. The hug encapsulated his body in a blanket of comfort and love from the feeling of her skin. Fred pressed his lips to her neck and just as he did, her voice broke the air.

“And you’d still give me kisses and cuddles?”

His loud sigh was audible to everyone in the room as his head fell to her chest.

“How in the bloody hell am I supposed to cuddle a freaking worm-” Before he could finish his sentence, Fred saw the look of sadness clouding over his lover’s features and stopped himself. That famous, moody pout had crept its way up and Fred fell victim like always. He reached his hand out to pick hers up from her lap and laced their fingers. Lifting her hand, his lips kissed each of her knuckles then set her hand down on his leg.

“You’re unbelievable… but yes, I would still give you kisses and cuddles. Just not in front of people-” Y/n snatched her hand away from his and threw it across her chest with an animated scoff.

“So you’d be ashamed of me?”

“I hate you so much right now, why the hell are you even asking me?”

The jokingness of the situation breezed out from the room as Y/n tensed. Fred watched her eyes flicker from over his shoulder, then up to his eyes. It was impossible to read the rambunctious ideas bouncing off the walls of her mind and Fred knew better than to speculate but rather give her the time to process. He always said that her mind ran faster than the Hogwarts Express. There was a small smile on her lips, though one he couldn’t read. The spark of glee still flashed through her yet at the same time she seemed uncertain. Her hand pushed loose strands of her hair away from her view, a nervous habit of her’s Fred had picked up on early in the relationship.

Swallowing her nerves, Y/n let her body sink into the plushness of Fred’s bed as she shrugged her shoulders.

“Just wanna make sure you’d love me no matter what.” She mumbled hushly.

Fred furrowed his eyebrows as he studied her in bewilderment. As silly as the conversation was, he could feel a tang of guilt budding in his gut from teasing her. The two had discussed some of the most random, weird topics out there and it was usually just that, a random discussion. Fred was a bit stunned there was a bubble floating around in her thoughts that there might be a time where he stops loving her, because for Fred, the idea of not loving her was simply implausible. Besides, he had fancied her since they met their first year and there was no chance Fred was willing to lose her.

“Okay, well,” Fred crawled to sit next to Y/n’s side as he went on, “I’ll entertain the thought. If you were a worm I would still love you more than any other living creature on this planet. I’d also protect you from all the birds who want to eat you for dinner.” Fred finished by placing a gentle peck to her nose. There was no sense in hiding the contagious grin

“So sweet, Freddie.” The scent of peppermint from her chapstick wafted to Fred’s nose drawing him closer in. Y/n snaked her hand to his cheek and dragged his face towards hers. Right before their lips connected, she paused for a moment. Her e/c orbs flickered to his plump lips, then in one swift motion, she closed the gap with a pucker of her lips and a collision with his. Fred had expected the kiss but was taken aback by the fire she brought to it. The sheer force of her lips caused Fred to sit up and take notice.

Y/n nudged at his side, a silent signal for him to get on top. Fred didn’t need her to ask him twice. He was quick to kick the blankets covering his legs and repositioned himself between hers. Fred leaned forward to spark the flint once again. His hands attached to her face immediately as he pulled her in tightly. This embrace nearly knocked Y/n right off the bed. She parted her lips and felt him washing over like a tsunami of passion, curling her toes, unfurling all her senses as the taste of him impaired her. Her whole body tingled, the pressure of his fram leaning on hers as his arms wrapped around her felt like an array of fireworks during the finale of a grand show. Her lips parted against his and the abrupt swipe of his tongue inside her cheeks sent a rush of shivers through her body. The intensity was overwhelming as she struggled to keep hold of his shoulders.

Y/n came to at the need for air and pulled away from Fred. A sharp breath filled her lungs as her hands pressed against his chest keeping him in place. However, Fred was growing impatient by the second and the need to be as close to her as possible was too strong of an urge for him to ignore.

Fred pulled her in, claiming her mouth again, hungry and intense, until her arms gave in and she was using his body to support herself. She was nearly slipping from the bed from the pure force of his kiss. Fred kept his free hand steady on the back of her neck to ensure she wouldn’t fall but in the moment, she really couldn’t care. Wasn’t like they hadn’t had a makeout session on the floor- come to think of it, George had walked in on them just last week.  

Their hands roamed over each other as if it was their first time touching another. His fingertips grazed the side of her neck earning a muffled moan from the girl. She tugged at his red hair, which was a guarantee to keep his adrenaline pumping. A vibration buzzed in her mouth as Fred groaned into her from the lustful pain. His body was ever moving as his hips grinded into her. This was a familiar position yet the passion was what made the kiss so electrifying. His elbows were placed on either side of her head to hold himself up as he moved his lips against hers and continued to work his tongue with hers. Y/n trailed her hand down from his fiery locks to his sharp chin where she pressed his lips as deeply into hers as she could manage.

Softly as possible, Y/n slowly pulled herself away from Fred. His eyes cracked open at the lost of warmth against his skin and he glanced down at her. Both smiled at each other until Fred rolled over and slid under the covers. He fixed the blankets around until he felt satisfied then opened his arms, as if inviting Y/n to enter. She obeyed without question and coozied herself into his arms. He wrapped her in a loving cuddle as he pressed a quick kiss to her temple.

Y/n leaned into his body, resting her head against his arm that was linked under her. There was a comforting silence that replaced the steaming air. The clock on Fred’s night stand shone bright with the time, ‘4:08am’, meaning morning had practically arrived and Fred had yet to catch a wink of sleep.

Just as Fred was preparing himself to welcome his slumber, a notion came. Propping himself up on his elbow, Fred reached out to shake the girl’s shoulder.

“Hey, Y/n?”

Y/n gleaned over to him in curiosity. Twisting her body she set her gaze directly on Fred, as if to show him she was intune and listening.

“Yes?”

“If I were a worm, would you still love me?” Fred asked in a whisper. Y/n leered up at him in a disgusted fashion. It looked as if she had been force fed a full can of lima beans and sardines. Those sleepy eyes were replaced by saucer like eyes of revulsion. Poking her tongue out she pretended to gag as her eyes twisted shut.

“Ew, no, why would I be in love with a worm? You can’t even talk and if I kissed you, I might accidentally kiss your butt, gross!” Y/n covered her mouth to mask her fit of laughter that shook through her chest. Fred’s mouth dropped in shock at her words as she unwrapped herself from his hold to shift to her side. He stared at her in astonishment as she threw her legs over the side of his bed. His hand reached out to yank her back but she was already up on her feet smirking to him.

“Are you kidding me? Get back here!”

“I need to use the bathroom- I’ll be back in a flash, wormie.” She blew him a taunting kiss and a wave, then quietly shut the door as she journeyed down the hall to the restrooms. Fred still heard her unruly laughter from behind the large wooden door. As her footsteps grew shallower, Fred tossed his head into the pillow and rolled his eyes. Just like earlier, silence overtook the room and this time, Fred was overjoyed because it meant he no longer had to hear about worms. That was at least until she got back, then he’d surely be having a discussion.

[raggaraddy]

hello if you want you can ignore this of course but I was wondering what would vampire Hoseok do if he found out someone turned oc? Your fics are amazing by the way!

Bitten to death

A/N: Thank you for your request :) It was fun to write. However I took it less as a reaction, and more of a story prompt. So it's not exactly a conclusive answer to your question. I hope you still like it, though ^-^ 💜💜💜

Summary: You thought you knew everything about Vampires but when you wake up one you learn there are some important things you did not know. And it's only going to let worse once you learn why you were turned.

Trigger Warnings: Blood, death, maiming, choking, violence, mind control, abduction, yandere themes.

Vampire! Hoseok

It was like a horror story within your already horrific story. Some man you've never met before broke into Hoseok's house when only you were there. While you screamed and fought and instinctively called for Hoseok, he covered you in bites unlike any other you had felt before. Ones that made you suffer as if fire was coursing through your veins. You wish that you could say you were strong enough that your fight had some kind of impact. But in truth, it was over after only a few seconds. And it was in those few seconds that you felt your chest burning and your breath fill your lungs for the last time.

Waking you're met by the stranger hovering above you. Your head aching and your body throbbing in ways you had never experienced before. With a quick glance, you can see everything around you, and that does mean everything. Every single little detail. And the information is overwhelming.

Your mind feels as if it's breaking from everything you're taking in. For as far as you can see there are pallets and long isles of shelves lined up, the contents on every rack crystal clear. You can hear the sound of his shoes on the concrete and the dirt gritting underneath, and how each peak of sound travels and bounces off the farthest point in the warehouse. Even the smells, there are hundreds of them all hitting you at once. A few you know like the fragrance of the treated wood or the oils stain, but others you couldn't guess at. It's as if all of your senses are on high and you have no way to focus them.

Despite your panic, no matter how much you want to run, you can't. Laying on your back with your arms spread out to either side of you and your legs held together, you're being bound by the thinnest most delicate length of silver chain. Though, it's not tied. It's only draped over you, but still holding you as if it were stronger than any steel. Burning you as if it were touched by the sun.

You may have only seen a few newly made vampires before, but you have still been around them enough and know enough about their existence to recognize how and why your body feels wrong. And absurdly you can't help but feel betrayed. This was not supposed to happen to you. It was the only safety you got from belonging to someone who was called The Immortal King, and The Origin of Cruelty. No one was supposed to be foolish enough to steal from him, and most importantly, no one was supposed to be able to hurt you. But now because Hobi didn't keep you safe, he's now lost his blood supply and you've lost your humanity.

The stranger snaps his fingers, the sound bursting in your eardrums making you groan and wince as he repeats it. "Focus your attention on just this one sound. On just the sight of my hand. Feel the air around it." He coaxes you, snapping again. The noise echos dozens of times, ricocheting off every wall. The dull thud of his fingertips hitting his palm only sounding the once though.

Opening your eyes your concentration goes to the hand held above your face as he said, the space around it blurring. On the back of his pointer finger on an otherwise porcelain complexion, you notice a small patch of dry skin just below his knuckle. Clear blue-black defined veins wrapping the back of his palm. He clicks his fingers again and you catch the sound of friction from the way his finger rubs down his thumb, feeling the most minuscule shift in the air created by his motion.

The pinpointed attention helps for a moment, but then you shift your eyes to his face and the explosion of information overpowers you again. His hold comes around your neck keeping your head from turning. The tight pressure on your throat while stifling your movement, nearly makes you smile. There's no airflow to restrict. Your chest isn't heating, your body isn't convulsing trying to breathe. Even in this tense moment, you can't help but find it humorous, thinking how many times over the years had you wished for this exact thing when Hobi had squeezed the air from you.

"Watch my eyes," on his words your vision becomes immersed in them. They're piercing blue. Made up of streaks of white interlacing with a clear sapphire shade, like thousands of threads made out of the purest tropical ocean. A transparent irregular line encircling his pupil, and beyond that every distinct strand blurs together with the others until it reaches the shadowed grey edge that holds the circular shape. Slowly his jet black pupils dilate, stretching and filling his entire iris till every trace of colour is removed. As if transfixed, you're unable to close your own eyes, a flooding of bright light filling your field of view. The strength of it is so intense that the tendons in your sockets ache and your eyes begin to water. Tears rolling down the sides of your face, cresting in your ears.

"Apologies, you are only my second." He confuses you with a vague explanation you did not ask for. The black finally receding into its natural size. Your own eyes scrunching as you try to blink away the soreness. The bizarre occurrence leaving you feeling drained of strength, filling you with anxiety caused by the uncertainty, which is only worsened by the glimmer of triumph in his gaze.

Searching past him to the ceiling your brain is again processing the whole image instead of the sum of its parts. The strain in your head slowly fading, your tight held muscles releasing as everything begins to normalize. You don't know what he did, but it seemed to help.

He doesn't back away, continuing to invade your personal space. Although, the way his fingers are trailing along your skin while you're restrained on the floor is still not the worst thing he has done to you. Seeing as he killed you.

"I had almost given up hope that Jung Hoseok would love." His hand daintily caresses along your neck and up your jaw. Your eyes shutting as his fingertips run over your lips. "I began to fear it might not be something possible for him." He divulges, his touch still aimlessly wandering.

The way he speaks you can feel his vailed anger. Despite his soft words, this is not someone who cares about Hoseok's wellbeing, this is someone who hates him deeply.

"However, you restored my lost faith. And for that, I would like to thank you, Inamorata."

He thinks Hoseok loves you? Is he crazy?. He's possessive of you, that is all. Even in moments of deception or weakness when you had told him that you loved him, he's never said it back with any sincerity. And he has never said it of his own accord.

"Sir," your eyes reopen. "I think you've misunderstood. These," you weakly gesture to the silver, each slight movement searing the links deeper into your flesh. "aren't necessary. We are on the same side. I hate Hobi, more than anyone."

"Truly?" He asks tilting his head to the side. His white hair messily hanging across his forehead.

"Yes," you nod trying to insist your point. "He's kept me locked up for years." you chuckle dryly. Finding it nearly risible that all of this is because this man believes in a fantasy.

"Well then, you are free to rise," he nods resolutely. Plucking the chains out of your melted skin as you grit your teeth. The sound of the sizzle on his own skin baffling you as to how he can even lift them.

Sitting up you gently pull your limbs in, inspecting the blistered and bloody marks. The skin on your wrists already starting to intricately knit itself back together.

"Come here." The stranger calls from a rested place on one of the pallets to your right.

Standing, it is a bit hard to walk with your ankles still cut up but you make it to him decently. Looking around you, you can see the sun streaming in from the high windows that line the whole length of the warehouse. It's enough to light up the otherwise dark space, but with the sheer size of this place, the beams of sunlight do not get close to the two of you in the centre. Still in the middle of the day, it means Hobi can't get to you. Not easily at least. So you're on your own for now.

"Kneel." He instructs plainly. And you follow, lowering onto your knees in front of him. Your only thoughts are of escape. You may be in your first minutes as a vampire, but it should be simple to move quickly. It always seemed like something that came easily to them. "Inamorata, you will call me Master." he declares abruptly.

"Yes, Master." You smile confusedly. Inamorata? Why does he keep calling you that? You're unsure if it's a name or a title, but it's weirding you out.

Your face drops, your heart thumping, realizing what you said. The words you just spoke replaying in your head. You hadn't meant to say that.

Why did you say that?

In fact, why had you knelt? Why were you doing what he said at all?

With a gaped mouth you climb back to your feet. "Look, I think-um." You start not knowing what you want to say.

"Kneel." He orders again more forcefully yet with a knowing, jovial smirk. You shake your head hard, staying upright. You're not going to let him order you around. He has to be kidding.

Your brows furrow, your mouth drops open, and your forehead tightens as your knees bend against your wishes. You drop back into your knelt position. Grunting as your jaw clenches, your fingers digging into your legs, doing your best to resist without success.

Your eyes go wide in shock.

"Good. Now stay there," his voice makes your stomach drop. But your muscles relax, your shoulders dropping and your bottom lowering on your calves. Your body resting in this position.

This is nothing you have ever seen before. It's nothing that you knew was possible. It shouldn't be possible. On top of all the horrible advantages they already have, you're sure you would have known if mind control was one of them!

"How?" You gape, shaking your head in disbelief. "Why?"

"Why?" a smile fills his face, "What you have told me is far different than what I had heard." He stands and turns, tapping his foot against the top pallet sending it and its boxed contents flying. He grabs at the bottom slats of wood underneath and drags them closer to you with a horrid screeching on the concrete. Sitting back down he is now much lower and much nearer to you. So much so that his legs spread straight out on either side of you. "See, I had heard stories of the self-proclaimed King of Vampires, who had fallen in love with his human pet. That he kept her close, kept her safe, and drank from her exclusively."

"That's not love." you interrupt with a scoff, "That's imprisonment."

"Well, let us see what the truth is. Tell me honestly, Jung Hoseok's little Inamorata, do you love him?"

"Yes." You're mouth answers before your mind has time to think. "No!" you instantly correct.

The smile grows larger on his face "And what do you feel about him?"

"I'm scared of him. But I care for him." The words are pouring out of you uncontrollably, your face placifying as you speak. "and I miss him when he isn't home."

"And does he love you?"

"I think so, yes." You wish you could make yourself shut up! Your calm tone drops and you bite your jaw trying to take back your own body, growling as you do. "No! He doesn't." you snarl in a rapid shift.

"You think so? Then my last question; Do you want him to love you?" He asks satirically.

"Yes," The word slips out. Being accepted joyously from him. "You can't just make me say anything you want!" you shout. Your body is rigid and stiff as you think to stand with nothing happening.

"I did not," he chuckles, "I made you say what you believe is true."

"No, you didn't! Tha-" his finger raises to his lips shushing you, cutting you off like your voice had disappeared.

That is not how you feel! Hobi may have gotten better as time has gone on, but he is still cruel and malicious and heartless. The only thing this man is doing is speaking to your primal brain. The part of you that gave into its survival instinct and it's the part that you fight every day to repress so that you stay in control. You can't love him, it's not possible.

"Ha, you are far more amenable than my last. I can hardly feel any resistance." He mocks, tapping his temple. "And I recall Jung Hoseok trying to move heaven and earth to break free. Even Mansueto struggled to contain him. But you," he reaches down holding out his hand and you follow his gesture, your body moving independently to accept it. "You are a broken little thing."

You don't understand his ridicule. You're not moving consciously. Your own mind isn't connected to your actions. So you can't fathom how your body is even reacting, let alone how you should be able to fight it.

"Stop." You complain, your voice coming out with far less strength than you had intended. "Look, Hoseok doesn't have my blood anymore, okay. So just leave me out of whatever fucked up feud you have you have going with him."

"No, that is not enough." his tone becomes suddenly harsh. He lifts his hand and you stand as he raises it. "He stole someone precious to me and he must feel the same agony of loss."

"You're wrong." you swallow, working to overcome your nerves, "I'm sorry, but you just are. He doesn't love me. I'm not precious." You try to reason, seeing your pleas falling on an unreceptive man.

"We will see."

The sun has barely set before you hear commotion beyond the metal walls.

You had tried over and over to pry information from this man, to convince him to let you leave. But you were unable to gather so much as a name from him, and clearly, you failed to be let go. After a certain point of ignoring you, he stopped you from speaking altogether. Not allowing you to say a word until he permits it. More than that though, he filled your head with many instructions. Telling you how to behave in anticipation of Hoseok's arrival.

100 meters in front of you the locked doors are ripped off their hinges, a dozen men and women pouring into the warehouse with inhuman speed. But as if time slows down your eyes adjust and you can see them, see their movements with full clarity. Hoseok comes in last and straight down the middle into the open square that you all occupy. And you must admit, you are genuinely happy to see him. Now you just want him to hurry up and get you out of here.

The man steps forward to meet them while you are sat on the stack of pallets behind him. Your only instruction at this time is to sit quietly and wait for him to call you. Hating the feeling of being restrained by your own body.

Watching them all lineup versus a single man, you find it comical how outmatched he is.

Hobi always said that when he got tired of playing with your human body, he was going to turn you. And he was furious if anyone robbed him of even your smallest reactions, so clearly, he was going to be beyond pissed that someone sped up his plan, and took your death away from him.

"That's mine," Hoseok puffs up his chest, looking past the man's shoulder to you. 

The only thing that's confusing you, though, is if this man knows who The Vampire King is, why he didn't expect to be met with hell on earth, and why he didn't prepare better.

"Jung Hoseok, always so impolite. Do you not think you should greet an old friend after so many years?"

"We can talk all you like, Kol," Hoseok snarls, finally giving a name to your killer. "Once I get my property back."

"I think you'll find this is my belonging now." he chuckles in a brief pause. Hoseok's expression darkens, his eyes becoming murderous. The fury around him actually making you shiver. "Do you like the modifications I made? She is much more durable now."

Supposedly, Hobi's already noticed your change, because he doesn't look at you again. Instead, the two men have an intense staredown. All of the vampires on his side looking ready to kill on a word.

"And far more obedient. Come here," Kol calls you, holding his hand out at shoulder height for you to take. Moving automatically, you jump down from the stack of wooden pallets placing your fingers on his palm.

Unable to stand the rage on Hoseok's face you look down, just missing the exact moment he charges. But you see an instant later as he is thrown back like a paper doll into four stories of shelves, his weight bringing the metal, the shelves, and the products down on top of him as the whole structure collapses. His men looking as startled as you to see Hoseok so easily discarded.

Before the toppling construction settles, Kol breaks from your side and an incredible, horrible scene breaks out. His speed is something you can't follow, even now. You only see the trail of destruction when he stops. One after the other, he made his way through half of the vampires, ripping them apart. Literally tearing some in two halves. Decorating the square with blood and innards.

The others are as belated and overwhelmed as you, only just having the sense to react as his blurred image stops. When he advances again, this time he doesn't use his quickness for an advantage and simply ploughs through them. They attack all at once, and still as they grab and strike at him, their forces barely move him. And his response is terrifying.

You can only bear to watch the first one. Kol's fist driving through a woman's chest, the horrid cracking of her ribs as he tears it back out making you want to scream. But his orders have you completely silent. Instead, you close your eyes, sealing your hands over your ears. Trying to block out the violent sickening sounds of his destructive rampage.

There's a last thud before it falls quiet again. Your eyes springing open to see as horrific of a sight as you had imagined. He's dripping in blood. Drenched in it. And Hoseok's people are strewn in every which way. Not a single one having survived.

Sauntering through the sea of dead bodies, he makes his way to the side where Hoseok is unmoved, tossing away the beams and panels as if they were nothing. Grabbing him by the ankle, he drags him from the rubble into the clear space in front of you. The man you once thought of as the most powerful in existence, and his troupe of vampires, was completely demolished in mere seconds of work. And you can only watch on with your body shaking. Your hopes of rescue decimated. Your chest aching with worry, even for Hobi's sake.

"Now that it's a more intimate number of us, should we talk?" Kol releases him, brushing past you as he sits where you had before. His action triggering an instruction he provided earlier, forcing you to follow him and kneel at his feet.

Sitting up, Hoseok rubs the back of his hand against a large gash under his eye. The ferocity not having left his mannerisms. "You disappear for 90 years, and you show up to what, gimmie a blood bath." His laugh falls into a grimace as he stands himself back up.

"I was created in the 13th century and you brought infants to a fight with me. What did you think would happen?" Kol asks scornfully.

"I was hoping they would do a little better," He smirks, shrugging off their deaths. "Okay, that's my bad. But still, that doesn't tell me what you want. Or did you just want to remind me that you're still alive?" He taunts, his sardonic nature returning, "Remind me that you're still pissed and you can kick my ass. Good job. You put on quite a show." he smiles, his tongue running over his fangs as he gestures around at the gruesome display. "But she," he points to you with two fingers, bitterness lacing his next words, "is worth nothing to you."

"Oh, she is worth everything to me," Kol slides forward, his hand brushing down the back of your neck, "because she is worth everything to you."

On those words, you get the most heart-wrenching sight. A pang of insecurity shows up in Hoseok's eyes. Uncertainty and something so close to fear. The smile fading as he looks him up and down.

"I am curious, though, Vampire King, do you think she will detest the Sire bond as greatly as you did?" he punctuates the question, tugging your head back by your hair. "If I treat her as Mansueto treated you, how long do think until she breaks?"

With immense speed, Hoseok splinters one of the wooden crates near him, lunging at Kol, aiming to drive the shard into his heart with a roar. But he's caught before his hand ever plunges forward. Instead, Kol takes the sharp wood and spikes it into Hoseok's stomach. Continuing to dominate him with a solid blow, knocking him off his feet, smacking him into the concrete in front of you. Stepping down, he swings his foot punting Hoseok in the chest hurling him back among the remains of his fallen creations.

You had thought if you ever saw Hobi being handled as roughly as he treated you, that you would enjoy the Karma of it. But seeing him so easily immobilized is making you sick with fear and mostly sadness.

With Kol having stood, you're no longer bound on your knees and you scramble to your feet. You want to run to Hoseok's side but before you have the chance Kol drags you into him, his hand wrapped around your waist, his other crudely brushing the hair from off the side of your face.

"Call out to him. Tell him your every feeling." He hushes the order in your ear.

"Hobi!" you yell, not sure you would have even needed to be compelled to want to shout for him. "Get up, please. I'm scared. I wanna go home!"

"Go to him," Kol releases you and you sprint to his side, hardly able to slow your sudden frantic speed.

Doubled over Hoseok is bleeding profusely. He needs your blood- but you can't do that anymore. And you have no idea what to do. You don't know how to help him or how to get out of here. He's the one that is supposed to keep you safe.

Coming from behind you, Kol bends down shoving you out of the way to lift Hoseok by the throat. "Stop!" you follow their movement, hanging on Kol's arm. "Stop! Please." But you have no effect. Instead, he jerks the wood dagger out making Hobi yell in pain.

"Do you recall what you said as you killed our Sire?" Kol whispers maliciously. "You told me that 'I will get over it'." Releasing him, he lets Hoseok plummet to the floor and you drop with him trying to catch his weight. "In 100 years from now, I'll let you see her again and you can tell me if you were able to take your own advice." he smiles spitefully.

"Hobi," you whine lowly. Brushing his hair from his sweat and blood wet forehead. "I don't want to go with him. Rather the devil you know, right," you softly chuckle, trying to pull his energy back.

Even though you know the both of you have no chance at the moment, you guess you're just looking for an affirmation that he isn't going to let you go and let this other man keep you for the next century.

"Please," you whisper, your waterline filling with tears.

Reaching towards you, Hoseok's hand constricts around your throat, pulling you into him like he has countless times before.

"You're mine," he growls through pained grunts. His anger lessened, distress replacing it. But he gives you the answer he could see you searching for.

"Yes," you nod subtly. Closing your eyes as you lean further into his hold.

"Get up," Kol orders, interrupting you.

Despite his tightening grip, you pull away from Hobi, standing as you were told. The elder vampire taking your arm leads you away through the bodies to the open doorway.

"Say goodbye Jung Hoseok," Kol calls back, leaving him injured and alone, making you wish more than ever that you could pull back. "And do not worry, I'll take very good care of her for you."

[optimist-pine]

It's Complicated: Part 4 || Leonardo

Pairing: 2012 Leo x Reader

Word Count: 1,791

Warnings: Mature themes throughout

Leo watched as you held your hand out towards him, gesturing to his own. He reached his hand toward yours and you placed yours lightly on top. Touching his own but just barely, you traced the lines of his palm, and when he looked into your eyes they were focused, but with each movement, you seemed to relax a little more. He let out a shaky sigh and realized that you were having the same effect on him too.

Maybe things will be alright.

Nothing but silence and your fingers moving across his. He focused on them and nothing else. Not what had happened, or what was going to transpire because of it. Just you. You and how you had just begun to hum. And now he closed his eyes, and the heel of your palm rested in his and your fingers only traced lazy circles on his skin. They seemed to ignite something in him. Something bright and burning and not at all like heaviness that had surrounded him when he first sat down. This was a little buzzing pricking feeling that seemed to travel all the way up his arm and into his heart.

Maybe his head knew that everything wasn't alright, but you could've fooled his heart.

---

You worry about Leo. Of course, you've always worried about him. He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and because of that, he pushes people away. But right here? Even after what's happened he's not pushing you away. He's letting you hold onto him. If he had pushed you away... You don't even want to think about it. Instead, you choose not to take anything he gives you for granted.

There the two of you are when the others come inside, ready for dinner. The noise of the door banging open followed by multiple loud conversations occurring at once startles you and on reflex, you pull your hand away more quickly than you would've liked.

Leo's eyes snap open and he groans, extracting himself from the couch before noticing his cookie still lying on the table, and he quickly grabs both of your cookies, shoving them in your mouths before the others can see.

Mikey comes barreling into the room, vaulting over the couch and landing with a solid oomph. "I crushed them at hide and seek, (y/n), you should have seen it!" He's practically making the entire couch bounce with his energy.

"This numnut managed to hide for a full freakin' hour." Raph ruffles the top of his brother's head as he walks past.

"I just can't believe he managed to stay still that long." Donnie shrugs. "It's practically a miracle."

Casey appears to be stomping more than walking as he enters the room. "I swear I checked that place at least twice!" He grumbles.

"I became one with nature," Mikey replies, taking a Zen sort of pose. "The only reason you finally found me was because I wanted you to find me."

"I'm never playing hide and seek with you ever again." April scoffs as she collapses onto the couch.

You look to Leo with a smile on your face, and this time he finally smiles back. Even if it's only for this single moment, everything feels like it's supposed to.

But, if you think too hard, that little voice will remind you about the secret you're holding onto. And for now, you shove that little voice to the back of your mind.

---

Leo couldn't sleep. It was far from the first time, but tonight all he wanted to do was shut his eyes and not open them until morning. The tapping of a tree branch on the window panes was becoming more irritating than calming, and he had flipped around so many times already that he was tangled up in the sheets.

He sat up abruptly and threw the covers off of himself, his feet causing a dull thud to emanate from the wooden floors as he moved swiftly to the door. What he wasn't expecting, was for the door to bump into something as he swung it open, or the hand that followed, pulling him to the ground. Whatever? Whoever he landed on let out a pained grunt when they hit the floor, and Leo echoed the sentiment.

"Ouch, ouch ouch." He could hear you hiss through clenched teeth. "Oooooooouuuuuch." You whisper-yelled, pounding your fist quietly on the floor of the hallway a few times before biting down on your knuckle. Hard.

He scrambled off of you as quickly and as gently as he could, but he was clumsy too and managed to end up flat on his back beside you.

"Are you alright?" He asked. In the shadows, he could see you start to shake. No, no, no, why did he keep hurting you?

A strange noise bubbled out of your throat then, and wait. Was that laughter? It was a familiar sound, and oh how he loved it. He could feel a chuckle slip out of himself.

"I'm fine, Leo. Really." You giggled again, trying to speak through the laughter. "But oww... My head." You groaned.

Leo sat up. "Are you okay?"

"I'll survive." You said dryly, giving him a playful glare.

"Well, that's a relief." He replied. "Couldn't sleep?"

"No... You?" You asked, continuing to lay on the floor and grimace, hand rubbing your forehead where he assumed the door had hit.

"Not so much." He sighed. He wondered if what was keeping him awake was keeping you from sleep as well.

"Well, I was headed out to the swing if you'd care to join." You offered, finally sitting yourself up.

He stood, holding out his hand. "That sounds nice." He said, trying to restrain the smile on his face.

The heat of your hand wrapped in his sent a shiver down his spine. "Thank you." You whispered, eyes locked on his. The silence of the hallway in the dead of night made his heart pick up pace until he couldn't take the intensity of your gaze any longer and had to break away.

"After you." He managed to say.

---

It had been three weeks since your "trip" in the woods, and your ankle was almost as good as new. Donnie still had you wrapping it, and not doing anything strenuous for the next week, but after that - fingers crossed - you would be able to go about your normal routine training with the others. It was quite nice once again being able to get around without assistance.

The two of you sat on the swing, Leo keeping a slow momentum going with his foot. You had brought a blanket with you, and it was draped across your laps to keep the chilly evening air at bay. You leaned your head back against the smooth wood of the swing, watching the stars blink in and out between dark tree branches.

"I have something I want to tell you." You said, steeling your nerves. If you don't do this now, you're just going to keep putting it off. "And if it ends up being super weird... then we'll just forget I ever mentioned it... Alright?" Or maybe I'll just die of embarrassment instead. You tilted your head to the side, long enough for his eyes to meet yours.

"Alright." He said.

"I like you. I mean, as more than just a friend." The swing's motion halted abruptly, the sound of Leo's heel catching in the dirt not really giving you the confidence boost you were hoping for. "Or-or a good friend... I have for a long time honestly. And I know that things aren't exactly the same as they were, but my feelings for you, they haven't changed. I just... didn't think it was right not to tell you. With everything, I mean..." You said.

"Me? But I'm not..." He started.

Not interested, probably. You turned to face him. "Not what?" You asked.

"I'm not even human, (Y/n)." He said, his hands lying limply in his lap. His eyes were cast down, watching his toe scuff around in the grass below.

Gently you reached out to place your hand on his. "Wow, I hadn't noticed." You laughed softly.

"You know what I mean." He said. "Wouldn't you rather be with someone like Casey?"

"Casey?" You scoffed. "Casey Jones? The Casey that we just spent an hour getting his hand unstuck from a metal pipe. That Casey Jones?"

Leo sighed. "Okay, okay, no, not Casey, but you get what I'm saying. Wouldn't you rather be with someone who's at least human?"

Why was Leo trying so hard to discount himself? Unless... Unless he didn't want to be with you... "I could really care less about all of that, Leo. Truly. There's no one else like you." Someone who would try to let me down so gently.

You had sprung this on him so shortly after everything that had happened... And of course, now he probably wouldn't ever see you that way. You couldn't blame him.

"(Y/n), I -" He started, placing his other hand on top of yours.

You quickly pulled your hand back, cutting him off. "I know there's a lot on your plate right now, and you probably don't feel the same way-"

"(Y/n)-" He tried again.

But now you were rambling. "- so we can just forget about it a-"

"Would you just let me answ-" He tried one last time.

You weren't letting him get a word in now, hoping you could just end the conversation and be done with it. At this point maybe you should just leave entirely and get out of everyone's way. Go and live in solitude forever. Relationships were proving to be very messy all of a sudden. At last this particular one. And if you left, Leo could focus on leading the others and going home again. Maybe they'd be better off without you. "-etend this never-"

And then he kissed you. This time it wasn't because of the alcohol. This time he knew what he was doing. And you knew what you were doing. You were kissing him back.

His hand moved to hold your head as you pulled apart. "I like you too." He said before he leaned in and kissed you again, slower this time, your head tilting into his palm. You're not exactly sure where your hands went, but you knew they were on him like his lips were on yours. In that moment, a new kind of love sparked in your soul. The kind that, if allowed to grow, is not so easily extinguished.

You stayed out on that swing and kissed... well... you lost track of how many times exactly, but it was quite a few.

[hoe-doroki]

Can I have a bakugou smut where he had just come home from a hard day and he needs to blow off some steam and the reader has been horny all day so she/they do whatever he says. Sorry if this was long, it's ok if you don't do it. Thank you ��❤

Omg, not too long at all! Seriously, for requests for me, generally the more details the better, especially for what kinks you may or may not like, because then I can better cater it to you! Since you didn’t specify, you’re stuck with choking, degradation, and exhibitionism, because I like them, oops. Sorry it’s taken me so long to write this—I’ve been so excited about it the whole time but…there’s no but, I just didn’t write it until now 🤷‍♀️

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, exhibitionism, degradation, choking, biting/marking, slight possessiveness

wc: 3.1k

a/n: Thanks to @dymphnasprose for making this gorgeous banner for me!

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

You heard him before you saw him.

It was the ding of the elevator that was first audible from the dining room table where you were working on your computer. Then you heard the heavy clomp of Katsuki’s boots coming down the hallway, already painting a picture of a frustrating day on the job.

When he shouldered his way in the front door, you saw that he was still in his full hero uniform. The roots of his hair were dark with sweat and Katsuki’s ire seemed to have made it all the way down to his fingertips, where he was clumsily batting at his shoelaces. As if anger and a glare would force them undone quicker than a nimble touch.

“Rough day?” you commented, standing up from the dark mahogany table and walking over to your boyfriend. Your hands were on your hips as you looked down at where he was bent over in the entryway.

He grunted as he cast his boot off. If he were outside, that shoe would have been flung halfway down the block, possibly with smoke coming off it. Inside your home, however, even the angriest Katsuki could only manage an angry shove before moving onto his next obstacle.

You didn’t press for more. You just watched as the second boot came off and your boyfriend stood up, knees cracking. He probably hadn’t so much as stretched at the end of his shift. He looked wound tight in every way, from his clenching fingers to the tension scrunching his face.

“Fucking cops stole the villain from under my nose,” Katsuki said.

The kitchen was just a few steps away, so you filled a glass of water and offered it to him. He downed it in a few gulps and was probably just a couple measures of force short from breaking the glass as he smacked it back down on the counter.

“But they were captured?” you asked. “That’s good.”

“The only good thing about it is that now they’re the ones that have to do the paperwork,” Katsuki growled. “I told fucking five-head that if I’m not needed, I might as well come home.”

Five-head was the name Katsuki used for his manager—with a deeply receding hairline—at the agency. Fortunately, Katsuki had only let the nickname slip to the guy’s face…a handful of times.

“Sounds like a rough day,” you said as Katsuki took his gauntlets off, treating them with more care than he had his boots. “You know, I’ve been a little bit…frustrated today too.”

Katsuki’s eyes, piercing when outlined by the dark cling of his mask, flicked towards you, hearing your intentionally placed drawl immediately. “That so?”

His tone was suspicious. Maybe it should have been, by the upward pull on your lips as you leaned in close to him, stroking his arm, still hot and damp from a day on patrol.

“Yeah.” You pouted, making your tone intentionally whiny as you blinked big, round eyes at him. “Or do you not remember this morning?”

That morning had been on your mind all fucking day. Katsuki’s alarm had woken you up, as it always did, and after the ringing had faded from your ears, your body had honed in on a different sense. Specifically, the morning wood that had been pressing hard against your ass. The boner that you’d wiggled back against, moaning as you trailed your fingers up and down your boyfriend’s arm—not unlike you were right now. Katsuki had kissed you on the cheek, and then on the mouth, and you’d expected a quickie before work. You’d felt yourself growing wet at the possibility, your cheeks heating at his touch.

But then he’d pulled away and left the room before you could so much as whimper in protest. It was like he hadn’t even noticed. Like his dick hadn’t been the one to start it.

You watched the memory from many hours ago work its way onto Katsuki’s face. An eyebrow rose—you could tell even from under the mask—and a low fire lit behind his eyes. “That?”

You leaned into his ear, latching yourself around his side so that your thigh just brushed against his groin and whispered, “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“Always so fucking desperate for me, huh?” Katsuki rasped, grabbing your thigh with his gloved hand and wrapping your leg around his waist. “You’re lucky I’m not cooled down yet.”

When his lips met yours, they were aggressive, pent up. You could taste the salt of forgotten trails of sweat that had run from his mask down his lips. He smelled manly with it, and smoky from his quirk.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget about this morning,” Katsuki said roughly before digging his teeth into your neck.

“All talk?” you asked your voice coming out as a gasp.

You were met with Katsuki placing both of his large hands on your ass, pressing your core against his hardening length. The pants on his hero costume were loose enough that he had room to grow and tent—or he would, if you weren’t grinding down on him without any pretense hiding your desperation.

Then, he let go of you. His hands were gone from your ass, mouth abandoning your neck. Without his support, you stumbled back, looking at him in confusion.

Katsuki, however, was grinning at you, lips shiny and flushed pink. “Strip for me, baby.”

After Katsuki’s inadvertent tease that morning, you hadn’t been able to help yourself and had dressed a little sexier than usual. You weren’t going to let Katsuki ignore you this time around.

You took off your clothes piece by piece, your eyes lingering on the garments and then flicking up to Katsuki, taking him in as he unzipped his pants and pulled his fat cock out. He stroked himself until you were left in nothing but a matching bra and panty set. Both were orange, matching the X over his chest and the palms of the gloves he’d just slapped to the floor.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, taking a step toward you, hand never leaving his cock, “this is just what I needed.”

You were prepared to drop to your knees, stretch your mouth around that juicy cock, already glistening with precum right at the tip. Katsuki followed your gaze and caught your chin with just one finger, forcing your eyes up to his.

“There’s no need for that, sweetness,” he said. “Apparently, you’ve been patient all day. So if you’re a good girl and do what I say, you can have this cock right away. How’s that sound?”

“Good,” you said, nodding eagerly.

“Right answer,” Katsuki said, moving his hand to run his thumb under the band of your bra. His hand was feathering over the clasp when, suddenly, he snapped the elastic, earning a yelp out of you. “Now fucking strip.”

You removed your bra in a hurry, then your panties, leaving yourself totally bare to Katsuki’s roving eyes. Meanwhile, he was still dressed in the entirety of his hero costume, save for his boots, gloves and gauntlets. The spikes behind his mask were still in place, as was his belt. The only thing unusual was his thick cock hanging out of those black pants.

“Good girl,” Katsuki whispered. “Now be a good little slut and open the curtains.”

You stared at Katsuki for a moment. The windows took up the whole wall, floor to ceiling of your main living space. You lived near the top of your building—with the curtains open, you would barely be visible to the street, unless someone had a zoom quirk. But there were neighboring skyscrapers that would offer a view right into your apartment.

However, Katsuki didn’t have patience to spare today.

“I’ll go into our room and cum on my fucking hand if you don’t open the curtains.”

His eyes were stern, but not hard. Behind his mask, there was enough openness that you knew if you said your safe word he’d pull you into him, apologize into your neck just loud enough for you to hear, and make love to you slowly in missionary on your bed with all the windows drawn.

But this wasn’t a missionary kind of day.

You cocked your chin and walked past the leather couch and dining table over to the window. The curtains were drawn so that there wouldn’t be a glare on your laptop, but now you opened them, slowly but steadily. On your high floor, the afternoon sun was on the same plane as you. It was catching those late afternoon shades of bright orange that draped you in strands of golden luxe.

“You like that?” Katsuki asked when you looked over your shoulder, looking perhaps a little too self-satisfied. “You like everyone seeing what a slut you are? How fucking gorgeous you are?”

You could only moan as Katsuki came up behind you, catching your bare breasts in both hands and rocking his cock against your ass, just like that morning, but without the separation of your clothes.

“The thing is, sweetheart,” Katsuki whispered between kisses on your already bruising neck, “if anyone’s gonna see you like this, they’re gonna haveta see that you belong to me.”

One of Katsuki’s hands drifted back to his cock and slid it between your legs, through the stickiness that was already clinging to your thighs. He kicked your legs wider to make room for himself, thrusting between your pussy lips, forcing you to lean forward against the window for leverage. His dick dragged against your clit very intentionally, pulling groans out of you as your hips naturally rocked with his.

“So wet already,” Katsuki commented. “You really have been desperate for my cock all day, haven’t you? Did you touch yourself waiting for me?”

You’d thought about it. When Katsuki had left and you’d still felt that initial heat between your legs, you’d considered pulling out your wand and cumming against its rumbly, reliable vibrations. Your fingers had been itching for it, pussy craving the speedy finish it would provide.

“No,” you whined. “I didn’t.”

“Good girl.”

Your forehead fell against the window, eyes closed in the bright sunlight as the meaty head of his cock began to split you open.

“This what you wanted?”

“Yes,” you breathed, leaning your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes as he sunk into you. He claimed to be rewarding you for your patience all day, yet was going slow enough for you to feel every inch. You squeezed around him purposefully, trying to suck him in faster. He acted like he didn’t notice.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Katsuki said when he finally bottomed out. He sat there for a moment, kissing your neck as you continued to flutter hopelessly around him. Then he pulled out and rammed back into you in one go, nearly knocking the wind out of you.

Katsuki cackled, squeezing the meat of your thighs in both hands as he pounded into you. “Do you really think I’d do this for everyone to see if I was going to do anything less than fuck your brains out?”

All that powerlessness that Katsuki had felt at work was now being turned around into sheer might—metabolized frustration being taken out on your poor pussy. He hadn’t been able to capture that villain, but now he had you in his clutches. That unutilized strength was forcing your breasts and one cheek flat against the glass as he let your body have it.

“Katsuki,” you whined. “More.”

“So desperate and needy today, aren’t we sweetness?” Katsuki said, driving his hips forward even harder. You could feel one of the grenades on his belt smacking dangerously against your ass. It was like Dynamight had found you on the street and dragged you down a back alley to fuck while on patrol. “Lucky for you, you’re asking for something I want too.”

You’d riled something up in Katsuki. In a mood like this, he might use you, cream his cock deep inside you and let you think that he was gonna leave you like that for a good few minutes before finishing you off on his tongue or his fingers, or going another round. But it seemed as though you’d just managed to maneuver yourself onto his good side today. He wanted the satisfaction of you squeezing around him, milking his cum out of him at least once.

One of Katsuki’s hands crept up your side until it reached your neck, gripping around it but not yet pressing in. His lips were on your ear, biting your lobe before whispering, “Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes.”

The end of the word came out as a hiss as Katsuki’s thick fingers closed around your throat. His other hand crept to the front of your pubic bone, flattening the hair there as the tip of his pinky reached just above your clit. Intentionally not making contact under the guise of just being able to hold you closer to his driving hips.

Your face grew hot as Katsuki pressed against your windpipe, against the veins so that you felt your throttled heartbeat begin its desperate dance. As your breath grew short, everything became sharper. Katsuki’s cock hitting right against your g-spot suddenly hit less like sparks and more like a thick stroke of fire with every go.

“You like that, huh?” Katsuki taunted as he pulled your neck against his shoulder, his thumb and middle finger nearly meeting behind your neck. “You like me fucking choking you for the world to see? So everyone can see what a dirty whore you are?”

It wasn’t like you could respond with his hand that tight around your throat. You could do little more than whimper, the vibrations buzzing against the rough calluses on his palm.

“Heh, that’s what I fucking thought.”

The power trip only seemed to be stoking Katsuki’s spirit as he pounded you unabashedly in the window. You were bracing yourself with one forearm but used the other to rest on top of the hand he had just over your sex. You just wanted to urge him just a few more millimeters south. A few blessed moments of contact on your aching clit would tip you over the edge, you were sure. But Katsuki only pushed you forward, trapping your hand and his against the cold glass, condensation framing around your hot touch.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and so far from apologetic. “I thought it was this cock you were so desperate for? And here I am, already so generous with my hand on your beautiful throat. ‘S that not enough for you or something?”

It wasn’t, and he knew it. His cock hitting your sweet spot and his hand keeping you just on this side of passed out would edge you from now until eternity. It would leave you burning in your core, dripping down your thighs, and desperate to cum until your dying breath. But it would never have you squeezing around him, never falling boneless against his chest. Not if he didn’t touch you.

Just when you were giving up, just when you were able to focus on little more than your head growing light, your vision narrowing on the blades of orange light on the buildings in front of you, Katsuki’s last three fingers came together, threading through your fuzz before they swiped furiously over your clit.

You jerked forward so hard Katsuki lost his grip on your neck, allowing you to cry out full throated as your orgasm took over, crashing into you with more power than you’d felt in months. Air felt like water as you gasped, nonsense falling from your lips as your thighs shook and Katsuki wrapped his now free hand around your waist to keep you upright.

Your raucous orgasm had Katsuki was groaning too, barely leaving your cunt as the last couple thrusts urged his seed out of him, painting your walls before you were done quivering yourself. Your cheek was flat against the glass as Katsuki leaned his forehead against you, breathing heavily once his orgasm had washed over him.

“Shit, how’s a guy not supposed to bust when you do that,” he said, slipping out of you and placing a chaste kiss on your shoulder. “Clamping around me like a fucking vice and screaming like that. If the neighbors didn’t see you, they sure fucking heard you.”

You might have mindlessly apologized, if you weren’t still struggling to get your breath back under you, your own recovery taking much longer than Katsuki’s. You felt him leave your back, your eyes blinking open to see the translucent reflection of him leaving the window as the sun fell behind one of the city’s many skyscrapers.

A moment later, you felt a washcloth between your legs, swiping at the combined cum that was already dribbling down your thigh. The cloth slowly trailed up and you shivered when Katsuki softly swiped it over your too sensitive pussy. Then the washcloth was gone from his hands and he was on your shoulders, gently kneading out the tension there as you lolled your head side to side to stretch.

“God, I needed that,” Katsuki said quietly. “You alright?”

“Yeah, that was amazing,” you replied, your voice raspy but dreamy as you began your slow descent back to Earth.

“Course it was.”

You turned around, raising an unamused eyebrow at Katsuki’s smirk and then walked back over to the corner of the room to pull the blinds back in place. Now that your lust was receding, you had no interest in flashing your tits and wrecked pussy to the neighbors.

“God, I need to take a fucking shower,” Katsuki said as he started dismantling his costume, starting with his mask. He hardly seemed to notice as he took off his neck brace and then his tank that he was giving you the exact same kind of strip tease that you’d given him just a few minutes ago.

“A shower?” you asked coquettishly as you sidled over to the dining table he was placing his costume onto. “Might there be room for two in this shower?”

“No,” Katsuki answered quickly, placing his grenades one by one on his shirt so they wouldn’t roll away. He didn’t so much as glance at you.

“No?”

Katsuki looked serious as he kept his eyes focused on his task, bending down to unstrapping his knee pads. When he stood up straight again, his grin was devilish.

“I think I like it better when you’re frustrated.”

[that-was-anticlimactic]

22 with Zukka for the prompt list? Also hi :)

"Give me a brush. I'll fix your hair for you." + zukka

Zuko was angry.

He supposed that wasn’t that shocking—he was angry a lot—but the amount of genuine anger and frustration he was accumulating due to his hair, now that wasn’t fair nor normal.

It was stupid—he had to attend some dumb public event since he was the Fire Lord and stand at the side applauding politely, then say a few words. Really, he’d been through more stressful times in his life than that.

Even still, there was an hour left before he had to arrive, and he was getting ready in his chambers. Or, he was supposed to be getting ready. He was still in his sleeping robes, aggressively pulling a brush through his hair

Honestly, at this point, he was just beating his scalp.

No matter how carefully or slowly he ran the brush through his hair, it was still tangled. It still looked greasy, and even when he said “screw it” and just threw his hair in a top knot, he nearly chopped it all off because it looked terrible. The bumps at the top of his head were so large it looked like he hadn’t even brushed his hair in the first place!

Logically, he knew that his dad was far far far away right now and would in no way, shape, or form be attending the same event or see said event, but he couldn’t block out Ozai’s voice in his head telling him how big of a disappointment he was due to the state of his hair.

Zuko grunted, throwing the brush across the room and leveling the cursed object with a furious pout. It’s what the brush deserved.

“Hey, Zuko! I can’t decide whether I should wear my cobalt robes or my lapis robes. I know you don’t think there’s a difference, but I swear to you—are you okay?”

The angelic sound of Sokka’s voice caused Zuko’s face to shift from fury to a soft smile. He turned around, his fingers twitching when the brush left his sight because it needed to know how angry he was, and shot Sokka what he hoped was a soft look.

His boyfriend was also wearing his evening robes, something far too casual for the event they were attending, and it took everything in him to focus his gaze on Sokka’s face rather than his shoulder where the fabric was slowly slipping off.

In his hands were two tunics which absolutely looked the exact same color-wise, but he just chalked that up to Sokka being picky about his wardrobe (no, he wouldn’t acknowledge that he was unsure whether it was that or the fact that he couldn’t see properly out of his left eye).

Sokka’s hair looked impeccable, tied tightly in a wolf tail, much unlike his own.

“Sunshine?”

Oh, he’d been staring, hadn’t he?

“Sorry,” he mumbled, running a hand over his face and collapsing onto his bed. “I’m just trying to get ready.”

He watched as Sokka’s eyes flickered between Zuko’s tapping foot, his hair, and the brush on the floor behind him.

His face morphed into understanding and he carefully draped his clothes over the back of Zuko’s vacant chair, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Give me a brush. I’ll fix your hair for you,” he said gently, nudging Zuko’s foot with his own.

“Get it yourself, Lazy,” Zuko muttered, but either way he shifted his position so he could roll onto the other side of the bed and reached, swiping the brush off the floor and tossing the cursed object at his boyfriend.

Sokka poked at him with his finger (and Zuko tried not to melt at the way Sokka tapped in patterns of three—it was the nonbender’s favorite type of pattern, he did everything in three’s. It became Zuko’s favorite number as their relationship developed and became not only a form of comfort for Sokka when he had his bad days, but also for him) until he got the signal and turned so his back was to Sokka.

“Your hair is very pretty,” Sokka remarked, gently grabbing a small chunk of his hair and starting at the edges.

“It’s greasy.”

“No, it’s really not. You know I don’t like touching greasy hair. I wouldn’t touch it if it was greasy.”

They both knew that was a lie—Zuko’s hair was an exception.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong?” Sokka asked, twisting the edges of the now brushed section of Zuko’s hair while separating it into a second section.

“My hair.”

“I got that.”

“It’s not… it’s not perfect…”

And that was it, wasn’t it? The event wasn’t that big of a deal—in fact, it was so insignificant to him that he wasn’t quite sure what exactly it was, but when his hair wouldn’t work the way he wanted, he started getting stiff and on edge.

If his dad saw him like this… Zuko couldn’t help but shudder at the mere thought.

“Babe, Sunshine, light of my life,” Sokka began and oh how Zuko practically melted, “you don’t need to be perfect.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Zuko shot back. “But I do have to be perfect. Everyone’s watching me—I’m the Fire Lord! If I don’t look perfect then…” he trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut and attempting to focus solely on the feeling of Sokka’s fingers in his hair.

“Oh, I get it,” Sokka said softly. “This isn’t about your hair, is it, baby?”

Zuko just sniffed.

“I know I’m not the best person to talk to about being okay with things being imperfect, but something I’ve begun to learn over the years is that there’s never a time when everything’s perfect, no matter how hard you plan… or brush…”

Zuko chuckled.

“But something that you can always count on is me being there; you know I’ll always be there, right? Because I will be,” he continued. At this point, Zuko was certain Sokka had set the brush down and was just using his fingers, which was somehow more comforting despite the slightly uncouth method.

“Besides, you’re already perfect to me. You don’t need to try and please everyone else anymore. Quite frankly, they’re all idiots.”

Zuko laughed. It was quiet and more half-hearted than anything, but it was a laugh all the same. He could feel water beginning to pool in his eyes, and Zuko let out a choking gasp. “Sorry.”

“Shush, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I just… I saw my hair and it wouldn’t—it wasn’t right and I didn’t know what would—“

“Shhh.” Sokka coaxed him into silence, purposefully taking deep breaths along the way to remind him to breathe (which was really helpful since he had forgotten).

“It’s just me. No one else is here—he’s not here. It’s just you and it’s me. And I, personally, think you have the prettiest hair in the entire world, even when it’s greasy.”

Oh, what did Zuko do to deserve someone like Sokka in his life?

Sokka stopped running his fingers through his hair, and Zuko felt the bed shift as Sokka adjusted his position. The nonbender flung his arms around Zuko’s neck, holding him close.

“You’re going to have the best public appearance in the history of pubic appearances today,” Sokka informed him, and Zuko hummed, allowing himself to fall back into Sokka’s embrace. “And if anyone complains about your hair, they may have a run in with my boomerang.”

“Thank you.”

Zuko opened his eyes, allowing his face to fall into its natural frown, but prayed to Agni that Sokka could see the appreciation and adoration in his eyes.

He slowly rose, pushing himself off of his bed and turning so he could see his reflection in the mirror.

His hair it… it wasn’t bad. But it still made his muscles clench and his breath hitch. There were some strands tumbling out of his top knot, falling out of rhythm with the rest of his demeanor.

It was so insignificant, but that’s what Zuko thought when he was younger.

(There was nothing insignificant when it came to Ozai.)

He felt more than saw Sokka stand beside him, and together they gazed in the mirror.

Despite knowing he was being self-conscious, Zuko found himself biting his lip in anticipation as Sokka looked at him. He knew Sokka didn’t think he was disfigured or that his hair was an awful mess, but that wasn’t enough prevent his heart from racing and his fists at the ready to raise to block his—

“You’re beautiful,” Sokka breathed, his eyes so wide that Zuko thought they could contain the depths of the entire ocean, encompass the entirety of the night sky. What made his face flush was that the stars in Sokka’s eyes were directed on him—focused solely and only on him.

“Oh.”

It pained him that that was all he could say. Sokka could compliment him like it was nothing, but Zuko couldn’t do any more than reply with one word.

Sokka frowned and no, that wouldn’t do. Zuko didn’t like when he frowned—more so, he hated being the reason his boyfriend’s smile vanished.

“Are you still…” He cut himself off, his neck jerking and lips pursing, then he waved his hands around for emphasis, as a way to finish the sentence.

Shamefully, Zuko nodded.

Without warning, Sokka grabbed hold of Zuko’s hands and placed them on the top of his head. He intertwined their fingers, almost as if they were holding hands, then started moving them.

For a moment, Zuko held his breath because what was this idiot doing? His hair was the definition of perfection—no strands were loose, he looked regal, the blue and red beads in his hair were perfectly placed… and here Sokka was, guiding Zuko’s hands around his head and messing it up.

Zuko tried to pull away—tried to free his hands from Sokka’s grasp because they couldn’t do this—they couldn’t mess up is hair! The Fire Nation was already terribly critical towards Sokka, being Water Tribe and all, not to mention being the Fire Lord’s boyfriend meant more publicity than either of them were comfortable with… the public would tear Sokka apart if he walked out with messy hair.

“What are you doing?” Zuko hissed through grit teeth, still trying to yank his hands away to no avail. “You’re messing up your hair—I’m messing up your hair!”

Sokka ignored him, but Zuko couldn’t find it in himself to glower at his idiot because his tongue was sticking out of his mouth the way it did when he was concentrating and it was so authentically Sokka and so adorable and—

“There,” Sokka said, interrupting his thoughts. “Now we match!”

It was then that Zuko realized his hands had been released, and he clutched them close to his chest defensively.

Sokka was cheekily grinning at him, his eyes shining, and his hair… oh. His hair was a travesty. His wolf tail became undone and half of it was falling out. The top of his head looked like someone build hundreds of tiny bridges with the way his hair had been tugged at.

As terrible as it was, Zuko was basking in the absolute adorableness of his boyfriend.

“It may not be perfect,” Sokka started, locking hands with Zuko once more, “but we’re doing it together. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Penguin.”

Sokka leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Okay, then: should I wear the cobalt or lapis tunic? I feel like lapis is a more luscious color, but cobalt brings out my eyes…”

Most of what Sokka was saying made absolute no sense to him, but Zuko knew Sokka so he knew that his feeling weren’t being brushed aside. Sokka was just trying to distract him—to make him laugh.

So, Zuko sat back down and listened to Sokka ramble about the pros and cons of each color, even though they had to be at the event in half an hour.

Sokka was right (he always was)—it was never about his hair (maybe it was a little about his hair, whenever Ozai was involved, it was about everything). He spent the majority of his life trying to live up to the standards of everyone else—his hair had to be perfect, his back had to be perfectly straight…

The Fire Nation thrived on the idea of perfection. So much so that Zuko knew if Sokka had been born and raised here, he would have been isolated or forced into muteness due to his imperfections, or his tics. It was a terrible thought that was proved true by the looks he saw shot his boyfriend’s way by some elders—from the way that some people would address Zuko rather than Sokka when they were together or ask Zuko why he hadn’t fixed Sokka or what places he took Sokka to to do so.

But they weren’t imperfections, Sokka’s tics. Zuko reminded him countless times that they were just a part of who he was, something that made him as special as he was. And he supposed that’s what Sokka was trying to show him… though through his unorthodox and irritatingly charming methods.

Zuko never did fix his hair for the evening—he wanted to continue matching with Sokka.

[this can be seen as a mini prequel to threshold of eternity hence why zuko gives azula the advice about how to 'handle' her hair and toe kind of inspired this one hehe]

'101 ways to say i love you' prompts

[tennessoui]

You kind of already did 31 but pleaseeeeeeee

these ficlets keep getting longer ffs this is 2k

31. One is a sex worker, the other is a client AU

anakin's had his turn as a sex worker in my writing so it's Obi-Wan this time, paired with Vaderkin and i made it more dark than I thought would happen whoops but. warnings are: probably bordering extremely dubious consent even though no sex happens and this is just the lead up. a brief reference to underage sex work, though absolutely nothing comes of it. and vaderkin being a bit creepy.

There is a saying among the workers at the Establishment: if the imperial palace calls for you, you should hope the person that is displayed next to you is prettier.

Obi-Wan has never bought into prayers of any kind and this saying is only ever said with something akin to a worshipful dread. Still, when Ahsoka drapes a cloak of red around his shoulders and whispers those words to him—“May the others be your betters”—he thinks for a second about the nature of prayer and of hope and the futility of both in this galaxy.

“Don’t worry, little ‘Soka,” he smiles from under the cloak’s hood. “I’m sure it’s just a mistake.” He is, after all, one of the oldest workers here, makes most of his money these days tending bar and running the front desk, called in to serve mostly for virgin customers who want a gentler and more experienced hand to guide them in the art of pleasure. He doesn’t think any of the words could be used to describe the Emperor Vader, can’t see the imposing black-suited man interested in the art of pleasure.

Ahsoka can’t look him in the eye, but she hugs him tightly as he boards the shuttle that will take him to the Palace.

The ride there is quiet. Obi-Wan tries to avoid as many glances from the other people as he gives to them. Most of them are young, human. He seems to be the only male above 40. His chances are good.

Maybe he hadn’t been lying to Ahsoka. Maybe, truly, his name being included on the list had been a mistake

Something inside him hesitates though. He’d been out in the Upper levels a week ago, making his way home after one of his rare appointments with an old client turned friend. A child had fallen into the path of a small parade of speeders. A correctional officer had raised a whip. Obi-Wan had reacted on instinct, catching its lash with his forearm. The child had run off. Obi-Wan had stayed. He’d raised his head just enough, eons later, to see the durasteel outside of the largest speeder pass by his prone form, just enough to see the Imperial crest on its hull. Just for long enough to see a glint of a yellow eye from the window.

Bacta had treated his wounds, but his mind had not allowed him to rest easily, caught up in the memory of that eye--had he imagined the interest? Had he imagined it all?

And so to hear his name called tonight--the first calling since The Incident--had felt like the confirmation of all of his most unfounded fears.

Would tonight be the night he died? He had lived a long life. A rough one. Perhaps it is time.

Still, in the back of his head, a selfish, utterly human part of him whispered, may the others be your betters.

---

Those chosen do, often, come back. Sometimes they do not. Mostly they do. Obi-Wan has never truly decided which of these fates is the worse one. Those who survive don’t say anything for days on end, their eyes blank as they stare forward. Their bruises, if they are there, are easy to heal. But something is always wrong with their minds afterwards. And those who don’t come back...well. It’s hard to say what happens to them, where they go. Far away or down below.

Obi-Wan is forced to his knees in between a moderately aged female Togruta and a fairly young teenager. The boy is shaking. He can’t be more than sixteen.

They’re in the Entrance Hall. Obi-Wan has never been here before, but he supposes it makes sense. There will be one person who ventures further into the Palace. The rest will be dismissed out the doors that just shut. No need to bring the scum further in than they have to.

Distantly, like a funeral drum, Obi-Wan can hear the sound of feet falling, making their way closer. Just a single pair. He wants to look up, to watch the Emperor--because it has to be the Emperor--approach, but there’s a Guard behind him, holding his head down.

The footsteps are close now. There’s only ten of them--sometimes, Obi-Wan has heard that there can be as many as twenty or thirty--so the line is short. Vader paces quietly from the first to the last person, before stopping in the middle. Obi-Wan can just see the black of his boots if he flicks his eyes as far as they can go to the left. The boy next to him lets out a muffled sob. Obi-Wan wishes he could offer the kid some sort of comfort, some sort of reassurance that the Emperor will choose one of the other workers, a body more desirable than either of theirs, but there are no words to describe the guilty relief of a suffering passed onto someone else.

On some sort of invisible signal, the Guard behind Obi-Wan wrenches his head back by the hold he has on both the silken hood and his own hair. It’s far from comfortable, tilted so far back. The message is obvious. Submission is not optional. Respect will be shown through any means necessary.

Obi-Wan tries to keep the hulking form of Vader in his eyesight, even though to see ahead of him he has to close his eyes almost completely because of the angle. It’s impossible to see anything from the chest up, but he can still hear. Loud, mechanical breathing fills the halls. Vader stops at each person for no longer than five seconds before he continues down the line. Obi-Wan holds his breath, waiting for his turn. Does he turn his head as much as he can, to try and accentuate the gray at his temples? Does he lower his eyes?

He doesn’t, in the end, do either. Vader is wearing a mask, completely covering his face. He doesn’t even look human, except for the way he cocks his head slightly as he stares down at Obi-Wan. He feels flayed, just under the single look, but he can’t turn away either. He glowers up at him. Five seconds pass. Vader should be moving on by now. The fact that he hasn’t fills Obi-Wan with the sort of fear he’s only felt a handful of times in his life.

“This one,” Vader says through a voice modulator. Obi-Wan closes his eyes in defeat, thinks of Little Ahsoka back at the Establishment, thinks of what she’ll think if he doesn’t make it home.

But the boy next to him bursts into sobs and Obi-Wan opens his eyes to see that Vader’s hand isn’t pointing to him at all, but instead just to his right.

But Vader’s face is still pointed directly at Obi-Wan though, head still cocked. The question is as clear as if he actually spoke the words aloud. What will you do about this?

What will he do? What can he do? It’s the street from a week ago all over. A child is in danger. How can Obi-Wan ever live with himself if he doesn’t at least try to throw himself on the blade?

“No!” he says before he can think it through. The Guard behind him jerks his hair back roughly in punishment, but the monster in front of him runs two gloved fingers down his cheek, the pantomime of a lover’s caress. “Me instead. Choose me.”

“Quiet,” the Guard hisses to him, making him wince with the ferocity of the yank he gives his hair. Obi-Wan pants open-mouthed as he tries to think of an argument, of a single reason why the Emperor should not get what he wants, should settle for a washed up whore instead of a younger model. All he can think of is the moral justifications of it, and he’s not sure Vader would care for that line of reasoning.

“I’m asking,” he blurts out. The fingers pause from where they’ve been absent-mindedly touching his beard. “When has anyone ever asked?”

The Emperor takes a step back and seems to consider Obi-Wan, what he has to offer. He tries to preen, to throw his shoulders back and sit back on his heels to show off his body, but it’s hard when the Guard hasn’t let up on his hair. In fact the grip gets even tighter as the man behind him snorts a common insult.

A second later, the hand and the pressure disappear. Obi-Wan falls forward automatically at his sudden release. He scrambles away instinctively, even if that means closer to Vader. Vader who has his hand raised out in front of him clenching his gloved fist tight. Obi-Wan looks behind him at the guard who had held him. The man is scrabbling at his throat. Obi-Wan knows already it will be a futile effort. With Vader distracted by his execution, he turns to check on the boy. He’s looking down, refusing to make eye contact.

Probably for the better.

The Guard falls to the floor. The other nine Guards don’t move at all. Obi-Wan supposes there’s no room for loyalty in a galaxy like this.

“Come,” Vader says, running a hand through his hair. It’s a surprisingly gentle touch, seeing as that hand just took someone else’s life.

Slowly, Obi-Wan rises to his feet and follows behind him, through the twisting halls of the Imperial Palace. He thinks anyone could get lonely here if they have no one to keep them company. It’s so big. Obi-Wan shares his room with three other people, and he frets if one of them is still gone by the time he falls asleep.

This much space would drive anyone mad for another’s touch.

He blinks at himself, incredulous. Is he actually trying to feel compassion for the Emperor? Is it actually working?

The Emperor flings open a pair of elaborate doors without touching them, and suddenly Obi-Wan’s in the bedchambers of the most powerful man on the planet. And to think, he’s wearing mismatched and terribly darned socks.

He resolves to not ask Vader for permission to do anything with his own body for the entire night. He sits on the edge of the bed and watches as Vader takes off his cape and his gloves.

“Would you like to know my prices before or after?” He asks as cooly as possible.

“Your price is that it’s you here and not the boy.”

“Would you have wanted the boy?” Obi-Wan can’t hide the disgust in his tone.

“No,” the Emperor says succinctly. “But I did want to know what you would do. If you really were the same man as the one in the street.”

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. “Why would you want to know that?”

“There’s so little good left in the galaxy. It’s fascinating that so much is concentrated in you.” Vader reaches up to unlatch his mask. A cascade of golden curls falls out.

He huffs. The Emperor of the Galactic Empire thinks there’s not enough good in the galaxy. It’s at the very least ironic. “It’s a greedy galaxy, your Imperial Majesty--”

The Emperor turns around to face him, helmet still held in his hands. Obi-Wan is surprised to learn he’s just a man. An attractive man, certainly, young and almost pretty with a perfect arch to his lips and a roguish scar cutting through a thick eyebrow. If he had been one of Obi-Wan’s workers, he’d have taken him under his wing, tried to protect him from the clients who would have paid extra to rough up that face.

He was saying something. Obi-Wan had meant to say something else. Oh. Right. “Good cannot be bought.”

The man in front of him--was it really Vader?--smiles, but it doesn’t reach his yellow eyes. “No,” he purrs, discarding his helmet and stalking forward. “But you can.”

[funnyexel]

Potential Yandere x Abused Fem!Reader

A/n: This is another drabble. I’ve been trying to pass it as a x reader story but I got severely stumped so I decided to still post it. (cause I feel like I did a fantastic job on it) If you squint, you could count this as yandere.

Summary: Basically, the story is about you running away from your twisted household (controlled by your step-mother) to get away from her, as you were escaping you get kidnapped. You soon find out it was your “dead” husband, your step-mother arranged you to marry for money and soon after killed him because he was trying to help your situation. Now he is bent on protecting you and getting “even” with your step-mom...any means necessary.

Warnings: Scars, Mentions of death, Mentions of abuse, Trauma, Slight smut, Mushy stuff. Masterlist Mega List

You ran away. You just couldn't take it anymore. The loneliness and the abuse was killing you from the inside out. Tears burn in your eyes and stain your cheeks. Now caught up in yourself, you neglect to realize the hand over your mouth. "Finally." You managed to let out a few muffled screams before you completely knocked out.

"No one will want a fat, stuck up brat! 20 more!" "Yes, Mother."

Transitioning from low breaths, you awake breathing heavily. "GET OUT!" You flinch at the sudden noise and clashing of objects. The somewhat familiar male voice sighs. You try to shift the bag off your head but fail. "oh right the bag." He snatches the bag off your head. Your head whips to the side, tears smoothly fall down your face. He forces your face to see his. "p-please-" The tears in your eyes wash away and you can see a clear picture of the male. He caresses your cheek. "Y/n~ It's been a while." He holds the back of his neck.

Slowly jerking your head back. You try and gather your emotions. 'Do I want to hit him or kiss him?' You thought. "I missed you." You keep your gaze with him. Blood rushes to your face without your consent. "I guess you didn't miss me.." He falsely pouts. "I did." You whisper. He smiles. "Get off the floor." You get up and realize that you had your hands behind your back for nothing. Looking him up and down, you analyze his tall and muscular nature. Wanting to run up to him and kiss him. You decide to hold back. The thought of him suffering from the lost of touch is funny to you.

Just like how you both were when you were younger. You finally ignore your thoughts and listen to your aching body. Legs trembling, you trip over your weak feet before you could faceplant, he catches you. 'Oh right. Prince Charming waited 3 long years to get me.' Now remembering the horrible memories. He lays you down on a couch and removes your clothes to unveil your undergarments. He uses a med-kit to patch you up. "Your scars have gotten worse." He looks up to you slightly. You look away from him. "Stop staring at me like that."

He chuckles at your annoyance. "Are you hungry?" He briefly stops bandaging you to give you a tray of food. "Eat. If you're hungry tell me. Don't sit here starving yourself." You eat little by little enjoying the food. He moves from your legs to your arms. "What happened to your ring?" He examines your left hand kissing it softly. "I still have it." You reach into the side of your bra and take out the ring dangling on a chain. "Who gave you that chain?" He finished patching you up. Given your silence, he knows where it's from. 

He reaches for your hand to retrieve the chain and take the ring. "I do not want you to have anyone else's stuff but mine." He puts the chain on the table. "You're unusually quiet." You turn away. "W-where have you been for three years?" You glide your hand over his tattoos and bold muscles. He gently takes your left hand and holds it in his, to place the ring on your ring finger. "Trying to get you." He kisses the ring and clutches onto your hand. "I-I thought...y-you w-were...I s-saw."

Tears stream down your face unexpectedly with the whirlpool of emotions. "Dead." You couldn't hold yourself back from his touch anymore. You launched yourself into his arms and fit into his lap perfectly. He softly whispered reassuring little nothings in your ear. His voice soothes your uneasy state. "You'll be safe with me. I promise to you that you will never go back, ever." You clench onto him harder, making small marks into his skin through his clothes.

"I-I need- have um-" You stutter causing your cheeks to heat up. He rubs your shoulder as a comforting gesture. "I...I've realized, over the time apart and grieving. That I-" You choke on your unspoken words but manifest the strength to hold his cheek and gaze deep into his eyes. "I love you. I thought that I realized too late and looking at this second chance. I was second guessing whether to tell you or not. But I wanted you to know." Slowly leaning in, a half a breath from his lips.

You close the gap, placing your soft lips on his and sluggishly parting your lips. 'His eyes are closed.' You thought studying his facial features. Whilst tracing your slender fingers over his godly jaw line. He got casted out of your trance, pulling your waist into his. Thirstily matching his lips up with yours. You felt déjà vu and a stinging sensation on your thigh. But it wasn't painful, it could never be painful from him. It was a stinging of coldness turning warm from your touch.

Your bottom lip felt wet. Very wet. He was asking for permission to your wonderful mouth. You opened your mouth for him without a second thought. Feeling his heavy palm trailing from your waist smoothly to your neck. Gripping hard but soft never wanting to let go. Your body shifted to straddling him and your hand stopped awkwardly waving in the air and rubbed along the hand holding your thigh. Applying warmth to his upper arm and bicep. You moan breaking the kiss, throwing your head back due to his icy touch up your back. You stare at each other, breathing heavily. "I love you too." He says between deep inhales and exhales. "You're always so warm." He buries his head in your shoulder, both his hands covering your back. "And you’re always so cold." You chuckle and shiver under his touch. Rapidly blushing, realizing you're only in your panties and bra.

You wiggle in his lap trying to reach a piece of clothing. But he holds you down with his heavenly grip. He lifts his head from your shoulder, blush lightly dusting his face. "Are you trying to get something out of me?" His muscular voice echoes in and out your ear. You hesitantly shake your head. Thinking about what he said you notice your sitting near his groin. He moves his hands around your back attempting to capture all your warmth. "Shirt." You gaze into his night black eyes.

A sweater is draped on your back with little to no movement. He sits up and puts your arms through the sleeves, then zipping up the sweater. Shivering at the new warmth, he places a kiss on your nose then mouth. You smile and touch your nose. He lifts you off his lap and onto the couch. "Stay in here. I'll be back." He gets up and looks over himself in the mirror. Seeing you staring at him from the couch with a slight pout. "Don't let anyone see those pretty panties."

Never taking your eyes off him, your cheeks redden and you push down the sweater to cover your underwear. He snickers at your actions, swiftly leaving the room. Your eye falls back to the mirror. 'This is really happening.' You thought. One song was replaying in your head, sex by eden but only one particular part of the song. 'Oh no, I think I'm catching feelings.' And you know you already told him you love him but it felt like you were catching feelings all over again. The statement from the man became distant as time passes by, or you became very bored very fast. Either way you got up from the couch, wobbling on your feet. You stare at yourself through the mirror. Dark circles having a long term stay underneath your eyes, big lips being temporarily present on your face, light hickeys being displayed on your lower chin and neck, and light tears burned into your cheeks. You rub away the tear marks with the oversized sleeve.

His sweater was sizeable to your body. It hugged your body perfectly but all the while drowning you in the sweater. Doing some more walking around. You come across a nicely framed photo of you and him. You remembered that like it was taken yesterday, if you recall correctly his sister took that picture. You were sitting in his lap, assembling a puzzle together but he was getting frustrated so you decided to take over. You laugh at the bubbly memory.

'I look so focus on the puzzle meanwhile he buried his face in my hair.' You slightly blush and put the picture back. You go to his desk and sit in his chair. "woaah~ this chair is so comfortable." You lie back into the chair and spin it, making sure not to mess up anything on his desk. "how long is he going to take?" You groan feeling extremely lonely. Listening closely, you hear the sound of a train, the speedy move of the train smoothly moving on the noisy tracks. As if they hit a bump on the track your body falls out the chair.

You turn over rubbing your knees. Multiple footsteps meet your ear range. Looking around, you quickly crawl underneath the desk slightly hitting your head on the way in. "ouch." And a squeal leaves your mouth before they busted in the room. "If this is just your bad hearing, we're gonna be in a lot of trouble." A strong woman voice exclaims. "I heard something fall. I swear." A male croaked back to the female. "Everything in here is bolted to the floor. Get out his office before he catches you." Someone chimes in and the footsteps fade out the room.

You left out a shaky breath and rub your head. 'I'll just stay under here.' You thought to yourself and nodded. In silence, you thought about what you would do about your still existing problems at your old home. Even though, you wanted to forget. You couldn't risk him getting hurt or worse. "Hey, where are you?" His voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You knock on the inside of the desk and his footsteps approach you. He crouches down and looks at you curled up into a ball under the desk.

"what are you doing under here?" His soft tone flutters your heart and blesses you ears. As he extends his hand you eagerly take it and he pulls you out the dark space. He guides you to the couch and sits you down. "Here." He hands you black leggings. Getting up, you put on the pants and look up to him. "Promise." His hands meet your waist and lightly rubbed the sides. "Promise, what?" He chuckles looking down to you. "Promise you won't get killed."

You stare at him with solid eyes and spoke with a serious tone. "I promise to you I won't get killed." He matches your tone. "Pinky promise." You hold out a pinky and wait for him to meet your request. He smirks and holds your pinky with his. Shaking it twice. You let go and hug him, burying your face into his mid-chest. His well built arms circle around you, engulfing you in his body. You stay there until you begin to lose breath. "Accept my promise."

He smiles at you, before you could have a valid reaction, he traps you into a powerful kiss. Pulling your body closer and closer to his. All the while your hands travel to his neck, into his soft dark hair. The kiss was better than before, unrealistic at most. His tongue immediately got access to your mouth, exploring it and violating it. He slowly broke the kiss to trail them down to your neck. You huffed and moaned. Minimally visible air puffs leaving your mouth. He found your sweet spot and kissed it as deeply as he kissed your plump lips. Your lowly moans echoed the office, he gripped your chin and moved it to the side to get more access to your neck. His actions hit a sudden stop, he lifts up his head and plants a peck on your lips. He made you weak in the knees. And by the looks of it you made him the same way. He sat on the couch and patted his leg. You felt like sitting too but held off, to look in the mirror. 

A dark mark visible to the naked eye, was made by him on your neck. You traced your fingers over it in admiration. Your heart skipped a beat and your eyes sparkled. His marks did that special thing to you that you couldn't explain even if you tried. Turning back to him you, sit on his lap and rest your head on his shoulder.

[norcumii]

for the ask meme: Rex/Obi or pairing/characters of choice - Werewolf/vampire AU / Sick/injured / Stranded Due to Inclement Weather / Huddling for warmth

For this trope mashup meme.

This was CLEARLY influenced by seananmcguire's Newsflesh series, which was the last zombie related media I interacted with, and I regret NOTHING.

(Meanwhile, much worldbuilding was done by Dogmatix, who I was foolish enough to let near the plunnies again ^_^)

*****

The problem with zombies, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but muse, was that they stopped thinking. Oh, there was some low-level intelligence left in there, but it was mostly focused on consuming the living. Not tactics, for the most part, not unless the bastards were very fresh or in large enough groups, but that also meant that when some brilliant asshole declared “oh, the zombies wouldn’t/couldn’t ever do that,” no one consulted the zombies.

Thus, an early morning patrol in an area that “never saw more than one or two zombies” turned into a clusterfuck retreat. Though ‘patrol’ was rather a gross overstatement for just the two of them taking an idle walk because some days, Rex was too jittery for sleep and too damn self-sacrificing to admit that he missed early morning runs.

There was always enough fog coming in from the river that they should have been fine.

There also shouldn’t have been an entire pack of at least a dozen, dozen and a half zombies in the area. Where the fuckers had even come from was an unpleasant mystery.

“Rex?” Obi-Wan murmured into the man’s ear. “Are you with me?” he asked as if he couldn’t make out the glacially slow beat of his heart.

Rex groaned, head lolling to nestle further in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck. He mumbled something that was probably a curse, which left Obi-Wan in the unenviable position of having to close his eyes and take his own steadying breath. Yes, on the one hand he did have an unfairly attractive boyfriend draped across his lap, straddling his hips and feeling like he was several seconds away from some serious necking.

On the other, they were also treed a good thirty feet above a pack of damned zombies, which had already tried seriously munching on Rex, and ‘necking’ could have serious consequences when one of them was an actual vampire.

Speaking of. Obi-Wan shifted in the cautious little jig in an attempt to nudge Rex more to the left. If he could just free up his arm enough, then he could move around while not tossing them off the tree stand or dislodging the thick emergency poncho that was the only thing keeping Rex from turning into a charred crisp. It was not sized for two, but there hadn’t been time to be more careful and drape it over just Rex instead of just plonking it down over the two of them.

“If you refuse to leave base again without your entire damned armor because of this, I’m going to be very put out,” Obi-Wan informed him, getting another incoherent unhappy noise. The armor was good at keeping the soldiers bite free – not that they needed to worry about the zombification business, but it still hurt them and fed the damn undead. It was also effective at keeping the soldiers touch starved and isolated in ways Obi-Wan had difficulty standing.

Another careful shift, and he could just barely dig out one of the small, squishy packs he kept in his jacket for emergencies.

Since his luck was shit, as soon as he pulled it free, the bastard caught on a loose thread, and with his claws he didn’t dare grab too hard for it, and down it tumbled. One of the zombies lunged, snapping at it, and blood exploded all across the remains of the bastard’s face.

Not being too intelligent, the rest of the pack turned on it immediately. Obi-Wan tried to tune out the disgusting carnage, being much more careful on his second attempt. He didn’t have many packets to spare. This one, he managed to juggle up in front of Rex’s face, jostling it a little. “Here. Drink,” he ordered, hoping that would be sufficient. He hated trying to insert the little sippy straws – Anakin had loved juice pouches back as a child, and they’d had similar fiendish straws. Anakin had learned how to insert the little bastards without a problem, but he always asked Obi-Wan to do it for him – because Obi-Wan had never quite managed to master the process, and Anakin was a damned brat.

Bad enough when it was juice.

One way or another, Rex was conscious enough to shift and bite down on the plastic packet. It was always a wonder to watch the soldiers’ regenerative powers at work. As the level of mostly artificial plasma lowered, color drained back into Rex’s face, the nasty burns along truly unfair cheekbones fading as muscle and skin reknit. He could smell the distressing blood-and-raw-meat stench fading, and only then did he start to relax.

When things had started to go to hell around the globe, the powers that be had huddled together around their failing infrastructure and went looking for fantastical solutions to unnatural problems. Obi-Wan could only imagine the levels of exhaustion and terror that had led someone to the conclusion that vampires might be immune to the infections that spread the zombie virus. The sheer potential of that going horribly wrong was at least one movie franchise long, if not several, yet somehow they’d dedicated enough science to make artificial vampires. Oh, technically it wasn’t vampirism, but ‘drank blood, super fast and strong, sunburn to death within minutes, resting vitals dropping down far enough to pass as dead’ was close enough for everyone but petty bureaucrats and pedantic assholes.

Even at the time, Obi-Wan had cynically noted how that meant both a short leash, and a strong vested interest in keeping as many people from going zombie as possible. He’d also noted the infuriating demographics of those who were selected for and survived the process of becoming vampires.

He tried not to think on that much nowadays, because the heightened blood pressure and carnage bothered Rex.

The packet slurped dry in a way that always raised Obi-Wan’s hackles, then Rex blinked up at him a few times in confusion. “You’re fuzzy,” Rex accused.

“That’s called a beard, dear,” Obi-Wan drawled in his most obnoxious tone, pretending he didn’t also have fur sprouting most places, nor the partial muzzle of a transformation enough to give him speed and jumping ability enough to get to one of the safe perches they’d set up weeks ago.

The Powers That Be might have created vampires, but they had also somehow missed the small but stubborn population of entirely naturally occurring werewolves (and affiliated were-creatures) around the world. Some, like Obi-Wan and his pack, were doing their damndest to both keep a low profile and help the poor bastards trying to protect the last of humanity.

Some, like Obi-Wan, might have become unwisely open to certain non-lycanthropes due to unfortunate feelings – not that Obi-Wan was ever about to complain about that.

Either his sarcastic tone or the guttural noises of thwarted zombies sank in, because Rex stiffened and glared down. “Fuck!” he hissed, thighs clenching in a way that Obi-Wan both very much did and very much did not appreciate. His eyes damn well crossed at the wiggle that followed – he could only guess that Rex was going for a weapon that he didn’t have.

“Stop that!” he snarled, letting the wolf out a little more. He needed the muscle and mass to keep Rex in place, longer paws digging into the tree trunk for a slightly more secure hold that was notgroping his idiot boyfriend.

His idiot boyfriend leveled a flat, unimpressed look at him. “Really?” Rex grumped. His eyes flicked down, then back up. “Right now?”

“So sorry, but some of us don’t need to ingest extra blood to get it up, and under less fraught circumstances this might be my idea of a good time.” He tried for a drawl, but it was much more strained than he meant. Oh well, it wasn’t like Rex didn’t know he could be ridiculous. And it really wasn’t intentional.

“Less fraught meaning less zombies?”

“And less daylight.” Obi-Wan didn’t mean for his tone to turn sharp, either, but it did even as he very carefully wrapped his arms tighter around Rex. He made certain not to disturb the poncho, but he, at least, wanted the reassurance. He still wasn’t over the terror of having to go mostly wolf to grab Rex from the pack he was trying to slow down, nor the horror of slinging him over a shoulder to go pelting through the trees. Madcap desperation to find a tree stand before a foggy dawn was not his idea of fun. “Your life is worth a hell of a lot more than an inconvenient hard on.”

Rex huffed a laugh, leaning in to rest his cheek against Obi-Wan’s. “Stop being charming.”

“I’m afraid that’s going to happen approximately never. So sorry.”

For a moment, it was just them – two idiots cuddled together, healthy and alive on a genuinely beautiful, bright Spring morning.

Then a terrible gurgling noise broke the moment, and Rex glanced down at the pack still mingling around the tree, groaning their displeasure at not remembering how to climb. “Was that a zombie?” he asked, as if he damn well didn’t know the truth.

“Shapeshifting burns calories,” Obi-Wan reminded him primly. “As does marathon sprints lugging around idiots like potato sacks.”

“That explains the bruises on my stomach,” he muttered, shifting about to rummage in one of Obi-Wan’s pockets. “Jerky?”

“Please.” All in all, now that matters were calmer, Obi-Wan almost hoped that a rescue would take its sweet time. This was almost nice – all things considered.

~end

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby. 

Day 2: That’s Not Exactly Folgers In Your Cup

Warnings: Smut (Oral) and Bad Language Words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N- Hello! I hope y’all are as excited about this holiday special collaboration made with @what-is-your-plan-today​ and @jennmurawski13​ as I am. It all blossomed from early morning (for me) ramblings and we decided to do it. 2020 has been a hell of a year and we all needed a little something to smile about. And come on, whats funnier then imagining Ransom Drysdale trying to be domestic? Plus it gives some feels. There will be smut written in occasionally, so please heed the warnings to each individual fic. 

Also, we are alternating, but will reblog on our accounts, if you don’t want to miss any, send a message and we will get you added to the tag list. Happy Reading. 

Series Masterlist

Ransom woke before you, the early morning light streaming through the window cut right across his face and he swore into the pillow while rolling to his back to sling his arm over his eyes to cut off the annoyance. He was almost there, back in that blissful state of unconsciousness when his body took over and insisted he get up. Any further attempt to return to sleep was now disrupted when natural morning urges overtook him and he sighed while lifting his arm to let the light return, blinking rapidly to adjust to the the most inconvenient thing to plague him at this hour. 

Next to him you were still asleep, soundly, peacefully which made him scowl at you for being so blissfully unconscious. He envied you in this moment as he rolled up from bed and trudged into the bathroom to take care of himself. Afterwards once he came back out, he grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants and slipped them on. You would be waking up soon, and there was one thing you always wanted before anything else, even before you were pregnant, it was a must have or else. Now you valued this all that much more since his child seemed to just suck all the energy from you, savored it more then he savored his biscoff cookies. 

Your coffee. And hell be damned if you didn't get your coffee. 

Now typically you make it, liking a certain amount of scoops to get you through the morning, touch of cream and a little sprinkle of sugar just to take the bite out of it. Ransom has seen you make it countless times in the morning, your over sized tee hanging around your thighs and hair piled atop your head. Your eyes would be closed while you measured, you just knew it down to the action how you wanted it. He never tried to mess with your perfection. In fact he learned early on to stay out of your way the first twenty minutes in the morning unless he was taking care of you between the sheets. That was the only equivalent you were accepting of in the morning. 

This morning Ransom felt a twinge of affection now that he was awake, seeing you shift into the middle of the bed and pull his pillow into your chest like you were hugging it. Gently he leaned over and brushed the flyaway hair from your forehead and pressed a kiss there before leaving the bedroom to head downstairs. 

Typically you just made Ransom a coffee too, it became almost a habit for him to want it, although he didn't need it, not like you did. But yea, he craved it and decided that this morning, since he was already up, he would just do it himself. Regardless of the fact that you had forbidden him to touch the coffee maker for some reason. Which fuck it was in his kitchen, if he wanted to use it he was going to. 

“Can't be that hard, dump some grounds in, put in the fucking water.” He flipped off the top of the coffee maker to see if you pre-filled it the night before, sometimes you did. Last night was not the case though. Reached into the cupboard for the precious Starbucks coffee and opened the bag to breathe in the strong coffee bean aroma. Okay, he had to admit it was a pleasant smell, and already he could feel himself feel a bit more upbeat. He ended up setting it aside and searched everywhere for the measuring spoon, leaving a slight kitchen destruction in his path of open drawers and stuff piled on top of the kitchen counter, he just eyeballed dumping the coffee in. Completely forgetting the filter in the process. 

Impatiently he waited, fingers tapping on the counter as the drip drip drip started. “It would be faster just to have someone deliver.” He muttered to himself, contemplating how much you would protest possibly hiring a housekeeper. Fran was decent… enough. He thought to himself. Aside from her being the most annoying woman his grandfather had hired. Of course she could be useful when the occasion called for it. Like now, how fucking easy would it be if someone was just delivering you two the coffee in bed.  

Already he knew you probably weren't going to go for it, it was fine for Harlan according to you because he needed the help. In fact when he brought it up, your eyes rolled and you scoffed at him. “You are kidding right Ransom? You are a grown ass man, do it yourself.” 

 When the coffee maker finally gave the last spurt, and sounded exhausted, Ransom shook his head from the memory and turned to pull down two mugs and proceeded to pour into each. It was black, blacker than usual. He sniffed it, and needless to say it was STRONG. 

Ransom just kept going, grabbing your half and half, as well as the small bit of sugar you like, he stirred it all together and brought it back up the stairs. 

You were just waking up when he reentered the bedroom. Your arms lifting up to hit lightly against the headboard and your wiggling fingers while giving a yawn, you inhaled the strong scent of coffee and immediately pushed to sit. 

“What is that? Is that what I think it is?” Your eyes widened as Ransom set the mug down on your nightstand with a roll of his eyes. 

“Well good morning to you to Princess.” he stated as you grinned at him, reaching over for the mug while he sat on the end of the bed. You didn't dare take a sniff as if to check, not with the way Ransom was watching you intently and you just took a sip. 

It hit your mouth with a ferocity that brought tears to brim to your eyes, and your taste buds screamed in protest at the gritty black death you were forcing yourself to swallow, doing everything you could to keep from spitting it out. You were just thankful that this morning you were dealing with morning sickness, yet. Somehow you forced the bitter liquid down your throat and tried to keep a straight face, as you were touched with Ransom’s act of kindness, something he was still working on. But there was no hiding your expression, as hard as you tried to keep it from Ransom.

His head dropped when he saw your face. “Fucking terrible isn’t it? See this is why you should let me hire a housekeeper.” 

“Ransom, it tastes just fine. And we don’t need a housekeeper. This house isn't all that big.” You rolled your eyes as you showed him you were right by taking another sip of his coffee, forcing a smile on your face. 

“I always had a housekeeper, and I turned out fine.” Ransom rebutted while moving to a stand. “Put that cup down. You can make some later.” He instructed and you were quick to set it aside, relieved not to have to pretend anymore. Ransom yanked the blankets away, making you tumble a bit in bed with a yelp. 

“Ransom! What are you doing?” You looked down at him as he grasped your ankles, sliding you down the bed while he moved to kneel at the end of the bed, smirking at you. 

“Cant make coffee worth shit. But I can do this, and I know you like this just as much.” 

He was right, the man had a mouth on him that you had a hard time resisting, even when he was pissing you off. 

Fingers delved under the band of your sleep shorts and slipped them off before draping your legs over his shoulders and pressing hungry kisses along the inside of your thigh. “Okay, you have me there, maybe I do. I'm a little scared to see what you did down in the kitchen now.” 

“Nothing that can't be cleaned up.” He looked up at you, and you opened your mouth to say something about how you were going to have to clean it when he let his mouth press against your cunt and his tongue bury between the folds. 

That effectively distracted you, making your words stutter from the tip of your tongue into a moan while he lapped at you, shifting between quick flicks to flattening his tongue and dragging through your folds to suck at that bundle of nerves that made you gasp his name in a needy way. Your hands shoot down to twist into his hair, holding onto his scalp while he takes you apart with his mouth. Toes curled into his upper back when he teased you further, your hips starting to rock to meet the darts of his tongue in your clenching channel. You let yourself fall back into the pillows and quit trying to reason with him or make him feel better. You just let yourself experience this new attempt at treating you.

“Please Ransom, I want to come now.” You whined out while his fingers flexed on your hips, keeping you mostly pinned in place although your body was rippling to arch and grind into him. Your heels firmly pressing into his back in an attempt to lever yourself although he was firm in his hold. Unwilling to let you move just yet. Ransom sucked folds of flesh into his mouth, the lower part of his face slick when he lifted to smirk at you, and shifted a heavy forearm across your hips, careful not to press against your stomach. 

“How badly do you want to come, Princess?” He licked at his lips, brighter pink with use then normal and you glared at him down your body. 

“Considering I am growing you spawn in me, you think you would treat me better.” Trying your hand at using guilt to get him into giving you your orgasm, he let his fingers stretch your open, pressing into your warmth. 

“You know I love you, and only treat you fucking good.” His fingers curled to stroke your fluttering walls, enticing you to come for him with every stroke against your sweet spot. “Come on Beautiful, come undone for me so we can start our day.” 

You pressed to arch but he was sure to keep you held down. You started to see stars peppering your eyesight and your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp as you came for him, that rush enveloped you to send tingles all along your nerves, and your voice finally broke out in a soft cry of his name while your toes dug into his flexing back, and fingers twisted in the sheets in a weak attempt to stay grounded. 

It didn't stop him, he kept lapping at your sensitive bud, sucking and driving you to another with steady strokes of his finger. “That was just one... you know we are not stopping Princess until you have had a couple more.”  

Ransom couldn't make coffee to save his life, but he certainly knew how to make you come more than just the one time.

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part IX

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The next morning brought the day of the ritual itself, and Geralt found himself woefully unprepared for its arrival.

Jaskier was nervous. Geralt could tell by the on-again-off-again chatter, the way Jaskier would launch suddenly into a diatribe and then go suspiciously silent for the next twenty minutes. Their breakfast was stilted, and Geralt tried to make it quick, not wanting to linger in the tavern any longer than needed. The air within it felt thick with the years that had passed between them, and the words Geralt couldn’t bring himself to say.

He wanted to perform the ritual outside of the city, though they probably didn’t have to. Ida had said that the place needed to be of personal or magical significance, not both, but Geralt figured that going overboard couldn’t hurt. The area where they’d been attacked by Filavandrel was heavy with magic; Geralt could still remember the way his medallion had hummed against his chest in the great circle of stones. That was the place, he knew, where they would be most likely to find success.

If Jaskier even let him go through with it at all.

They walked the path as they had so many years ago, through the craggy valley of plenty to the base of the mountains. It was sunny, and the air tasted like summer had firmly arrived. The sky overhead was shockingly blue, an uncanny match to Jaskier’s eyes. The valley was rich with the scent of wildflowers, almost overpowering, and every patch of grass seemed to hold a shock of vibrant color.

It took them several hours to get to the spot, but Geralt knew instantly when they arrived, even without the gentle vibrations of his medallion. It looked exactly the same as before, as if even nature itself had refused to go to work against it. Jaskier spoke from behind him, leaning against one of the large stones. “This is it, right?” he asked, looking around. “I’m almost certain I remember you punching that faun just there.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “He had it coming.”

Jaskier grinned back at him, but then the smile dipped off of his face as he glanced around. “So, uh. How do we do this?”

Geralt shrugged off his pack, dropping it in the middle of the clearing. “It shouldn’t take much work,” he said, digging through it for the oathstone and the moonflax ribbons. Once he held each of the objects in his hands, he turned back to face Jaskier, and then stopped. Jaskier was looking at the objects with something like trepidation, and Geralt felt a swoop of anxiety in his gut. “It’s just a few words,” Geralt continued, hesitantly.

Jaskier wavered, shifting his weight back and forth on his heels. “Geralt, are you—are you sure about this? We still don’t know all that much about this ritual. What if it hurts you?”

It was a possibility. Ida had said that Jaskier wouldn’t be at risk, but he’d received no such assurances about his own safety. Geralt shrugged, and offered his hand to Jaskier, the pale oathstone resting in his palm. “It’s worth it,” he said simply.

Jaskier stared at him for another long moment, radiating hesitation. Finally, he stepped forward and took Geralt’s hand in his.

Letting out a barely audible sigh, Geralt pressed their palms more closely together, the oathstone warming to their touch. “This shouldn’t take long,” he said again, shaking out the ribbons so they lay flat. Gently, he draped them across their joined hands, the ends falling to brush the grass at their feet. This was what it would look like, he realized. It was like any old handfasting ceremony—all he had to do was say the words, and he and Jaskier would be bound together. The ribbons were soft against his skin, almost as soft as Jaskier’s sweaty palm in his. He paused, his free hand brushing across the fabric of the blue ribbon. All he had to do was wrap it gently around Jaskier’s exposed wrist, and then—

“Stop.”

Geralt paused, fingers twitching. He looked up from the ribbons to find Jaskier staring at them, his face tight and horrified. “What?” he asked, stomach dropping. Jaskier’s grip on his fingers would have been bruising to anyone but him.

“Geralt, we can’t… we can’t do this.” Jaskier stuttered, swallowing. His eyes finally lifted from the ribbons to find Geralt’s, and the pain and distress he saw there made his free hand itch for his sword.

“Why not?” he demanded, a little sharply. He was so close, and then he could live the rest of his long life with Jaskier at his side. Even if he wasn’t Geralt’s, it would be enough to have him live. He only had to finish the binding, and Geralt had half a mind to blurt out the words right then and see if they would stick. Jaskier didn’t deserve that, didn’t deserve to be bound to someone like Geralt without asking for it, but Geralt could see the grey in Jaskier’s hair and the lines at the corners of his mouth as he frowned. This was his only chance, the only way he knew of to keep Jaskier from leaving him all too soon.

Jaskier winced at his tone, his free hand clenching at his side. “I—I wasn’t sure if you knew. But you mustn’t—Geralt, this isn’t just any spell. It’s a soul binding ritual.”

Geralt forced his breathing to remain regular, though his chest was tight with panic. “I know, Jaskier. My life force tied to yours, extending your life in the process. That’s the whole point.”

Jaskier bit his lip and took a deep breath. It shuddered a bit on the exhale. “Geralt,” he said, face scrunched up as if expecting a blow, “it’s a marriage ritual.”

Even though he’d been expecting it, Geralt couldn’t help the feeling of defeat—of grief—that swept through him. That was it then. Jaskier would not only refuse to complete the ritual and die, but he’d also probably never want to speak to Geralt again. He wouldn’t be there in the winters, singing by the fireside and telling Ciri stories and jokes to pass the time. He wouldn’t whisper terrible little things about other bards when he dragged Geralt along to those horrible competitions in Novigrad. He wouldn’t sit quietly on the other side of the fire and offer Geralt soft smiles in the evenings, as he wrote about their adventures. He would die, and Geralt would have to live on with a hole in his chest that would never heal. He’d thought it was painful, to not have Jaskier the way he desired, or to skirt the subject of losing him, but this. Just knowing that it was inevitable now, facing it head on, made his gut lurch sickeningly.

The soft fabric of the binding ribbon felt terribly fragile in his grip.

He was reaching out before he could stop himself, taking Jaskier’s shoulder with the hand not still holding the oathstone between them. He started talking without knowing what he was even going to say, only knowing that there was a small chance that he might be able to salvage this if he could just say the right words. “Please,” he said urgently. Jaskier looked taken aback by his sudden intensity, but he couldn’t stop. “Please, just—It doesn’t matter, does it? I’m sorry, I should have—I know, I should have told you, I’m sorry. But it doesn’t have to be that, it can mean whatever you want, or nothing. We can still—”

Jaskier interrupted him, eyes wide in shock. “You mean you knew?” He was so beautiful, Geralt thought despairingly; even now he wanted badly to reach his hand up and cup Jaskier’s jaw, to trace his thumb across the red blush spilling across his cheekbones. Jaskier gasped, surprise and confusion warring across his features. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t think it mattered.” Geralt stammered through the lie, swallowing. “How did you know?”

Jaskier’s brow furrowed as he answered, his eyes roving over Geralt’s face as if looking for answers there. “It’s—There’s a poem. A piece I studied years ago, when I was learning to translate Elder at Oxenfurt. Something Silvandrel said reminded me of it. So the stars may hear your oath, was I think how he phrased it. The translation isn’t exact, the word at the end can mean oath or promise, but also has... romantic connotations. Usually we translate it as ‘adoration.’ But I wasn’t sure, until I saw the ribbons. It’s, I mean,” and here he flushed, his nervous rambling breaking off for a moment as he floundered, palm shifting in Geralt’s. “It’s all quite familiar, isn’t it? We’re only missing the floral crowns.”

Geralt pushed the words past the lump forming in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I should have told you, I just thought—” He stopped, at a loss for how to continue.

Jaskier brushed over the statement anyhow, looking away from Geralt and down at their still half-bound hands. He laughed, a brittle, bitter sound that set Geralt’s teeth on edge. “I’m just surprised that you knew,” he said, the shoulder under Geralt’s other hand shifting in a slight shrug. “I mean, I assumed that if you knew you would never…” He shook his head, looking back at Geralt with a tight expression. “Silly of me. I should have known it wouldn’t matter to you, after all. I know you would never honestly consider marrying me.”

They were standing so close, hands clasped tight together between them, barely a foot apart. Jaskier offered him a slight smile, as if trying to share a joke, but this close Geralt could see how twisted it was. Jaskier’s eyes were wet, and his expression was pinched, mouth tight as if he was in pain. And suddenly it was as if all of Geralt’s other concerns were smothered by the desperate imperative to wipe that look from Jaskier’s face. “Why not?” he asked again, defensive on Jaskier’s behalf, reckless in the face of the incomprehensible bereftness on the bard’s face.

Jaskier’s eyes widened. Geralt could hear how fast his heart was racing, and even if he couldn’t he would have been able to feel it under the hand that rested on Jaskier’s shoulder. “Well,” he stammered, clearly bewildered. “You wouldn’t—You’ve never, you’ve never wanted me. Like that. I know that, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Geralt took a half step closer, so that their joined hands were nearly pressed to his chest. This close, Jaskier had to look up at him, an ever so slight lift of his chin. Geralt took a breath, Jaskier’s fingers just brushing the thin fabric of his shirt. “I’ve always wanted you,” he said, forcing his voice to be steady. “I meant it. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“But not like that,” Jaskier argued, flustered, his free hand coming up to gesture between them. He looked near tears. “You don’t want me like that. You never have.”

“I’ll take you any way you’ll have me,” Geralt said honestly. A part of him was still crying out that this was a mistake, that he was showing his hand, that Jaskier would run when he knew the full extent of Geralt’s feelings. But Jaskier had to know that he cared. Geralt had let him carry on in doubt for so long, thinking he wasn’t loved, when nothing could be further from the truth.

Jaskier was still, staring at him. His mask was gone. Geralt could see surprise and confusion in his face, and fear too. But there was also something that made his own heart race in his chest, made a warm burst of hope crackle through Geralt’s ribcage, dangerous and heady. “You were going to marry me,” Jaskier said, voice cracking on the word marry.

“I still want to,” Geralt said softly, and summoned the courage to raise his hand up to cradle the side of Jaskier’s neck. His skin was warm, sunkissed and flushed prettily. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, if you don’t want it to.”

“What if I do want it to?” Jaskier demanded. His voice was hard, but his eyes were still damp.

“Whatever you want,” Geralt agreed. “Anything.”

Jaskier paused, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. Geralt’s eyes lowered to follow the motion compulsively, and when he glanced back up he found Jaskier looking down at his own lips. They were so close now, their still-bound hands held between their chests, sharing air. “Geralt,” Jaskier rasped, “I can’t do this unless we’re on the same page. If this isn’t going to mean… if it’s not going to be real, then I—”

“I’m in love with you,” Geralt said in a rush, and could have collapsed with the relief of it. He couldn’t help the small smile that stole across his face, even as his knees went weak at the admission. This could all go so badly, if he was reading this wrong. Even still, he felt lighter, as if speaking the words had allowed the feelings to seep past the barriers he’d built up around them.

Jaskier gasped, as if Geralt’s words had physically struck him. For a moment he just gaped, mouth opening and closing. Finally he put his free hand to his chest, pointing to himself emphatically. “With me?”

How was it possible to feel this fond of someone? It should have swallowed him whole, drowning him in a sea of affection. “For a while now, yes,” Geralt replied. “I understand if you don’t—”

Jaskier reached a hand out to grab the front of his shirt, and Geralt had time for one moment of crystalline shock before Jaskier’s mouth met his.

It was not hesitant, or gentle. Jaskier kissed him like he was trying to work himself so deep into Geralt’s mouth that he would never be able to pick all the pieces of him from his teeth. Geralt inhaled sharply at the warm touch of lips to his, and Jaskier wasted no time licking into his mouth. The hand in his shirt clenched tightly, keeping them pressed together with their bound hands awkwardly held between them.

Recovering from his shock, Geralt lifted his hand from Jaskier’s neck and finally held his cheek in his hand, like he’d been aching to the entire time. A slight tilt to Jaskier’s head changed the angle, and it was suddenly good, so good he could feel it in his toes. Jaskier made a wounded noise that Geralt eagerly swallowed. He flicked his tongue along the back of Jaskier’s teeth, and had to quickly take the bard’s weight as his knees buckled.

He lowered them to the grass carefully, separating to pant into the space between them. Jaskier laughed breathlessly as he half fell to his knees, a giddy sound that had Geralt grinning back at him. Geralt couldn’t help but lean forward and press another kiss to Jaskier’s lips, and then another, hot and sweet. Jaskier freed his fingers from where they’d been crushing Geralt’s shirt so that he could wrap his arm around the back of Geralt’s neck, pulling him in close. “You love me,” he laughed, and his eyes were so bright, Geralt could hardly breathe with it.

“I do,” he said, pressing yet another kiss to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. “You seem amenable to that.”

Jaskier made a noise that seemed caught halfway between a laugh and sob. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he confessed, voice thick. The words landed softly between them. “Since before the dragon hunt. I didn’t think you would ever—” He cut himself off, turning to bury his face in Geralt’s palm.

“Me either,” Geralt admitted, smoothing his thumb under Jaskier’s eye and catching the faint moisture there. “I mean, I didn’t think you would… want me. Like that.”

“I think I’ve been half in love with you since the beginning,” Jaskier said, chuckling wetly. “Gods, we’ve been a couple of fools, haven’t we? We wasted so much time.”

“I enjoyed it,” Geralt disagreed, a warm tingle spreading through him as Jaskier tightened his arm around his neck. “And we can still… If you still want to go through with it, we could have as much time as we want.”

Jaskier smiled, his heart beating wildly under Geralt’s palm. “So wanting to extend my lifespan wasn’t just about Ciri, then.”

Geralt huffed, ears tingling with embarrassment. “I told you that already,” he said. “I wasn’t lying about Ciri, but I didn’t start looking into the ritual because of her. I just…” And here he stopped, momentarily lost for words. Instead he pressed his lips to Jaskier’s again, before muttering, “I truly couldn’t bear the thought of living without you.”

Jaskier made a soft sound, a gentle oh of an exhale, and Geralt felt it against his lips. “Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier breathed, “you are quite the romantic.”

“Maybe,” he allowed, leaning in again. “Marry me,” he whispered, and what he meant was, Stay with me.

Jaskier surged forward to kiss him again, hard. Geralt had already lost count of how many kisses they’d exchanged in the last few minutes, but he was less and less eager to end them each time. Jaskier pulled away for just long enough to breathe a joyful, “Yes,” against Geralt’s lips. And after that they didn’t come up for air for a long, long time.

*

By the time they had gathered themselves again, the sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon, the promise of night drawing near. The ribbons had become untangled from their hands in their eagerness, the oathstone cast carelessly aside. Sheepishly, they gathered up the materials for the ritual once again, kneeling before each other in the clearing.

It was amazing, Geralt thought, that he had ever managed to keep this a secret, had ever managed to restrain himself from reaching out and taking when Jaskier was before him. The low evening sun lit his hair in fiery shades of amber and gold, disheveled from where Geralt had run his hands through it. There was a dark red mark blooming on the pale skin of his throat, and Geralt wanted to fit his mouth over it again and see if he could match his teeth to the barely-there indents still visible. He had to stop himself from leaning forward again to catch Jaskier’s mouth when their eyes met; if they didn’t do this now they would be here all night.

It was surreal, knowing that this was how it would happen, that it finally was happening. Jaskier was smiling at him, the joy radiating from him echoing the feeling in Geralt’s chest. The earthy smell of the grass that they’d crushed under them filled the air, blanketing the sweet honey scent of the wildflowers. If they’d had time, if they’d been anything like other couples, they might have made crowns of those flowers to rest on each other’s heads. But Geralt didn’t want to wait, and he sensed Jaskier’s own impatience in the way he shifted forward, trousers stained green where his knees had been pressed into the dirt for too long.

It was time.

“Will you say it?” Geralt asked, breathless, anticipation bleeding into terror into longing. Jaskier’s eyebrows came together just slightly, and Geralt could see the question in the slight parting of his mouth, the forward twitch of his chin. So clear to him, after all these years, because this was Jaskier. Jaskier who he loved. “The poem,” he clarified.

Jaskier breathed in slightly, knelt before him in the grass. In the place where their lives had first been twined inexorably together, by choice rather than fate. Jaskier’s voice was as soft, but it rang through the clearing nonetheless, refracting off of the stones. “I will make my vows to thee,” he began, offering out his palm, “where ancient stone hears my voice.” Geralt pressed his own hand down to meet Jaskier’s, the smooth surface of the oathstone held safely in the cage of their fingers. “And the earth will know of my devotion.” The stone was warm against Geralt’s palm, and he didn’t know if it was from some magic or just the warmth of their joined hands. He didn’t think there was really a difference.

Reaching beside him with his free hand, he pulled the ribbon—blue, white, and gold braided carefully together—from his pocket. The white seemed to glow in the twilight, stark against their skin. “I will bind myself to thee in silver strands of moonlight,” Jaskier continued, and Geralt began to twist the ribbon around his own forearm, down and around their hands, back up around Jaskier’s wrist. Once done, he tied the ends together over the top, the knot resting in the hollow between their thumbs. “And the stars will know my adoration,” Jaskier breathed. Geralt looked up to find Jaskier watching him, eyes over bright. Geralt reached out, his hand curving around the back of Jaskier’s neck, thumb resting just under his jaw. He pulled them together, until Jaskier’s forehead rest against his own.

“In a court of our own making, I will make our halves whole,” Jaskier said, his breath ghosting against Geralt’s lips like a promise. “My hand to your hand, my heart to yours.”

“Me lámh le do lámh, me cáerme le do cáerme,” Geralt murmured, and then closed the distance one last time.

~

Last chapter before the epilogue! Truly amazing that this thing is almost done. I know for yall it’s been little over a week, but this has been a big project for me for the better part of a year, so it’s a little bittersweet to be wrapping it up! I’m very happy with how it all turned out, and I’m so grateful to everyone for your wonderful feedback. This chapter’s art is by @silvertonguelover​ and I couldn’t think of a better way to finish off the main story. Thank you!

tags: @whereismymonsterlover

[kaz-therat]

Cold Fingers

Diluc x Reader

BREATHING FOR THIS MAN GOOD LORD

May or May not have been listening to a Diluc playlist while writing this

ALSO I HAVE A HEADCANNON THAT PYRO VISIONS ARE JUST NATURALLY WARMER THEN ANYONE ELSE

Word count: 1.5k

(hehe i hope you guys like it)

The wind blew harshly against the mountains of Dragonspine as you followed the trail. Snow began littering the ground, getting caught in your hair. You quickly brushed it away and continued forward. You had no idea where you were but you hoped it would end soon.

You went on a small mission that turned into you getting seriously lost. The reason you went out on this mission was to get some flowers for Diluc so he could make a new wine. So he asked his best worker, which just so happened to be you. He asked you to be back yesterday afternoon, but you couldn’t even find what he was looking for so you decided to turn back and accept defeat. Thats when you got your trails mixed up and helplessly lost. Diluc was gonna need to find another hard worker to replace you because there was no way you were gonna make it back before you froze to death.

You must have been losing your mind because you swore someone was calling out to you. You looked down the trail to see someone running towards you. You yelped as you were tackled to the ground.

“You had me worried sick!” A voice said holding you tightly. “God you’re freezing.” They said pulling you up off the snow. Blue eyes met yours.

“Kaeya. Jesus.” You mumbled huddling close to him to get warm. He wrapped an arm around you and guided you to Mondstadt.

“How’d you get all the way out here? You had us worried sick.” He asked keeping a firm arm around you.

“I was looking for a flower for Diluc.” You replied. “I got lost and now i’m here.” Kaeya clicked his tongue. He was obviously pissed off.

“Just keep moving. We’re almost there.” He said, his voice seemingly getting faint. He let out a quiet wail as you collapsed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You awoke to a bird chirping at your window. You groaned and sat up weakly. You looked outside to see the bright sun shining in your eyes. You squinted against it to see the statue in front of the church. You quickly pulled yourself out bed and down the stairs, rushing past Kaeya in your kitchen.

“Woah, y/n!” He called, stopping you in your tracks. You turned around to see him staring at you. “You’re safe. Calm down.”

“Did you bring me home?” You asked walking to sit down in your chair. He nodded.

“Yeah. You were freezing so I bundled you up and stayed downstairs in case you needed me.” He explained before feeling at your forehead. “You’re still cold. Let’s sit you down and wrap you up.” He said picking you up and carrying you to the living room.

“I can walk on my own Kaeya.” You protested, but he wouldn’t set you down.”

He set you down and went off to grab your blankets. As he just disappeared upstairs, your door busted open. You flinched as it slammed shut. Diluc rushed into the living room and hugged you tightly.

“You had me so worried, I thought you had died.” He mumbled. You sat there shocked. Diluc was never one to really let his emotions out, let alone hug someone. You gently pat his back.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry anyone.” You replied quietly. “I couldn’t find that flower you wanted either.”

“Forget the flower. I could’ve lost you.” He whimpered. You blinked a couple times. Surely he meant his best worker. Diluc was never interested in having a lover, or even the slightest bit interested in a person. He was always so focused on his work.

“Well I’m here now, so there’s no need to be so emotional.” You said softly. He pulled himself off of you hesitantly and nodded. “Um. Kaeya went upstairs to get some blankets because i’m still frozen.”

As if on que, Kaeya came down with a bundle of blankets. He threw a look at Diluc that wasn’t necessarily kind but it wasn’t too aggressive either. Diluc straightened up and nodded towards Kaeya.

“Nice to see you can finally make it.” Kaeya muttered as he draped a blanket over you. A scowl held on his face. You knew Kaeya and Diluc haven’t gotten along for the longest time, but you had no idea why.

“I had to close down the Tavern. You know that takes some time.” The red head spit out. Venom was in his words. “You know that can take a while. I’m here now.”

You shrunk into your blankets. “Guys. There’s no need. I’m ok-“

“This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t send them off on your stupid errands.” Kaeya snapped. They were completely zoned into each other.

“I didn’t expect them to get lost. It was only a half a day trip.” Diluc responded. Kaeya scoffed. “I didn’t ask for you to get on my ass about how I treat my workers.”

“They are more important then those workers. You of all people should know that.” He stated it so firmly before storming out.

The two of you sat in silence for a while. His hand clenched then unclenched, only to clench again. You watched him carefully as he tried to calm down. The sun had began to set and the room grew darker. A small candle was your only source of light to stare at the male n

“I’m s-“

“There’s no reason to apologize.” You cut him off. “It was my fault for not paying attention and getting lost. You can’t control that.” You patted down on the couch next to you. “Sit. You’ve had a long day.”

Diluc hesitantly sat down and looked down at his hands. “I sent you off on my stupid errand when i should have done it myself.” You gently grabbed his gloved hand.

“It’s fine. You are always so busy, I just wanted to help you.” You replied. He smiled a bit. “Just relax a bit. I’ll be back at work tomorrow. So you have nothing to worry about.”

“Alright. You’ve convinced me.” Diluc said laying back into the couch. You smiled a bit and sat there in your bundle of blankets. You still were cold but it wasn’t as bad anymore.

As you sat there in silence, you began to fall asleep. Your head rested on the back of the couch and closed your eyes. Diluc shifted a bit and he pulled you on him to rest on his chest. You hummed softly, glad to feel warmth that wasn’t from the blankets. He gently ran his fingers through your hair and began talking. He must’ve thought you were already asleep.

“You know y/n, I was so worried I lost you. I know I said it earlier but i mean it. You mean a lot to me as a person. And I hate saying all this sappy stuff, but I just need to get it off my chest.” He rambled. “I remember the day you came to me begging for a job. I was so hesitant before you looked like you never touched alcohol in your life before. But I’m glad I did. Because now I know you. How you light up when a dog crosses your path. Or how you get upset when you can’t feed everyone lunch. Or even when you’re upset because you messed something up. And god it hurts to see you cry. Because I love you y/n. From the first time i laid eyes on you I knew I would. I just can’t tell you that because i’m scared you won’t feel the same. I’m scared you’ll leave me, like everyone has.”

You stopped breathing when he stopped talking. Sure you thought Diluc was cute and sure you may have developed feelings for him as you worked alongside of him. But to hear him say it really set you off.

“Diluc.” You mumbled. He froze. “Don’t say anything. I need to do something.” You said sitting up.

“I’m sorry I-“

“Didn’t i just say hush?” You grumbled before hugging him tightly. “Just let me enjoy this before you change your mind.” You felt him hug you back.

“I meant everything I said.” He said into your hair. “I really do love you.”

“I heard you the first time.” You laughed and sat back to look at him. “I may or may not like you too.” You teased.

He smiled a bit before leaning in slightly. “May I?” He asked quietly. You nodded.

“I thought that was obvious.” You laughed. He leaned in all the way and kissed you softly. It was a sweet and sensual kiss. He clearly meant what he said and wanted to show it. His hands pulled you closer and rubbed your sides. He pulled away first to look at you.

“Well?” He asked quietly.

“I think I have the world’s richest man in my house.” You said laughing. “But at least he love me.”

[ushidoux]

Look at Me, Senpai - Hinata x Reader x Daichi (Pt. 2)

Summary: Reader starts to see Hinata in a different light once he returns from Brazil. It turns out Hinata’s inability to give up isn’t just something restricted to the court. (~1.9k words)

Warnings: fem!reader, nsfw, infidelity, a touch of the yandere

A/N: Man even my evil heart was a little bothered by this lmfao. Turns out it needs another part, so expect that sometime this week?

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

---

“You can stay if you’d like to.”

You paused for a split second in the middle of redressing yourself, your gaze settling on Hinata’s impressive body, now glowing with the thinnest layer of sweat and perched on the edge of the bed, maybe a little bit too eagerly. While his voice remained steady and neutral, his eyes showed just a hint of pleading, the sentiment also threaded in the way his knuckles whitened as he steadied himself in place. He appeared as though he were holding himself back from saying more or doing more. 

For a moment you were almost angry - in fact, furious that he would suggest that you’d stay over on the very first night, almost like he thought he was somebody important to you, like you weren’t simply taking out some sort of repressed frustration out on him.

However, the extremely recent memory of being folded and pressed into the plush hotel mattress, legs dangled over his shoulders, fingers tangled in his wild hair, filled so wide and so deep that you knew you’d probably think about it for the rest of your life if all of this somehow miraculously blew over, flashed in your mind and your irritation was replaced with another wave of guilt. 

No wonder he spoke with this sort of unchecked boldness. You had allowed it. He probably could smell the lust on you from the very moment he lay eyes on you at the restaurant.

You left the hotel without another word, but when he sent you a message to see if you had gotten back okay, you begrudgingly accepted that you would see him again. You couldn’t help it.

And so you continued to meet, with the securing of your engagement ring in a tiny pocket in your purse a new routine before you entered Hinata’s warm embrace for a couple of hours many more nights than not. Hinata, as usual, was all too happy to receive you, his brown eyes lighting up the night. In the dark, whenever he closed his eyes and let himself focus on your staccato breaths as he pulsed inside you, you were his and his only.

Soon your encounters progressed beyond you ending up crumpled up in an overstimulated mess to candid conversations over earnestly made and surprisingly decent meals. Hinata was a very good listener and hung on every word you said, making you realize how little you expressed yourself in the daytime.

Even creating art was different when he was around. You started to bring your sketchbook with you when you visited now that you didn’t solely leave under the cover of night, doodling quietly in the setting sun that matched the locks of his hair as you sat on his couch. The first time you’d decided to do something other than fuck for hours, he’d asked you what you did for a living. 

“I, uh, draw.”

The shout of genuine awe Shoyo let out was almost overwhelmingly embarrassing.

“What??? You get to do that all day?! Incredible! Do you paint too? What do you draw? Still life? Scenes? Can you draw me?” As Shoyo asked these questions, he only inched closer and closer to the couch, crowding your space and while you still retreated from him naturally, you could feel your heart drawing closer.

It had been literal years since someone was excited about what you produced, and while Daichi appreciated your creations around the house, you could tell he thought of them nothing more than decoration, not expressions of your soul.

Everything you make is beautiful, was your fiance’s compliment of choice but what you would have preferred to hear was Everything you make is meaningful.

But you were Daichi’s little housewife, not an artist.

Like his little pet, Daichi continued to kiss you on the forehead before the crack of dawn before he went off to work and drape a protective arm over you late into the night once he returned, and you continued to pretend you never ever took off your engagement ring and work through wedding planning as though you weren’t making a mockery of your wedding vows night after night.

The ninth - or maybe eleventh time (?), you’d lost count - you met with Hinata, you asked him a bold question of your own.

“S-Shoyo..,” you started, trying your very best to ignore the winding coil in your belly as you tried to talk past Hinata’s deft fingers pumping in and out of your quivering cunt. 

“Mm?” His eyes were on you but his fingers continued to move, making it hard for you to remember how to formulate what you wanted to say, and it didn’t help that his other arm hooked around your waist pressed you against him just a little too firmly as usual.

“Why-,” your breath halted as he found the correct spot and you closed your eyes and bit your lip, but you pushed through the pleasure to speak, “why did, or.. why do you like me?”

“I don’t know.” His answer was both shocking and unsurprisingly candid. “I don’t think it matters, though.”

The glint in his eyes and the wide grin as he took in your varied expressions of pleasure reminded you that it truly didn’t matter why, and especially not for someone like him.

“Stay still for me, ____,” he whispered, diverting the subject, as he kissed your mouth softly to put your questions to rest then planted kisses in a trail down your belly to your lower lips.

---

A few months pass and your wedding preparations slow almost to a halt.

You don’t admit to yourself that it’s because you know now that you are falling out of love with Daichi and you ignore the fact that Hinata continues to permeate your mind almost all the time. You can’t exactly say that you’re in love with him because you aren’t. After all, you have enough self-awareness to understand what it means to be in love with the idea of someone new and to be seen as somebody different. 

When Hinata lets you know he’ll now be traveling for matches, he kisses your forehead, caresses your face and assures you he’ll be back soon to see you. He sends sweet texts and pictures as if he really is your boyfriend, and it’s sick how quickly you react to your phone every time it buzzes or how you now wake up as early as Daichi to walk around your neighborhood as the sun rises just so you can hear Hinata’s voice on the phone.

You’re not in love with him though. You could never fall that quickly.

As you start a pot of coffee before putting on your running shoes, Daichi cups your face in his hands and presses his lips to yours, pulling back to look at you with adoration.

“What could I do without you?” He says before he goes. Your heart wrenches.

Your frustration mounts when you find yourself recreating Hinata’s features on paper and considering the complements of colors that would best convey his spirit. You tear out the sketch, crumpling up the paper in a ball before you toss it across the room and now you are crying because what the fuck are you actually doing?

Were you really this fickle?

You were - when your front door knocks in the early evening and it’s Hinata, not Daichi at your doorstep (because of course he wouldn’t knock to enter his own home), your first impulse is to hiss Whythefuckareyouhereareyouaninsanepersonleaveimmediately but when he says he missed you, you instead find yourself melting into strong, anxious arms.

And you forget that Daichi sometimes comes home before 7pm when Hinata hoists you up so that your legs wrap around his waist. You forget that this is your and Daichi’s living space while you are entirely consumed in Hinata’s kiss. You forget that the dining room is a place where you and your fiancé share meals together when Hinata bends you over the oak table, drags down your pants and panties so quickly you hear them tear, and enters you impatiently at full length and girth. He lets out a sigh as he settles inside you, and as you feel his cock pulsate within you, you forget the fact that Hinata is now pounding into you with reckless abandon like a cheap whore and that the legs of the table are slowly scraping along your wood floors, threatening to leave marks.

You can’t come up with the last movie you watched on the living room couch with Daichi when Hinata is laid across it, his face contorted in pleasure as your head bobs up and down his saliva coated shaft.

When Hinata is fucking you against the wall just beside your bedroom door, you’re unable to think about what it would mean for Daichi to find you and Hinata marking up every part of your home with your infidelity. All you can hear are his soft grunts with every upward thrust and all you focus on is the way you are filled so completely by him, how warm you feel and how it feels to hold on to him for dear life.

“You feel so, so good, ___,” Hinata whispers as his forehead presses to the hard surface behind you and he pushes even deeper, forcing another moan out of you that intensifies when he bites down on the soft flesh of your shoulder.

“S-Shoyo…”

“P-please be mine,” he suddenly begs, and you’re horrified, but at that very moment your coil snaps and your entire body clenches around him, your arms, legs, the walls of your vagina, your fingers, your desires… and then he comes as well and you can feel him with every jet that coats your insides.

You’re limp in his arms and he leans further in to keep you even steadier against the wall so that you don’t slip out of his grasp. His face is sweaty and sticky and he’s no longer smiling. His eyes are dark and desperate and you truly don’t understand why he wants you so badly but you know he won’t tell you because really does it matter?

Your heart all but stops.

This is wrong and evil and all types of awful but his eyes…

“Please, ___?”

Your mouth falters. Your breathing is heavy and even though there’s a haze clouding your thoughts, you still have enough panic to cut through the dizziness of it all as your heart now thumps rapidly in your chest, fueled by the adrenaline running through your veins.

What could you even promise him? You didn’t have time to take your ring off this time, and you weren’t completely sure you wanted to. It would mean a sort of defeat, that you really were this type of woman who played with others’ feelings to fill her own emptying heart.

You could feel Hinata growing soft inside you and him inching even closer to you as though he couldn’t bear to feel your body rejecting his.

You were still at a loss for words, and your eyes finally flitted over to the front door and maybe for a split second, you actually hoped Daichi would see you and make the decision, any decision for you. Anything that would end this nightmare of watching Hinata’s façade start to crumble before you.

“Dammit, ____.” Hinata’s voice suddenly breaks, and he pulls back to you and you steadily find yourself standing alone on your own two feet and look at him to see those eyes shining bright with tears.

He knows what you’re going to say before you say it, and you don’t want to break his heart, but you have anyway.

“Shoyo, I’m getting married.”

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 24: The Rubber Stamp

Summary: “It seemed that every time someone was at the door, Jamie was confronted with a disaster. (...) He had no desire to answer it and whatever trouble it might bring.”

Read on AO3

Read chp 24 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, masterlist, next

a/n: I'm hardcore procrastinating right now, so here's a next day update! This chapter picks up on the same day as the last chapter. Hope you enjoy and thanks so much for reading <3

Chapter 24: The Rubber Stamp

There was a solid knock at the door, three raps showing no particular urgency but also leaving no room for Jamie to pretend he hadn’t heard. It seemed that every time someone was at the door, Jamie was confronted with a disaster. First it had been the mailman that had resulted in Claire crying in his arms over never being able to go home, and then it was Jenny… being Jenny— twice. He worried at first that it was his sister back again to stir up even more trouble, except the knock was most certainly not his sister’s style of ringing the bell like a maniac. Still, he had no desire to answer it and whatever trouble it might bring. He wanted to stay wrapped up in his fantasy with his faerie forever. 

At the sound outside the door, Claire jerked her head up from where it had been laid on his shoulder. They were having a lazy Sunday afternoon, sitting on the couch in quiet companionship after having finished up their chapter of Lord of the Rings. Claire had been just slightly dozing at his side when the sound disturbed their peace. 

“Dinna fash,” he said quietly as she shifted a bit so he could stand, “stay here.”

As he made his way to the entryway, he could sense his stubborn faerie getting up and following behind him. He stopped in front of the big oak door and Claire pressed herself behind him. He shot a glance over his shoulder to see her peeking curiously around his side. 

“Sassenach,” he said patiently, “why dinna ye go wait in the other room?” 

She shook her head stubbornly.  

Jamie rolled her eyes and decided not to argue with her. (He was beginning to miss the early days of easy compliance— not that he wanted her to be as timid as she used to be, he just should have enjoyed telling her what to do while he’d had the chance). She seemed content enough to mostly hide herself behind him, so maybe she wouldn’t be visible to whoever was at the door. 

He unlocked it and pulled it open a crack. 

Outside stood none other than his Godfather, Murtagh Fitzgibbons, looking particularly dour under his bushy beard. As soon as the man caught sight of Jamie, he grumbled, “took ye long enough.”

“Murtagh!” Jamie exclaimed, feeling the rush of fondness he always did at the sight of his godfather, “what are you doin’ here?” 

The only thing lacking from the expression on Murtagh’s face was an eye-roll. “Care tae explain why yer sister is bletherin’ on in my ear every day and night for the past week about how her brother has taken up wi’ a trollop and gone off the deep end? Mind,” he shot a look to the side of Jamie that made his eyes go wide, and Jamie felt a sinking feeling in his gut that his godfather had caught sight of Claire peeking around him, “I wouldna have been inclined tae believe her if not for the fact that I havna heard from ye. And now I see… ye do have... company.” 

Murtagh gave a nod at Jamie’s side, where he knew Claire must have been showing herself. 

Jamie let out a sigh and gave into the urge to check behind him. Claire had drifted forward and was hovering at his side, looking out the cracked door with huge doe eyes. 

“This is Murtagh, your…?” she spoke up, addressing Jamie. 

“Aye, my Godfather,” Jamie said, reluctantly accepting the unplanned meeting, “well I suppose introductions are in order. Murtagh, this is Claire.” 

“Hello, lass,” Murtagh said, politely enough. He held out his hand, saying “so you’re…” 

“The trollop,” she answered, completely innocently. 

Jamie had to bite down a laugh. The lass didna even ken the meaning of that word…

Murtagh’s eyes went wide, and he looked rightfully embarrassed. “I didna mean… I—” 

Claire still hadn’t taken his hand (yet another human custom she didn’t know— Jamie had to remind himself to teach her that one), and Murtagh glanced down at his proffered appendage, then back up at Claire. Assuming she was too offended by his earlier statement to shake his hand, he dropped it back to his side. 

Jamie decided to try to ease the situation and offered, “why dinna ye come inside?” 

Murtagh made a sound of assent deep in his throat and stepped inside the door. Just as Claire started to turn toward the living room, Jamie suddenly remembered that she was wearing the low cut dress— the one that so prettily displayed her wings. He threw himself behind her just in time to use his bulk to prevent Murtagh from seeing her exposed wings. With urgency, he grabbed Claire’s arms in front of him and pulled her against him so her back was pressed to his front, safely hiding the wings from view. 

He herded her toward the living room, pushing her so fast that she nearly stumbled. But they needed to get there before Murtagh so he’d have time to rip off his jacket and give it to her. 

Sure enough, Murtagh was ambling lazily enough, so the second they were in the living room, Jamie whirled her around so her front was facing the entryway and then let go of her to tear off his jacket. He swung it around her shoulders just in the nick of time before Murtagh arrived. 

Trying to disguise what he’d been doing, Jamie pulled Claire close and draped an arm around her, feigning nonchalance as best as he could. Meanwhile, Claire was clutching Jamie’s jacket closed in front of her, holding on with a white-knuckled grip. 

“Murtagh,” he said, trying to get his brain to catch back up to the situation, “I’m glad ye’re here, truly. Now ye can officially meet my girlfriend.” 

To Murtagh’s credit, his eyes only went wide in shocked disbelief for a second before he managed a polite, “nice tae meet ye, lass” for Jamie’s now-claimed girlfriend. 

“Why dinna ye have a seat?” Jamie suggested, gesturing toward a chair. 

In the meantime, Jamie brought Claire with him over toward the couch. On the way, Claire reached up on her toes to whisper softly in his ear, “is it okay to hold your hand?” 

He looked down at him, confused for a second to see her anxious expression, before he remembered their conversation about PDA and how it’d been inappropriate in front of Jenny. Jamie nearly had to laugh at her earnestness to do right by his customs. 

“Yes, lass,” he whispered discreetly as they sat down together, “as long as ye dinna sit on my lap this time.” 

Claire seemed greatly relieved by this, and as soon as they were seated, she reached out to lace their fingers together. She held on more tightly than normal, and Jamie gave her a squeeze, trying to reassure her that Murtagh was not, in fact, like Jenny, and she didn’t have to worry. 

Jamie was rather worried himself though. Murtagh had been like a father to him ever since his own had passed a few years back; his opinion about Claire (who he hoped he’d spend the rest of his life with, God willing) meant a lot to him. He could only hope that Jenny’s sour words hadn’t already cemented Murtagh’s opinion. 

Naturally, Murtagh began with questions that Jamie had a hard time answering. 

“So, when did ye two…” he fumbled. It was unlike Murtagh to waver so indirectly, but it was clear what he was asking. 

The next few minutes were spent feeding him the fake backstory Jamie had concocted. As he’d explained to Jenny, Jamie said that he’d met Claire at university in Paris and they’d kept in touch. When she’d come to visit, they’d reconnected. Claire extended her trip, and they both realized they’d been in love all this time. 

Murtagh seemed to take it mostly in stride, nodding politely but keeping his expression neutral. Jamie had no idea what was going on underneath that impenetrable beard of his, and it worried him to no end. 

“So, lass,” Murtagh said, sounding conversational, “let’s hear from you. How do ye feel about our Jamie, then?” 

Jamie’s head whipped to her, and found she was smiling nearly ear to ear. “I love him,” she answered without hesitation, “I think he’s the most amazing man I’ve ever met.” Her voice was fond and sincere, and she looked up at Jamie with a smile, as if she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. “I think he’s kind, and giving, and thoughtful, and intelligent. And so much more than that. And I think I’m so lucky to be here with him.”

His heart clenched nearly painfully in his chest, and it took all his self control to keep from kissing her, or from breaking into tears. God, he loved her. 

Forgetting Murtagh for a second, he grew lost in her warm gaze, that honey look like a caress on his skin. 

“I think I’m the lucky one,” he said softly.

Murtagh cleared his throat pointedly, breaking the moment, but when Jamie looked away from Claire and back toward his godfather, there was none of the animosity in his eyes that there’d been in Jenny’s. His grump of a surrogate father just held his usual “why are you subjecting me to the nonsense” kind of expression. 

Just as Jamie was about to open his mouth, floundering for something to say, Adso came prancing into the room, looking distinguished and ready to grab the attention. He was quite successful, too, because the non-existent conversation ground to a halt. 

“Adso!” Claire cooed, as she always did when the cat approached. 

The cheetie meowed back at her in greeting, and Claire’s face softened ever-further. She always got this sweet expression on her face around Adso, like the look of a loving caretaker. Jamie couldn’t help but wonder whether she’d wear the same expression with their kids… if they could even have kids… 

His gut clenched for a second in uncertainty, thinking about the very real possibility that they couldn’t actually procreate. Jamie knew they would have to talk about it someday, but he was terrified of hearing that his dream of having children was an impossible one. He could manage without a big family— all he really needed was her— but he’d prefer to live in hopeful ignorance for a short while longer, imaging bairns running around with her whiskey eyes and his red hair.  

When Jamie managed to drag himself back to reality, he saw that Claire had repositioned herself to sit on the floor, and Adso was already settled in her lap, purring away. 

His faerie looked up at Murtagh. “Do you like cheeties, Murtagh?” she asked, looking the picture of innocent enthusiasm. 

Murtagh— the hard man that he was and usually so unshakeable— looked taken aback at the question. 

“I canna say I have a strong opinion on the matter,” Murtagh answered. 

“Oh, well I love them. I’d never met a cheetie before Adso, but I’m sure he must be the nicest there is,” Claire said simply. Jamie had to clench his jaw, finding her incredibly endearing but infuriating at the same time. She was drifting carelessly into dangerous territory….

“Never ‘met’ a cheetie, meanin' ye’d never had one or…” Murtagh was looking dubious, and Jamie’s heart beat faster, his muscles coiling as if he could face the threat of Murtagh’s suspicions physically. 

“No,” Claire said, and Jamie had to hide a grimace, knowing exactly where she was going. She was always so honest, his faerie. “I mean I’d never seen one.” 

Murtagh’s brows drew together as he squinted down at her. “Where did ye say ye were from again?” He asked, not unreasonably. 

“A verrra small rural town near Oxfordshire,” Jamie jumped in hastily, for fear that Claire would forget herself. She seemed to be going off the rails, there was no telling what she would say, even knowing as she did that she shouldn’t say anything to give her secret away. 

Claire, still sitting cross legged and stroking the cat, gave a nod of affirmation. 

Murtagh’s only response was a grunt, followed by silence. Ever a man of few words, he didn’t seem inclined to further the conversation himself. 

Unfortunately, that meant that Claire, in her eagerness to get to know him, was jumping confidently back into the conversation. “So, Murtagh,” she said, “what do you do?” 

Alright, good. That’s a relatively normal question. Good, lass. 

“Construction hereabouts,” Murtagh replied, seeming less than interested in the small talk. 

Claire’s eyes widened, and she put on an excited face that Jamie thought was very genuine. 

“Building? That’s lovely! What do you build?” 

While Claire likely meant the question quite literally, having no idea what the job of construction entailed, Murtagh thankfully took it at face value. 

“Mostly residential. Many of the houses ye see hereabouts are our work,” Murtagh said, a hint of pride showing from beneath his busy beard. 

“Ohh…” Claire said, probably sounding a little too awed for the occasion, but it was sweet nonetheless, “so you build places like this? How—”

Jamie, sensing that she was about to question how one goes about building a house, tried to avert disaster by quickly cutting in before she could finish her strange question. “Claire, mo ghraidh, would you mind grabbing me a glass of water?” 

Claire shot a sweet, indulgent look at him from over her shoulder and gave a nod. “Of course, Jamie.” She unceremoniously dumped the cat from her lap as she stood, and she gave a polite nod to Murtagh, saying, “sorry for leaving the conversation, I’ll be right back.” 

As she left the room for the safety of the kitchen, Jamie felt his heart rate drop back to normal rhythms. 

Just as quickly though, it was ratcheted back up when Murtagh gave him a long look and commented, “She’s a wee bit… strange, isn’t she?” 

Trying not to break out into nervous sweats, Jamie reminded himself that there were strange humans too, and nothing Claire had said had been that bad. 

“Aye, a bit. But I love her for it,” he said honestly, throwing a look into the kitchen where Claire was currently studying the sink closely as she tried to recall how to turn it on. Jamie sent her good luck and tried not to smile to himself. They’d worked the sink together before, but she never really had a reason to use it on her own. Jamie was often around to turn it on for her after she’d been gardening and needed to clean up. He made a mental note to stop enabling her lack of human skills. 

Murtagh was staring at him in the meanwhile, looking lost in thought and careful evaluation. Meeting those dark eyes, Jamie found himself feeling nervous over what was going on in the impenetrable head of his godfather. 

“Ye’re sure about her?” came the question. 

All Jamie managed to get out was an “aye,” before Claire was returning to the room, looking triumphant with a full glass of water in her hand. 

The next few minutes were spent catching Murtagh up on the happenings at Jamie’s publishing company, which thankfully did not involve a grilling on why Jamie had been taking so much time off. Claire was quiet during the conversation, but feigned engagement well, looking invested in Jamie’s words in a way that made his stomach warm. The sweet lass truly knew nothing about his work, but apparently loving him was enough to make her love hearing about his passions. 

Then, at a break in the conversation, Murtagh stood up, wiping his hands on his pants. 

“I’m sorry to cut the visit short,” he said abruptly, “but I hafta be somewhere, I canna stay much longer. I jes’ wanted tae drop by and check on ye, lad.” 

Taking Claire’s hand, Jamie stood as well, bringing her with him. Murtagh’s eyes fixed on Claire. 

“Can I have a moment tae speak wi’ Jamie alone before I go?” he asked her once they were all standing. 

“Of course,” she said graciously, “it was so nice to meet you, Murtagh.” 

She shot a quick glance at Jamie over her shoulder and, at his nod, gave one last smile to Murtagh— who gave a soft “you too, lass”— before leaving the room. Alone with Murtagh, Jamie’s heart began to race, wondering if he was about to face the “are ye daft?” intervention talk. 

Murtagh approached him, clapping a hand on his shoulder and walking him toward the door. When they reached the entryway, both of them stopped, and his godfather looked at him for a long second. 

Jamie braced himself, trying to be strong for the moment Murtagh expressed disapproval. He could handle it. The world could hang, all he needed was Claire— he tried to tell himself despite the rising anxiety in his chest. 

Murtagh’s stare didn’t break, his usual dour expression holding fast on his face. His bushy brows were low over his unreadable eyes, but there seemed to be a clenching in his jaw that was unusual for the hard man. 

“What do ye think of her?” Jamie finally burst out, trying to bite the bullet he knew was coming. 

Murtagh gave a sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Ye love her?” he asked simply. 

Jamie nodded immediately and answered without hesitation. “I do.” 

His godfather looked away, his eyes lifting toward the heavens. 

This was it, the moment when Jamie would receive a famous Murtagh tongue lashing for his idiocy…

“Your mother…” Murtagh started, very slowly. 

‘Would have disapproved’… please don’t say those heartbreaking words…

“Had the sweetest smile,” Murtagh said instead. He looked back up at Jamie, his eyes softer than he’d seen in years, “Would warm a man to the backbone jes’ to see it...” He gave himself a nod, as if reminding himself of the conviction of his next words, “Claire’s smile is jes’ as sweet.” 

Jamie’s world suddenly fell entirely into place as Murtagh finally met his eyes, his godfather’s lips turning up into as much of a smile as the man ever gave. 

Approval. Unspoken between them, but clear and plain as day. Murtagh gave another nod, now trying to smother the uncharacteristic smile on his face. Jamie’s excitement must have been showing plain. 

“I can see it when ye look at each other, ken,” Murtagh said, clearing his throat a little, “ye love her, and she loves you.” 

“Aye,” Jamie choked out, trying desperately not to fall to pieces in front of his godfather. 

“I’m happy for ye, lad,” Murtagh finished. He placed a slap on Jamie’s shoulder. 

Jamie gave a nod of acknowledgement, pouring all his gratitude into it, and he smiled so emotionally that his lips turned downward. Together, they walked toward the front door, and Jamie opened it for him. 

“It was good to see ye, a ghoistidh,” Jamie said quietly. 

“And ye, lad,” Murtagh answered. 

Another moment passed between them, short but just as meaningful, and as soon as it had happened, Murtagh turned on his heel and walked out, with no more of a goodbye needed. 

Closing the door behind him, Jamie was nearly bursting with joy. Quick as he could, he rushed through the room until he found Claire lingering in the kitchen. 

“Sassenach,” he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. 

She turned toward him and had just enough time to raise her arms before he was embracing her, nearly overcome by emotion. He was so happy he was nearly shaking, and he hugged her tightly to him, squeezing her close. 

“He likes you,” Jamie said, his voice nearly breaking as he spoke into her hair, “He approves of us.” He took another shaky breath before repeating, “He approves.” 

***

a/n: I’m really curious if anyone reads on tumblr rather than AO3, so if you made it down here, would you drop me a comment? For research purposes? Thanks so much for reading, loves, however you choose to do it :) 

Next

[peachtree-dish]

A Te Che Sei Il Mio Grande Amore Ch. 4 Di Volta in Volta

Luglio 20, 1969

“Commander Neil Armstrong is making his way out of the spacecraft and is taking his first steps down the ladder to the moon’s surface. In mere moments he will be the first man to step foot on the moon…” The voice was narrated through the tv screen as the events of the first human moon landing played out in front of nearly the entire village. Those who did not have access to radio or television were crammed into their neighbor’s houses to either listen or watch on the small television screens. The usual Sunday atmosphere had been disrupted by the whole world waiting with bated breath as history played out in their living rooms. Luca sat between Giulia and Alberto in front of Massimo’s secondhand TV, fighting the urge to press himself against the class so as not to miss a single detail. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before because he had stayed up listening as the Apollo 11 crew had taken their last orbit around the moon before landing their naveta spaziale on the surface. Behind him, his family was sitting at the dinner table tightly pressed between Massimo and the several cats that had found some form of purchase on his broad shoulders. Luca had not thought it possible, but Massimo’s eyebrows seemed to be furrowed even deeper than usual; they were the only indication that he seemed just as anxious as everyone else.

Luca’s eyes widened as the man on the screen as the astronaut hopped onto the last ring of the ladder, his hands gripping tightly to it as if he were afraid to float away into the expanse of space. Beside him, Alberto squinted closely at the emerging astronaut and rubbed his chin.

“Their suits kinda look like that old diving suit, no?” he muttered in Luca’s ear. Guilia loudly shushed him from Luca’s other side, promptly cutting off any further commentary. Instead of vocalizing his agreement he instead gave an energetic nod to Alberto before the older boy could swat Giulia’s arm in revenge.

“I can see my footprints as I step away from the spacecraft…the surface appears to be covered in… fine, sandy particles…” For one moment, Luca pictured himself bounding across the surface of the moon, the old diving helmet pressed tightly to his shoulders, and space sand floating behind him. He could almost feel himself levitating away from the worn, wool rug of Massimo’s small kitchen, thousands of stars floating above him.

Giulia gasped, startling Luca back to reality, “He’s letting go of the spacecraft!” Sure enough, Armstrong’s grainy figure on the screen was slowly letting go of the ladder and stepping into the unknown of space. In a moment of trepidation, Luca reached wrapped his hand around Guilia’s as they waited for the next few moments to pass. He could hear Alberto inhale sharply beside him, assuming he was just as anxious as the rest of them.

“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” in one moment the entire world released its breath with a cheer.

Massimo slammed his fist down on the table with a shout of “Vittoria” ringing through the house. His outburst startled the cats into a hissing mess and Nonna Paguro slapped his arm with her cane, claiming a premature heart attack. Around them adults and children were shouting and cheering, many even taking to the streets, their cacophony mixing with the howling of dogs. Giulia hurriedly leaned over to wrap her arms around Alberto and Luca’s shoulders, relieved giggles echoing in their ears as she rushed over to embrace Massimo in earnest. Luca grinned, sparing one last glance at the screen as the rest of the astronauts filed out of the ship, before turning excitedly to Alberto. Without a moment’s hesitation, Luca embraced him, only realizing mere seconds after that his hand was still entangled with someone else’s. At his friend’s stiff posture and flushed face, Luca’s excitement died only to be replaced with confusion. He rocked back onto his heels, one hand draped awkwardly around Alberto’s neck and Alberto’s left hand resting on his hip.

“Alberto?” he breathed, forcing the older boy to peer at him as he pulled away. Alberto blinked rapidly, his hand clenching and unclenching around Luca’s and his green eyes looking desperately around the room. He licked his lips and did not fail to notice Alberto’s eyes following the movement. He opened his mouth to say something before a loud crash broke the atmosphere between them. Machiavelli’s son, Bocelli, had become spooked in the excitement and had managed to knock over Massimo’s favorite tea kettle along with a few teacups. While the kettle had merely been bumped from the impact, three cups had met a disastrous end on the floorboards.

Amidst shouts and curses from the adults, Alberto had firmly and quickly untangled himself from Luca, rushing to the pantry to remove a broom and pan for the mess. Lorenzo was trying his best to scoop the remaining cats into his arms so they wouldn’t get hurt and Daniela was simply yelling at them all to move. Massimo was cradling the kettle with his arm, gently checking for any damage while Giulia remained unseen in the mess, her eyes flitting between Luca and Alberto who still hadn’t said anything. On the carpet, Luca watched as if frozen, unsure of why he felt like crying.

The days following the moon landing and the Apollo 11 crew’s return to earth found Giulia and Alberto working overtime to fill the town’s orders. At least, that was what Luca was telling himself. Since their awkward moment on the rug, Alberto hadn’t spent as much time around Luca, instead of spending hours out fishing and hauling the day’s catch through the streets. His conversations with them would always be clipped, though not unfriendly and he always found a reason not to spend time with them. Giulia, feeling as if she were walking on eggshells, tried to ask Alberto what was going on while they delivered, but he simply brushed off her inquiries with a forced grin. In her opinion, his lies reeked more than days old trash left in the heat. Her frustration grew to an extreme one evening when Alberto bid them both a halfhearted goodnight from the dinner table, claiming he would be staying up later than usual to fill in the finance charts. Ignoring Giulia’s glare and Luca’s hurt expression, he pulled out the counting charts Massimo had been filling out the previous afternoon and began adding the day’s earnings.

“I think he really does hate me,” Luca admitted to Giulia once they passed the archway leading to the docks.

“Don’t be ridicolo, I think he’s just... acting weird?” She floundered, unable to come up with an acceptable response.

“Oh, really, Giulia?!” Luca burst, his frustration surging, “He's not the one who acted weird, I was! I messed up, and now he can’t stand to be around me. I disgust him!” He kicked at a pebble, his expression strained. Luca tried to inhale deeply to calm himself, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t allow it. He turned back to a solemn Giulia, his voice choked. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” To his mounting horror, large drops of water began to spill down his cheeks and before Giulia could even reach out to offer comfort, the teen was tearing down the cobblestones leading to the water's edge. Giulia’s calls were lost in the water as it enveloped him, his salty tears mixing with the sea. He swam for a long time, wanting to avoid his own home for as long as possible. He couldn’t stop thinking about Alberto’s hands on his hip or how it felt to look down into his eyes. Had they not been interrupted, what would have happened? And then he remembered how Alberto had looked frantic, almost afraid of what Luca was going to do. With a half-formed snarl, Luca dove towards the ocean floor. Reaching a shallow cave, he sat down and curled in on himself while his stomach heaved, and his tail thrashed.

“Stupido, stupido, stupido, stupido…” he sobbed over and over, unable to silence Bruno in his mind.

Giulia marched into the house fuming, her eyes landing on Alberto who stared at the wall in front of him, his expression blank. Wordlessly, she picked up the discarded papers on the table and smacked them across the back of his stupid, curly head.

“OW! What the-” Alberto spun around to glare at her.

“Non posso crederti,” she seethed, her hands shaking.

“I don’t have time for your hormonal dramatics, Gi,” Alberto deadpanned, moving to stand and escape from the redhead’s wrath.

“Don’t you dare,” she pushed him back into the chair, her brute strength surprising him. Small as she may be, Giulia was still Massimo’s daughter.

“How can you both keep hurting each other like this? You’re friends, no? Start acting like it!” She flailed her hands hysterically in such a way that Alberto almost wanted to laugh.

“We are friends, tutto bene,” He argued, inwardly wincing at the lie.

“Then why does Luca always look on the verge of tears after being around you? What happened, fratello? You haven’t been the same since the moon landing.” Giulia stared him down with both fists resting on her hips. She rarely referred to him as her brother, and when she did it was because she was trying to show how much she actually cared. That was the one thing Giulia and Alberto always agreed on, they hated to show feelings. Alberto could feel the anxiety he felt on that day building again inside him. He hadn’t meant to make it worse; he was going to make a joke about Luca being scared, but then he had grabbed Alberto’s hand. They touched each other easily all the time, frequent in their affection and friendly nature, but Luca had never held Alberto’s hand like that. Alberto hadn’t wanted to let go. It was just a harsh reminder that eventually he would have to let go of Luca forever. He swallowed thickly and peered at Giulia.

“I’m not going to get in the way of Luca following his dreams,” He said slowly, trying to get his friend to understand. “Luca is meant for grander things than whatever I had planned, I’m just helping him realize that.” Giulia stared at him for a moment before pinching the bridge of her nose and screwing her eyes shut.

“Oh, Dio, I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“Giulia, listen,” He began only to be interrupted by Giulia holding up her hand.

“Silenzio, Bruno. I know you don’t believe that. Luca wouldn’t have any of his dreams without you, and if he were to lose you, those dreams would fade.” Alberto shrank into his seat, not wanting to look her in the eye. With a defeated sigh, the young girl sat beside him.

“You’ve never told us about how you ended up alone, and I’m not going to ask you to tell me,” she interrupted him before he could speak. He swallowed his objection and let her continue, “but I wish you could understand that we’re not like your old family.  Berto,” she reached out and held one of his hands in both of hers, “we will never abandon you, and neither will Luca. But I am afraid that if you continue to act this way, he’ll think you abandoned him.”

Alberto’s head snapped up and he gazed fiercely at Giulia, reminding her of the first time he revealed his sea monster form to her.

“I would never abandon him.”

She stared back coolly and pointed at the bracelet on his wrist, “Then prove him wrong.” With that she stood and marched upstairs, her steps sounding with finality. Alberto watched her empty seat for a few moments, his ears roaring with the pounding of his heart. Before he could reconsider his actions, the chair scraped harshly along the floorboards, and he was rushing towards the warm ocean.

“Luca!” He called desperately into the waves, not caring if any of the other sea folk were sleeping. His shouts startled a school of pandoras swimming by, and they rushed past him as fast as possible. Alberto sped towards Luca’s home, his heart thundering as he reached Luca’s window. Peering in he found Nonna Paguro sleeping on her side of the room, her snores rattling through the water. To his growing anxiety, he found Luca’s bed empty and so turned towards the island where he had often hidden. Crashing clumsily upon the rocky shore, Alberto called out to the tower, its windows and roof dark and unresponsive.

If he looked too closely at the darkened mouth of the tower, he’d see a small child, crying anxiously for his papa to come home. Pushing the dark memories away, Alberto took deep breaths in an attempt to remain calm. Feeling the anxiety in his chest close to bursting, he dove back into the darkened waters and shouted again.

“Luca! I’m sorry, please talk to me!” He swam frantically, his gaze twisting in every direction, hoping to catch a glance of blue. He swam farther out to the ocean, the fields of seaweed sloping into rocky, sand-filled terrain.

“I’m s-sorry,” He gasped, bubbles escaping his mouth and floating towards the moonlit surface. He felt his hope slipping away with them when he heard a hiccupped cry.

“Alberto?” Luca’s voice was raw from his emotional outburst, but it was still the most beautiful sound Alberto had ever heard. Twisting around with enough force to nearly snap his neck, Alberto found Luca peering out from underneath an overhanging rock bank. He felt his own sob of relief escape his throat before he swam down to his friend. The older boy floated in front of Luca, unsure of how he would react.

“Is everyone okay, you sound upset,” Luca’s eyes were red-rimmed, and they pinned Alberto to the spot with their concern. Alberto wanted to slap himself; Luca was obviously hurting yet here he was making sure Alberto and everyone else was alright. How selfish can you be, Alberto?

“No, everyone’s fine, but I’ve been an idiota, Luca. We only have days left before you go back to Genoa, and I’ve spent the past two weeks ignoring you because…” He stopped as he felt his fear resurfacing. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“But that doesn’t make se-”

“I know, that’s why I said I’m an idiota,” he chuckled drily at Luca’s confusion. “You got me off the island, but there are days I feel like I’m drowning.” He explained patiently, “There are so many new things here and I feel like I’m always behind while you’re always ahead.” He swallowed, watching as Luca still looked confused. “I feel like one day you’re going to realize that I’m slowing you down and I don’t want to get in the way of you becoming who you’re meant to be, even if that means I get left behind.”

Luca’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open in shock, “Alberto, there is no dream worth having if you’re not in it.” Alberto stood stunned before him, his mouth had gone shockingly dry considering the saltwater in it.

“Caro,” he whispered, pulling Luca into his arms, too overwhelmed to finish speaking.

“I thought I offended you,” Luca admitted softly, his voice humming against Alberto’s collarbone, “I thought I had made you uncomfortable, when in reality I thought I grabbed Giulia’s hand, I promise.” Alberto felt his stomach drop out from him. He badly wanted to contradict Luca, tell him he had wanted more than anything to grab his hand whenever he could. But he wouldn’t, his fear wouldn’t let him.

“It’s okay, you didn’t offend me. If anything, I can’t blame you. No one can resist my good looks and charm,” He joked, laughing a bit too loudly to be considered natural. Luca snorted and pushed away from him, rolling his eyes.

“You wish, Berto,”

I really do, Alberto thought helplessly.

“Thank you for coming after me, again.” Luca laughed exasperatedly, hiding his face in his hands with a groan. “Giulia probably thinks I’m the most dramatic idiot in all of Italy.”

Alberto shrugged and glanced to the side, “Eh, you’d be surprised, she has her own moments. Must be an Italian thing.” Luca glared at him halfheartedly through his claws.

“Do you wanna head back to your house, or…” Alberto motioned his head back towards Porto Rosso. Luca smiled and motioned back to him.

“Wherever you want, I’ll follow you.”

“Well, it’s about time. I’ve only been waiting for over a year,” Alberto teased, swimming back towards the shining lights of the port town, his best friend’s laughter ringing behind him.

31 Agosto 1969

The last weeks of summer came and went with the laughter of children and a full season of fishing; having decided that winning the Porto Rosso Cup last year had been enough of an adventure, Giulia, Luca, and Alberto had instead spent time behind the scenes helping with the race alongside Signora Marsigliese. The woman had been extra grateful for the help and had run the three of them nearly ragged with preparations. With no Ercole in sight, the race had been far more enjoyable for all the town’s children, and even more so for their families.

Alberto volunteered to keep watch in the bay as the kids swam, already used to having lifeguard duties. He made sure to help anyone who got stuck or might have struggled especially hard. It made Luca’s heart especially warm to watch Alberto interact with the smaller children, encouraging them and even allowing the smallest bambina to latch onto his tail when she got too tired to swim back to shore. This year, Daniela and Lorenzo actually helped by offering water to kids as they struggled up the hill, this time without threatening to dump it on their heads.

In the end, the race was one by a brother and sister from the Ricci family who both were so exhausted they could barely keep the trophy held up between them. The end of the season also meant that Alberto would be working in his many diverse side jobs once it got too cold.

“Do you actually like working in la panetteria? Luca asked him from where he sat on the floor packing his things away.

“It’s not bad,” Alberto shrugged nonchalantly, “it was kinda stressful at first, but Signora Aurora is really nice, and I don’t make nearly as many mistakes as Ciccio.”

“I don’t think anyone could make as many mistakes as him, Ciccio’s a league unto his own,” Luca muttered absently, comparing two different books in his hands. In Alberto’s opinion, they looked the exact same.

“After the weather gets colder, I start baking in the mornings at the Pasticcini, and then Signore Ciano has me help him and Guido in their garage. I offered to help Padre D’uva at the church, but” he shrugged again with a half-smile, “babies don’t really like getting baptized by sea monsters.” Luca snorted and rolled his eyes at the image of a scaled Alberto trying to dunk a screaming child.

“I guess your smile and good charms don’t work on everybody, amico.”

Alberto flipped upside down on the bed and bit his lip suggestively and waggled his eyebrows, “Just you then?” Luca paused a moment to look at him and his gaze was almost enough to make Alberto stop. The young monster tilted his head to the side, considering Alberto’s features.

“Eh, could use some work,” He answered finally turned his head back to his bag, trying to stifle his laughter as Alberto made a face.

The sound of knuckles rapping on the doorframe causes them both to look up. Giulia leaned against the chipped white paint and smiled warmly, “Mind if I come in, ragazzi?” Alberto happily scooted to the side, ultimately remaining in his upside-down state.

“You’re not done packing?” Giulia asked incredulously. Luca only pouted from the floor.

“I can’t decide which books to take,” He ran a hand through his already stressed curls, the motion capturing Alberto’s attention even from his angle.

“You’re such a nerd, you know that right,” She ruffled his hair affectionately.

“As a nerd, it is, in fact, my job to know that, Giulietta.” The brunette stuck his tongue out defiantly before tossing the books back onto their pile. With a groan he stood and stretched his back, the muscles popping into place. Throwing himself on the bed he looked up at the ceiling and said, “I can’t believe summer’s already over, I feel like we just got back!” He flopped back down, his arm thumping Alberto’s stomach.

“Hey, attento!” Alberto swore. He swung himself back up and flopped backward, tugging Giulia along with him. Luca patted his stomach by way of apology before sighing dramatically.

“Why doesn’t school go by this fast?”

“Because then more people would enjoy it,” Giulia sighed from the other side of Alberto, who remained oddly quiet. He turned his head from one side to the other, watching how the late afternoon sun turned Giulia’s hair a violent copper and how it made Luca’s eyes seem molten. Suddenly reaching out, he tugged both close to him and said, “Vi amo, ragazzi.” Luca and Giulia shared a look of befuddlement.

“…Okay?” They replied in unison

“Learn as much as you can and then tell me everything in your letters, okay? Just like before. Except for this time, I’m going to learn new things, too. That way, we can all share what we learned next summer.” He grinned proudly at the thought.

Giulia sat up and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are you feeling okay, pazzo? Do you need a doctor or something?”

“No, I’m serious. Giulia, you remember what you asked us at the beginning of summer?” She cocked her head to the side before nodding.

“I asked what you wanted to be when we got older.”

“Esattamente! And I have no idea, but I want to find out.” He looked at both Luca and Giulia as they processed his words. Luca was the first to move, wrapping his arms tighter around Alberto’s middle and grinning into his shoulder.

“I think that’s a great idea, caro. I’m proud of you.” Giulia nodded in agreement as she settled back down.

“Even if you don’t figure it out this year, or the next, just goditi il viaggio, like my mama always says. Life is about discovery, if you can’t enjoy it, learn from it.” Alberto hummed contently in response.

“Your mom sounds smart,” he mused.

“She is,” Luca and Giulia answered together, causing the trio to burst into a fit of giggles.

Later that evening, when Massimo climbed upstairs to check on the children, he found Giulia, Alberto, and Luca curled around one another on Giulia’s bed. Alberto had both arms wrapped protectively around both his daughter and Luca while they snored away peacefully. Machiavelli waltzed between his legs before alighting himself upon the bed and curling up next to Alberto’s head. He softly chided the cat to remain quiet and leave the children to their dreams. Without waking them, he softly tucked them in with the blanket from Alberto’s bed before walking out of the room. As he closed the door, he chanced one last glance at his little family and allowed himself a small smile. He could not wait for summer to return.